#tw: marital troubles

[inevitablemoment]

Samlan September Day 4 - Secretly Married AU

Word Count: 337

Warnings: Marital troubles, perceived betrayal, arguments, trial separation

Fandom: Law & Order

Pairings: Nolan Price x Samantha Maroun

This doesn't count as the 22x17 part, but the idea just couldn't escape me.

Enjoy!

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Nolan had returned to their apartment alone. He had picked Emmeline up from daycare by himself, and he definitely noticed the stares from from the other parents.

From the way that everyone was treating him, you would have thought that Raymer's trial had revealed that Nolan had cheated on Sam instead of a workplace fling from before he had even met her.

He had made dinner for both him and Emmeline, and went through Emmeline's bedtime routine with her before she finally fell asleep.

Nolan looked through his and Sam's wedding album as he laid down on the couch. His heart just kept sinking, only to lift itself back up into his chest, and start sinking again repeatedly as he looked over the images of their younger selves.

He thought that he heard the lock turning and the door opening. He tried to spare himself from raising his hopes, but he still turned around.

Sam was indeed walking through the door. He jumped to his feet, letting the album drop to the floor and rushed to her. He stopped, moving back to be about a yard away from her.

"Sam..."

"Where's Emmie?" Sam asked, ignoring him.

"She's already asleep-- but before you say anything, I've been replaying everything since I found Rachel's body in my head," he said. "And... I had just told you how I knew Rachel that night... everything would still be okay. Right?"

She didn't say anything. She just stood there in front of him, stone-faced.

"Sam... I am so sorry."

"But you didn't tell me that night," Sam reminded him. "And... and I know you don't think it's that big of a deal, but the more I think about it, the angrier I get."

She looked down on the floor, as if she was trying to gather her thoughts before she spoke once more.

"I think... no," she stopped herself. "I know I need some space."

Nolan's chest further tightened around his heart. "What are you saying?"

"I think you should move out."

[fushitoru]

tw periods, slight angst surrounding periods and period typical misogyny, misunderstanding, fluff at the end, a lot of suggestiveness LOL. this is post-canon, after bridgerton!gojo and miss itadori get married

a/n you are warned this is not a drabble this is almost a fic (still a bit short tho) but i was too lazy to make a layout for it

you woke beside your husband, bridgerton!gojo, with a peculiar slickness between your thighs and a slight ache in your joints, particularly that of your lower back.

at once, you knew what it was---your courses. you couldn't help but feel a little disappointment; while you and satoru had only wed recently, your...child bearing efforts had been rigorous. however, it had only been about a fortnight since you had become missus gojo, so it would be reasonable to assume a child was to come in due time.

that is to say, becoming with child was not what was troubling you at all---it was the tangent, irony smell of blood between your thighs, and, if you did not take quick action, it would soon stain your marital bed.

but the biggest worry of all: your husband.

unfortunately, you did not know his...stance about the monthly affliction women face. it was true you felt you could discuss anything with him---after a whole season of fighting like fools, you both had shown each other your most vulnerable parts. however, you were not sure how he would react to the blood that was slowly trickling out of you. would he be disgusted? would he want you to sleep on a seperate bed? the both of you shared your marital bed every night, despite the fact that the gojo manor had many other rooms and one that was formally yours, too.

yet it was not his disgust that you feared most. it was his silence---that he would silently hold back his true feelings of disgust to care for you.

you shook your head. you definitely could not stomach making him bear such responsibility. to be safe, you would distance yourself from him for a couple of days.

looking once more at him, you were relieved to see him sleeping peacefully like a babe next to you. in his slumber, he had wrapped his arms across your waist and buried his head in your chest. as carefully as you could, you unwrapped yourself from his arms and waddled miserably towards the door, and outside, until you found nobara.

after you had debriefed her in your formal room (the one where you were supposed to sleep in, but it had gathered dust nonetheless because satoru would not tolerate distance between you two), she sent a pointed look at you. "you are being ridiculous. that man is a lovesick fool when it comes to you."

"i know he adores me, which is precisely why i do not wish to be close to him during my courses," you mutter back, clutching your stomach and sitting uncomfortably on the bed. "what if he stayed silent about his true sentiments---"

before you could finish, a hesitant knock came on the door and came the voice of your husband. "my love, are you inside?" he sounded concerned, and your heart broke; he must have been confused why you were not by his side when he woke.

then, panic welled inside of you, and you quickly stood up, then immediately shrinked in pain. in a shrill voice came your response: "give me some time, dear, to get dressed!"

then came a confused but brief, "all right," and he obediently stayed outside the door, waiting for you. you hurriedly put on proper attire---not before putting a linen cloth over your crotch to temper the bleeding---and opened the door.

there he was: dressed in a white shirt that was clearly shrugged on in a daze, and pants. it was truly a shame you were resolved to avoid him and any intimate engagement; if it weren't so, you would have dragged him back to your bed for a reenactment of last night.

it seemed that this time of the month had amplified your lust; you were gazing intently at his bare chest and stomach and didn't notice how he had been trying to say something. it was only until he grabbed your hand and started walking that you got out of your reverie. "where are we going?"

"to break our fast," he sighed, looking at you with trace of amusement in his eyes. "it seems that you cannot seem to concieve any words of mine without food in your stomach."

heat creeps up your neck, but you stay silent as he leads you into the drawing room. he sits you down next to him on the couch, and you're so overwhelmed with the heat of his presence that you dizzily sit next to him, while he murmurs things to the maid. it's only until you are alone with him that he pulls you close, onto his lap---you panic once more.

you both have been spending your time as newlyweds at each other's sides; in the morning, he ushers everyone else out of the drawing room and pulls you onto his lap to feed you pastries by hand; during the day, the both of you find some way of keeping each other company, whether it be you reading in the library while he conducts his work or him lazing by your side as you play the pianoforte; at night....every unfortunate being in the manor knows what the both of you do at night.

however, if you were to bleed onto him, forget his reaction; you'd probably offer yourself up to the chef to be cooked for dinner.

your hands remain stiff where they hover in the air, unsure whether to wrap around his shoulders or press against his chest and shove him away. but your legs are already tucked awkwardly to one side, your skirts pooling in your lap and the linen cloth beneath them barely hanging on to dignity.

"now, then," he murmurs, voice low and drowsy, still husky with the vestiges of sleep, "would you care to explain why you vanished on me this morning?"

you stiffen slightly, gaze refusing to meet his. his thumb strokes your back through the fabric of your robe.

“i woke early,” you reply, feebly. “i did not wish to disturb your sleep.”

satoru hums, unconvinced yet concerned. “you were limping.”

your breath hitches.

he lifts his head, ocean eyes narrowing with concern as they search yours. “did I hurt you?” he asks, tone suddenly urgent. “was it last night? I—darling, I swear I never intended—”

“no! no, heavens, no,” you interrupt, pressing your hand over his mouth before he can spiral further. “it's not that. I just—” you trail off, heart pounding.

you feel a trickle escape you and remember that you are still situated on his lap. you jump up, to satoru's dismay, and pat down your skirts in a show of fluster. while you do so, you make sure to peek a glance at satoru's---mind you, very expensive---pants, and let out a sigh in relief when you find they are unmarred with any shade of red.

satoru blinks up at you, visibly startled at your sudden escape from his lap. he sits upright, arms slack at his sides, disheveled and blinking like a dog who had just been denied a treat. “darling?” he calls, voice still rough from sleep. “why did you—?”

“i just remembered—i'm meant to be with nobara,” you blurt hastily, smoothing your skirts once more. “she needed… guidance. On a matter of embroidery.”

he tilts his head, clearly skeptical. “embroidery.”

“yes,” you say, far too quickly. “she's quite hopeless with her stitches, you know.”

satoru gives a soft hum. “i see.” he looks at you pointedly, but says no more.

you nod, all nerves, and inch toward the door with forced casualness. “i'll be back before supper,” you promise, though you plan nothing of the sort. “rest, please. you looked dreadfully tired.”

and with that, you flee.

...

the day drags.

you spend an hour in nobara's company, pacing and muttering until she throws a cushion at your head and tells you, in no uncertain terms, that you’re being idiotic. you ignore her.

you then wander the halls of the gojo manor like a ghost, ducking behind tapestries and pillars the moment you hear your husband’s voice approaching.

at one point, you’re certain he sees the edge of your skirts disappearing up the staircase, because you hear a faint, amused, “hm,” followed by very deliberate footsteps that turn away.

it doesn’t help. the ache in your belly has dulled to a throb, your joints heavy and mood sullen. you've gone through more linen cloths than you care to count, and your back feels like it’s being punished by God himself.

but worse still is the shame coiled in your chest.

you miss him. you miss the warmth of his lap, the rasp of his voice when it’s still tinged with sleep. you miss the way he’d drawn heated circles into your back without even realizing it. and you hate—truly, hate—that you’re keeping something from him.

...

by the time night falls and the clock strikes ten, you’re already curled up in your formal room, not even pretending to be useful. you know, instinctively, that he’ll come.

and he does.

the door creaks open gently, as though he’s trying not to startle you. “are you hiding from me again?” satoru asks softly.

you sit up from your curled position on the chaise, wrapped in a thick shawl. you've no more excuses left in you.

he's dressed in his day's clothes, but his shirt is rumpled and a bit unbuttoned. you wish he'd cover up more, for your unscrupulous eyes were devouring the sigh. he looks tired---but not angry. never angry.

still, you look away. “i didn’t mean to avoid you,” you say, voice faint. “truly, i was a bit occupied today.”

"no, you were avoiding me," he says, without heat. "you are hiding something from me."

you nod, the confession a lump in your throat. “i was.”

satoru sighs and crosses the room, kneeling in front of you. “tell me, darling. please.”

you hesitate, and then meet his eyes. "it's my courses."

he blinks. “Your—oh.” realization dawns in an instant. his brows lift. “that's all?”

you flush. "'that's all'? satoru, i bled onto the sheets today. while you were in it---the smell was pungent! then, at breakfast, i thought i would bleed on your trousers, and i've been waddling all day!"

he makes a move to interrupt, but your shrill voice continues, giving him no opening. "and i've heard how it goes!" you cry, but then your voice quiets, now low in mood. "i just did not you know your feelings on the matter. some husbands don't say anything about it but internally do not take kindly to the display. i thought it perhaps to spare you the discomfort. if you wish, you may sleep alone in the marital bed tonight." you laugh but your hands are quivering, your voice equally shaky. "it is due time that i start sleeping in my designated room, regardless."

there's silence, and you refuse to look at him.

you nod to yourself, eyes burning. "so, please do what you are comfortable with, my dear. i will wholly understand and will draw no resentment from your choice, for it is what you wish."

and still, he says nothing.

you do not look up—not when he pushes off the door, not when you hear his footsteps retreating down the hall. the sound of the door clicking shut behind him cleaves clean through you.

you sit for a moment, frozen.

so that was it, then. he had chosen comfort and distance from you.

and that was fine. that was what you had offered him—wasn’t it?

that was what you wanted, you tell yourself. for him to be comfortable. for him to have the space to choose without pressure or obligation. you didn’t want to burden him with your body’s inconvenient truths, didn’t want to tether him to your pain out of guilt or duty.

you had meant it. you had.

still, like a traitor, your throat tightens. you press a palm against your sternum, as if you could quiet the ache blooming there, deep and hollow and foolish.

you should get ready for bed. blow out the candle. crawl beneath the covers and sleep it off—

the door bursts open.

you startle, eyes flying up—and there he is again, storming in not with coldness or distance, but with purpose.

you blink as he steps towards you—not empty-handed, but with a bundle of linens, something wrapped in muslin, and a small ceramic jar tucked beneath one arm. his expression is unreadable as he walks to your chaise.

he crouches before you, silent.

then: he unravels the cloth and reveals a warmed compress, gently pressing it to your lower abdomen with a care that nearly undoes you. his hands are sure, practiced. the pressure soothes more than you can say.

next comes the jar—some ancient concoction for cramping and pain, herbal and bittersweet in scent. he rubs a dab into your wrists, then into your temples, then—when you remain frozen in stunned silence—cups your jaw, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

“is this allowed?” he murmurs.

you nod, too stunned to speak.

he lets out a slow breath and says, “you absolute goose.”

your lips tremble. “I thought—when you left—”

“i went to the warming stone cupboard, you little fool.” his tone is fond now, teasing, like he can’t bear to let you spiral any further. “you think I’d leave you bleeding and aching and miserable just to have a soft bed to myself?”

you shake your head, and he leans in to press a kiss to your brow.

"i married you, mrs. gojo," he teases, the same way he used to say miss itadori when the both of you were at odds. "do you think i could bear to know nothing about your body with you as my wife? or, heavens forbid, sleep alone in our bed? i knew eventually you would be curled up in my bed, looking cross and adorable while i play nursemaid." he

your eyes brim. "i'm sorry."

“you're forgiven, my love,” he says easily. “on one condition.”

you blink. “What?”

“that you stop hiding from me. i'm your husband. i'd much rather hold you while you’re bleeding than miss you while you’re gone.”

you give a watery laugh. “You make it sound so poetic.”

“i am a romantic at heart.” he stands, then scoops you effortlessly into his arms. “now come. we are going to our bed. i've fluffed the pillows, and you’re going to let me dote on you until you beg me to stop.”

you cling to him, heart light for the first time all day.

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter VI - One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul

Summary: After marrying in the Faith of the Seven, you and Aemond are ready to consummate your marriage. But something has been troubling him about it and you are determined to get to the bottom of this before finally giving in to your desires.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 10k (on the dot!)

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; hand job; fingering; switch!Aemond (leaning more towards sub!Aemond); jealousy; referenced past SA (Aemond talks about the time Aegon took him to the Street of Silk) and it's consequences to oneself (please please read carefully)

Notes: Hello everyone! You thought this story was over, didn’t you? Well, it is not. I just took a really long time writing this chapter. Because of this, the first thing I’d like to do is apologize. I’m sorry for taking so long, I got caught up in some college work and this huge event I help organize, and it took me quite a while to finish that (and not only that, as you can see by the word count, this chapter is one chonky boi, for the more I wrote the more I wanted to write and I just couldn’t stop.) Anyway, here it is and I’m sorry once again.

TW: Please please read the warnings, this one does talk about SA and it’s repercussions and consequences to oneself, (it doesn’t happen during the story, it’s only mentions of past events). If this is something you are uncomfortable with feel free to skip this one, put yourself and your own comfort first, only read it if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Stay safe!

This story will have more parts to it, but like I said, I’ve been having a lot of work to do (a shame I can’t just write all day, but meh, c'est la vie) so I won’t be able to update weekly like with the previous chapters and updates will take a little while longer.

Also, I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

I am really proud of how this one turned out, really, I’d even dare say (throwing modesty out the window entirely) it’s one of my favorite works of mine so far. So I really hope you enjoy this one as much as I did! Thank you so so much for reading!

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Your feet were killing you. There was no other way to describe it. You yearned to finally retire to your marital chambers and take off these dreaded shoes, but alas you had to entertain the guests for a little while longer at least.

“What troubles you, ābrazȳrys?” your husband asked from beside you.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, valzȳrys.” you smiled softly at him, your heart clenching at his concern.

Husband.

After four whole moons you could finally call Aemond your husband. Twice over in fact. Not only were you married in the Faith of the Seven, as per his mother’s and grandsire’s wishes, but Daemon and your mother had organized a ceremony for you to be wed in the ways of Old Valyria (after which your step-father had jested, asking if you were to consummate the marriage already or wait until after the second ceremony at the sept, earning a slap on the shoulder from Rhaenyra and a chuckle from Laenor. Aemond had in turn blushed profusely, and you thought the pink hue that dusted his cheeks suited him, wanting to see it more often).

Laenor had stayed with you in your chambers, running his fingers through your hair until you fell asleep. He had woken you by dawn, reluctantly saying he had to go, for Daemon had arranged a ship to take him back, but he needed to leave as early as possible as to not risk being seen by anyone. You said your goodbyes with tears rolling down your cheeks, for you felt this was the last time you’d ever see him again, though he did tell you to pay him a visit in Qarth should you ever find your way to Essos before disappearing through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You barely managed to fall back asleep after that, too eager to start the day already. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent insisted on helping you get ready, you and your mother sharing complicit smiles every time your good mother referred to her son as your ‘soon to be’ husband. The ceremony itself went by without a hitch, with Aemond placing his cloak, in a mixture of both green and black colors, over your shoulders and kissing you tenderly afterwards.

The feast was grand, with almost every major house having been invited. You had saved your first dance for Aemond, but quickly switched partners and danced with Helaena, then with Baela, Jace, Luke and even with Aegon, though the last one was short lived for Aemond, not at all enjoying the sight of his brother’s grubby hands all over you, not so gently pushed him aside and resumed as your partner once more. You felt happy, happier than you had been in several years. Your family, or most of it, was reunited again, celebrating love and not fighting a senseless war like you feared they would.

And now, even though you were having a splendid time, you were counting the minutes until you could finally retire and spend some time alone with your husband. 

“I cannot believe you are going to forego the bedding.” Aegon groaned from next to you “It is tradition.” to which you had to hold Aemond back from reaching across from you and strangling his brother as the latter cackled.

In the moons that followed your betrothal you had noticed that, whenever someone who wasn’t you made any reference to anything involving your marital bed or your marital duties, Aemond would tense up. Anyone else would think the way his shoulders straightened was a demonstration of pride, a man who couldn’t wait to bed his future wife, but you had come to know him better than that. While you had no doubt he was eager to lay with you, you knew his stiffness stemmed from somewhere else, somewhere he had yet to disclose. Where most saw him preening with pride you noticed him shrinking back in on himself.

So you requested, more, begged your mother to forbid the bedding ceremony, much to Aegon’s dismay, claiming you weren’t comfortable with the situation and you were the one who wanted privacy. It wasn’t technically a lie, for you truly wanted to share this moment with your husband only, but you wanted to get to the bottom of the issue first. She was quick to agree, and anyone who complained that it entailed breaking tradition got a scorn filled glare from her and a reminder that, as Queen, her word was final. The only condition, set by some of the men in the Small Council, was that you deliver the linens to one of the maesters in the morrow as proof of your virtue.

Aemond must have noticed you slumping in your chair, tiredness seeping into your bones from hours upon hours of celebration, for he stood from his seat and extended a hand to you.

“Shall we retire for the evening, my love?”

My love. 

The moniker set your cheeks aflame as you smiled softly at him, glancing briefly at your mother, seeking her permission to be excused. She nodded softly, mentioning something about retiring as well to check on Visenya. You accepted his hand and both of you left the great hall amidst praises and cheers from the guests. 

As you approached his, now yours as well, chambers you could see him getting progressively more fidgety. If it was due to nerves or anticipation you could not tell. He opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside and take in the room, the things you had requested the servants to move from your previous quarters already in place.  

“I have something for you.” he spoke hurriedly, almost as soon as the door was closed “A wedding gift, if you will.”

“What is it?” you watched him cross the space towards a chest nestled against the wall, rummaging inside. When he turned back to you in his hands laid a sheathed sword, a large sapphire resting on the top of the handle, almost where it met the blade, catching your eye.

“I had a little help from my uncle to get the measurements correct for you.” he extended the sword to you which you took from him almost reverently, running your fingers delicately over the intricate golden designs of the sheath.

Your eyes were filled with wonder as you pulled the blade out of the sheath, noticing how smooth and shiny the metal was. There was something different about the steel, it was more vibrant than what you were used to seeing, softer, yet somehow almost… sharper.

Aemond must have seen your questioning gaze aimed at the sword for he smiled, an almost proud smirk adorning his features as he explained.

“Valyrian steel.” you whipped your head to stare at him, astonished “Jewelry from all over the realm made of valyrian steel was melted and added to the steel alloy.”

This was a lot. It was such a thoughtful gift, made just for you by your husband that it almost brought tears to your eyes.

“I know it is not the same as an actual valyrian steel sword, like Dark Sister, but those are even harder to come by.” he started rambling, taking your silence as a sign you didn’t enjoy the gift “And it is not made with the same technique, as it was lost after the Doom-”

“It is perfect.” you cut him off, gazing at him with eyes full of emotion “It is absolutely perfect, valzȳrys, thank you. How did you manage to find the jewelry?”

“I have my ways.” he shrugged, as if unbothered.

He hummed in contentment, his face softening as he took a step closer to you.

“I also had a belt made just for you.” he stepped even closer, his gaze turning slightly darker, as if he was a predator stalking its prey “So you can wear your sword around court. All day, every day.” his finger stroked the sapphire on the handle as his lips grazed your ear “I want all to know how fierce of a woman my lady wife is.”

He closed the gap between your mouths, claiming your lips in a soft yet passionate kiss. It was over all too soon as he pulled away from you, but thankfully he didn’t go far. He took the sword from your hands, resheathing it and placing the gift on a nearby table, before kissing you again.

His arms circled around your waist and clung to your back as he kissed you hungrily, like if he didn’t get a taste of your lips he would die of starvation. His kisses left you burning from the inside, wishing, craving more.

Yet, as you placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself you noticed how tense he was. You couldn’t help but take in the way his hands trembled as he started unlacing the back of your gown. 

“Aemond.” you tried pulling away, to look at him properly, but he chased after you, not wanting to be parted from your lips. He only stopped when you gently grabbed his cheeks and had to physically pry himself from you “Husband, I think we ought to talk.”

He recoiled and was out of your arms and across the room in an instant, moving so fast you barely had any time to react.

“Do you not wish to consummate our marriage?” he looked so heartbreakingly hurt for only a moment but then he steeled himself and you could sense the mask of indifference he often wore around court starting to slip back on.

“No, my love, of course not.” you rushed to his side, once again cupping his jaw urging him to look at you “I am just worried for you, is all.”

“Why should you be worried about me, ābrazȳrys?” he spoke, his tone clipped and cold, more so than it had been in a really long time. If he noticed how much his question offended you he didn’t let it show.

“Why should I not worry about you, husband?” you emphasized the last word, taking a long deep breath to steady yourself and let go of your exasperation “I just wish to know why the thought of consummating our marriage worries you so.”

It was Aemond’s turn to stare at you in confusion.

“I believe I have made it quite clear the depths of my desire for you.”

“I know, I know. And I desire you greatly as well, never doubt that even for a moment.” you sighed, worried he’d shut you out or push you away if you prodded any further, but decided to push forward regardless “It is just that, in the past few moons, whenever anyone else mentioned or even hinted at our marital duties to one another you became tense, withdrawn even.”

He looked taken aback at your words, as if he hadn’t even realized he was doing such a thing in the first place.

“I just wish to understand what ails you, my love.”

My love.

Those two words once again seemed to be what chirped at his resolve. He averted his eye, almost in shame, and turned his back to you. For a moment you feared he was going to walk out the door and leave your shared chambers altogether but he did no such thing. Instead he walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. You wondered if you should approach him or give him space, worried he’d flinch from your touch like a frightened animal, but even if he didn’t meet your gaze his body was turned towards you, open and inviting. So you took slow and deliberate steps towards him, taking your place besides him.

He stayed silent for a moment, clenching his fists as they rested on his thighs. You took one of his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and giving it a gentle squeeze in hopes of calming his nerves. You raised your free hand towards the side of his face but stopped before you could touch him.

“May I?” you asked, and you didn’t need to say the words for him to know what you meant. Only after he nodded almost imperceptibly did you remove his eyepatch, revealing the alluring sapphire that matched the one placed on the gift he had given you. 

“Aemond.” he glanced at you, something akin to guilt clear upon his features “Remember what we told each other earlier? I am yours and you are mine. Whatever it is, your burdens are now mine to carry as well.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his scarred flesh. 

“Let me help you relieve some of that burden, please.” you practically whispered, almost begging.

For a moment he said nothing. Then he turned his head slightly, placing a kiss upon your palm.

“I have something I need to tell you.” he spoke, fear clinging to his voice.

“What is it?”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, wondering what could possibly be afflicting him so badly as to react like this, but nothing came to mind. So you settled on waiting for him to speak, not wanting to rush to conclusions.

“I have laid with a woman before.”

That… is not what you were expecting.

“When?” you did not know what else to say, so you settled for asking that.

“Years ago.” he shook his head, as if trying to forget “You were in Dragonstone at the time.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. You didn’t wish to dismiss his feelings, but you couldn’t seem to understand what the big deal was.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he pulled back, almost offended 

“Yeah.” you shrugged “I fail to see what the problem is.”

“How could you say that?” he stood up, pacing back and forth in front of you in frustration.

“We were not yet involved with one another, so you were not technically bound to anyone.”

“You waited around for me-”

“I did not remain a maiden specifically for you.” you reminded him “If I were a man I, too, would probably have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Still. I should not have sullied myself like that, it was unbecoming of someone of my position and a disrespect to you, to my future wife.”

You wanted to argue further, to make him see reason, but the disproportionate reaction to something that, to you, seemed so trivial clued you in that his troubles ran deeper than you first thought. So you stopped talking, choosing to just annalyse his mannerisms. His movements were erratic, his fingers clawing at its nail beds almost to the point of breaking the skin, a habit inherited from his mother which he almost never indulged in.

He halted when he felt your hand wrapping around his arm, the leather of the doublet cold against your skin.

“You do not have to explain yourself to me. But I feel like there is something you are not telling me.” you grabbed both of his hands in your own, kissing his knuckles tenderly “I completely understand if you do not wish to share it. We can just forget this conversation ever happened and I shall not press any further, but, husband, please, I only wish to help ease your troubles.”

Aemond paused, exhaling shakily, before averting his eyes once more. Shame and guilt emanated from him in waves as he sat back down on top of the linens. You waited for his next move, smiling softly when his arms circled around your waist and brought you closer to him, standing between his parted legs.

“On my thirteenth name day,” he shuddered softly when he felt your fingers running through his scalp, his cheek resting in your stomach as he spoke “Aegon took me to the Street of Silk, as his gift to me. I did not know where we were going, ‘a surprise’ he said.”

It was your turn to shudder, your stomach churning as you felt where his tale was headed.

“He said… he said it was time for me to become a man. To become as well versed as he was, ‘a scholar in the ways of life’. I did not understand what he meant at first, but it was clear to me soon enough.”

He turned his head, hiding his face in your stomach as his hold on you tightened. The scene reminded you so much of the last time you saw him before your years-long distance, on that fateful night on Driftmark. Looking at him now you realized that, deep down, he was still that scared little boy, hiding behind the image of the fierce, impassive warrior he had created for himself over the years. 

“Aemond, ñuha jorrāelagon,” you whispered “I get it. You do not need to continue if you wish to stop.”

He shook his head in response, desperate to get it all out now that he had already started. You supposed this was the first time he was speaking these words out loud, never having dared to utter it to a single soul before. So you tried to soothe him as best as you could, pulling the band that held his hair up in its usual half updo and letting it down, giving you more room to run your fingers through his locks, untangling the silver strands. This seemed to give him enough strength to continue, shifting his head so only his forehead was in contact with you and his words were directed to the ground below him, as if he couldn’t dare to look up at you. 

“He arranged for a… a w-whore” he spit the word out like it was poison on his tongue “to take care of me in exchange for a bag of gold, and when the woman tried to give him back the excess amount, claiming it was too much, he told her to keep it. ‘For your trouble’ he told her.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest at his words. You were never too fond of Aegon, especially for the way he treated both Aemond and Helaena, but this… this was vile even for him.

“He wanted to watch.” he propped his chin on your stomach, peering up at you with a round, frightened eye that was steadily brimming with tears “I did not want him to watch. The madam tried to send him away, but he insisted, saying that he was the prince and he commanded it. Thankfully he got distracted by some other woman there and left.”

“A-and how did-” you swallowed thickly, trying to stay strong for him even though your own heart shattered for the boy he once was, the boy who shaped the man he was now “how did that make you feel?” 

He shook his head once more, his gaze becoming distant, as if he was now looking through you rather than at you.

“I do not remember much.” he whispered “I just remember the stench. The whole place stunk. It reeked of sweat and wine and something… something so sickeningly sweet it was foul. Once I left I could still feel the smell clinging to me.”

One lone tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another, and then another. You cupped his cheek, your thumb catching the tears that refused to stop as he hiccuped.

“I tried washing it off. Scrubbed at my skin until it was raw and tender, but it would not go away.” his voice started to get tight “After a few days and several baths later it was still there, still lingering. I tried asking mother and even Helaena if they could feel it in me but they lied. They lied and said I smelled fine but I could feel it.” he choked back on a sob “I could feel it in me still, like it had seeped into my very bones. Sometimes when I think too hard about that night I can still feel it in my skin, like it never even left.”

His arms brought you even closer to him, almost to the point of pain, as if he was trying to completely merge his very being into you.

“I know I shouldn’t have.” his gaze focused on you once more, eye pleading for you, his tone bordering on desperation “Forgive me, please, mandianna! I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, I shouldn’t have-”

“Qȳbor, stop.” you whispered softly, not wanting to aggravate him when he was this vulnerable “You have nothing to apologize for. You were only a child.”

“Still, I should have known better than-” he started shaking his head again, the look in his eye almost crazed, like he wanted so desperately for you to see him the way he saw himself.

“Aemond.” you spoke firmly, gripping his chin to force him to look at you “You were a child.”

A moment of silence passed, only his heavy breathing to be heard. Then something dawned on him, for he pressed his face against your stomach once more and started sobbing uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his wails, your arms coming around his frame to hold him against you, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other stroking his back. He cried and cried and cried. It seemed like he finally understood, after all these years, what truly happened that night. He realized his own brother sold his innocence, something that was his to freely give to whomever he chose, for some coin. His brother and, by extension, the madam forcefully took from him something that was inherently his, that should have remained his, something he would never get back and would never not miss. It was his, it should have been him to choose what to do with it, and they took it from him.

His loathing shifted then. What was once aimed at himself, the hatred he felt for the stench that never truly went away, shifted in turn to Aegon. He slowly, very slowly, started to forgive that thirteen year old boy, the one that never left either, for the things that happened to him that night. He now realized you could not forgive him for what he had done, for the one whose forgiveness he really needed was himself. It would take him a long time, he knew, to accept his own absolution, and perhaps he never would, not fully anyway, but he could certainly try.

Once he calmed down enough, his sobs turning to mere sniffles, he raised his head to glance at you once more. You were smiling softly at him, eyes so filled with love and compassion he felt almost undeserving of it. Your fingers in his hair helped to ground him, to bring him back to this moment in your arms. Realizing what had just transpired he tried to turn his head away in embarrassment but you wouldn’t let him.

“I am glad I have earned your trust enough for you to share this with me.” you spoke with reverence, earning a shy smile in return.

He then dried the remaining tears from his face and tried to stand up, but you were quicker, pressing onto his shoulders so he would remain seated.

“We do not have to do anything tonight.” you brushed a strand of hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear “I can just prick a finger and smear some blood on the linens.”

“But I want to.” he almost whined, not wishing for you to part from him “I want to do this with you. With you I do not feel that stench, I-” he took a steadying breath before whispering “I just feel you.” 

In that very moment you felt like your heart would burst from how much love you held for this man. 

“Okay.”

He smiled brightly then, nuzzling his nose against you.

“But…” you pulled back from him, commanding his full attention “we will do only what you wish, nothing more. Whatever you want, tell me and it is yours. And if you wish to stop, at any moment, you tell me, alright?”

“Alright.” he nodded, quite enthusiastic.

“You have to promise me you will tell me if you want to stop.” you reiterated “Promise me.”

He stared up at you with so much adoration you felt like the Mother brought to land.

“I promise.”

You smiled, satisfied that he would follow through should he need to.

“Well, how do you want to start then?”

His gaze turned to one of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we cannot just jump right into it.” you jested.

“We can’t?” he looked so preoccupied at that, and your heart broke all over again. By the Gods, what had they done to this boy in that brothel?

You crouched down so your face was level with his, your noses almost touching as you whispered into his lips.

“Tell me what you want, valzȳrys.”

Aemond was at a loss for words, a world of endless possibilities presented itself to him and he didn’t know where to begin. But he supposed there was one thing he knew could be a good place to start.

“Can you kiss me?” he pleaded.

You sat down next to him on the bed, your body turned towards him, your knees bumping against his. 

“You want me to kiss you?” you spoke softly, deciding to tease him for a bit by pulling one of his hands to your lips and kissing his knuckles “Is this where you want me to kiss you?”

“No,” he shook his head “not there.”

You hummed as if confused and let your lips graze his cheek.

“What about here?”

“No.”

Your lips traveled lower, placing a gentle kiss against his jaw.

“Here?” to which he shook his head.

Going lower, your lips traced the column of his throat, earning a soft gasp from him.

“N-not there either.” he whimpered as your teeth nipped against his skin gently.

“Then where do you want me to kiss you?” you pulled back, staring at his eye “I need you to tell me.”

His cheeks lit up bright pink, embarrassment coursing through him at the thought of speaking his thoughts out loud. But he had come to learn that if there was one person in his life that he could trust, that person was you.

“On the lips.” 

You relented then, chasing his lips with your own. They were soft, only a trace of salt left behind by his tears previously shed. You kissed him gently, hands cupping his jaw as his own settled on your waist. It was tender, almost chaste, and you tried pouring all the love you felt for him into the kiss.

“I like it when you kiss me.” he whispered when you pulled back “No one else has ever done that for me.”

It was your turn to look confused, staring at him wide eyed.

“You have never been kissed before?” you questioned “By anyone other than me?”

He shook his head. That explained why he seemed so inexperienced the first few times around, because he truly was inexperienced.

“Not even…?” you didn’t want to say it, but he understood what you meant.

“No.” he denied again “It felt too intimate.”

More intimate than sex? you thought.

“After that night in the tub, before Driftmark,” you recalled that night, the night you shared your very first kiss. It was a peck more than anything, a childish attempt mostly, but it had meant the world to you “whenever I thought about doing it with someone else it did not feel right. Yours were the only lips I ever wanted to taste.”

You couldn’t help yourself, surging forward to capture his lips with your own in a heated kiss. The quiet whimper that escaped his mouth only spurred you on, seeking his touch. Your tongue eagerly tangled with his, tasting the sweet Dornish Red he had been sipping on before and something that was so inherently him. 

He pulled back then, breathing heavily against your lips, a sheen line of saliva connecting both your mouths before dissipating.

“What about you?” he questioned, still trying to regain his breath.

“What about me?”

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, averting his gaze shyly “Before me, I mean? You are quite good at it, I believe.”

“Well, I have had some practice.” it was your turn to feel embarrassed, quickly glancing away from him “For a while Jace and I believed mother would eventually marry us to one another after we left for Dragonstone. We decided to get used to each other before the inevitable happened.”

Something twisted painfully in Aemond’s chest at the thought of you, a younger you, locking lips with his damned nephew. It was almost primal, this rage he felt. You were his and his alone. You have always been his from the very moment you had come into this world, and you’d continue to be his until the Stranger came to collect your soul.  

“It was gross, really. Happened only a handful of times before we gave up trying to pretend we were not disgusted by the idea.”

Your words did little to quell his unsettling feelings. Was this what jealousy felt like? Not envy, actual jealousy? Envy was something he was familiar with, for he had felt it pretty much all his life. He envied Aegon the most, but he also envied Rhaenyra a lot as well, your brothers and hells, even Helaena sometimes even though he loathed it. This was different. 

“And I may or may not have gotten a bit too tipsy while staying on Winterfell during my travels and shared a kiss or two with the Warden of the North.”

“Cregan Stark?” he scoffed. While the thought of you swapping spit with a boresome and self-righteous northerner was a little less rage inducing in comparison to Jacaerys, that simmering jealousy was still present.

That all dissipated though at the feeling of your fingers gently brushing his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“But none of them hold a candle to you.” his heart skipped a beat at your words, your hand reaching to do the same to the other side of his hair “Especially when you blush so prettily.” 

Heat spread all over his face, as he stammered.

“I-I do no such thing!” he tried sounding offended, but all he did was make you giggle, as he proved your words right.

“Yes, you do.” you hooked a finger under his chin, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “You turn all red at a mere brush of my fingers, at the slightest of compliments. Like a maiden.” 

He felt the warmth spreading to the tip of his ears, the back of his neck and even down his chest.

“How red do you think you would blush if I touched you some more, hm?” 

Your fingers gently traced down his throat, feeling when he gulped harshly. 

“Would you like that, husband?” you trailed down his soft skin, reaching the spot where his collarbone met the leather coat he still wore “For me to touch you?”

He nodded, somewhat shyly, but very much eager for you to make due on your word.

“Can I take this off?” you tugged at his doublet, almost startling at the speed at which he stood up and took it off for you. The linen chemise he wore underneath it quickly followed and he was left shirtless in front of you. You’d never get tired of looking at him, bare or otherwise. He was beautiful, all valyrian and almost none of the Hightower blood from his mother. You believed if the god Balerion ever had a physical body it would definitely look like Aemond.

You stood up as well, facing him as your fingers traced his features. You started by tracing his nose, following the curve of it down to his mouth, his lips twitching upon your touch as he puckered them, placing a soft kiss on the pads of your fingers. You traced along the column of his throat, your fingers tangling softly on the strands at the nape of his neck and tugging gently, earning a whimper from him. Then you kept going, fingers sliding against the planes of his chest and tracing the taunt lines of muscle in his abdomen. As you reached the hem of his breeches you snaked your arm around his slim waist, sprawling your hand against the slope of his lower back and pushing him towards you. The little ‘hmph’ sound that escaped him at the impact of your bodies was quickly drowned by your lips as they claimed his own in another fierce kiss.

Your fingers started their exploration all over again, starting once more at the back of his neck and slowly following down the length of his spine, feeling each and every ridge and bump under his skin, as he shuddered with every brush of your digits.

“P-Please,” Aemond mumbled as you nipped at his bottom lip “ābrazȳrys, please.”

“Please what?” you kissed his jaw, then down his neck, then at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you, valzȳrys.” you smirked against him, your teeth nibbling gently on his skin.

“J-just please…” he moaned softly as your tongue soothed the spot you had bitten “touch me, please.”

You decided to have mercy on him, moving your hand to the front of his trousers, stopping short at the laces.

“May I?” he nodded his head desperately.

Untying his breeches you let them slide down his body, pooling at his feet, as he finally revealed himself to you. He was already hard, almost painfully so, weeping at the tip and awaiting your touch.

And then… you hesitated, unsure how to proceed. While you felt satisfaction at teasing him, you were the maiden in this situation. No amount of hushed, almost shameful lessons from your septa, no amount of embarrassing tips and advice from your mother could prepare you for the actual thing. You may have practiced your kissing skills with Jace and, briefly, with Cregan, but you had never gone any further, knowing what the realm regretfully thought of women of your station indulging before being wed and refusing to let your virtue be made a spectacle of. So while you may have talked a big game before, as if you held all the knowledge, it was all purely theoretical. 

Aemond, sensing your apprehension, searched your gaze with his.

“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with quiet concern.

“Nothing much.” you chuckled, although it sounded mirthless to your ears, conveying your embarrassment “I am merely assessing the best way to approach the situation at hand.”

While you had chosen not to be direct about your troubles, opting instead to jest about it, he had understood you clearly, for you had become so intune with one another the past few moons. With deliberate movements he delicately held your wrist, never breaking eye contact, as he brought your hand over to him slowly, very slowly, giving you ample opportunity to stop him if you wished. But you didn’t want to. You let him guide you, his large hand settling over yours as you gathered some of the pearlescent wetness dripping from his tip in your palm before guiding you to encircle his cock, his fingers around yours as he shuddered at the first contact of your skin against his.

He was hot and heavy in your hand as he directed your movements with precision, stroking his cock up and down, pumping him, slowing or speeding up your motions to his liking. Slowly but surely you started to take control, following his lead and mimicking his actions. He groaned encouragingly, letting go of your fingers, his hands settling on your waist as you continued to stroke him up and down and up and down, speeding up or slowing down, gathering some more wetness under your thumb and stroking his cock with it. His groans and grunts emboldened you, trying to gauge his reactions. 

And then you tightened your hold on him, squeezing his cock just a bit tighter under your grip, and he almost tumbled to the ground, his knees nearly buckling in reaction. His own grip on you grew tighter, as if supporting his weight on you, head tilted forward and face hiding in the crook of your neck as he moaned.  

He was loud.

Even muffled against your skin, his moans and whines resonated throughout the bedchambers as you continued your ministrations, increasing in pitch with each tilt or flick of your wrist, with each squeeze and stroke of your hand. You were tugging him faster now, your grip firm and deliberate as his cock twitched in your hold and his whole body trembled against you.

“Wait.” he mumbled, his voice strained “P-please, just wait.”

You ripped yourself away from him then, a sudden surge of guilt blooming in your chest.

“Forgive me.” you glanced at him, averting your gaze in shame as you wondered if you had made him too uncomfortable “I got carried away. I apologize.”

“You misunderstand me, wife.” he tried to slow his erratic breathing “I do not wish for you to stop. But if you continued as you were I would surely spill my seed against your hand. We should not let any of my spend go to waste on a night as important as this one.”

What?

Your confusion must have been reflected on your features for he continued his explanation, his voice carrying a teasing tone to it.

“It is expected of us to produce an heir tonight. We wouldn’t want to fail our duties now, would we?” he gripped your chin, placing a chaste kiss against your lips “The first time I spill my seed I want it to be inside your cunt.”

Had it been anyone else, had you been married to anyone else, you would have assumed they meant it as a command, solely means to an end, as producing heirs was indeed part of your duty. But this, you noticed in his eye, was his way of showcasing his true intentions without actually saying it, hiding behind some mere jesting: he wanted this. He wanted to give you an heir, for his seed to take root in your womb and for you to carry his child. The thought elicited warmth in your chest, feeling giddy at the idea.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked, his plea bordering on desperation as he gave a quick peck to your lips.

You pulled back then, staring deeply at him.

“Do you believe you deserve to touch me?” you whispered against his lips.

He faltered then, unsure what you wanted from him. A shake of his head had you scoffing softly.

“Try again.” you nuzzled your nose against his, trying to coax him out of his self made shell “Do you deserve this?”

The glint he noticed in your eyes gave away what you wanted from him, so he nodded, his movement curt and shaky.

“I want to hear you say it.” your voice made it sound like a request, but he knew it was anything but.

“Yes.” he whispered back, his breath fanning your lips.

“Yes what?”

“I deserve it.” as the words left his lips, for the first time in a long time, he started to actually believe them.

You nodded, satisfied with him.

“Yes, you do.” you cooed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging “You do deserve this.”

As your lips settled on his jaw, he caught onto every hidden meaning of your words, affection swarming in his chest.

You deserve to be loved.

He claimed your lips in a soft kiss once more, his fingers resuming their task of untying the laces in your beautiful wedding gown, letting it slip down your arms and pool in a heap on the floor. He made quick work of your smallclothes as well, leaving you bare before him. He hurriedly stepped out of his discarded breeches, carefully helping out of your dress and closer towards the bed. 

Aemond’s fingers danced across your skin, caressing you with such reverence it almost brought tears to your eyes again. His fingers crawled down your spine, sliding between your shoulder blades, like you had done for him, his lips trailing down your neck with soft kisses. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his fingers traced your ribcage, his touch so close yet not close enough to your breasts. He nipped at your collarbone, his hand finally closing around one of your breasts, gentle, like he was weighing it in his hand, his lips following down and nibbling at the skin of the other breast. A loud, strangled whine left escaped you as he pinched your nipple, rolling the bud between two fingers, growing louder as his lips closed around the other nipple. 

You could feel the walls of your cunt pulsing as his tongue worked your breasts, your heartbeat increasing as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. The noise that left your lips seemed to spur him on even further, as he sucked with more intensity and he groped your other breast more firmly, his entire hand surrounding the skin.

His fingers trailed even further down, passing your navel and slipping between your folds. His touch was featherlight against your dripping cunt, gathering some wetness and circling your entrance, without ever dipping inside

“P-please, husband.” you whined, your back arching in pleasure at his teasing, pushing your breast even more into his face.

He relented then, pushing his finger inside your cunt, slipping in easily with how soaked you already were. His moan echoed your own as your walls fluttered around his digit. He let you get used to the intrusion for a moment before starting to move his finger inside you, his movements tentative as he explored your walls, almost like he was searching for something, for what you didn’t know.

Though you’d never admit this to anyone, you were acutely aware of his fingers, having paid close attention to them when you watched him train. They were long and slender as they gripped the handle of his sword, but at the same time they were strong and thick and, as he added a second one, you could feel how perfectly well he filled you. As he explored your cunt, you could feel every movement of his fingers brushing against your walls, that familiar coil of pleasure slowly but steadily building in your core. It only intensified as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit as he tried to reach even further inside you, the molten heat pooling in your core and starting to spread through your whole body, so much so you barely noticed when his mouth had moved to your other breast. 

Then his fingertips brushed against one spot inside your cunt that almost made you see stars, your legs wobbling as pleasure shot up your spine and assaulted all your senses. You could feel him smirk against your skin as you moaned loudly, brushing against the same spot again as you mewled and whined, trying to move away from him but the arm snaked around your back prevented you from doing so. His fingers seemed to reach places inside you didn’t know existed as he clawed and scissored inside your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It was almost too much and barely enough at the same time; you wanted him like you had never wanted anything else in your entire life.

He let go of your nipple with a wet smack of his lips, his mouth settling on that spot behind your ear and pressing soft kisses against your skin. It was such a contrast from the way his fingers were working inside your cunt, his words gentle and sweet, mumbling caring words in high valyrian as he mouthed and nibbled on your skin, but the pleasure was clouding your thoughts, the words getting fogged up in your mind. But something caught your attention, and as you tuned into the words, they were your undoing.

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos.” he whispered against the shell of your ear, laying a soft kiss on the skin “Va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa.”

With a stutter of your heart the coil in your core snapped, hot, molten pleasure washing over you and spreading throughout your whole body, tingling with dozens of goosebumps that formed on your skin. It left you breathless, sluggish and warm as you tried to regain your bearings.

“Aem…-” you tried calling out to him, voice hoarse from the intensity of your moans, but you couldn’t seem to find your voice just yet. 

But he heard you. And something in him snapped.

In an instant you were lying on your back against the soft linens, barely having time to react as he pushed you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. His lips claimed yours in a hungry, almost desperate kiss, you were sure your mouth would be sporting bruises on the morrow such was its intensity. He settled in between your spread thighs, his hard length nestling between your folds as he nipped on your jaw, kissing a line down your neck.

“Say it again, please.” he begged “Say my name again.”

“A-Aemond?”

“No, no, not that.” he admonished softly, kissing your mouth once again.

You searched your mind for what he could possibly be referring to. That was his name, was it not? What you’d always referred to him as, if you weren’t calling him by his familial ties to you, in common tongue or high valyrian alike?

Except it wasn’t.

It had been years, well over a decade even since you referred to him as something else entirely. Barely a toddler, Jace only a babe and Luke still in your mother’s womb, you followed Aemond around the Keep like a lost puppy all day, for he seemed to be the only one willing to entertain you. It was only natural then for you to worship the ground he walked on, basking in his attention for as long as he was willing to give it to you. But as such a young child you couldn’t properly speak such a complicated name in conversation, settling on calling him for a shortened sobriquet. You didn’t think much of it, and he never opposed such a nickname, until Aegon caught you calling him by the moniker and instantly started teasing the both of you relentlessly because of it. It earned him a swift kick to the shin and three days without speaking to either of them, but as it often is with small children, your grudge was quickly forgotten, going back to trailing after Aemond. However, to save both him and yourself from further humiliation, you settled for referring to him only as ‘uncle’ until you could utter his full name, never again daring to use the nickname.

It was so meaningless to you, back then. And you were both so young, he couldn’t possibly remember that, could he? 

“Aem?” you spoke tentatively, not sure if this is what he wished for.

The loud whine that escaped his lips, breathed against your cheek, and the way his cock twitched were all the answer you needed. 

“Please, little niece, byka mandianna,” he rasped, desperation dripping from his tone as he started gently rocking his hips against yours “Please say that again.”

“Aem…” you said with more confidence, breaking off into a moan at the end as the head of his cock brushed against your clit.

He shifted his body on top of you, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Again, please.” 

“A-Aem?” even though you wanted this, truly and wholeheartedly, now that you were about to consummate your marriage for real you were suddenly filled with a twinge of apprehension. While you were certain Aemond wasn’t like most men, you had heard stories from women at court about how their husbands treated them in the throes of passion.

Sensing your quiet distress, Aemond lifted his head to stare at you, sapphire eye glinting under the soft glow of the candles and silver strands cascading around you.

“We can stop if you wish.” he spoke quietly.

“No, no please, I want to. I am just…”

Even if you couldn’t quite explain it he seemed to understand, for he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I promise to be gentle.”

In his eye you saw nothing but truth, the sincerity of his words easing your nerves.

“I trust you.”

He nodded and started ever so slowly pushing inside you, inch by inch, pulling back and thrusting inside again, a little deeper than before. It was a lot for the both of you, your combined moans echoing through the chambers; even though he wanted to look upon your eyes as you shared this moment he couldn’t, his head falling against your shoulder as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. His cock was met with little resistance, your cunt still soaked. The pain you were previously expecting came in the form of an acute pinch as your cunt stretched to accommodate him, your breath hitching and a whimper passing through your lips. Aemond shushed and cooed against your ear, little whispers of ‘I’ve got you’ spoken against your ear as he stalled his movements, only resuming them when he felt you relax in his arms once more.

When he finally settled, his hips flush against yours and his cock inside your cunt to the hilt, you released your breath, not even realizing you had been holding it. You felt like you were burning from within where your bodies were connected, yet it was a comforting kind of heat, not at all like dragonfire. At least not yet. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every twitch that made the walls of your cunt clench in response. It was so intimate, you had never been closer to a person in your life, and you felt like the longer you stayed like this you were being perfectly molded to one another, as if you weren’t already a permanent fixture in each other’s hearts. You felt complete.

As your discomfort subsided, the pain slowly turning to a sense of fullness, you tangled your fingers in his hair, turning your head to the side to breathe upon his ear.

“I am alright now, husband. You can move.”

Regardless of your request he stood still for a moment longer, breathing heavily and erratically against your skin. 

“Aem?” you spoke softly, worried it might be too much for him.

That seemed to do the trick, as Aemond slowly started to roll his hips against yours, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting back in, filling you to the brim once more. Every time he would thrust back in the head of his cock would brush against that spot inside your cunt that had your eyes rolling back, shooting little bolts of pleasure up your spine and filling your core with fire once more. 

His hips picked up pace, then, his thrusts far faster and more powerful than before. He let go, fully dropping his weight on top of you, pressing you against the mattress as your legs framed his hips, your hands gripping at his shoulder blades. 

It was intense and blazing and comforting and overwhelming and caring and sultry and loving and oh, so good, all at the same time this push and pull and shove and tug and you couldn’t think straight yet your focus was sharp and you could feel everything and it was absolutely, downright perfect. 

The stretch of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock was no longer painful, giving away to unimaginable pleasure like you had never felt before. You were acutely aware of the way Aemond mouthed at your shoulder, mumbling barely coherent words against your skin.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he grunted against your skin, groaning as the words made you clench tightly around him “Dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys.”   

He was rambling, almost irrationally, too far gone in his own pleasure. That and the way his thrusts were becoming sloppy, now more of a rut of his hips against yours, indicated that he was close.

Enamored with the way he moaned your name and your title and your future title and sweet monikers, in high valyrian mostly, you couldn’t help but want to see how far he would go.

“Husband, valzȳrys,” you tangled your fingers in his hair once more, giving the locks a gentle tug, earning a whine in response “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes. Avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar, Aem.”

It was enough to send him off the edge, his hips stuttering and cock twitching violently, painting your walls with warm ropes of his seed. He practically sobbed in your arms between clenched teeth, his arms squeezing you tightly against him as he gave a few more weak thrusts, his breath fanning the skin of your neck still. The scorching pressure that had been building in your stomach seemed to fade slightly as Aemond slowed to a stop, his softening cock still nestled inside you as he stilled completely on top of you, trembling in your arms. His hair was sticking to his head, damp with sweat, the rest of his body also drenched and clammy from the exertion, much like your own. He stood still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and recover. 

“F-Forgive me, ābrazȳrys.” he raised his head and it was then you could see the remnant of tears in his eyes, from your words or the intensity of his peak, you couldn’t tell.

“What for?” you smiled brightly at him, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind his ear, making him shiver as your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“Y-you did-” he finally seemed to recollect his thoughts as he pushed himself on his forearms above you “You did not peak.”

“That is quite alright.” you shrugged, not at all bothered by that “I did so earlier, from your fingers.”

He shook his head, a determined look in his face as if to say that that wouldn’t do.

“No wife of mine will be left unsatisfied.” he was already pulling out of you with a soft hiss and maneuvering on the bed despite your protests, coming to settle on his stomach at the edge of the mattress.

“Aemond what are you-” you yelped as he grabbed both your legs and yanked you towards himself, his face level with your cunt. He placed your thighs over his shoulders and placed one arm over your stomach “Aemond, you do not have to.” you tried once more.

“I want to.” he said, his eyes never straying from where his spend started leaking from your cunt “Can a man not enjoy the taste of his wife on their wedding night?”

“Of course you can, it is just that-” he didn’t let you finish, pulling another broken, choked moan from you as he licked a broad stripe over your folds. 

Aemond feasted upon your cunt like a man starved, drinking down your juices mixed with his own spend, but that didn’t seem to deter him, oh no, if anything the salty taste of himself against your own tangy one only seemed to spur him on.

It didn’t take long to get you back to where you were moments before, that burning pressure still lingering in the back of your mind. You knew Aemond was talented with his tongue, hells, he was known for his silver tongue that could cut down even the most fearless in court. Moreover, he was fluent in the language of your ancestors, his tongue rolling around the letters as he almost purred the words into the world, a language just for your own. And yet, he never ceased to surprise you with how good he could make you feel with his tongue alone.

Clenching the sheets under your palms, you almost sobbed as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He rolled it around his lips, his tongue peaking out to give your clit a few small licks as he extended one of his arms to, prying your fingers from the linens and threading them with his own, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, his other arm draped across your stomach, holding your hips down as you started canting them against his face.

You weakly raised yourself on your forearms to be able to look at him properly, peering at him through heavy lidded eyes, and were surprised to notice him already looking at you, gazing at you with so much adoration in his eye as his hips rutted against the bed. You realized, not for the first time, that bringing you pleasure brought him pleasure in return. He hummed as he noticed you staring at him, the vibrations sending jolts of unbridled pleasure up your spine and down again. His eyes twinkled and curled up, little crinkled lines adorning the corners, and you recognized that the smug bastard was smirking, self-satisfied at having you reduced to such a moaning mess before him.

The coil of pleasure in the form of a pool of liquid heat was steadily building up again with each stroke of his tongue over your folds, each flick of his lips over your clit stoking that fire growing and expanding inside you. His grip on your hips tightened as his other hand moved down to your cunt and shoved two fingers inside you, pulling back a bit to address you quietly.

“Let go, wife. I know you want to. You can let go for me.”

And then his fingers curled upwards, brushing against that spongy spot once more and you were done for. The bliss that washed over you, tangling with the burning love you held for this man, was so intense it sent waves through your whole body. Stars danced behind your eyelids, your eyes having closed on their own accord some time before, as the pleasure rolled and stretched to all of your extremities, making your fingertips tingle and your toes curl, knocking the breath from your lungs. Although you knew your jaw was hanging open you couldn’t hear yourself, but you couldn’t discern if it was due to the ringing in your ears or if you had already screamed yourself hoarse.

As your perception of the world around you slowly returned once you came down from your high, the pleasure subsiding and leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in its wake, you felt Aemond’s thumb gently stroking your knuckles, having removed his hand from inside you, his other palm spread over your stomach as he helped you coax you back down and when you gazed at him you were met with his gentle smile

“T-thank you, husband.” you said a few moments later after catching your breath, exhaustion starting to settle in your bones as you relaxed over the linens, your head falling back on the bed.

“Oh, you thought I was done with you?” he asked, almost mockingly. Raising your head again you noticed his prior smile had given way to a menacing smirk as he started crawling over you slowly, looking predatory. He covered your body with his once more, and you felt his hardened cock against your thigh, having stimulated himself back to full hardness.

“I don’t intend on letting you leave this bed until I have filled you with my seed over and over and over,” he punctuated each pause with a kiss to your lips as he whispered “that I have made sure it has taken root inside you. We need to produce an heir after all, dear wife.”

High Valyrian translations: - ābrazȳrys - wife - valzȳrys - husband - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - ñuha jorrāelagon - my love or my dear - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos - I love you, my little dragon - va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa - always have and always will - byka mandianna - little niece - ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen - dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys - sweet little dragon, dear wife  - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes - I love you, my dragon - avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar - I love you as much as there are stars in the sky

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

[macsimagines]

I cannot thank you enough for now incredibly you bring my silly little ideas to life~

May I request for Yan! Shin, Izana, & Ran on how they are as a husband to their darling and how they are as fathers? (like them after they’ve finally achieved their Yandere dreams of marrying their darling and having kids with them and everything ) ʚ♡ɞ

TW: YANDERE CONTENT, MINORS DNI, BABY TRAPPING, MANIPULATION, COERCION

Yandere!Shinichiro Sano

Is so happy that you've made him a husband and father. It wasn't easy trying to convince you to go out with him, but eventually he called in enough favors and 'saved' you enough times that you relented and dated him for a short period.

Short because after that he tried very hard to get you to marry him and when it was obvious you weren't going to relent he eventually started to just poke holes in condoms and simply waited for the great news.

"Oh? You're pregnant? Well shucks, looks like I gotta take responsibility. When are you moving in?"

Ya he's not hiding the fact that he's all too pleased to put a ring on you and have a baby in you. But he does his best to provide and make you happy.

He comes home with flowers all the time, just cause, and sometimes he'll bring your son with him to the shop. "You need a break baby, I can take over today."

Shinichiro loves having JR. around. He of course loves his son, but it does help he's the perfect combination of you and Shinichiro.

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

He had to force you to marry him. You had tried to leave him and he wasn't going to let you live any kind of life without him. Those first few years were less than marital bliss.

The fighting, the screaming, the crying. It was honestly hell. Izana almost let himself think you weren't worth the trouble but he was kidding himself if he thought he could live a life without you.

That all changed when he found out you were pregnant. Now it was real, now he couldn't afford to fuck up.

"Y/N, I know you hate me, I can accept that, but please for our babies sake, lets make this work."

Izana is like a changed man, he's kinder and even gentle. He can tell you're still resentful and bitter, but he'll accept that. He just wants his child to feel loved and know he did all he could to make that happen.

You finally go into labor early, Izana doesn't know why or what he did wrong but this was obviously his fault. He was going to loose you both. You really were going to leave him and take the one thing he wanted most in the world with you.

But you pull through. You and his precious and perfect daughter. She's puny in his hands, even for a newborn, just barely bigger than his own palms, but she's perfect. And he'll never let her go.

"Hey, princess. You don't know how happy I am to finally meet you."

Yandere!Ran Haitani

Made you his wife after he found out you had his Twins. One boy and one girl. His brother was the one that had to break the news to him about it 4 years after he had told you to get lost.

"Hey bro, remember that trick that said you knocked her up?" "That bitch? Like I'd ever forget to wear a condom." "...You might wanna have a look at her insta."

Well shit. Obviously the rubber ripped because he was staring at his little clones on your feed. It was very apparent he was the father only a fool would deny it.

"You ain't my dad!" Your son hisses at him "Ya! You ain't!" Your daughter will parrot back. Clearly introducing himself as their father while they were beatingtheshitoutof playing with other kids wasn't the best idea.

"Our hair is pretty an' black!" "Ya! Yours is purple and ugly!"

Ran might not like how the kids are giving him shit, but he certainly does love the idea of another infamous pair of Haitani siblings running amok in Roppongi.

He also doesn't like the fact that you try to fight him tooth and nail for him to not bother your family. "Our family baby, C'mon. Let me take responsibility."

You have no choice but to relent to his threats of custody and courts, knowing damn well you don't have the connection he does.

And he doesn't love the fact that you're a huge bitch to him or the fact that his twins seem to live and breath violence more than he and his bother did back in his youth. But he must admit he thinks it's way more hot how cold and unforgiving you are compared to your old self. You keep him entertained at least.

"Guess who just had to bail our little ankle biters outta jail~ Why not thank your husband for a job well done."

[rulettebitch]

Out of Touch

Tom Lefroy enters a brothel expecting indulgence, but instead finds himself utterly schooled. With sharp wit and a stolen kiss, you leave the arrogant charmer breathless, his confidence shaken, and his education—unexpectedly—expanded. TW! prostitution, in public, making out, mention of f!oral.

This chapter was done thanks to @velmalav 's request <3

Chap 1 │ Chap 2 │ Chap 3 │Chap 4 │ Chap 5

Chapter 1

What a night. The bar was packed, buzzing with life, and you were preparing for your shift at the brothel. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but it gave you a sense of independence. Your role was to serve drinks to men as they indulged in the flirtatious company of the women who worked there. You weren’t shy about the environment, though. Even if your job was merely to pour liquor, you had your own rules. If a gentleman offered a generous sum, if he could pay your rent in full, if he was handsome and you liked him—well, you weren’t above bending those rules. 

Excuses flitted through your mind as your gaze landed on him.

Blue eyes, brown hair, freckles dusted across his cheeks. He tipped back a shot of whiskey, one brow raised, an air of indifference masking his features.

God, he was pretty.

And you weren’t the only one who noticed. Every woman in the room seemed to be vying for his attention, showering him with affection. It made you cringe a little, and you turned away to serve another customer.

“Each day you look lovelier,” the old man murmured, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Will you drink with me tonight?”

You smirked, pouring his beer. “Oh, aren’t you bold for your age? But I’m afraid my job only allows me to serve drinks, not partake in them.”

“I’ve seen you bend that rule now and then,” he countered. “Was it not with Sir Heatherman?”

“Indeed,” you replied, your tone light but firm, “but he promised a voyage to Asia and a rather extravagant sum. How could I refuse?”

“Give it up, old man,” a familiar voice interrupted, startling you. “I saw her first.”

You turned to see a regular customer—a young man, though not too young. He wasn’t the type to come for the women; he only ever showed up when he was troubled, usually over some marital spat with his wife. You’d often play the role of his counselor, offering advice like, “Buy her flowers,” or “Bring her a treat from the market.”

“Problems with the missus again?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“An apocalypse,” he sighed dramatically.

You gestured for him to follow you to a quieter corner of the bar. “Then I’ll have to charge you double for my counsel.”

As you moved to sit beside him, a hand suddenly gripped your arm. You slid out of the grasp effortlessly, used to men who thought they could claim you without permission.

“Sir, do not touch me,” you said coldly, turning to face the offender.

“How much for the night?” His voice was warm, his tone casual, as though discussing the weather.

You turned, recognizing him immediately—the handsome man you’d noticed earlier. What a shame, you thought, that such a pretty face could belong to someone so crass.

“I am a server, not a prostitute, Sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I pour your drinks, not warm your bed.”

“But I bet you’re quite skilled at both,” he said, his tone dripping with flirtation as he took a seat beside your other customer.

“You may waver all you like, but you’ll receive neither,” you shot back, earning a chuckle from the man across from you.

You sat down, keeping a careful distance but continuing to pour drinks. Determined to ignore the handsome stranger, you turned your attention back to your regular. 

“An apocalypse, you said?”

“Yes, my wife has asked for a—” he stammered, his face flushing. “For a— a— kiss.”

The blue-eyed man burst into laughter, his voice sharp and mocking. “You’ve come to a brothel because your wife asked for a kiss? Are you serious?”

“A kiss on the cunt,” the man clarified, his voice barely above a whisper.

The room seemed to freeze for a moment. Even the blue-eyed man fell silent.

You smirked, leaning forward. “Well, what’s the dilemma? If you’re already down there, you might as well pay courtesy.”

“How?” he asked, his voice trembling with embarrassment.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet, sir,” you said, turning to the blue-eyed man. “You were quite keen just moments ago. Are you suddenly shy?”

“Lefroy,” he muttered, his cheeks flushing as he avoided your gaze. “My name is Lefroy.”

“It seems to me,” you continued, your tone teasing, “that both of you come here seeking pleasure but forget to return the favor to the ladies. It’s quite simple, really.”

Mr Lefroy swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on you.

“Well, the cunt has many parts, Sir Hans, Mr Lefroy,” you said, addressing them both. “This will get rather descriptive. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

They nodded, their interest palpable.

“Very well,” you began, your voice calm and matter-of-fact. “Imagine a cunt—not just the hole, but the entirety of it.” You reached for the small notebook you kept tucked in your waistband and began to sketch, pointing as you explained. “When kissing a cunt, it’s not the hole you should be concerned about, but the clitoris.”

“The what?” Hans asked, his brow furrowed.

“The clitoris,” you repeated, indicating the spot on your drawing. “It’s a small bud, sometimes hidden between the lips. It’s incredibly sensitive, so you must start slowly.”

Both men nodded, their eyes fixed on your sketch.

“You might begin by kissing it,” you continued, “but you can also flick it with your tongue, breathe on it, or even suck on it gently.”

“With what must you flick it?” Lefroy asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“With your tongue, Sir,” you replied, your tone patient.

“How?” Hans pressed, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“The same way you’d French kiss,” you began, but Lefroy interrupted.

“Could you… demonstrate?” he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and desire.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do you not know how to French kiss?”

“Well—yes, but—not a cunt,” he stammered.

“You use your tongue, sir, not just your lips,” you explained, licking your own lips to demonstrate.

“Like this?” he asked, his eyes locked on your mouth.

You leaned closer to Lefroy, your eyes locking with his. There was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, but also a hunger—a curiosity that mirrored your own. You could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours, the air between you charged with tension.

“Like this,” you murmured, your voice low and steady, as you closed the distance between you.

Your lips brushed his, softly at first, a tentative exploration. His mouth was warm, and you could taste the faint tang of liquor on his tongue. You lingered there for a moment, letting him adjust to the sensation, before gently pressing closer. Your hand found its way to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, guiding him as you deepened the kiss.

Your tongue flicked against his, a slow, deliberate motion meant to teach rather than overwhelm. He responded in kind, his movements clumsy at first but growing more confident as he followed your lead. The kiss became a dance—a push and pull of lips and tongues, each movement deliberate and unhurried. You could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as he relaxed into it, his hands hesitating before they settled on your waist, pulling you closer.

The world around you seemed to fade—the noise of the bar, the chatter of patrons, the clinking of glasses—all of it dissolved into the background. There was only the heat of his mouth on yours, the way his breath hitched when you nipped lightly at his lower lip, the way his fingers tightened on your waist as if he never wanted to let go.

You pulled back slightly, your lips still brushing his as you spoke, your voice a whisper. “Do you understand now?”

He nodded, his eyes dark and unfocused, his breathing uneven. “I think so,” he managed, his voice rough.

But before he could say more, you kissed him again, this time with more urgency. Your tongue swept into his mouth, coaxing a low groan from him as he responded in kind. His hands slid up your back, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, it was hard to remember this was meant to be a lesson. The kiss was fiery, consuming, and you could feel the heat of it spreading through your veins, igniting something deep within you.

When you finally broke away, both of you were breathless. Your cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and desire. You smirked, though your own heart was racing, and leaned back in your seat, putting a bit of distance between you.

“Well,” you said, your voice steady despite the warmth still lingering in your chest, “I trust you’ve learned something useful.”

Lefroy blinked, as if coming back to himself, and nodded slowly. “I… yes. Thank you.”

“Do I need to demonstrate for you as well?” you asked, turning to Hans.

“I believe I’ve learned enough by watching,” he replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

You smirked, closing your notebook and tucking it back into your waistband. “Then I suggest you both put that knowledge to good use.”

GOD I FUCKING MISSED WRITTING JANE AUSTEN STYLE OMG I've made so many Darcy fanfics on ao3 GOD FUCK YES It was supposed to be a one-shot. But it's a fucking series. how bout dat

[keshainlov]

◟ 🎭 Blaire Jade Auclair.◞

Heyyyy, other bully oc in the list, and this time I like to do a freaky oc¿ Idk how to describe it but you'll see.

Basic Info

— Name: Blaire Jade Auclair.

— Age: 17

— Clique: None.

— Height: 1.77 cm | 5'10 ft

— Weight: 59 kg | 131 lb

— Personality: Cynical, apathetic, usually in her own world (drugs), loyal but can also be the opposite, bipolar and with problems with disorders that make her more misunderstood. Unstable and impulsive as well as aggressive and abusive.

Reputation & clique status

— Jocks: 0 %

( 🏈 :: Zero contact with them. Se doesn't like sports, which is why she manages to skip gym classes. )

— Greasers: 11 %

( 🧰 :: She likes strong attitudes and leather clothing, and is obviously flirtatious with them. Although everyone calls her crazy, and no one in the clique gives it much thought. She would flirt more with: Norton, Ricky, Hal, and Johnny. )

— Preps: -0 %

( 💰 :: She can't stand them, absolutely not. She'd probably try to make someone's life miserable twice a week just for fun and because she thinks them deserve it. )

— Bullies: 96 %

( 🥊 :: She connects much more with them. She's chaotic and loves trouble, and she wouldn't hesitate to join in on any of their planned mischief. She'd also try to use Russell to her advantage if she had unresolved issues with someone. )

— Nerds: 25 %

( 🧠 :: She likes to tease them, mock them, ridicule them, and embarrass them both in public and in private. Sometimes she steals a book, a pencil case, a pencil, even an entire backpack and throws it somewhere. But not at the academy, somewhere in town. Or she keeps it for herself if she needs it for something, but it's more likely the former. She bullies and harasses one more than the others; in this case, she harasses Earnest, Melvin, Algernon, and Bucky the most. Certainly, she annoys Beatrice, but she also loves to tease her, so it's like a strange relationship between the two, since in addition to teasing her, whether it's pulling her hair or using her glasses, she also shows interest in her. )

— Townies: 100 %

( 🧨 :: She gets along quite well with absolutely everyone. It's no secret that she's attracted to Edgar and Gurney. She'd have a close friendship and close trust with Zoe, but nothing more, the same with Clint. )

Grades

— Math: C

— English: D

— Chem: F

— Bio: D

— Art: C+

— Gym: F

— Music: D

— Shop: D

︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵

Now, with some data and lore.

Tw: Drugs, SA/COCSA, Animal cruelty, Mental illness, Eating Disorder, Blackmail.

— ( Reminder: This is an OC, a fictional character that bears no resemblance to my lived experience. This character is only created with no intention of upsetting anyone reading this. I'm trying to make a character assimilated into a complex and unhealthy reality. Bad OCs do exist. Thank you. ) —

» 'Blaire' is her first name, which she doesn't use, preferring her middle name, 'Jade,' as her family calls her Blaire.

» Mental illness: When she was a child she had mild paranoid schizophenia, but because it was inconsistent and consisted mainly of low-level hallucinations, her parents never realized it until much later.

» She previously held a high/middle social status as the daughter of a French military general when she was young. Due to marital problems, Jade's parents separated, leaving her mother, older brother, and Jade in a critical financial situation. Before the divorce, her mother worked in a successful brothel, her older brother was struggling on his own, and Jade was in high school at the age of 14.

» Jade's mother, Minerva, was quite classist and therefore it was normal for her to poison her daughter with this mentality at such a young age.

» Eating Disorder: Her mother stressed that she needed to be thin if she wanted to be beautiful, that she needed to take care of herself, and that she monitored what she ate. If she ate something "wrong", she would make her vomit.

» They resided in Canada, Quebec, Jade was born there and raised there, therefore she has a noticeable Canadian accent.

» She attended a private religious high school, practicing Roman Catholicism.

» SA: In the middle of the Sacrament of Reconciliation (the act of confession before a Catholic priest), the priest touched her inappropriately. Because he was restraining her, he didn't want to she make any noise. She thought it was part of the confession.

» Unlike her brother, she doesn't know much French. Her brother was taught by their father, but she knows it from classes at school.

» When her father leaves home, Minerva must return to working at the brothel, earning money but not enough to support the household, her daughter's schooling, and her older brother, Simon's, education. Jade is therefore forced to attend public school, while Simon is forced to work on the streets while trying to support the family.

» COCSA&Blackmail: When she transferred to this public school, which wasn't the safest or nicest, a few days later, an older boy tried to 🍇 her in the boy's bathroom stall. He didn't, but he had a video of her. Basically, he blackmailed her a thousand times to in making the video public in the institution, and she had to give in. She holds a grudge against him.

» Driven by the violence and impulsiveness of others students, she began to become the same. Committing several fights in classes, during breaks, etc. With this her schizophrenia worsened.

» Animal cruelty: As a way of venting her frustration, stress, and trying to calm down, she would even kick the occasional animal on the street and even kill rats, pigeons, and once a cat.

» In the end, she was expelled for attacking a teacher. And also her strange behavior, everyone, including the principals, calling her crazy or insane and in need of help.

» Her mother, so busy in her own world, didn't bother. Her older brother, Simon, on the other hand, took responsibility and tried to get help from therapists, psychiatrists, and psychologists.

» When a job offer came up in Bullworth, New England, Jade's mother decided to move there with her daughter. Initially reluctant, she preferred to stay with her brother, but Simon encouraged her to join him as a way to begin a new life. Jade, being very stubborn, insisted on staying with him, but her mother ultimately took her.

» She entered Bullworth Academy a few days before Jimmy Hopkins.

» The drugs prescribed by the psychiatrist are administered by herself or sometimes by her older brother.

Now! A few some silly, healthier Jade facts. (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

★ Since she was little, she has been afraid of the dark, so she always has to sleep with a night light nearby.

★ She has two favorite ice cream flavors: chocolate mint chip and mascarpone.

★ She has no defined sexuality, but the pronoun she's most familiar with is she/her, and she doesn't seem bothered if you call her he/him. Although she'll tell you if you've seen her balls—

★ She was sent to several juvenile reformatories for her destructive behavior, but it was even worse to send her there.

★ Insomnia, which leads her to draw a lot.

★ She knows how to play the violin thanks to her old school, and she also sang in local church choirs.

★ As I said, she's not a good person: Jade used a butterfly knife to put her a first and last initials in Melvin's stomach. (IT reference)

★ The issue of mistreating and killing animals has calmed down quite a bit, he only kills rats and spiders now.

★ She calls Jimmy: John Pork, Piggie, Bald Fat Ass and Minion.

★ She likes Gary, his attitude and way of acting; they would certainly make a disastrous duo. The vibes they give: Again from Noah Cyrus.

★ Die Antwoord Fan.

★ Best friend of Morena Apache (OC made by me), usually both get into fights together, supporting each other's backs and having loyalty towards each other.

★ Jade calls Morena by a nickname: Butchie Butchie or 'Minita'.

★ She has a fairly varied set of knives, given to him by her older brother, Simon. These include: the "Ka-bar" type, the Tactical karambit, the Fairbain-Sykes type, and then more butterfly knives, but with different designs.

★ Her kins:

★ She bites and scratches as a way of showing love.

★ She hides the scars from drug injections.

★ She really lacks any kind of love.

★ She doesn't brush her teeth, which is why they're yellow, especially if she smokes.

★ The broken tooth is from a blow she caused herself while playing a nasty prank on the preps.

★ Leans into the touch.

★ She's smart, but she loves to act stupid and disinterested out of laziness.

★ She has a condition that prevents her from feeling pain: congenital insensitivity to pain. That's why she likes fights, because she laughs in their faces.

︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵

Well! Thats all, phew, was really long.

Btw, I made this OC with the intention of causing some discomfort. Sorry, I absolutely had to make an OC like this.

I hope you like it. You're welcome to comment and ask if you want :D

And another drawing

Also a playlist! Either of what she would listen to and some other song that would define her or could represent her as she is

And very soon, a redesign of Morena Apache + new data/info

[bewitchcdd]

★  ‧₊˚  ⋆ …  now  playing:  work song  by  hozier  —  oh  ,  that  ?   might  be  alexander warren  ,  an  thirty-five  year  old  author  who’s  been  hanging  around  wicklow  ridge  for  twenty-three years  ,  just  long  enough  to  stir  up  some  trouble  if  you  ask  me.  they’re  a  regular  at  ridgeview lake  ,  always  going  on  about  “if there was anyone to ever get through life with their heart still intact, they didn't do it right”  like  it’s  gospel.  around  town  ,  folks  say  they’re  reliable  &  caring  —  but  when  they  think  no  one’s  listening  ?  it’s  more  like  stubborn  &  secretive .  are  the  rumors  true  ?  maybe  not  …  but  it  sure  makes  life  around  here  a  little  more  interesting . 

BASICS

full name: noah alexander warren

nickname: alex, xander

age/date of birth: 35 / may 8th, 1990

zodiac sign: taurus ☼ libra ☾ cancer ↑

gender identity: cis man (he/him)

hometown: hermosa beach, california

current location: cornelia st, new york

sexual orientation: demisexual

occupation: author, former fbi agent

PERSONALITY

labels: the phoenix, the benefactor, the mediator

positive traits: gentle , reliable , caring , trustworthy , allocentric , dutiful

negative traits: obstinate , reticent , stubborn , secretive , deceitful

fears: leaving the world worst than he entered it, hurting people.

hobbies: cooking, reading, musical theatre, camping, sports, volunteering

languages spoken: english, spanish, french, italian, russian

instruments played: guitar, piano

favorite color: blue, red, green

favorite food: anything, but specially pies (he has memories attached to pies)

allergies: n/a

APPEARANCE

height: 6'1

distinguished characteristics: multiple scars throughout his body; a blink and you'll miss it type of situation. some are from childhood and barely noticeable if you look closely whilst the most prominent ones are around 4 years old, situated in his ribs. there is no itemized list yet, but it is something he is acutely aware of.

tattoos: a phoenix on his back, a minimalist tattoo from the song ‘from eden’ by hozier where the word idealism sits in a small prison and it’s located on his left ribcage, the date of his sibling’s disappearance on his chest, the phrase ‘when i was drowning, that’s where i could finally breathe’ on his right forearm. ( ref )

piercings: n/a

right or left-handed?: right-handed

RELATIONSHIPS

parents: robert warren ( whereabouts unknown ), alycia warren ( nee: reynolds, retired prima ballerina )

sibling(s): one younger sibling ( whereabouts unknown )

pet(s): a four year old labradoodle named pollux

marital status: single

BULLET POINTS

tw: drug use, abuse mention

FULL BIO COMING SOON

had a normal childhood (as normal as one can be with a parent who half of the time isn't there and whenever he is around, leaves you wishing he wasn't) up until he turned 6 and after losing his job his father began dealing drugs which led to him consuming them and ultimately, dragging his mom down the same path. for a while things 'worked' fine, they worked a system that allowed them to survive. however, as years went by their problem got out of hand and bad enough that by the time alex was 12 it caused them to lose their home and even alex's younger sibling to child services. his father dipped after that, to never be seen again.

the two remaining members of the family then moved to wicklow ridge, alycias hometown. once a prima ballerina for the new york ballet company who had given it all up for love and her dream of becoming a mother who now had to support her child on her own, she became a ballet teacher for the remaining years.

after graduating high school, alex decided he wanted to study criminal justice and moved to new york after getting into john jay school of criminal justice where he worked multiple jobs in a span of 4 years to be able to pay for tuition and his living expenses. after getting his degree he moved to virginia to start his training for the fbi where he remained for two years, working half times, attending the academy and getting his phd in criminal justice

he worked himself thin to make it into the fbi but once inside, all his dreams of working as an agent fell flat. alex only worked as an agent for 2 years before getting into a work-related accident that nearly killed him and made him rethink his entire life and his involvement with the bureau. after two deeply unhappy year he resigned.

he remained in new york for a couple years where he used his newly-found free time to exercise an old hobby of his: creative writing. with the help of a friend he realized he had an actual knack for writing and ultimately began writing a thriler novel loosely based off of a few cases he had worked on. months of arduous work resulted in his first book publishing about a year and a half after resigning the fbi and it became a big success within the first six months of it's publication.

with a new audience under his belt, alexander moved back to wicklow ridge at age 27 to be closer to his mother and family where he bought his dream home and began writing a new novel while going on courses to her his mba in english literature. by age 33, the now renowned author had published 2 more books with the same amount of success as his first novel that changed his life and is currently working on a fourth novel while getting offers to buy the rights for his first novel for a film.

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {Prologue}

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been married off to Tomas Mandray to secure a comfortable future for her father and sisters. Although grateful to be wed, Nesta holds no love for her husband. Lost in a state of depression, she meets her husband's newest business partner and can't seem to stay away.

A/N: New story alert! You know I love a good period piece. Please note the trigger warnings for each chapter. This story deals with some pretty heavy topics. Chapters will be posted twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays! I hope you all enjoy. :)

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

My Dearest Sisters,

I cannot be more grateful. Tomas is a dream and I am more blessed than I ever thought imaginable. Although I am not yet with child, Tomas and I grow nearer every day. It is only a matter of time before we find our family growing and I simply cannot wait for that day to come.

My summer is looking quite full. I am not certain when I will be able to visit. I am scheduled to host a ball in a matter of weeks, and being a woman that runs a household is a chore in itself. There is always something to do, always someone that needs something, always a fire that must be put out. 

I think of you both often. I hope that my marriage has brought you both comforts that we did not have before. Tomas promises that he sends aid each week and knowing that you both are well taken care of brings me much joy. How is Father? He does not write, and I do not blame him. We never did get along, and even now, I’m not sure if I’d truly like to hear from him. Nonetheless, I hope he is well and his leg is not causing him too much trouble. If he is doing poorly, please let me know so that I may help. 

Feyre, I hope that you have ceased contact with Isaac Hale. We all know the rumors surrounding him, and he is not good enough for you. I hope you do not find that cruel. I only care for you and your reputation. With the help of Tomas’ aid, you can find a husband that is a gentleman — someone who does not take you for granted, someone who can provide for you like father has not been able to. Take care of yourself. Respect yourself. Wait for a man to come along who can give you the world.

Elain, how is Graysen? I know how the two of you would stare into each other’s eyes lovingly, but the last few letters have lacked any mention of him. I hope he has not broken your heart. If he has, I vow to travel these agonizing miles and see to it myself. Please be certain that he cherishes you. If he does not, you are free to reject him. Money is no longer an issue and you do not have to do anything you do not wish to do. 

I love you both dearly and hope you are doing well. Please write back with any news. I think of you both every day and long for the day that I will wrap you both in my arms.

Love always,

Nesta 

I stare at the letter before me as the ink dries on the parchment.

I read it once, then twice, three times to be sure I have left nothing out. 

The truth is this: I have left out a million things. I have left out my misery, my anguish, my everyday pain. I have ignored the truth of my own life and have asked after the lives of my sisters. Yes, the letter lacks depth, but I have always lacked depth. There is no use in starting now.

Once I sign my name at the bottom, I fold up the letter and seal it with wax. 

I wish it was longer.

I wish it held all the words that I cannot seem to say.

I wish it held the truth. 

I give the letter to my lady’s maid.

She smiles as she takes it, thinking it’s the world’s greatest honor to be delivering a piece of my mail. 

Little does she know that the letter truly means nothing.

Our lives here mean nothing. 

Maybe she doesn’t mind the nothingness, doesn’t mind the irrelevant place she holds in my husband’s household. Do not get me wrong — I adore my lady’s maid, but I do not deserve her. I do not truly need her. 

I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

At least, that is what I thought before I married Tomas Mandray.

Now, I am nothing more than his wife, nothing more than a trophy on a pedestal to be ogled over by the ton. Yet, I cannot be angry at this life that I have been given. I cannot regret my place in society.

My family is taken care of.

My sisters are promised great futures.

My father has not drowned in ruin.

And I am a lady, the wife of a lord.

Too bad that is all that I am.

I am a lady, and nothing more. 

[breakawayz]

was  that  LORENA  “LORE”  FIGUEROA  i  saw  around  town  today?  i  heard  that  they  are  part  of  the  toronto  GLACIERS  as  a  STARTING  GOALIE  and  have  been  part  of  the  team  for  THREE  YEARS.  they  have  a  reputation  of  being  PASSIONATE  &  TENACIOUS,  but  also  ACERBIC  &  INCENDIARY.  people  in  town  usually  associate  them  with  star  shaped  bandaids  to  cover  scrapes,  a  voice  hoarse  from  constant  shit-talking  across  the  rink,  the  lingering  scent  of  wintergreen  gum,  thinking  of  the  perfect  comeback  after  the  argument  is  over,  typing  and  sending  the  meanest  drunk  text  known  to  mankind.  can’t  wait  to  see  them  at  the  next  game!

*     basics.

full  name  lorena  maritza  figueroa.  nickname(s)  lore.  gender  &  pronouns  cis  woman,  she/her. sexuality  pansexual  panromantic.  age  &  date  of  birth  twenty-four,  born  on  april  3rd.  occupation  starting  goalie  for  the  toronto  glaciers.  marital  status  single.

*     background.

ethnicity  puerto  rican.  nationality  canadian.  hometown  toronto,  ontario.  languages  spoken  english,  spanish.  education  history  scholarship  granted  bachelors  in  journalism  from  the  university  of  toronto,  earned  and  unused.  relatives  mother  (unknown,  estranged),  father  (we  don't  talk  about  him,  estranged),  two  older  brothers,  two  older  sisters  (including  paloma  figueroa),  10  year  old  neice  (antonia  charlotte  figueroa).

*     personality.

zodiac  sign  aries.  alignment  chaotic  neutral.  likes  rainy  days,  winter  weather,  oversized  clothing,  successfully  provoking  someone  to  argue  with  her,  yelling  at  the  refs  (even  when  they're  right),  skating  really  fast  for  absolutely  no  reason,  peppermint  gum  (has  a  pack  on  her  at  all  times,  will  hand  it  out  to  only  her  teammates).dislikes  texts  left  on  read,  being  pitied,  being  on  the  receiving  end  of  a  lecture,  emotional  vulnerability  that  doesn't  involve  rage,  being  benched  (don’t.  even.  try.),  passive  aggression  (say  it  with  your  chest  if  you're  real).  positives  fearless,  instinctive,  unapologetic,  hardworking.  negatives  volatile,  defensive,  hard-headed,  attention-seeking.  inspirations  kat  stratford  (10  things  i  hate  about  you),  korra  (the  legend  of  korra),  mazikeen  (lucifer),  santana  lopez  (glee),  carl  gallaghar  (shameless).

*     physicality.

face  claim  melissa  collazo.  height  five  foot  one.  build  leanly  muscled.  hair  dark  brown,  naturally  wavy,  styled  straight  or  up  very  often. eyes  dark  brown.  tattoos  none,  who  wants  that  commitment?

*    history.

tw:  dysfunctional  family,  child  neglect  and  abandonment,  cheating.

lorena  was  loud  from  the  start,  the  kind  of  kid  who's  mouthy  without  even  learning  enough  words.  the  youngest  of  five,  and  maybe  the  last  straw  in  her  mother  and  father's  strenuous  relationship.  she  wasn't  old  enough  to  remember  her  mother's  leaving,  nor  has  she  put  together  that  it's  because  she  is  not  actually  her  father's  daughter.  lorena  never  knew  why  things  always  felt  different  for  her,  only  that  they  did.  she  could  never  seem  to  stay  out  of  trouble  as  a  child.  she'd  often  pick  fights  with  her  classmates,  her  teachers,  her  siblings  —  especially  paloma  —  in  what  she  doesn't  realize  was  an  effort  to  act  out  just  to  see  if  they'd  look.  it  was  safe  to  say  that  everyone  (including  herself)  had  decided  in  their  heads  that  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  improve  a  life  that  was  already  in  shambles. 

when  paloma  and  her  young  daughter  moved  out  of  the  house,  lorena  went  with  her.  she  was  sixteen  and  directionless.  her  older  sister  did  the  best  she  could,  and,  for  that,  lorena  was  thankful  to  have  at  least  one  guiding  figure  in  her  life,  even  if  she  did  little  to  nothing  to  show  her  gratitude.  fights  happened  often  and  were  brutal,  scathing  words  tossed  back  and  forth  in  exchanges  that  reinforced  the  one  thing  lorena  knew:  she  was  going  to  end  up  like  their  father. 

throughout  all  this  time,  hockey  was  the  only  thing  that  ever  made  sense.  she'd  been  playing  since  she  first  saw  people  on  ice,  so  nimble  and  fast  that  she  could  barely  keep  her  eyes  on  them.  her  rage  was  easier  to  control  the  first  time  she  stepped  onto  the  ice.  eventually,  it  was  clear  that  lorena  wasn't  a  graceful  player,  but  she  was  a  good  one.  really  good.  and  when  a  scout  came  knocking  with  a  scholarship  and  a  pat  on  the  back,  she  took  it  before  they  could  change  their  mind  (because  that's  what  people  do  when  they  see  what  she  really  is,  don't  they?)

college  was  college,  whatever.  she  went  for  the  game,  not  the  diploma.  she  got  both  anyway.

at  twenty-one,  she  signed  with  the  toronto  glaciers.  she  was  young  and  didn't  have  the  best  track  record  pr  wise,  but  they  needed  a  goalie  who  was  willing  to  do  whatever  it  takes,  and  that  is  precisely  what  lorena  is.  out  of  those  three  years,  she's  been  first  string  for  two  of  them,  and  is  still  generally  a  pr  nightmare  with  the  fights  she  starts,  but  her  talent  (mostly)  outshines  that. 

[sashavasilieva]

name — sasha aleksandra vasilieva pronouns — she, her age — thirty sexual orientation — heterosexual, heteroromantic height — 5'6" / 1,68m occupation — hostess to the kang family casino & ring girl. ( neutral / civilian) neighborhood — the flats birthplace ⏤ siberia, russian federation 2 positives traits ⏤ open-minded, generous 2 negative traits ⏤ obsessive, compulsive

#𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂:

mother — irina vasilieva ♰ father — alexei vasiliev siblings — dasha ♰, ivan ♰ marital status — single issues — 2 illya + yelena ( born 31, october 2k24 ) pets — mima ( persian cat ), jack sparrow ( african grey parrot)

#𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙴

𝐭𝐰:

Is your muse associated with any of the families? If so, how?

No. She saw a nice opportunity of work, and accepted to job. She needed money, and was willing to accept anything that pays her well. She doesn't meddle with anyone nor pick sides, she simply does her job and go home.

Is your muse associated with the onyx circuit? If so, how? She heard rumors about them, but she is not associated with any of them. She may have crossed with one of them, but without her knowledge.

How does your muse feel about the current conflict between the families and the onyx circuit?

Sasha kept her distance from the brewing war in Devil’s Junction, watching the chaos unfold with cautious eyes. To her, the six families were relics—predictable, bound by old rules she’d learned to navigate. The Onyx Circuit, though, was different: sharp, ruthless, and dangerous in a way that didn’t leave room for mercy or mistakes. As a single mother and outsider, she had no loyalty to either side. She cared only about who paid on time and kept her child safe. In a city where power changed hands with a roll of the dice, survival—not allegiance—was the only thing she trusted.

#𝚃𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙰 + 𝙷𝙲

𝐭𝐰: pregnancy, abuse?, death, terminal illness, fire, depression

Sasha is originally from Siberia. She lived on a farm. Unfortunately, her mother died in a fire accident, and she was just five at the time. Her mother saved her, but couldn't save herself.

She spent one year without talking after her mother's death. Meanwhile, her father started to drink more and more and got himself into trouble.

Her father moved with her and her siblings to the USA when she was 14, and they basically had nothing. Her older sister had to work odd jobs in order to find a place to sleep with their father.

She didn’t have a good relationship with her father after her mother’s death. he changed, and he became often aggressive or very drunk.

Unfortunately, her older sister was diagnosed with a rare illness and died shortly after they were in USA.

Through wrestling, she won a full scholarship in the medical field and graduated. It was tough because she also takes care of her father, and her older brother was following in the same steps as their father.

She has worked in various places and has done a lot of odd jobs and made some sacrifices to put her father in rehab.

Her brother died in an assault. Leaving her utterly devastated. And yet she saw the scene unfold in front of her. She felt lost for a certain time and lonely.

In one of these nights, she was lost, a night stand led to a pregnancy of twins, a couple, a boy, and a girl. NYC was too much for her to stay there, especially when she lost two loved ones, so she decided to restart her life in another state.

Got herself a nice and small apartment with two bedrooms.

She heard that people were needed as a hostess, and she didn't have a job, and decided to join.

Sasha is colorblind, and so are her twins.

She’s a cat lover and names her kitty Mima

She lives in an apartment.

more to be add

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙼 + 𝙷𝙲:

tw:

She wanted to quit medical school, but her older brother never allowed her to quit. She carried on only for his insistence, and she was very good. She's a doctor, internal medicine (IM). She worked briefly at the hospital for a period before stopping. Sometimes she thinks of getting a P.h.D like her mother.

She wanted to be a professional wrestler; she's very athletic, but life has reserved other things for her.

She's also a ring girl at the Grudge Box and hostess to The Grand Royale Casino.

She's very reserved in her personal life because of her babies; she doesn't trust anyone. In general, not everyone knows she has babies, only a few close people or some acquaintances who see her with them out there.

She knows how to shoot; she used to go with her dad hunting in Siberia.

Her father Alexei, was a biomedic, and her mother, Irina, was a scientist.

#𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 + 𝚆𝙲:

tbd...

#𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙲.

disclaimer: all the gifs with @ barbie are made by me, do not take it.

[timearcs]

( corey mylchreest, 26, he/him, cis male, fairfax #4 ) i wonder how the season will treat  ALEXANDER FAIRFAX. it’s true that HE is DEBONAIR, but i’ve also heard that they can be FRIVOLOUS. do you think they’ll find their match? i doubt it if what i heard is true. i heard that [ REDACTED ]. of course, that’s just speculation.

NAME: alexander theodore fairfax.

NICKNAME(S): alex.

GENDER: cis man & he/him.

AGE: twenty-six.

DOB: june 6th.

ORIENTATION: pansexual.

MARITAL STATUS: unmarried.

BACKGROUND. tw: violence, death

alexander fairfax is the second youngest in the fairfax family

growing up, he definitely lived up to the family name. he was loud, boisterous, and always seeking for a thrill. in fact, he was arguably the loudest in the family. wasn't afraid to speak his mind. this led to him getting into trouble a lot, especially when it came to his peers in school

he used to be all talk. his sharp tongue and wit was typically enough to win any sort of entanglement he got into, but he will never forget the afternoon he came home with a cut lip and bruises spread across his swollen face at the age of eight. it was the first time he'd gotten into a physical altercation with someone, not knowing how to fight back

his father, who shared the same temperament as he did, wanted to do something. so, he handled it behind closed doors. the next day, he began to taught alexander how to fight. which places to strike that hurt the most, and most of all, how to show no remorse

he grew bigger and taller as the years passed by. he lived directly under his father's shadow; idolizing him and whatever he did. his father indulged him in his escapades. he took alexander to boxing matches, bars, brothels... how to hide this side of him too. it was wrong, but alexander looked up to his father so much it was engraved in his mind that this was considered a good life

and then, his father died. rage consumed him for ages. he got himself into things he shouldn't have. he shut himself out from everyone, even his siblings, for a while. he lived the following months looking for a fight, mainly to fill the empty void in his heart. while many believed the late duke of suffolk was not the greatest person, to alexander, he was

now, he's going wherever the wind takes him. he continues to be unapologetically himself, carefree. while he doesn't care for what the ton thinks of him, with his younger sister debuting, he has to be on his best behavior

PERSONALITY.

if you would look up the word "rake" in the dictionary, you will not find a photo of a gardening tool. you will find a photo of alexander fairfax :)

much like his father, he hides his shenanigans well. in events, he will not hesitate to charm everyone around him, becoming a magnetic force to the ladies of the ton. he's polite. he follows the rules. he becomes this picture perfect man in their eyes, because that was what he was trained to do

a secret aside from the secret: he has a way with words in writing. he's a poet! he keeps a journal with all of his poems/writing, but he's too embarrassed to show anyone. also very much a hopeless romantic despite having no intentions to marry whatsoever

if you think he's loud, wait until he has alcohol in his system. he will not shut up

very much lives selfishly, but has a soft spot for the very few who are close to him

[scmantic]

is that (HANNAH SIMONE)? oh, no, that’s (RANIA CHADHA), a (FORTY-TWO)year old (NURSE AT VALPARAÍSO CENTRO MÉDICO) who uses (SHE/HER)pronouns. they currently live in (CASABLANCA), and the character they identify with most is (HELEN PARR FROM THE INCREDIBLES). hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas! 

BASICS 

full name: rania ahana chadha  hometown: london, england  sexuality: bisexual  birthday: september 10  zodiac: virgo sun, capricorn moon, virgo rising (i'm so sorry) height: 5’7”  languages spoken: english, spanish, french marital status: married  children: 10-year-old twins, sonia and zane   traits: nurturing, bold, focused, abrasive, defensive, stubborn

HISTORY tw anxiety

born in london to restaurant owners, rania grew up in the kitchen with her two younger brothers; while they caused trouble she kept them in line (in typical older sister virgo fashion), from a young age being the Responsible One and helping raise the younger ones

her parents were super busy, so she had a lot of responsibility from a young age, was the one getting her brothers up for school and making sure they were dressed and fed

she was a high achiever in school and was very ambitious from a young age, knowing immediately that she did not want to inherit the restaurant from her parents

her parents weren't super happy considering she was the ideal future owner and the MOST responsible child clearly, but they let her Follow Her Dreams of becoming a nurse

being under so much pressure to achieve and to help out wherever she could definitely took a toll and she has struggled with anxiety for most of her life, always anxious she isn't doing enough or is doing the wrong thing; there's always something to worry about

in college, she met her spouse after a particularly shitty, annoying breakup and has never looked back

she was always kind of ambivalent toward relationships and ~love~ until she met them, blames them for making her a softie (she's always been a softie)

they ended up in chile due to her partner's job about 15 years ago and it's safe to say this feels like her forever home, their twins were born here, they have a life here — rania loves it

loves being a mom, loves being a Working Mom and having a full schedule because if she's not moving then she feels like she's d*ing

PERSONALITY/FUN FACTS

biiiiig mama bear energy, protective as hell of her kids and pretty much anyone else she cares about

type a, perfectionist, will do everything herself just so it's Done Right

she DOES have a therapist and manages her anxiety, but she's still always buzzing, always moving, has lots of energy that she puts into work and the people around her

generally friendly and very sweet, doesn't know a stranger, but will not be sweet if you mess with her family

tough love advocate, does not beat around the bush

loves bad tv, show her a show that has too many seasons and terrible writing? she is SAT

stubborn, likes things to be her way, will be annoying if they're not

despite growing up in a restaurant, is a horrible chef, her kids audibly groan when she's the one making dinner

wears lots of jewelry (always gold), bunch of necklaces and rings

WC page found here pinterest found here

[ivoryielded]

( ROSAMUND PIKE, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER. ) could that really be MARILDA HIGHTOWER, NÉE CELTIGAR, the RULING LADY of OLDTOWN entering the keep ? king’s landing is sure to benefit from the FORTY-TWO year old’s ability to be both QUICK-WITTED and BUOYANT, but beware, whispers also say they have been known to be DECEPTIVE and INDULGENT. their loyalty belongs to HOUSE HIGHTOWER & THEMSELVES (SECRETLY TARGARYEN) and they are INDIFFERENT to the notion of peace throughout westeros.

name : marilda hightower, née celtigar. alias : mar. dob & age : seventh day of the sixth month; forty-two. gender and pronouns : cis woman; she / her. orientation : biromantic & bisexual. occupation : ruling lady hightower; was once a maid of honor for queen daenera targaryen. marital status : married to uthor hightower for twenty years. children : liela waters (21); from the hightower brood: owain (18), daenera "dany" (16), triston (13), orys (10), ceryse (8), bryndon (6). religious affiliation : the faith of the seven. pets : tba spoken languages : the common tongue, high valyrian, some bastardized versions of valyrian (lyseni, some bravoosi). appearance : long golden blonde hair; indigo eyes; 5'8. inspirations : tba zodiac : gemini sun, aries rising and sagittarius moon moral alignment : personality trait :

tw: pregnancy, child endargement and cruelty, parental abuse, arranged marriage.

lord aeron celtigar is a well known man — his fame is great for his wealth as well as for his sourness. however, not one nor the other mattered as much as his role: the old crab retained his position on the targaryen council since he was young for his way with money, an ability that maintained the coffers of the red keep always at least half-full.

marilda was his first daughter, and, from the moment she learned how to speak, one of the biggest thorns on his side. impetuous, loud and self-willed, she would not rest until she got what she wanted which, often, went right against what her father wanted. in claw isle, she'd get to all sorts of trouble: pestering the servants as they did their duty, stealing away horses, sneaking into visiting ships and begging captains how to sail herself.

as a means of easing the brat and keeping an eye on her, aeron brought her to court as a tween to serve as maid of honor to queen daenera. the queen, sweet and pliant, took the girl as her own but the effect daenera had on marilda was hardly the placating sort. though she learned all of the arts of the court, she also followed all of her passions, something that culminated when, at her early twenties, the grand maester announced marilda was with child.

whose child? she would not say. it was certainly not her betrothed's, the young lord hightower. eventually, it did not matter. she was whisked away to claw isle, her pregnancy kept hidden under several layers of clothing and, when the babe came to life, the child was given the surname waters. but of course, the babe was not to be marilda's bastard. no, lord aeron took it as his — as if anyone would ever go near his wilting corpse, marilda counter-attacked — and decided to finally ship marilda away to hightower, for her husband to handle; she was not to come back to court nor claw isle until he saw fit. if she refused, he swore he'd drown the child on the blackwater bay himself, and marilda would be next.

his convincing argument worked. she married uthor, even if she kept a pout about it for a good part of their first year as married folk; eventually, he won her over, giving her a proper courting, affection and an autonomy marilda had craved for years under her father's thumb. as lady hightower she became interested in the functions of oldtown; it was not the targaryen court, but there was plenty for her to marvel about. over the years, she's gained the reputation of being both a model and a benefactor to many artists and erudites, being used as the face for the mother, receiving plentiful book of hours in her honor and being claimed as a sort of model for good women, gods-fearing and good wives.

she enjoys the façade, truly. though she has learned to enjoy motherhood, there is always some sort of mask she's learned to use. she doesn't have to kick and scream to get her way anymore, as there other ways of getting what she wants, and she is hardly ever without getting what she wants, too. after twenty years as lady hightower, she's also learned patience, and, as much as she loathes to agree with her father, that she has a higher responsibility, that to her family, to her husband and her children. 

it was for them that she remained in distance during the rebellion, stuck within the hightower, watching as her former mistress and the children she knew as infants flee in order to save themselves from a horrible end. in fact, for her own family, she did worse: she laid on thick her loyalty to the new king, turning her back to both the targaryens and the celtigar (the later of which did bring her a spark of joy, but she wouldn't speak of it), smiling her way through the coronation of the stag king. 

there's something about biding time until things are right, it seems. when the targaryen, exiled and long forgotten, return to westeros, marilda takes them under their wing, much as once their mother had taken her. dying their hairs and giving them different names, they become their cousins, a shared bloodline with her mother from across sea, who gave marilda her purple eyes and, of course, gives them to her "cousins" as well. a dangerous move, but not without a hint of calculation from the hightowers' part.

[gloriousncss]

{jeanine mason, thirty three, cis woman, she/her} We are so glad to see you safe, PRINCESS MARIA ORTIZ of SPAIN! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are PROUD and ADAPTABLE enough to handle it. Just don’t let your BRUTALITY bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU ARE ONE OF THE LEADERS OF THE ANTI-MONARCHISTS IN SPAIN.

Basics:

Name: Maria Esmeralda Ortiz Title: Crown Princess of Spain Age: 33 Birthday: January 25th (Aquarius) Sexuality: Heterosexual Marital Status: Unbetrothed Positive Traits: Proud, adaptable, creative, loyal, decisive Negative Traits: Violent, short-tempered, bold, cunning, vengeful. Hobbies: Painting, fencing, swimming Family: Pirate Esmeralda (birth mother), Duchy of Barcelona (adopted parents, deceased), King of Spain (adopted brother), Queen of Spain (sibling-in-law), Prince Joaquim (adopted brother), Prince/Princess/Royals of Spain (adopted siblings).

Physical Attributes:

Height: 5'5" Hair Color: Black Hair Length: Just past the shoulders, but mostly worn up anyway Hair texture: Thick and wavy Eye Color: Dark Brown Markings/Tattoos: a bull on her left shoulder blade, two crossed daggers on her right shoulder, a wave on her left wrist, a rose on her left ankle, two swimming coy fish yin and yang style on her right ankle Accent: Spanish Languages Spoken: Spanish, English Skin Texture: Course, rough, calloused

Prologue: (murder tw)

She was born from the waves, or at least that's the poetic metaphor her parents came up with to explain how she came into their lives. The brutal truth was that she came from a shipwreck with absolutely no memory of any previous life at the tender age of 5 years old. The only evidence of her old life was a medallion with the name "Esmeralda" engraved on the back. It was lucky that the Duchys of Barcelona came across her and claimed her as their second child, calling her "Maria", as they found her in the water. Maria was a difficult, yet devoted child. Having younger siblings, as she grew older, only made it easier for her to sprinkle her bad influence all over them, taking them out to bars, going out with sailors, and getting into all sorts of trouble. But the more time she spent with the locals and villagers outside of the palace walls, the more she heard stories of how oppressive and terrible the other countries in Europe were to those who had no choice but to steal for themselves. It motivated her, studying politics and seeking justice for the serf class. However, the one thing she could not shake was how she could do nothing from her little chateau. When the Bonaparte's were discovered having stolen money from her family, she was furious that those in power were far too selfish and greedy. Becoming a princess in their place made it no better. All she saw was corrupt power replacing more corrupt power. Soon, the family she adored would also, soon, be just as bad as the Bonaparte's. Helplessness was no friend to Maria, and so she stole away at the age of 27 and was never to be seen again. For nearly five years, Maria wore a hood over her face and commanded her own crew of bandits and pirates, even recruiting another defiant royal just like herself as her right hand. She was known as "Esmeralda", the name she assumed would be her birth mother's. She stole from those who were more fortunate, gave to those who were less fortunate, and kept a sum of the prophet to herself. It was a seemingly perfect life until a battle against another crew resulted in the deaths of her men, all but her right hand woman. The hurt of those losses took her nowhere else but back home to Spain. It was the only solution; go back to Madrid, mend the bond with her family, and dismantle the monarchy from the inside.

Chapter 1: Lal Qila

Maria was practically dragged to Lal Qila. She made promises to do better for her family and the king and queen made her follow through on it by tasking her with finding a husband to prove her loyalty to the Spanish crown. Be that as it may, she made no effort in the slightest to do that. Instead, she proceeded with her work in stealing from all of the royals in the palace and giving the valuables to the poor in the village. Hardly anyone noticed their possessions were gone at all. It was just for the benefit of the people, not thinking twice about what could happen to the revolutionaries and the abolitionists, what they might do. Her interest in sparking the rebellion began again when she encountered an old friend, a revolutionary, whom she met on her travels. Suddenly, the walls of Lal Qila were penetrated and lives were lost on that fateful day in the name of the anti-monarchists. She knew a life without the crown would be better for everyone, but she didn't want so man lives to be lost, so many families to be torn apart. The point of her mission was to free families from the crown, not destroy them. She couldn't help but feel the sting of guilt and used the first strike of chaos to run away back to Spain.

After The Reckoning:

In her guilt, Maria stayed hidden in the palace for some time, turning her attentions to finding out who the real Esmeralda was. After turning up with nothing for two months, she could hardly stand being within the palace any longer, and she set out back into the villages. It felt like her real home, sitting in the village pubs with nothing on her head but a hood, ditching her fairytale princess dress for trousers and a sword, singing songs of freedom and justice with the pub singers. There was still hope without destruction, if only Maria could take hold of the reigns and lead. She pledged herself, Maria Esmeralda Ortiz, to the Revolutionaries in Spain under secrecy (and threat of exposure if they revealed her identity). She started by having her revolutionaries spread propaganda all across the country, and even reaching out to rebels in bordering nations so that the whole continent will sing of freedom and justice too. The Bonaparte family is threatening to rise to power, which will throw Maria off her seat of power to properly control and lead this rebellion. A Bonaparte on the throne will only set Spain back miles behind her plan, and so she is here to stop this uprising. Though she claims the Ortiz family is the rightful family for the throne, she only means to secure her power so she can burn it in hopes of saving all royal families from tearing themselves apart for something as useless as a crown.

TLDR: She doesn't know it, but she is the child of a pirate queen called Esmeralda, and her birth siblings is out there trying to find her. Her mother died in a heated battle between pirate crews. She was washed up on shore with no memory of the raid and the Spanish Duchy of Barcelona adopted her as their second child. She loves her family but also has a fierce sense of justice, which is what took her away from home for 5 years. She met a bestie and had her own crew of outlaws, but that all went awry when another crew killed them all save for Maria and her right hand woman. Maria came home and wanted to set things right with the intent of dismantling the monarchy, but she had to get engaged to make up for it. Thankfully, the reckoning got her out of it and, instead, she spent the last year spreading abolitionist propaganda and is also searching for her birth mother.

Similar Characters: Tulio (El Dorado), Mama Imelda (Coco), Emma Swan (Once Upon a Time), Ember Lumen (Elemental), Tzipporah (Prince of Egypt), Angelica (Pirates of the Carribbean), Anya (Anastasia), Chani (Dune)

[mermaidsirennikita]

First of all - absolutely love your blog! Do you have any recs for a second chance romance (specifically married couple) where maybe the couple has issues/emotional distance but maybe find their way back to one another through sex?

Thank you! I appreciate it.

The Lady Who Came in from the Cold by Grace Callaway has a couple basically split after the hero finds out that his wife of like 12 years has a past as a spy, which she never told him about. Their trust issues are definitely resolved in part through sex. TW: past sexual assault, attempted sexual assault in the present

Winterblaze by Kristen Callihan. Paranormal historical, hero and heroine have been married 14 years and separate after he finds out she was lying to him about being a witch (and the existence of the paranormal, like, in general). There's a whole plot, but they do initially reconnect because they just really want to fuck each other. LOVE this book, one of my favorite marriage in trouble novels.

Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage by Jennifer Ashley is probably the purest example of this. Hero and heroine have been separated for three years due to general marital/emotional issues exacerbated by a miscarriage (TW) but come back into contact and can't resist falling into bed again, which leads to them emotionally reconnecting.

The Day of The Duchess by Sarah MacLean has the hero and heroine separate for years after he cheats on her and she has a late term pregnancy loss (to be clear: not because of the cheating directly) but when she comes back demanding a divorce, he requests that she help him find his next wife first... which of course is a ploy to get her back. Their physical attraction to each other is a big part of it.

Return to Monte Carlo by Cate C. Wells. In this case, the hero and heroine marry in part because of their immediately powerful sexual chemistry, but separate because she feels so emotionally disconnected and unhappy with him. She runs off, and he tracks her down months later only to find her pregnant with his kid; he drags her back to Italy, and the sexual chemistry has... not abated lol.

[bloodbovnd]

( Danny Ramirez, cis man, he/hm ) Is that HUNTER SHAW ?? I think they are the 31 year old CON ARTIST everyone keeps talking about. Everyone says they’re just like THE BIG BAD WOLF from LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD, but it’s probably just because they’re known for being CHARISMATIC and GREEDY. What they really want is TO BECOME POWERFUL AND RICH, but do they have the willpower to ask for what they want? Or reach out and take it?

QUICK FACTS.

full name: Hunter Shaw nicknames: Fangs, boss, hun (if you really want to annoy him) age: thirty-one birthday: april 9th orientation: bisexual family: mother (estranged, died under mysterious circumstances), father (same fate like his mother) marital status: single occupation: con man faceclaim: danny ramirez hair: dark brown eyes: dark brown traits: charismatic, ambitious, resilient, devil-may-care, manipulative, street-smart, aggressive, cocky, opportunistic, Machiavellian, intense inspirations: damon salvatore ( the vampire diaries ), lucifer ( lucifer ), tommy shelby ( peaky blinders ), loki ( Norse mythology/Marvel )

MISC.

Zodiac Sign: Aries- As the first sign in the zodiac, the presence of Aries always marks the beginning of something energetic and turbulent. They are continuously looking for dynamic, speed and competition, always being the first in everything - from work to social gatherings. Thanks to its ruling planet Mars and the fact it belongs to the element of Fire (just like Leo and Sagittarius), Aries is one of the most active zodiac signs. It is in their nature to take action, sometimes before they think about it. MBTI: ESTP - ESTPs are energetic thrill-seekers who are at their best when putting out fires, whether literal or metaphorical. They bring a sense of dynamic energy to their interactions with others and the world around them. They assess situations quickly and move adeptly to respond to immediate problems with practical solutions. Active and playful, ESTPs are often the life of the party and have a good sense of humor. They use their keen powers of observation to assess their audience and adapt quickly to keep interactions exciting. Although they typically appear very social, they are rarely sensitive; the ESTP prefers to keep things fast-paced and silly rather than emotional or serious.

Enneagram: Type Eight - Eights are people with high levels of energy, intensity and willpower. They project power and toughness and take challenges as an invitation to prove their strength. They enjoy open confrontation and don’t back down easily. Eights often have a fierce passion to protect the vulnerable and weak, but they have trouble admitting any kind of weakness or vulnerability themselves. Temperament: Sanguine Moral Alignment: Neutral Evil Primary Vice: Greed Primary Virtue: N/A Element: Fire

QUICK BACKGROUND.

abuse tw, neglect tw, predatory behavior tw

Hunter grew up in a abusive household just outside of town. Always having a to fight for his (literally) next meal meant a lot of back and forth for him and his parents. While he begged them to take care of him, Hunter also tried to stay as far away from them as possible. To eventually find his own food, to take care of himself, he fled the abuse in favor of a better life.

On the streets, Hunter began to learn some street smarts before his Grandma heard about his unfortunate situation and took him in. Well fed and cared for, he still never forgot what it's like to be hungry and alone, so he became greedy and vicious.

To really get ahead, Hunter worked tirelessly to get good grades and really leave a mark in this world, to have a better life for himself and his Grandma. Honorable, perhaps, but he's just a greedy bastard who definitely stole some child's lunch money to get some for himself.

An ultimate bully, his academic capabilities and an eventual scholarship to study veterinary medicine were more prominent features. Those who knew about his violence and bullying were silenced while he put on a good facade, never once losing his gorgeous grin. Alas, he never really got to study after realizing being a con man would be so much better suited to his... lifestyle.

He likes animals more than humans, however. He used to have a dog, Barker, to whom he had a strong connection. To help animals in need became his calling so whenever he can, Hunter goes out of his way to help them and take care of them.

He wants to find similar minded people he can rely on and with whom he can further his own wealth. He's hungry, always, a hunter, a predator, who will stop at nothing to see his plans realized.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

former partner in crime

street rival

ride or die bestie

the one that got away (any gender)

victim of a past scam

loyal follower

someone who seeks his services