#when it's all done - side saddle

[vsnotresponding]

I FOUND A NEW SONG TO ASSOCIATE WITH UP *cries*

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[peachysunrize]

Corrupted by God ⥃ Prince Aemond Targaryen

Summary: after the battle of Rook’s Rest, Aemond comes back to King’s Landing as the heir to the throne with a newfound determination to make the Queen of the Seven kingdoms his queen as well.

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x Aegon’s wife/queen reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, dark content!!!!!!!!! angst, post Rook’s Rest, post s2e4, p in v, porn with a very little plot, breeding, emotional manipulation/heavy manipulation, dark!Aemond, a bit dubcon, Aemond has a hugeeee god complex, mentions of Aegon’s injury, rough sex, reader is not a Targaryen (the pic was pretty so I used it lol), tell me if i’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 2.5k+

A/n: pleaseeeeee read the warnings! This was requested by my beloved @sylasthegrim ! I hope I did your idea justice and hope you like it<33 Reblogs & comments are most appreciated🩷

A god among men, that’s how Aemond feels when he closes his eye and lets Vhagar float in the air, flapping her wings once in a while to get to King’s Landing faster. He remembers the nights he prayed to the gods to give him strength, to change his destiny, and to give him a happy life, but today, with his she-dragon soaring through the clouds, he took his faith in his own hands and became a God himself.

A delicious ache in his muscles seeps through his bones, but it is nothing compared to the rush of euphoria he feels as he imagines himself on the throne with his uncle’s head beneath his foot and his queen by his side.

His queen, you, oh how he has done all of this for you. He has turned into a monster, soaked his hand in the blood of his kin while he thought of you, and how he deserves to have a queen befitting him and his reign.

He knows what he must tell the council and his mother, something that surely aligns with Cole’s words, but what he has to say to you has been worded out for so long that he cannot believe his plan has finally reached so far to this point to utter them to you.

He sighs as he feels his pants tighten — at the thought of you and the weight of the Conqueror's crown — and to his luck, the city comes into his view, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while he guides Vhagar atop Visenya’s hill. He catches the sight of two Dragonkeepers and a horse ready for him, watching how they scurry away from the old she-dragon and wait for her to land.

Vhagar’s body shakes the ground as her feet keep her body secured, and Aemond rubs her scales softly before he climbs down the ropes of his saddle, jumping on the grass before he shushes the dragon again, mumbling a soft ‘Lykiri’ against her snouts.

He doesn’t spare a glance at the Dragonkeepers, he moves past them to the guard who hands him the reins of the horse, and Aemond swings his leg over the saddle before guiding the horse down the hill, bolting through the streets of the city.

The wind blows through his hair as he rides the horse to the Red Keep’s gates, lords and ladies move out of his way quickly, making room for their prince so he can lead his horse to the yard. The guards are fast on their feet to reach for the reins, stopping the animal so Aemond can step down.

He jumps down, patting the neck of the mare before he strides forward inside the castle, the court is already fussy with anticipation of what has befallen their king, but Aemond has one person in his mind that he wishes to seek out.

“Aemond!” The sound of his mother stops him on the stairs, and he looks up to see her running towards him with shock and disbelief on her face, “what’s happened?”

“We took the castle,” he says calmly, almost dismissively, “our king graced us with his presence on the battlefield. We won.”

He tries to move past Alicent with a shrug, but she grabs his arm tightly, forcing him to look her in the eyes before she asks what has been bothering her ever since Sunfyre took the sky earlier that day. But with the look Aemond gives her, she closes her mouth silently, nodding before she departs towards the main entrance of the castle, waiting for the hand to come back to the city.

Aemond scoffs and takes long steps toward the royal chambers on the upper floors, passing the servants who shield themselves from his gaze as he goes past them. 

He knows the path leading to the queen’s chambers like the back of his hand; through the stairs and Maegor’s tunnels — He has walked each way for many nights just to stay behind your doors and listen to your sweet voice talking to your daughter or handmaidens.

Aemond remembers the day you were wed to his brother, covered in a beautiful white and golden gown that brought out your curves to his eye. He was infatuated from the moment he laid his eye on you, and after such a long time, that infatuation has turned into something more primal and possessive, something that he thinks his brother does not deserve, that is befitting of Aemond and not the drunken fool who’s your husband.

Each step he takes adds more to the post-battle euphoria he’s experiencing — now that he’s the heir and the most powerful man, he deems himself fit to not just rule over the kingdom of ash and bone that is about to endure more battles, but to have his queen by his side. What better woman than the already beautiful creature that lies in an attached chamber to the king’s?

A ghost of a smirk forms on his face with each second that he walks within the hallways that lead to your chambers, his chin held high and his fingers itching with excitement in his leather gloves as he locks them behind his back.

Aemond licks his bottom lip, his blood rushing down to his core at the thought of the sight of you heavy with his child and the Conqueror’s crown atop your head. His queen, even the sound of it in his head seems right.

When he reaches your door, he pushes it without knocking, finding you already pacing with a wet handkerchief clutched in your hand.

Sweet sweet lady, the queen of his dreams, he basks in the way you carry yourself with worry for your husband. What a good wife he wishes to say, but no, a good wife to his idiot brother is not much better than a slur.

But to him? Oh, how much of a phenomenal bride-to-be you’d make for him, someone who is kind and deserving of his reign.

“My queen,” he says, standing straight when your head snaps in his direction, concern weaved into your features already. He takes in a deep breath as his eye runs over your form — a red long-sleeved gown with black dragons embroidered on it, your hair wild and free from your usual braids.

“Aemond!” You rest your hand against your heart as you take a few steps towards him, “What has befallen us? Aegon, he—“

“Shh,” he gently shushes you, his gloved hands coming to rest on your elbows, holding your body close to his, “we have won the battle. The castle has fallen and the false queen can no longer have a ground army.”

“That is great!” You utter, “But— what of our king? My husband? Aemond, is he alright?”

He smiles gently, a smile that does in fact reach his eye. There is a malicious look he has that it seems you fail to notice, because even his mother hesitated to let him go easily, but you? No, your soft and loving nature could never go past his mask.

“He is…”

“What? Please, Aemond is he—“ 

“No, no,” he replies quickly, one of his hands coming up to rest on your cheek, “he fought well, and he is alive,” he caresses your cheek as his eye meets yours, thinking how beautiful you look all worried about your husband, soon you’d be looking worried about him and not his brother.

“But…”

“But what? Is he hurt?” You grip his forearm tightly, looking up at him with tears stinging your eyes, “Tell me, please, Aemond, what’s happened to my husband?”

“He’s alive but on the brink of death. The traitor Rhaenys… your grace, such stories are not meant to be heard by a gentle soul like you—“

“I wish to know! What have they done to my husband?!” You demand him to tell you, and Aemond sighs deeply, but the buzz of excitement makes him even more determined.

Sweet lamb falling right into his trap.

“He took the skies quite suddenly, I had little time to meet him in the air. Meleys and her bitch of a rider had their claws in our king, and however fearsome he is, he could do naught.”

With each word that falls from his lips, more tears drop from your lashes, and he feels how numb you’re slowly getting in his arms.

“Sunfyre and Aegon… they survived Dragonfire, but—“

“Gods be good!” You gasp, a sob wrecking your body as he tries to shush you, a gloved finger reaching to wipe away your tears gently.

“I found him; burnt, broken but breathing,” he kisses your forehead, smirking against your skin, “he told me — had me promising him — to make haste and seek you out, to take care of your every wish.”

“Thank the gods!” You ask him, craning your neck to look into his eye, “What else did he say?”

He can’t answer you, not when you look at him with such a yearning, eyes full of tears and longing for condolences. He smooths his finger over your eyebrows, creasing your frown before he leans down and presses another kiss to your cheek.

“I could not say, he was weary, but…” his other hand comes to cup your face, “he told me to answer to your every whim, and that you should stay by my side until he has healed and help me rule.”

“But shouldn’t I take care of him?” You ask, eyes narrowing as he gently backs you up towards your bed, “Aemond, what are—“

“My queen, do you trust me?” He asks as he trails a path from your cheek to the column of your throat with his nose, “I will take care of you, all of your needs. That is what our king wanted, how cruel would we be if we do not obey his commands?”

“We would break his heart,” you whisper, inhaling sharply when he hovers his lips against yours, “we should do as he asks.”

“Hmm, yes, we should,” he closes the gap between the two of you, his lips moving along yours slowly for he feels how you quiver and meet his lips hesitantly.

He kisses you gently at first, hands moving down towards your waist to pull on the strings of your gown, long gloved fingers working on it until the red fabric loses its grip around your waist. Aemond pushes the gown off your shoulders, caressing your skin with the back of his hand before he lets your dress pool around your ankles.

His lips move against yours passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth for the first time, and he lets himself get lost in your taste — sweet with a tinge of lime, hinting that you’ve had lemon cake earlier.

He pushes you onto the bed after he helps you out of your shift, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. He pulls his gloves off by his teeth, dropping each on the floor next to your discarded clothes, soon to be followed by his belt and dagger.

He can hear the rumbles of his men walking back to the city, but now all his attention is on you, and how he has to take what he has promised himself. 

Aemond doesn’t take his clothes off, he would if he were a lesser man, but now, he’s determined, ready to take the promised prize and faith the Gods have granted him — but no god is intelligent enough to set you as his prize. It’s always been him and his schemes.

He pushes his leather pants down enough to free his aching cock, swiping his finger across your wet slit, eliciting a moan out of both of you as he keeps rubbing your pearl firmly, basking in your whines of pleasure.

His free hand strokes himself to full hardness, thinking of your upcoming wedding night and how he’d take you in front of the council on the bedding from behind, chaining you to him like the religion that has chained his mother to the Seven.

You fist the bedsheets, back arching as soon as he covers your body with his and guides his cock to your soaked entrance. He watches how your lips part in a silent plea when he breaches your cunt, groaning as soon as your walls envelop his length.

“Oh, Aemond—“You reach for him desperately when he sheathes himself inside you completely, not letting you adjust to his size for more than a mere second before setting up his pace, bullying his cock deep inside you with each smooth stroke.

It’s empowering to see you all nude and luscious on your bed taking his cock like you were shaped just for him to do so — maybe you were made for him, molded into this perfect lady to be desired and cherished by him.

“Aren’t you the most beautiful queen the realm has ever seen?” He asks, his eye is hazy with lust as he fucks you harder, finding deep pleasure in how he’s fully clothed and you are bare as the day you were born. He takes pride in having you putty in his hands.

He cages you under him, his lips slotting against yours once more as he licks his way into your mouth while he slams his shaft inside your tight cunt with abandon.

“Gods, oh– I’m— ah!”

“You only have one god, my darling, and that is me,” he groans against your lips, his leather coat brushing against your heated skin while the tip of his cock nudges against your sweet spot that has you seeing stars, “Worship me at your altar, just as your husband wanted.”

You come with a cry of his name, sending him over the edge with your sweet moans of euphoria. He bruises himself to a halt, emptying his sack with ropes of his cum inside you, making sure to make the next king of the Seven Kingdoms with his queen.

The way your face scrunches in pleasure has him almost coming again, knowing it was him who gave you such a blinding peak that has you shaking in his arms.

The sounds of footsteps rushing past your door to the King’s chambers have the two of you scurrying and parting from each other. You are clumsy with how you put on your dress with Aemond’s warm seed dribbling down your thighs, but your husband’s home, your king.

Aemond tucks himself back into his pants, following you out of your chambers into his brother’s only to find the maesters and his mother already there, tending to his burns and wounds.

“Aegon, my love—“ he doesn’t listen to what you say as you try to make room for yourself among the men, wanting to reach for your husband.

“Someone has to rule in his stead,” Aemond exclaims as he leans on the headboard of the bed, looking down at his handiwork before he catches your eyes as you smile with teary eyes at him, nodding to Alicent in encouragement.

“The gods have blessed him with intelligence for he would make a fine ruler, and he shall take care of me, just as our king desired.”

[aemondapologistfrfr]

His Princess

fancast!bloody ben x targ!fem!reader

Summary: During Rhaenyras absence Jace and Baela deploy you out to deal with the Blackwoods and the Brackens, atop Silverwing. You treat with Lord Benjicot and prepare for a battle with the Brackens. You both can’t help the feelings that arise from working closely together.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, drinking, blood, blades, death(not mc), burning, foul language, political plotting, oral (f receiving), p in v

Authors Note: no bc i got caught up in the plot for a sec 😵‍💫, the rider dragon bond is diff than show, I would say I proofread this like 90%

Word Count: 6.2k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

“I’m done fucking waiting.” Jace paces around the painted table cursing under his breath. Baela goes to Jaces side and offers him hushed words of support.

The council stares at Jace in anticipation to finally make an appearance in this war. Rhaenyra has been gone for days without so much as a word while Jace and Beala are getting eaten alive by the men surrounding this table. Daemon is doing Gods know what in Harrenhal while we’re on the brink of battle.

“The Riverlands grow restless, my Prince. The Blackwoods and Brackens are at each other’s throats. There’s been no word from Daemon so we must assume no one is there to rally them together.” Lord Massey states with a clipped tone.

“We must send a dragon to amass them to our cause. Or to help the Blackwoods defeat the Brackens. Regardless something needs to be done and soon.” Lord Celtigar nods his head and looks around at his fellow vultures.

“Y/N take Silverwing.” Jace turns to me. “Go to Raventree Hall. Speak with Bejicot Blackwood and do whatever it takes to get him and his men to join our other army. If you can get the Brackens to bend the knee: Great. If not: Burn them. We are done sitting aside in this war.” Jace says with a boisterous voice.

“I heartedly agree with this decision.” Lord Emmon nods his head along with the other Lords.

“Then I shall see you when I return victorious, brother.” I smile to Jace. “Sister.” I smile and nod to Baela before exiting the war room.

Once in my chambers I hastily pack a couple of bags. I change into my riding armor and place my sword in its sheath down my back. I dart down the stairs to greet Silverwing before anyone changes their mind on sending us out. My dragon and I have been itching to take to the skies and begin bending knees.

“Hello, my beautiful girl.” I coo as I approach her and offer her pats. “We’ve finally been given leave.” I say with a playful tone as she chuffs and turns to me.

I quickly mount her and she brings us to the lip of the cave. As she steps over the ledge she lets us free fall which always makes my heart drop. Her wings catch the breeze and we shoot forward as I wildly laugh while clinging to her.

During the flight to the Riverlands I keep my eyes peeled for any armys. I have yet to see anything concerning, but keep a vigilant watch nonetheless. We fly a couple miles away from Harrenhal, but we still faintly hear Caraxes high pitched song.

We thankfully hear no other dragons and have no vision on any army’s as we begin our approach on Raventree Hall. Silverwing circles the castle and gives out a fearsome cry before landing on the outskirts of the city walls. I leave my bags attached to the saddle incase I don’t receive the welcome I’m expecting. Once I make it to solid ground guards start to approach, but keep their distance as they take in my dragon hovering behind of me.

“I come as an extension of the Crown. I must speak with your Lord at once.” I look to the guards expectantly.

“And which Crown might that be?” one guard is brave enough to question me.

“The only rightful Crown. That sits atop my mother’s head. Queen Rhaenyra.” my tone clipped as I start to approach and then men back up.

“I’m sorry, Princess.” they all bow their heads deeply as they bend the knee to my mothers cause. “These are strange times.”

“Indeed.” I hum as I look down at them.

“I’ll go get Lord Benjicot.” one guard raises his head and rushes through the gate behind him.

I turn back to Silverwing and she seems to roll her eyes at the men behind of us. I climb back to retrieve my bags and offer her words of praise and thanks for a smooth flight. As I turn to dismount once more there is a handsome man looking up at me with a slack jaw. I look down at him with low lids and wicked smile.

“Who might you be?” I call down to him as I toss my bags next to him.

“Lord Benjicot Blackwood, Ben if you wish.” he calls up to me as he falls to his knees. I smirk as I slide down the side of Silverwing and stand in front of him as he continues to look at my boots.

“Rise, Ben.” I say hushed as his eyes travel up my body until they lock with mine.

“Is it too forward to say that I much like this position?” Ben offers me a wink and devilish smirk.

“Is that so?” I hum as I bring my hand to the side of his cheek. He grabs my hand with his own and brings it to his mouth to place a kiss on the back. He rises and towers above me never breaking our eye contact.

“What can I do for you, Princess?” he asks, smirk still plastered on his face.

“I wish to have an audience with you and your advisors in the council chambers.” I remove my hand from his and get to the more pressing matters. “I should also like live feed brought for my dragon. She’s hungry and I wouldn’t want her to pick through your men.” I looks to him expectantly waiting to be invited inside.

“Yes,” he clears his throat. “I’ll have some of my guards bring some cattle. Will she harm them?” he whispers the last part to me.

“Not unless they deserve it.” I chuckle as I grab my bags.

“Perfect.” Ben claps his hands together. “Then let’s have a meeting.” he takes my bags from my hands and leads me into the gate.

He hands my bags to servants and tells them to have them brought to the guest chambers. He leads me straight to the council chambers and offers me the seat next to him. Slowly members begin to filter into the room and once everyone takes their seat Ben rises.

“Gentlemen, this is Y/n Targaryen. Queen Rhaenyras first daughter. Rider of Silverwing.” he tells them, his words sounding like adoration.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware war is on the horizon, if not already here. After the battle of the burning mill it’s clear tensions have been high. I want to thank you for fighting in the name of my mother. I am here to ask you to pick up your swords for her again.” I look to all of them to read their expressions.

“What do you propose we do?” one of his advisors asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Call your banners and follow me and Silverwing to the Brackens. I shall ask them to bend the knee to the rightful Queen. If they refuse I shall burn them at your sides and we will continue on to meet the rest of our army to continue to battle and glory.” I say hoping they accept my more than generous offer.

“And what if the Brackens bend the knee? You expect us to fight alongside them?” another advisor speaks up, disgust heavy in his voice.

“I expect you to fight for your Queen.” my voice rises as I stand looking to him.

“We will fight for you. I’m just not sure if the Brackens share the same sentiment, Princess.” Ben adds, eyes shooting daggers to the advisor who spoke to me in such a manner.

“Then they’ll die.” I say flatly as I reclaim my seat.

“Then it’s settled.” Ben announces as no one else has any other grievances. “I’ll be able to have my men ready in two days time.” he nods his head to me.

“Excellent. I have nothing further to discuss at this moment.” I say waving my hand.

Ben dismisses his advisors and servants flood in and offer me beverages and food. I accept a cup of wine and sigh as I lean back into my chair. This went smoother than I anticipated, but I still think there will be work to do to prepare the Blackwoods before I ask the Brackens to bend the knee.

“I must send a raven to Dragonstone.” my eyes glide to Ben who has been staring at me.

“Yes, of course.” he rises from his chair quickly causing the legs to groan against the stone. “I’ll fetch you some parchment and ink.” he rushes out the door and leaves me blinking after him.

I scribble out a note to Jace and tell him of what’s happened and how I expect the meeting with the two hosts to go. I tell him I’ve secured the Blackwoods and intend to try my best with the Brackens but make no explicit promises. I seal it with red ink and hand it off directly to the maester.

“Allow me to show you to your chambers.” Ben says offering me his arm.

I look him over and decide it’s not terrible if I hang off of his arm like a simpering fool for a couple of days. There’s something alluring about him. I can feel the violence bubbling under the surface which excites me to no end. He begins to parade us down the halls with a ridiculous smile on his face as he looks down to every man we pass.

“Here we are, Princess.” he hums as we stop in front of a large set of double doors.

He opens the doors and escorts me in. I spot my bags on a chair near the freshly lit hearth. I peer into the bathing chambers and hum in appreciation at the small pool I have for a bath. Candles are lit throughout the chambers making them feel warm and inviting beside the dark stone and wood.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised you brought me to my own chambers and not yours.” I turn to Ben smiling as I see his cheeks redden.

“Is that disappointment I hear?” Ben cocks his head, matching my smile.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I playfully roll my eyes.

“Change and I’ll show you around Raventree Hall.” Ben’s smile lingers on his face. “If you want.” he backtracks slightly nervous.

“Come collect me in an hour.” I smile as his eyes alight with excitement as he slips out of my chambers.

Why couldn’t Jace send me to a house without such a handsome flirt of a Lord. I sigh out as I fall back into my bed. I rise and begin to remove my armor. I place my sword on the bed unsure if I’m ready to not have it on my person, armor or gown. I slip into a black form fitting gown and settle for a hidden dagger on my thigh. The sheath can only be seen if one is looking for it or if their hands found themselves traveling somewhere they shouldn’t. I braid my silver hair out of my face and leave the rest flowing down my back. I go to the couch and watch out the window until Ben comes to get me.

“Princess?” Ben’s voice carries through the door followed by a couple knocks.

“Come.” I call as I begin to rise off of the couch. Ben stands in the doorway staring at me with wide eyes. “Is this not appropriate for a tour? I can change.” I look down smoothing my dress slightly embarrassed and confused.

“No,” he breathes out. “No, you look perfect Princess.” his eyes meet mine and I can feel my cheeks flush at his compliment.

“Thank you.” I look up to his eyes and smile softly.

“A true Targaryen beauty.” he hums as he places a kiss on my hand lowering his head.

“You honor me, Lord Benjicot.” I say flustered at his words and actions.

“Ben,” he corrects me, smirking.

“Ben.” his name falls off of my tongue breathlessly.

“Come, let me show you my home.” Ben offers me his arm, which I accept as he leads me out of my chambers.

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Ben and I shamelessly flirt over the next two days as we ready our host. We plan strategies with his advisors on the best way to go about speaking with the Brackens. I’ve flown Silverwing near the border and seen the host they’re amassing for themselves. I’ll admit I hope to turn them to my mother’s cause but I can only do so much. This feud between these two house has lasted many generations and I’m not sure that the presence of a dragon will make much of a difference.

Jace has sent back word confirming and allowing me leave to do what must be done to secure a host from the Riverlands. There has been no word on Rhaenyra much to my concern and frustration. Hopefully the next time I see her I’ll have an army raised in her name. I send another raven back stating I plan to meet the Bracken host on the morrow and will send him word of the outcome.

“Are you scared?” Ben asks me, looking over his cup of wine as we dine alone.

“I think Silverwing and I can handle this.” I shrug, biting my lip.

“I know you both can. Doesn’t mean you can’t be scared.” he offers me a soft smile.

“Is it bad to admit that I am?” I asked hushed looking to him.

“No, it makes you smart. I haven’t seen you fight or duel. But from looking at the armor and sword you wore the first time I laid eyes on you, I would say you’re no stranger to what may come.” he surmises looking to me intently.

“I do well with a blade, better with fire.” I smile deviously. “How do you fare? Are you scared, Ben?” my smile widens as I suck in my bottom lip.

“Why should I be scared? I have a Targaryen Princess and her dragon flying above me. I think I can manage with a blade from below.” his eyes filled with shameless admiration as he looks to me.

“Don’t be so humble. I’ve heard your nickname and stories throughout your host.” I raise my eyebrow to him across the table.

“What nickname is that? I’m afraid there’s a few floating around.” he chuckles lowly.

“All I’ve heard is the whispers of Bloody Ben leading them to victory. How you come out of battle covered in blood with a wicked smile painted through it.” I look to him as his smile widens.

“Does that scare you?” he tilts his head studying me.

“Not in the slightest.” I gently shake my head.

“We shall see if that’s true on the morrow.” he hums, still looking over my face. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers.” he rises and walks over to help me rise from my chair.

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I rise early in the morning before the sun has started to rise. I begin fastening my hair into two long braids that flow down my back. I begin to stretch out some before covering myself in my armor. Once everything is secured I slide my blade down my back and check to make sure I have everything I should need. I quickly exit my chambers and as I’m turning the corner I clash into a man.

“Good morning.” I look up at Ben’s voice as his arms steady mine as I sway. “I was just coming to wake you.” he smiles still holding on to me.

“I always break fast with Silverwing before we do something strenuous. Would you like to join us?” I offer with a soft smile.

“I’d be honored, Princess.” he bows his head lowly as I playfully push him back.

“I thought we were done with the formalities, Lord Benjicot.” I chuckle as he regains his composure.

“Oh no, you will always be my Princess.” he licks his lips as I feel my cheeks start to heat.

“Mm, your Princess?” I raise my eyebrows trying to pretend my cheeks aren’t the color of dragon fire.

“Yes, mine.” he says lowly as he pinches one of my cheeks. “Come, let’s go get some cattle for Silverwing. I want to make sure she’s well fed for today, along with you, my Princess.” he whispers my title into my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I follow after him as he takes us to the dining hall. He tells a servant to have a couple plates made for us and brought out near Silverwing for us to eat. He leads us out of his castle and over to the rows of stables and barns. He offers men more than enough coin and soon we have five cattle trailing behind us as we make our way to Silverwing.

As we approach we see our breakfast laid on a blanket near my sleeping dragon who is now starting to wake at my approach. Ben lingers by our breakfast with the string of cows as I approach her. I rub her snout and walk down the length of her body to her tail, trailing my hand all the way. She begins to stir and offers small chuffs. As I walk back to her head she nudges her snout into me and huffs out.

“Oh come on, it’s not that early.” I chuckle as I scratch under her jaw. “That handsome man over there has brought you some gifts.” I hum as she rises her head and looks to Ben.

I nod my head encouragingly to Ben to bring over the cows. He walks over with a stiff spine but is sure to show no fear. Silverwing stares down at him as I walk to his side. She looks at both of us and comes to eye level. I look to Silverwing like a mother warning her child to be nice.

“He’s not your treat, he’s mine. He brought these cattle for you to indulge yourself on.” Silverwing chuffs at us and turns to the cows waiting for us to back away.

“Come.” I say, pulling Ben away.

Once we’re a safe distance away Silverwing dowses the cattle in fire until they’re burnt to a crisp. She lays back down with a thud and leisurely begins to eat her meal. Ben looks on at the scene as I leave his side to return to our breakfast. He claims a seat next to me, still looking to Silverwing.

“So how does that work? She can understand you?” Ben asks taking a sip of juice.

“She can understand me, yes. We have this sort of bond. It’s like a mutual respect of each other’s feelings and boundaries. Kind of as if our souls are molded together as one.” I look to my beautiful dragon as I speak with admiration.

“I can’t even begin to imagine the strength it takes to do that. To command the skies with her. You both are just so other-worldly.” Ben looks to me with reverence.

Silverwing chirps a soft song at Ben’s words and she continues to feast upon her cattle. I smile at her acceptance and happily eat the meal prepared for me. We eat in a comfortable silence as the men begin to rise for the upcoming day.

After we finish our breakfast Ben goes to speak with his fellow commanders and finalize the plan. I lounge with Silverwing watching the men run around camp. She grumbles when some walk a little to closer for her liking and I chuckle as they’re quick to run back. Once everyone seems scarce I rise and see that they have begun to fall into lines ready to march.

“It’s almost time for us to fly. I know not what today holds for us, but I know we will be victorious.” I talk to Silverwing patting her as I start to mount.

“A moment, my Princess.” Ben calls from afar and I turn to see him running to me.

“Yes?” I return to the ground and await for him to come to me.

“I seek your favor.” he pants, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “For luck, on our endeavors.” his cheeks become red from more than just his short run.

“I-“ I pat my armor knowing I have nothing on me to offer him. “I have nothing on me to-“ Silverwing chuffs and snaps a cattle bone, looking to us expectantly.

“Thank you, my beautiful Silverwing.” Ben smiles widely at my dragon as he bends down to claim the now bone knife from her claws.

“It seems she’s taken a liking to you.” I gasp as Silverwing nudges my back pushing me into Ben.

“And what of you?” he hums holding me.

“I suppose I have.” I try to look anywhere but in his eyes as my face heats.

“You have what?” he asks with a smirk, tilting my chin with his fingers so I have to look at him.

“Taken a liking to you.” I reply breathlessly looking at him through my lashes.

“May I have your favor?” Ben looks to my lips and then to my eyes in a silent question to which I nod my head vigorously.

His lips crash down into mine and his teeth are quick to bite down on my lower lip. I gasp out and his tongue slips into my mouth to dance with mine. One of his hands finds its way to the back of my neck molding me to him. He pulls back from my mouth as our breath mingles. I kiss him quickly one more time and a smile splits across his face. He kisses my forehead softly and steps back from me.

“Our host awaits your command, my Princess.” he looks at me with heavy lids.

“Begin marching, we should make it to Stone Hedge a little after midday. If you don’t see me, we’re in the clouds, but I’ll always be above you. I will see you for negotiations.” I nod to him.

“Understood. I will see you in a couple of hours.” he returns my nod, his cheeks still slightly flushed.

“Do not die today.” I call out as he begins to walk away.

“Your wish is my command.” he turns to me and bows deeply before continuing back to his men.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

I fly ahead of the Blackwood host to see if there are any traps waiting for us. We have a clear path directly to Stone Hedge. I hear no other dragons in our vicinity and sigh in relief. As we approach the outskirts we fly in closer to see if there are any scorpions that I should take out before even thinking of landing in an open field. I mark no weapons of note that make me unsure of my landing.

I circle back to our host and coast on the breeze as they make their way closer. They stop on the other side of the Brackens wooden barricade and await for my arrival. I fly over the approaching Bracken host taking in their numbers. We have about couple hundred more swords than they do and a dragon so I have no worry. Silverwing gives out a high pitched screech and the Blackwood hosts recedes allowing us land in front of them.

As we approach I can see the Brackens pushing back to their gates and chuckle. I slide out of my saddle and make my way to solid ground. The Blackwood host looks at me as if I’m a goddess stepping onto their battle field to bless them.

“How was the flight? What did you gather from up there?” Ben peppers me with questions on approach.

“We have more swords than they do. There were no weapons of note that I was worried about or we wouldn’t have landed here. On approach they pulled back. I’m going to have to lure the Lord out.” I list off what I’ve observed from the skies.

“Noted.” Ben nods his head. “And how was the flight?” his face softens as he smiles.

“Absolutely delightful.” my smile matches his as I look back to Silverwing.

“I’m glad to hear.” he looks down at me tenderly.

“Let’s go see if there’s a way to talk this through.” I sigh and begin leading us to the barricade.

As we begin walking to the middle I see small group of men approaching from the Bracken side. We wait at the edge expectancy and they stop a couple hundred feet away. I groan out in annoyance as I climb over the wooden fence. Ben is right behind of me as we cross the line.

“Thank you for meeting us away from your beast.” one of them says foolishly.

“My beast?” I bark out a laugh at his audacity. “She’s had quite the large breakfast, but surely she could always eat more?” I tilt my head, squinting my eyes at him.

“What is it that you’re here for?” Lord Bracken steps out from behind his men.

“Bend the knee to my mother, the rightful Queen of the realm. Join your host with hers and ride with her into battle and glory.” I hold my chin high as I study them as they take in my words.

“Alongside Blackwoods?” Lord Bracken scoffs looking to Ben.

“Alongside fellow Queensmen.” I correct through my teeth trying to cool my temper at his tone and disrespect. I’m trying to avoid what I know is coming and soon I won’t have patience for words anymore.

“What do I get in return? Her brazen daughter who stands to inherit nothing? Does she truly think your cunt is worth my army?” Lord Bracken looks at me with a smile as his words slam into me.

“As if you would’ve ever deserved her.” Ben breathes out in a chuckle and he lunges at Lord Bracken and slams the cow bone knife into the side of his throat. “You don’t speak to her like that.” he grits out twisting the bone.

The world slows as the next seconds play out in front of me. He pulls the bone out as blood splatters across his face he quickly slams it into the leg of the man next to him. I quickly grab my blade from my back and slice open the man who began to run towards Ben. The last man grabs me harshly and I grab the dagger from my ribs and slam it up into his jaw. I pull the dagger out of the man’s jaw causing blood to spray across my face. Time resumes normally and I’m quick to hear shouts from either side of the army.

“Get to Silverwing.” Ben shouts to me as he turns to face the army pulling out his long sword.

As I run back to the barricade men begin pouring over and running past me. They keep a clear path away from my dragon and I’m able to get to her quickly. I clip into the saddle and she shoots us into the air. We fly low as I look on at the brazen violence. We fly near the back of their lines so they’re not safe on any front.

“Dracarys Silverwing.” I cry out and the entirely of the back of their host is doused in dragon flame.

As I look down I see burning men running for their life. I fly to undefended western side of the Bracken host and Silverwing is quick to bathe them in flame. After burning as many as I could without getting too close to Blackwood men we circle our host and land at the back. I quickly dismount from Silverwing preparing to go into the thick of the battle.

A horn blows and all fighting ceases. I climb back up Silverwing to look on at the bloody mess to see what’s going on. I see my mother’s flag raised in the center of the field. I lay back into my saddle and smile that everything is done. I dismount once more and wait at Silverwings feet for Ben to come find us and tell us of his victory.

“My Princess.” Ben’s voice carries through the crowd as they part to make way for him.

“Bloody Ben indeed.” I hum as I look over him in his disheveled state.

“You’ve got a bit on you too.” he smiles wiping at my face.

“How did it go out there?” I ask pulling back to look him over, scanning for any injuries.

“Very good.” he nods and I can still feel the adrenaline pouring off of him. “You and Silverwing did so well. Amazing to be honest.” he showers me with praise causing my cheeks to redden under the blood.

“Thank you.” I reply bashfully.

“Blushing like I didn’t watch you stab a man in the jaw.” his eyes worship me as he shakes his head.

“You are such a fool for doing what you did.” my eyes narrow on him remembering the start of this.

“I was willing to listen to what he wanted until he brought you into it.” he says approaching me. “I told you that you’re mine.” he says only audible for me.

“Ben-“

“You as a person are worth more than any army. Or any kingdom. Or any realm.” he whispers to me. “I would’ve fought alongside all of them if it meant I could stay by your side.” his eyes scan my face as it softens.

My hands reach up to bring his face down to mine. I place a soft kiss on his lips and pull back to look up at him. He captures my lips once more and pulls me tightly to him. Men begin to cheer and clap around us much to my embarrassment. I pull back giggling as he continues to pepper kisses around my face.

We separate and begin to assess the losses. We were fortunate not to take many causalities or injuries. Ben’s most trusted men take the castle at Stone Hedge and raise my mother’s banners in the usurpers stead. Once the castle is deemed safe we walk through the gates.

Upon entering the castle we have a servant lead us the council chambers and see if there was any information left about the Greens movements. Ben’s advisors join us for a debriefing and I quickly write out a note to send to Jace of our victory in the taking of Stone Hedge and raising an army.

Ben dismisses his advisors and then it’s just the two of us lingering. I take in his bloodied state and shake my head. I know I’m not in a much better state either and begin to rise to seek a servant to make me a bath.

“Where are you off to?” Ben is quick to rise at my side.

“To find a bath. I suggest you do the same.” I raise an eyebrow to him as a smile plays at my lips.

“We could bathe together.” Ben whispers against my lips.

“Mm, come find me once you’re clean, Lord Benjicot.” I smirk against his lips and then slip out of the council chambers leaving him alone.

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A moan slips from my lips as I sink into the hot water. I scrub at my skin and splash water against my face watching the water turn pink and then maroon. I pick my nails clean and once I’m satisfied I rise out of the water wrapping a towel around my body. I groan as I remember the only thing a servant could seem to find me is a sheer slip.

I throw my towel to the ground and huff out as the slip only reaches to the top of my thighs. I make my way over to the vanity and begin to take my braids out. I praise the gods that my hair was spared from the blood. I shake my hair out helping relieve some of the tension that remains. I begin to make my way to my bed as there’s a knock at my door.

“Yes?” I ask from the other side of the door not wanting to be seen in such an exposed state.

“I’m clean.” Ben chuckles from the other side of the door. I crack open the door and take in his freshly bathed state.

“Of course they’d be able to find you proper clothing.” I roll my eyes and allow him in.

“You are absolutely divine.” Ben’s eyes finally land on mine after drinking in my exposed body.

“You clean up nicely yourself.” I appreciate his clean face and body as he stalks over to me.

“My Princess.” he breathes out as he kneels before me, his breath fanning across my thighs.

“Hmm?” I hum, looking down at him as my fingers travel through his hair.

“May I taste you?” he asks softly as his hands trail up my bare legs.

“Please, Ben.” I reply breathlessly nodding my head.

As he rises from his knees, he takes my slip with him. I stand before him completely bare as his eyes dart across my body. I help him remove his clothes as we make our way to the bed. He pushes me on the bed when the back of my knees hit it. He kneels before me once more and pulls my core directly to his awaiting mouth.

“Fuck,” I cry as his tongue lashes against my clit.

With every swirl of his tongue my hips are rising off the bed. One of his hands finds its way between my thighs and he teases two fingers at my entrance. His slowly pushes his two digits in as whimpers fall from my mouth. He begins to pump in and out of me slowly as my hips grind onto his face and hand.

“Ben, please,” I whine as he begins a fast pace.

I lose myself to the pleasure as my moans travel throughout my chambers. My thighs quake at his relentless pace as his name pours from my lips. I explode around his fingers as his tongue continues to lick softly at my clit.

“Ben,” I breathless sob as my hand pulls his hair harshly away from my sensitive bud.

“You taste so good, I could eat you all night.” he places soft kisses on my thighs.

He snakes his way up my body and claims my mouth in a heated kiss. I feel his hardened length slide through my wetness causing me to whine. He chuckles against my lips as my hips continue to squirm.

“Are you ready, my Princess?” he whispers against my lips as he lines himself up at my entrance.

“Yes, please,” I arch my hips up to his begging for friction.

A moan tears through me as he slides into me. He wastes no time and fully pushes himself into me. The stretch of him causes my eyes to screw shut as I focus on the feel of him. I begin to slowly rock my hips once I’ve adjusted and he claims my lips once more as he starts to move his hips.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” he plants against my lips as his pace increases.

My legs wrap around his waist as I cling to him as he continues to pull pleasure from my body. His hips snap into mine at the new angle, stealing my breath. Our breathes become one as our hips meet in a rhythm that has us both panting. Pleasure washes over me, catching me off guard as my nails dig into Ben’s shoulder.

“Fuck, princess.” he grits through his teeth as he keeps pounding into me.

Tears begin to prick at the edges of my eyes from the pleasure he’s repeatedly wringing from my body. One of his hands slide between us and attach to my sensitive bud. I cry out and clench around him and he groans into my neck. I feel him begin to fill me as his hips falter and I explode around him once more, his name falling from my lips as if it’s the only word I know.

“You did so good for me, my Princess.” he whispers as he slowly pulls out.

He pulls me to his side and covers us with the blankets. I curl into his side and hum at his words of adoration and praise. My eyes begin to feel too heavy as I allow sleep to consume me.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Part 2

full masterlist here

ongoing aemond fic plug tho

[novaursa]

Where Banners Fall

- Summary: After your fall at Rook’s Rest, Gwayne takes you to safety and some hidden things come to light.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's sister and bonded with Silverwing. This part continues just after The Flames We Carry. For all parts done in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

-Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 3 320

- A/N: Yeah, this one was not ment to come out today either, but you all liked the last part very much, so, here is the continuation of it. Enjoy! ❤️

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The moon casts its pale light through the dense trees, illuminating the night in a silvery glow. The wind is cold, biting through layers of bloodied cloth, as Gwayne Hightower clutches the reins with one hand and his side with the other. His breath comes ragged, each inhalation a struggle as the gash Cole delivered sends jolts of fire down his side. But none of it matters, not when your life is in his hands. 

You lie slumped against his chest, your skin far too pale, and your breaths shallow, rattling with a sound that tears at his heart. Blood streaks your face, staining your lips, a crimson trail leaking from your nose. The fall from Silverwing... gods, he can still hear the roar of dragons and the sickening crunch of bones as you hit the ground. He couldn't—wouldn’t—leave you there, even if it meant betraying everything he'd ever known.

He halts the horse in the shadow of a large oak tree and dismounts with a groan, one arm wrapped protectively around his wounded side. The pain lances through him, nearly buckling his legs, but he grits his teeth and turns to you, his gaze softening despite the turmoil raging within.

"Y/N," he whispers, barely able to speak your name without his voice cracking. Carefully, he lifts you from the saddle, feeling your weight crumple against him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His fingers tremble as he lays you down gently on the mossy ground. You are so still, too still. 

He kneels beside you, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. "Open your eyes. Just... look at me, Y/N." His voice is hoarse, almost pleading. His hands, stained with blood—your blood, his blood—ghost over your cheeks, checking for any signs of life. 

Your eyelids flutter, and a soft moan escapes your lips, causing his heart to lurch with both relief and anguish. "Gwayne?" you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. Each word seems to sap what little strength you have left.

"I'm here. I won’t leave you, I promise," he assures you, his voice steady though it takes everything in him to keep it that way. He cups your face in his hand, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're safe now."

Tears prick his eyes as he sees the pain etched across your features. It’s a stark reminder that you’re not just his princess, the sister of Rhaenyra, daughter of Viserys—you’re the woman who’s owned his heart for years, even if it was a tragic love and often denied.

"You shouldn’t have come back for me," you rasp, your breath hitching in pain. "They’ll kill you…"

"Let them," Gwayne says with a fierce intensity, voice raw with emotion. "If it meant keeping you alive, I’d suffer any fate they decide." He swallows, lowering his head so his forehead rests against yours. "But I couldn’t let you die back there. Not you."

Your eyes fill with tears, but your smile is faint and tinged with regret. "Foolish knight. Always so stubborn."

He chuckles softly, though the sound is strained. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve finally done something right, if it means keeping you with me just a little longer."

You cough weakly, and the sound sends a fresh surge of panic through him. Blood dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and his heart twists at the sight. Desperation claws at him, urging him to do something, anything to ease your suffering, but he knows there’s little he can do out here in the wilderness with no healer, no herbs, nothing but his own two hands.

"I need to make camp," he says gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek one last time before he stands. "We’ll rest here. I’ll tend to you as best I can."

You try to protest, your voice faint. "You’re injured too… I can see the blood. You’ll bleed out if you—"

"Shh." His tone is soft but firm, silencing your concern. "You’re more important to me than any wound I bear." 

He gathers what little strength he has left and begins preparing a makeshift camp, struggling to keep his movements swift despite the burning pain in his side. He lights a small fire, the flickering flames casting shadows over your pale features. Every time he glances at you, his chest tightens with fear that he’ll lose you before the dawn.

Finally, when he’s done, he returns to your side, wrapping his cloak around your trembling form. He cradles you gently in his lap, pressing you close to share what warmth he can offer.

You turn your head weakly to look at him, tears brimming in your eyes. "Gwayne… if I don’t—"

"No," he interrupts, his voice sharp, as if the very idea of you leaving him is unbearable. "You’ll live, Y/N. We’ve both been through too much for it to end here."

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of night creatures. You rest your head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of armor and cloth. Despite everything, the world seems a little less terrifying with him holding you like this.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, your fingers curling weakly against his tunic. "For saving me… for staying."

"Always," he whispers, tightening his hold on you, as if afraid you’ll slip away. "For you, I would defy the world."

His words are heavy with truth. He betrayed Cole, risked everything—his loyalty, his honor, his House—because nothing mattered more than you. As he watches your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, he swears to himself that he’ll see you through this, no matter the cost.

The night wears on, and as the fire crackles and the stars glimmer overhead, he keeps vigil, his thoughts solely on you. In the stillness of the night, there is only the two of you, bound by fate, by the shared loss and love that lingers unspoken between every touch, every look.

And as sleep finally claims you, Gwayne brushes a tender kiss to your brow, whispering the words he’s held back for far too long.

"I love you, Y/N."

The admission hangs in the air, soft and fragile like a promise yet to be fulfilled. But as the night deepens, with you in his arms and the world beyond fading into the distance, it is a vow he clings to with all his heart.

The first rays of dawn filter through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns of golden light over your face. The chill of the night still lingers in the air, but warmth gradually spreads as the sun climbs higher. Gwayne Hightower stirs awake, the dull ache in his side reminding him of the wound that still bleeds sluggishly beneath layers of makeshift bandages. But the pain is forgotten the moment he notices your chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. You’re alive. You’re breathing.

For a fleeting moment, all his worries and fears dissolve as he watches you. Your skin is still too pale, your breathing shallow, but your lips are no longer tinged with the blue pallor of death. When your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Gwayne?” Your voice is soft, laced with confusion and pain, but it’s enough to make his heart soar.

“I’m here.” He shifts closer, gently brushing his hand over your forehead, smoothing away a few stray strands of hair. His touch is tender, reassuring, but there’s an edge of desperation to it, as if touching you is the only way he can convince himself you’re still with him. “You’re safe.”

You close your eyes briefly, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whisper, “Silverwing… she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Gwayne’s throat tightens, and he struggles to find the words. He knows how deep the bond is between a rider and their dragon, knows how it must feel like losing a piece of your soul. “She saved you, Y/N. She fought until the very end to protect you.”

A sob escapes your lips, but it’s weak, more of a trembling breath than anything. You turn your face into his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. “She was everything to me. I felt her… I felt her fear when they descended on us. She tried, Gwayne… she tried so hard.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you grieve. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “She was brave, just like you.”

For a long moment, he just holds you, letting the silence settle between you, broken only by the faint sounds of the waking forest. His thoughts, however, race. He knows they can’t stay here. His nephews’ banners surround them from every side, and it’s only a matter of time before scouts or patrols find them. He can’t risk it, not with you in this condition.

“We need to get you to Dragonstone,” he finally says, his voice low but determined. “To Rhaenyra. She’ll know how to keep you safe.”

You nod faintly against his chest, but your eyes are distant, as if lost in some faraway memory. “Dragonstone… where our son is.”

The words come so softly that at first, Gwayne thinks he’s misheard. His heart stutters, the blood draining from his face as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “What did you say?”

You blink slowly, your eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain, but there’s a haunted look in them now. “Our son… I can’t… I can’t lose him too.”

The world tilts beneath Gwayne’s feet. He stares at you, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said. “Y/N… what do you mean, our son?”

You swallow, the effort seeming to drain you. “He’s ours, Gwayne. He… he was born after… after everything. After Daemon took me.”

His chest tightens, shock mingling with something deeper, more painful. He had always known you were taken by Daemon, given to him as part of the political machinations he could never fully understand years ago. It was a decision that had shattered him at the time, but hearing this now—knowing you bore his child in secret—rips at old wounds, laying them bare.

“A son…” The words are a whisper, disbelief and awe warring in his voice. “You kept him hidden from me?”

Tears brim in your eyes again, your voice breaking. “I had no choice. Daemon… he knew the child wasn’t his. He claimed him, raised him as his own, but he’s ours, Gwayne. He’s our flesh and blood.”

Gwayne’s heart pounds in his chest, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him—anger, sorrow, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “All this time… I never knew.”

“I wanted to tell you, but it was too dangerous,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I thought… I thought it was better if you didn’t know. To keep you safe from Daemon’s wrath.”

Gwayne’s world narrows to this moment, to the truth of a child he never knew he had, one who’s been raised by a man who has always been his rival in more ways than one. The thought of Daemon laying claim to something so precious to him—it ignites a rage deep in his chest, but it’s tempered by the sheer anguish on your face.

He tightens his grip on you, pulling you into him as if holding you closer will somehow mend the broken pieces of the life you might have had together. “We’ll get him back,” he vows, voice low and fierce. “You and I—we’ll go to Dragonstone. To your sister. To our son. I won’t let Daemon keep what’s ours.” 

The thought makes his blood run cold, but for you, he’d face even that man.

You look up at him, your gaze searching his, and for a moment, you’re not the princess caught in the bloody web of war and dragons—you’re just a woman looking at the man you love, hoping against hope that he can keep the promise he’s just made. “I’ve missed him so much,” you whisper. “And I’ve missed you.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he allows himself to hold you as if you’re the only thing that matters. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “And I’m not going anywhere without you. We’ll get through this.”

The resolve in his words steadies the both of you. There’s a long road ahead, fraught with dangers and uncertainties, but he knows with unwavering certainty that he won’t let anything tear you away from him again—not the war, not his family’s betrayal, and not even Daemon’s machinations.

You’ve lost so much—your dragon, your freedom, your soul—but in this moment, you find a glimmer of hope in the man who’s risked everything for you. And as the morning sun rises, casting light on the uncertain path ahead, you cling to that hope, knowing that Gwayne will do whatever it takes to bring you home—to your sister, to your son, and to the life you both deserve.

Together, you’ll reclaim what’s been taken. And together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves on uneven ground fills the tense silence between you and Gwayne as he guides the horse deeper into the wilderness. Morning light filters through the trees in shifting patterns, but it does little to ease the weight pressing on Gwayne’s chest. His mind churns, cycling through the revelation you just laid bare—a son. His son. Every heartbeat seems to echo with the implications, each thump a reminder of the child who was taken from him, raised by a man Gwayne both loathes and fears.

He clenches the reins tighter, trying to steady his thoughts as they race uncontrollably. A son. His thoughts circle back to it, gnawing at him like an itch he can’t scratch. What is the boy like? What does he look like? The questions burn in his throat, but the uncertainty of what comes next gnaws at him even more. Daemon, he thinks bitterly, the name sour on his tongue. The prince’s shadow looms over everything now, twisting this newfound truth into something almost unbearable.

But he can’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now. You’re still weak, clinging to consciousness by a thread. The ride is perilous, the terrain rough, and every jolt of the horse draws a faint whimper from your lips. Each sound slices through him like a blade, a reminder that you’re slipping further away with every mile. His instinct is to press forward, to ride hard and fast to the nearest settlement that might offer help, but every harsh movement risks worsening your condition.

He takes a deep breath and glances down at you, leaning back against his chest, your eyes half-lidded in a haze of pain. "Y/N," he calls gently, hoping to draw you back to him, even if only for a few moments. "Stay with me. I need you to stay with me."

You stir slightly, your eyelids fluttering as you try to focus. Your breaths are labored, each one a struggle, but the sound of his voice seems to anchor you in the present.

"I’m here," you whisper, though your voice is faint and distant, almost as if you’re speaking from another world. "Just… so tired."

Gwayne swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push through the fear gnawing at him. He needs answers, needs to understand what you’ve been through, what he’s been through, if he’s going to piece together a plan that might save you both. "You spoke of our son… before," he says carefully, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of reality. "Tell me about him, Y/N. I need to know."

Your gaze drifts upward, unfocused, as if you’re looking at something beyond his reach. A faint smile tugs at your lips, though it’s tinged with sadness. "He’s beautiful," you murmur, voice trembling with emotion. "He has your eyes… that same spark. But he’s stubborn, too. So stubborn, just like his father."

Gwayne’s heart clenches at the thought. He can almost see it—an image of a child with your grace and his determination, laughing with that carefree joy only children possess. But there’s a shadow over the image, a darkness that steals the warmth from it.

"He doesn’t know who I am, does he?" Gwayne asks, though he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head weakly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He thinks… he thinks Daemon is his father. That’s all he’s known." Your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of the truth. "It was the only way to keep him safe. The only way to protect him while the world tore itself apart."

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, a surge of anger rushing through him, not at you but at the situation, at the cruelty of a world that forced such a choice upon you. "Daemon," he says bitterly, the name dripping with resentment. "He took everything from me. He even took him—our son—and you."

You turn your head slightly, struggling to focus on him, your expression full of regret. "He did it to protect him, Gwayne. As much as I hate it, I can’t deny that. In a world like this, with war tearing us all apart, who else could raise him? Who else could keep him alive?"

Gwayne’s throat tightens, the fury and sorrow tangling together in a knot that’s hard to unravel. He wants to argue, to curse Daemon’s name, but deep down, a small part of him knows you’re right. That’s what stings the most. Daemon was the one with power, the one who could shield the child from the dangers that lurked on all sides, even if it meant poisoning the boy’s mind against the truth of who he really is.

But he’s not ready to accept it. Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance to change things, to reclaim what’s his.

"I’ll find a way," he vows, more to himself than to you. "I’ll get him back, Y/N. I’ll make sure he knows who his true father is."

You smile weakly, though your eyes are growing heavier, the strain of staying conscious taking its toll. "You always were driven, my love," you murmur, voice fading. "Just… don’t lose yourself in anger. Our son deserves better than that."

Before he can respond, your eyes close again, and your body goes limp against him. Panic seizes him for a moment, but he quickly checks your pulse, relieved to feel the faint but steady beat beneath your skin. You’re slipping back into delirium, but you’re still alive. That’s all that matters now.

He looks ahead, squinting at the road as he spots the faint outlines of a small village in the distance—a neutral settlement, one of the few places where banners don’t fly for either side. It’s a place to rest, to gather supplies, and perhaps even to find someone who can tend to your wounds. But it’s not without risk. Enemies could be lurking anywhere, and he knows he can’t let his guard down.

As he rides toward the village, Gwayne’s thoughts swirl with plans and possibilities. He needs to get you to Dragonstone, needs to confront the truths that have been hidden for so long. But more than that, he needs to find a way to reunite with the son he never knew, the son who now lies in Daemon’s grasp.

And as the horse plods steadily forward, the determination in his heart hardens into something unbreakable. He will see this through, no matter what it costs. Because even in the face of betrayal, war, and loss, there’s something worth fighting for—a future that’s still within reach.

And he won’t let anyone—not even Daemon—take that from him.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

No Matter What- Aemond T.

Aemond is in love, and he refused to allow his nephew to have her. He will take her from Jacaerys by any means necessary.

Am I just going to keep writing my fics as if Season 2 didn’t happen at all?

Yeah…it’s very likely, yes🤣🤣

Also, for the person that DM’d me and asked if I have a name in mind for Y/n when I write for Aemond, yes. In my mind when I write, her name is Rhaella, I just think it’s the most beautiful Targaryen name I’ve heard. I also love Visenya but I feel it’s overused. The only other name I would potentially use would be Saera.

She was surprised by her Uncles attitude from the moment she first saw him again.

Y/n and Aemond had been best friends in their childhood. She had climbed onto the back of the Grey Ghost when she was only 5 years old (most people believing that the Dragon knew they were the same when it came to how shy and avoidant they were).

They hadn’t been close up until that point, only being 5 and 6 years old and both being outcasts among their family (though she almost preferred it that way). Y/n had offered to take Aemond with her flying one night after Aegon, Jace and Luke had ridiculed him again and he actually agreed, resting his hand on the nose of a dragon for the first time as Y/n calmed him. Climbing into the saddle and holding onto his niece had been awkward and a bit embarrassing until they were in the air and Aemond knew he was truly born for this.

From then on Y/n offered to take him with her quite often, always after their brothers had bullied one of them again. She comforted him, even once letting Aemond take the reigns and fly Ghost himself (which the pale dragon didn’t like at all sadly and only lasted a few moments), but the fact that she had done it meant the world to him. He promised to take Y/n with him on his dragon as soon as he mounts one, wanting desperately to impress her.

Aemond was Obsessed

Their friendship lasted like that for almost 4 years before that horrible night when Aemond was attacked by her brothers. He had been so excited to tell her about Vhagar, he had actually been running inside to wake her and take her flying like he promised when he was cut off.

She had held his hand from the moment she ran in, trying to comfort him as much as she was able until her mother pulled her away. Aemond raged when she was dragged away from his side but he was held down by Criston Cole from trying to take his Princess back, Daemon carrying the 9 year olds squirming body out and away from him.

As they all left the next morning he tried to find her, Rhaenyra glaring at him as he searched the courtyard and he knew her mother hadn’t let her come and say “goodbye”…that night was the last time he saw her for almost 9 years…

It was the worst thing Rhaenyra could have done. She had made her younger brother desperate, and desperate men do desperate things…he would have her back. No Matter What.

Aemond dreamed about nothing but his niece every single day after, determined to make her his despite the fact that her mother would never betroth her to him. He knew the only way he could make her his wife was to take her and make it the only option, Alicent would most definitely force their wedding very quickly rather than watch the only “legitimate” grandchild of her husband (other than his brother and sisters 3 children) carry a child unwed (as she was Daemons daughter “secretly” but could at least be passed off as not being Harwin Strongs).

When he finally saw her again he felt his breath stolen from his body, she was stunning, the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on. A women now, standing just shorter than Jace as she watched him in his training session with Cole. Aemond fought hard, determined to show her what he had become and he quickly ended the fight with his sword at his trainers throat.

‘Well done my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.’

Aemond rolled his eyes at that. ‘I don’t give a shit about tourneys…nephews. Have you come to train?’ He questioned, looking over the both of them before making eye contact with Y/n who blushed heavily as he did. ‘Niece. It is a pleasure to lay eyes on you again…and you are truly a sight to behold.’ He stepped closer, shoving himself between the Strongs to take her hand in his, lifting it to his lips and looking into her lovely purple eyes. Aemond was comforted to see no fear or disgust on her face, but her beautiful blush was something he wanted to see forever. ‘You are just as gorgeous as I imagined you to be.’ He whispered, leaning close to her ear.

‘Thank you Uncle. You have become ever more handsome, a man grown. The ladies must be fighting tooth and nail for your affections.’ She teased, however before he could respond and insist that he wanted no affections but her own, her bastard brother snatched her hand from his.

‘I would thank you to keep your hands to yourself Uncle, my betrothed should not be touched by anyone but me.’ Jace spoke with a smirk on his face. Anyone with eyes knew Aemond had always been in love with Y/n and his nephew was smug to be able to take any kind of happiness away from him as he always had done.

Aemond composed himself immediately, smiling down at him kindly but Jace could see the rage in his eye, the silent threat that he was giving being clear. ‘I suppose congratulations are in order then.’ And though he said it, he gave none before smiling at Y/n who was then pulled in the opposite direction and out of the courtyard.

‘I do not want to see him touching you again, do you understand me?’ Jace demanded as they got into the castle, Y/n pulling her hand from his angrily.

‘You are not yet my husband brother, don’t you dare order me as if you are. I still have plenty of time to tell mother I would rather be betrothed to anyone but you and that Baela can be Queen by your side one day. I am not an object for you to take possession of!’ And with that she stormed off, Aemond around the corner having heard the whole thing. He knew exactly how to get his girl to be his…though he doubted it would be hard with how his nephew treated his Queen.

‘You should be kinder to your future Queen-‘

‘She is mine, whether she likes it or not. I am to be the King one day, she cannot refuse me.’ Jace joked with Luke who snorted, Aemond turning and leaving the hall. Y/n was his future wife, no matter what he had to do to make sure of it.

After the horrific meeting to attempt to give Driftmark to anyone but Luke he was sadly reestablished as heir thanks to the King and Aemond found himself in a bit of trouble with everyone at dinner after calling his nephews Strong.

All of them were sent to their chambers and he hightailed it back to her chamber, slipping in before his niece and her guard arrived, hiding behind the wardrobe in case anyone came in with her.

‘I am tired Jacaerys, all I want is a good, long sleep. Just leave me be for the night, I will not answer you if you come back! I need no protection from you!’ She snapped as the door opened.

‘If Aemond-‘

‘Aemond is not here! And now you are not here either, go to your own chambers and give me a night of peaceful sleep after all of this Bullshit!’ She slammed the door, locking it instantly and Aemond could feel his cock hardening in his breeches. Something about hearing her reject Jace was a turn on for him in a major way and he wanted to mark her neck up with as many bite marks as possible, he needed to show his nephew who his Princess truly belonged to.

‘That was impressive.’ Aemond spoke, seeing her nearly jump a foot in the air as she gasped. ‘Apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you…I just wanted to see you. I knew your betrothed would not allow you even a moment in my presence.’ Her eyes were slit instantly as he said this.

‘Jace thinks he can control me but I will not let myself be that kind of wife! I am not an object to be owned, to be ordered around in front of his friends to make him look like a strong man or King! I do not want to be his wife or his Queen!’ She snapped and Aemond did his best to look at her softly, wanting her to see his empathy and her eyes widened as she realized what she had done. ‘I am so sorry Kepus! You did not deserve that, I am not angry at you. I am so-‘ (Uncle)

‘Breathe Byka Dārilaros…it is alright. I understand how angry he makes you feel, I hate him as well, remember?’ He teased and she chuckled before stepping forward and not hesitating to wrap her arms around his body, resting her head on his chest. (Little Princess)

‘I missed you so much Kepus…I wanted to write to you but my mother wouldn’t let me. She said it was a betrayal to Luke and that since you didn’t write to me, you clearly wouldn’t care but I-‘

‘I did write to you. I sent letters for months before I received one from my sister telling me to stop, that you did not want to hear from me but I knew that was a lie . There was not a single day that passed that I did not think about how much I missed you…’ Aemond looked down at her, his arms around her to hold her to him, hesitating only a moment as he looked into her soft eyes and pressed his lips to hers.

She surprised him a bit when she didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, her hands moving to hold his shirt tightly as he took her face into his and held her close. Y/n was his everything and he had been craving for this exact moment since he was 6 years old, wanting to kiss her since the moment they first flew together. She will be his and he will keep her close forever, determined to never let anyone touch what is his ever again-especially Jace.

‘You are so perfect…’ he mumbled against her lips before pulling away and resting his forehead on hers. ‘Do you want this? I don’t want to force you into anything you do not desire, my love…however I want you to be mine. I have craved you for so many years and I will cherish the ground you walk on if you will be mine.’ Aemond knew giving her the choice would make the difference in pushing her to do what she wanted even against her mothers wishes.

‘I love you Kepus, I always have…our mothers will never-‘

‘There is a way…My mother will insist upon it if I have already filled you with my son…’ he tried to speak softly, let her know that it is her choice to make. ‘I love you Byka Dārilaros, and I want you to be my wife more than anything. The thought of being forced to marry another turns my stomach however I will never force myself upon you. If you would marry Jace then I will love you from afar…but if you want me then I will make love to you right here and now. I will pleasure you all night long until you are so full of me there is no doubt you carry my son and then I will sleep inside of your pretty little cunt for our family to find come morning…let me love you in every way that he can’t.’ There were tears in her eyes as he finished speaking to her and he moved to wipe them away before she spoke again. Y/n reached up, taking the eyepatch covering his sapphire into her fingers before he caught her wrist awkwardly. No lady had ever seen his face and not been uncomfortable or disgusted by it which is why he always covered it whenever he wasn’t alone in his room or in the library.

‘I would look upon your face and see all that you are…while you fill me with our first child.’ He looked at her, startled for a moment before he released her hand and she pulled the eyepatch off.

‘First of many…I will fill you with as many children as you desire.’ Aemond promised before kissing her again, his hands moving to the back of her dress where he unlaced the corset and pulled it down her arms, lifting her out of the dress and moving to drop her onto the bed. She pulled off her small clothes as she watched him remove his shirt and breeches, leaving him bare and revealing his hard cock that was already leaking. ‘You are so beautiful, my love…tell me that you’re mine.’ Aemond insisted, his hand giving his member a firm stroke.

‘I’m yours Kepus, all yours forever.’ She promised as he crawled over her, kissing his jaw and down his neck sweetly. She was just so precious he couldn’t help the needy feeling in his chest demanding he take her.

‘All mine! Should any man look at you even a moment too long ever again, I will remove their eyes and feed them to the ravens.’ Aemond pushed her legs apart more so that he could settle between them, feeling her wetness on his cock for the first time and nearly cumming on the spot. He gave her a moment to relax herself upon pushing into her however she shocked him once again, moaning like a whore only a moment later prompting him to shove his hand over her mouth. ‘If someone hears you then your guard will come in here and we will be dragged apart. I would hear your lovely moans forevermore once I’ve filled your cunt but for now you must hush.’ She whined but bit her bottom lip hard to keep from making any loud noises. Aemond loved the knowledge that he could make her moan like that, in love with fucking her body already as he thrust up into her roughly. Her nails dug into his shoulders, scratching down his back painfully which sent a rush of pleasure through his belly upon him sucking hard on her throat, biting into her perfect skin quite hard and covering her mouth with a hand once again as she nearly screamed, her pussy tightening around his cock in a way he had never felt before which practically dragged his own end from his body. ‘Gods be good, I’ve never felt anything like that before…you felt good?’ It was an insecure moment of him needing that reassurance and while with anyone else he would have been instantly embarrassed, she nodded, quite dazed it seemed and he knew she didn’t judge him for a moment. ‘Your cunt is a form of blissful ecstasy I did not know was attainable. You are mine now Y/n…say it…’

‘Yours Aemond…all yours…you will be my husband as soon as next week and you will be able to have me anytime and any place you desire. I never thought it could feel like that…I love you Kepus.’ Her words touched him and in that moment Aemond knew that he would never need anyone else in this world again as long as he had Y/n and their future silver haired babies.

‘I love you too Mandianna, I always have. From this night on they will never be able to steal you from me again! You are all mine Y/n…and I will take pleasure in making sure everyone knows it.’ He made his point as he thrust his hard cock up into her once more prompting her sharp intake of breath, nails digging into his forearms before pulling him down to kiss her. (Niece)

Aemond spent the night filling his future wife with as much of his seed as his body held, biting her perfect pale skin everywhere he could reach and ensuring no one would ever be able to argue who she belonged to again. He finally had what he had always wanted, the only things left to do was put a tiara upon her head and meet their children.

The knock on the door was the thing that awakened the both of them the next morning quite early and far too soon considering how many hours Aemond had spent filling his bride…(6 hours). It was frantic and Aemond groaned, pulling Y/n closer into his chest as he was happy to ignore it before her mother shouted.

‘Y/n! You aren’t at breakfast and neither is Aemond! If he is in there with you…!’ She warned and Aemond found the half threat amusing.

‘Aemond! Are you in there?!’ His mother was the one shouting through the door now and he smiled, kissing his soon-to-be-wife’s lips before responding.

‘Good morning mother!’ He responded.

‘You Little Fuck! If you’ve hurt my daughter I swear to all of the Gods!’ Rhaenyra raged. ‘Daemon! Get This Door Open!’ She demanded.

‘He did not hurt me mother!’ Y/n stated just before the first loud hit to the door causing his girl to scream, turning to hide her face into his neck as he sat up. It took 2 more strikes before the door burst open and their mothers entered along with Daemon and Otto. Y/n was covered up to her waist while her upper body was pressed to his leaving only her back exposed.

‘Aemond! What have you done?’ Alicent asked sadly, clearly trying to think of a solution, knowing there was only one in this situation.

‘You all know that we have loved each other since we were children. Did you think that would go away just because you didn’t give her my letters sister?’ Rhaenyra’s eyes widened before she glared at him in a rage.

‘What is he talking about?’ His mother asked.

‘I didn’t want him speaking to her! She will not marry her Uncle like-‘

‘Like you did?’ Alicent deadpanned making the Princess look to her. ‘She will actually marry her Uncle, from this moment they are betrothed-‘

‘My daughter is already betrothed to-‘

‘Not anymore!’ Otto cut her off. ‘From this moment on the Princess Y/n Velaryon is to be wed to Prince Aemond Targaryen. The wedding will take place at the end of the week, we cannot have anyone knowing of these indiscretions when she begins to show as I am assuming she is likely pregnant?’ He asked Aemond who grinned.

‘Oh, most definitely. I’ve left no doubt that she carry’s my son. I was actually planning on filling her with another one before you so rudely broke the door down-‘

‘Do not push your luck Aemond!’ His Grandsire warned.

‘I should remove your head you insolent little shit.’ Daemon growled, Aemond seeing the rage in his eyes.

‘Then your grandchild would be without a father, Uncle. What purpose would that serve except ensuring your daughter hates you?’ Y/n moved her hand to pinch his side making him jump. ‘I’m sorry Byka Dārilaros.’

Aemond could see the surprise at his apology in his mother and Grandsire’s eyes. ‘Maybe this will be a good thing after all.’ Otto considered before turning to leave the room.

‘No more fooling around. Get dressed and get to breakfast. Now.’ With that his mother guided Rhaenyra and Daemon reluctantly out of the room.

‘Can your husband help you get dressed my love?’ Aemond questioned and she kissed his shoulder before biting his neck as he had done to her about 30 times the previous night, the evidence of which was very clear to see all over her chest and breasts. Aemond was proud though, because while she could hide those the 5 marks on her neck were not able to be hidden before breakfast where he was eager for Jace to see them.

They were both dressed 10 minutes later, their hair staying down until after they broke their fast for the day, Aemond leading her down the halls and enjoying the smile on his girls face as they entered the room with their family. He sat her down beside him and watched her fill her plate and eat, clearly hungry from their previous nights activities which filled him with pride at being able to satisfy his wife.

‘What is that?’ A voice demanded and everyone looked up to see Jace pointing at Y/n’s neck.

‘Jace, we will discuss this after we eat. You-‘

‘No!’ He cut his mother off, jumping up from his seat and moving to Y/n’s side in an instant, yanking her hair to the side and looking at her neck. Aemond heard her whimper in pain as he pulled her hair, holding her chin to expose her throat to him and he was instantly up from his chair with his hands on Jace.

‘That’s Enough!’ Rhaenyra shouted before Aemond punched his nephew who nearly flew backwards at the force his fist caused before he moved to grab him again, a voice calling his name through the jumble of people yelling which had his attention immediately.

‘Come eat with me Kepus, please?’ Y/n asked softly and he couldn’t deny her that as she held her hand out. Aemond moved to take it, lifting her onto his lap and sitting to eat, feeding her and feeling proud at providing her what she needs, thoroughly enjoying her feeding him as well.

It seemed that everyone was shocked at Aemond disengaging from the fight but his attention was on his soon to be wife as it should be. ‘We should go for a morning flight after breakfast…let me take you for a ride as I promised, late as the kept promise may be.’ Y/n looked up at him and he could see her surprise which he found adorable.

‘You…you want me to-to ride Vhagar?’ She questioned and he chuckled.

‘Not alone of course but yes, I had wanted to take you up with me the night I mounted her but that clearly didn’t happen. It will be fun, I promise.’ The smile on his girls face was worth everything to him. She was precious and he would keep his wife happy no matter what. If that meant that his nephews and older sister needed to be un-happy, then that was just icing on the cake for him.

He finally took her flying with him later that day, though it made her own dragon quite grumpy and forced her to take Ghost for his own flight before they could go back home. Aemond had finally kept his promise, and had ensured he got exactly what he wanted in the end.

Now all that is left for Aemond to do is figure out how to make Y/n his Queen and fulfill his dream of his wife riding him on the Iron Throne.

That one may take a bit more work, but he would ensure it, No Matter What.

Aemond T. Masterlist

[tomswifty-fr]

Tundra hatchlings leave their eggs with horns and a full coat of fur and are capable of walking and running short distances just hours after birth (though they typically won't choose to for at least a couple of days).

On hatching, the horns are covered with a layer of mostly-hairless skin. The bone here is sturdy enough to serve a similar function as an eggtooth, but is still developing along with the rest of the skull. It will remain soft and somewhat malleable for the few few months to a year of life. The skin covering will die and be replaced with keratin of the same color when the horns are fully developed in late adolescence.

It's easy to affect a horn's development when soft, either accidentally or deliberately. Something as simple as a hatchling spending too much time leaning on one side can train a horn to grow in a "wrong" direction. Some cultures will go to great lengths to correct bent or asymmetrical horns, while others don't consider it a big deal as long as it doesn't affect the hatchling's health. Horns that are severely asymmetrical or curved in a very atypical way (straight forward, for example) can cause neck issues, problems balancing, or even cause stress or injuries to the rest of the skull.

On the other hand, some cultures consider it normal to deliberately sculpt a hatchling's horns. This can be done for purely aesthetic reasons or as a clan/family identifier. The latter is most common in very traditionalist Tundra communities in the Southern Icefield, where it is a very old practice, and is almost never seen in northern flights or mixed-breed communities. Folklore has it that it began as a way to recognize clanmembers in storms strong enough to blow away scent - skeptics say that visibility in a storm like that would be too low to see someone's horns at a distance anyway. The former is highly controversial for being fully elective, so to speak, and Tundras who practice traditional horn modification see it as deeply weird and kind of cruel to saddle your kid with a horn shape that won't be shared with anyone else.

All stances are controversial to someone, and medical opinion is mixed on whether "standard" horn shapes are inherently healthier than just letting them grow, whether deliberate modification is necessarily harmful, when it's justifiable, and how much is too much. Add in the fact that any procedure is irreversible and can only be done when the hatchling is too young to say yes or no - it's a mess.

On the fur front, a hatchling's "baby coat" is waterproof, thin, and extremely soft. Its purpose is to keep the egg liquids away from the skin and protect them from the cold just long enough to crawl under the closest parent. Adult Tundra fur is not waterproof; it keeps them dry by being thick and heavy enough that snow or liquid simply doesn't make it to the skin. A hatchling will start growing their adult coat almost immediately after making it out of the egg, and sheds their baby coat within a couple of days.

Shed baby coats are occasionally collected and woven into fabric in the same way that adult wintercoats are, but it's far less common for several reasons. The first being that the last thing on a new parent's mind is going to be collecting fur from their brand new infant - they have other things to be worrying about! The second being that one baby's worth of fur, or even a whole litter's, isn't enough to really do anything with. At best, you get a little keepsake bandana.

[annwrites]

sons & daughters. aemond | vhagar outtake.

— pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

— type: outtake from this series

— summary: news of your pregnancy reaches the red keep.

— word count: 1,396

— tagging list: @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld

Aegon had jested about it during a Small Council meeting—had suggested that you, mayhaps, would birth a whole litter, which would come out of your cunt, howling at the moon.

Aemond had stood abruptly, a lump in his throat, unable to hear—to take—anymore. His palm had twitched to unsheathe Blackfyre and cut his brother's tongue from his mouth for such salacious slanders.

He'd exited the room swiftly, Alicent and Otto concerned that they may need have his room barred from the outside again. That, perhaps, this would be the last straw before madness finally overtook his senses.

He'd not gone to his chambers, however.

Instead, he'd made way to a horse in the yard, swiftly climbing atop it, kicking his heels against its sides as tears stung his eye—desperate to take to the sky where he could fall entirely apart.

He's nigh-on sobbing once he reaches Vhagar. Once he has, she raises her head, letting out a distressed rumble from deep in her gut—sensing her rider's agony.

He nearly slips as he mounts her, tightening a leather belt around his middle as she stands, flapping her wings, gradually rising and rising and rising, until they've disappeared above the clouds.

And then Aemond breaks.

He doubles over, weeping into the saddle, clutching at his dragon—mayhaps his only true friend—unable to bear it.

Without you here to comfort him, as you always did when he was a boy—Gods, even the one evening when he'd had you back in his embrace had consoled all those years of torment he'd spent alone in your absence—he knows naught what else to do. He has never felt so far gone before. Not even the night your brother took his eye.

He knows it, even if he does not want to believe it. That he will remain steadfast through the rest of his days waiting for you to return to him. Delusional.

For you are the only girl—woman—he can so much as stand the touch of. Particularly in terms of intimacy. He abhors his excursions into the Street of Silk, but how else is he to obtain even a modicum of tenderness with you so far from him now?

Paying them to call him uncle—to lie and tell him that they love him and that they'll never leave him—does little to soothe him. In fact, it only serves to make him feel considerably worse.

There is a hole in his chest which you used to fill.

Broken pieces which fit so perfectly together have now, instead, turned to shards of glass that cut so deep he cannot staunch the bleeding of his shattered heart.

Had you always hated him?

You were supposed to be together. Were supposed to have been his. What had gone wrong? What had he done to curse himself so time and again?

First, to be born to a loveless father, and then a mother who he knows resents him at times—he can see it in her eyes. Her love had been easier to hold when he was young and still just a soft, green boy—mayhaps it had been the same with you, as well.

He'd thought you would've enjoyed what you'd seen when you finally reunited after all those years apart from each other's loving embraces—a man hardened and educated. So often he had carefully chosen items for his wardrobe, even the way he did his hair, out of a boyish fantasy of you wandering into the Keep again and setting your soft gaze upon him once more. He needed be sure you would like that which you saw. Instead... You'd seemed nearly frightened of him.

He'd never harm you. Don't you know that? Don't you understand? He would raze the world to ashes and embers just to hold you one last time. He would do anything you asked of him—anything—if it even might please you.

And then there was Aegon—always mocking and taunting him. For being too soft, too sensitive. So then he had become otherwise, and still it was wrong.

He cannot win.

And now he is disfigured. Horribly maimed. He is not whole. Physical or otherwise. Not with you forever belonging to another.

That is why. Cursed. Kinslayer. He had taken Lucerys' life, and now his has been stolen away as well. For he feels a dead man walking—sleep-walking. Only in his dreams with you does he find rest.

To think of you resting in his... Do you dream of him, at least? The thought of that man inside of you, however...

He wants him dead. Wants him to answer for the crime of sentencing him to an empty life without you—forcing him to suffer through, instead, holding you forever in his heart while you have cut him from your own.

Like an ugly tumor.

Is that what he is?

Something to be dispersed of. An eye already he has lost. Perhaps he should remove further organs, then. A beating heart, for example. What use is it now when the thing which it had once beat for is lost to him? When now it only serves to ache?

Vhagar begins to turn direction without Aemond's command, a rumbling in her chest for one which had never even laid a hand on her.

He'd never had a chance to introduce you.

He'd wished to. Had known she would love you as well.

She looks northward, ready to burn that stone castle—root you out and bring you south once more where you belong.

But he knows it is no good—even if every part of him is urging him forward: to war. He would not consider it an unprovoked attack.

Lord Stark signed his death sentence the moment he began to covet that which was not his.

He doesn't understand you, Aemond is sure. He never truly will. For you are half fire, the other half—his own blood. These northern lords speak of honor. Have you told him, then? The things the two of you did as children? Things fit solely for adults?

He's sure you withheld the story of you nearly begging him to take you against the weirwood tree at the Red Keep—dishonoring your new husband's 'Gods'. It is not true love, then, is it? To be forced into hiding pieces of yourself from he which you took vows to be bound to by your very soul.

Perhaps he should've forced you, then. Forced himself upon you. Ruined.

You would've had no other recourse than to bind yourself to him, then.

But to think of you like that... Begging him for mercy as he steals away that which he'd so desperately wished to be freely given to him for so long—he abhors the very thought of it.

He cannot tolerate a life of raising this other man's child, elsewise.

He fears what he would do to it once it emerged into the world—with a head of brown hair and a stranger's eyes staring up at him.

He would not love it.

He would loathe it. Would have half-a-mind to feed it to his dragon while you watched—reminding you once and for all who you truly belonged to.

He shakes his head—refusing to let that violent madness overtake him yet again. It has repeatedly since your wedding to that foul, northern savage. Has cost him quite a few pieces of furniture within his chambers, even.

His wrath had frightened even his brother—the king—in those moments of black rage. The fearful look on his face, however, had filled Aemond with satisfaction, if naught else.

He commands Vhagar to turn back round then, but she does not initially obey—instead diving, soaring more quickly before leveling once more.

"We cannot," he states in High Valyrian. "Not yet."

She roars.

"Mayhaps the time will come. And then we will burn them all and retrieve that which was stolen from us."

She slowly begins to turn, King's Landing coming back into sight.

Aemond solidifies himself.

You will return. He is sure of it.

Lord Stark will not be enough for you.

He merely needs bide his time until your senses return to you at last.

He has always been a patient man.

And you are certainly worth waiting for. His love.

[coldfanbou]

Celebration (quickie)

Okay so I couldn't just leave my favorite bunny without a birthday smut, so I wrote one really quickly.

Length 1K

Eunha X Mreader

After her performance, Eunha came backstage to you, happily skipping through the halls with the sweat still on her brow. “We’re done!” She yells as she gets to the group's green room. She plants herself on your lap, sitting side saddle. She rubs her nose against yours, giggling all the while. “I want my reward.” 

“Okay, okay, you can get your reward.” You respond, squeezing her side. “I don’t think I could resist you even if I tried, my little bunny.” Your words bring a smile to Eunha, and she orients herself toward you so you can look at her cleavage. 

She notices you staring at her chest. “Do you like these that much?”Eunha presses her chest to yours, squeezing her tits between your bodies. “I think you do. I can feel something nice and hard poking me.” Eunha gets by your ear, whispering in her sweet voice, “I didn’t wear any panties. Just for you.” Eunha straddles you, pulling up her skirt and getting comfortable as she reaches into your pants and fishes your cock out. “Oh, you’re so big!” She says, excited to get her reward. You take in Eunha’s bright smile as she rubs the head of your cock between her lips. You pull on her shirt, causing her tits to pop out with a bounce. You reach up, squeezing them softly and shaking the soft flesh in your hands. You watch her breasts jiggle and listen to Eunha’s soft moans as she teases herself with your cock. You feel the gentle curves of her lips against the head of your cock before she lowers herself onto you. Her warm slippery walls welcome you inside, caressing your cock as it goes deep inside Eunha. You struggle to control yourself and squeeze Eunha’s tits a little rougher, earning you a loud moan. The pleasure coming from two places was enough for Eunha to trigger Eunha, making her want more. Eunha rocks her hips back and forth, her walls rubbing against your cock. “Are you ready?” She asks, through another moan.

You lean in and kiss Eunha, her soft, plump lips melting into yours as you buck your hips and push your cock deeper into her cunt. Eunha’s eyes shoot open before closing, her lips forming a smile as she begins to bounce on your cock. She drops her weight on you every time, forcing your cock to smash against her womb. You keep one hand on Eunha’s chest, playing with her tits while the other moves down to her ass. Eunha’s soft body was the best; touching and squeezing her soft flesh brought you both pleasure. Eunha’s walls tightened in response to your actions. She enjoyed it when you played with her ass, even more, when you spanked her. You knew as much and gave Eunha that joy, pulling your hand away before smacking her flesh. 

She bites her lip after breaking the kiss, her ragged breath turning to moans as you give her another smack. “I love your voice,” 

“Oh, you love it?” Eunha groans as you massage the cheek you hit.

“I do. Now let me hear it.” You tell her, beginning to thrust quickly. Eunha presses her body against yours; you feel her hard nipples move across your chest as she bounces on your cock. Her moans become louder as she feels you take control; you keep a firm grip on Eunha’s ass, using it to impale Eunha on your cock. 

Eunha’s walls begin to clamp down on your cock, “I’m going to cum. You’re going to make me cum,” Eunha whines, gripping your shoulders. Your continued thrusts bring you both to your climax. You bring Eunha down on your cock, burying it inside her and flooding her womb with your seed. Eunha’s body twitches, with her walls tightening and loosening to milk you of your baby batter. 

“It’s all inside me,” Eunha groans as she places her head on your shoulder. “I feel so full. My belly is full of your cum,” Eunha rises and lowers herself along your shaft. “Ah, it’s going to spill out of me.” She says as she rests on you. 

“You’re going to have to get off at some point, Eunha.”

“Yeah, but not now. I think I’ll go for round two.” She says with a grin on her face. Eunha places her hands on your chest as she begins to ride you again. You lay back and enjoy the sight, your eyes wandering from her lust-filled face to her perky tits bouncing. Keeping your hands on her waist, you let Eunha have her fun as she pushes you both to a second orgasm. 

“I hope you know you’re going to have to clean me up after.” You groan.

“That’s an even better treat,” Eunha replies. “I better make sure your cock is covered then.” She says just before cumming on your cock. You shoot another load into Eunha, filling her. You feel the excess flow out of her, coating your cock in cum. “I think now is a good time.”

Eunha climbs off you, squeezing her legs together in an attempt to keep your cum in her as she cleans you up. She points your cock to the ceiling and presses her plump lips against the head, kissing it. “You did a good job,” She says, speaking to it before swallowing the head. Eunha’s tiny tongue swirls around your cock, taking the cum surrounding it with her. Eunha stopped occasionally, opening her mouth to show you how full it was before greedily drinking it all and continuing. You were forced to hold onto the couch as Eunha deepthroated your cock, her throat tightly wrapped around the head as her tongue cleaned the base. As she pulled back slowly, she made sure to leave your cock with a kiss before swallowing the last of your cum. 

Eunha pulled down her skirt and sat on your lap, much like when she first came in and wrapped her arms around you. “Thank you for the reward, sweetie. I’ll work hard for more.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Keep working hard, Eunha.”

[werecreature-addicted]

I remember some of your posts about a minotaur who lived with a peasant girl, can I ask for something about that? If it's not a bother of courseDue to the life that the minotaur has had, its instincts never appeared, that is, it never went through a stage of heat due to the stress and abuse to which it was subjected, but now everything is different, it is calmer, more relaxed, and it began to pay attention to a girl, specifically the girl she lives with, and apparently her instincts are beginning to appear, her body asks her to "mate" with her partner, although it is difficult to control herself, plus they are nothing yet and the girl does not know that minotaurs also go through a hot season, and it's not like she was going to ask him that, it would be very strange xd

(imagine that poor cock crying to enter the girl, but he must hide it, even if it is uncomfortable)

Sam master list for previous parts.

under the cut because this is long...for me at least.

Normally when it came to the physically demanding chores around the farm Sam liked to do the heavy lifting, literally. You were stronger than you looked but you still didn't have the monstrous strength that he did, and even besides that, he liked to spoil you. He'd never admit it out loud but he liked the way you sometimes watched him as he repaired the siding of a barn or hammered in a sense post. Something about the way your eyes followed him left a warm feeling in his belly. It's especially nice now that sometimes you kiss him after he's done a good job.

Now though, he just stands and stares as you work, nailing together bits of wood making your own saddle stand out of leftover bits of material. You looked so good, sweaty, and bent over your little bench. Is this how you felt when you watched him work? Sam doesn't even have the vocabulary to describe the strange heat that burns inside of him. He's supposed to be doing other work right now but he can't tear his eyes from you.

He wants to bend you over that saddle stand and- and what? He flinches back from the thought he didn't want to hurt you and he hates that his instincts are pushing him in that direction. But he wouldn't hurt you, his mind argues back. He wouldn't pin you down to hurt win a match or something. He'd be gentle. He'd pleasure you. Sam shudders. Where were these thoughts coming from?

His nostrils flare and even from across the barn, he can smell you and the salt of your sweat makes his cock throb. Sam sits down hard and pulls a nearby milk bucket over the large tent in his pants. He immediately feels stupid and tosses the pail aside, it did more to draw attention to his boner than hide it. He settles for just sitting awkwardly and hoping you don't notice.

How can Sam ever look you in the eye again after this? He supposes he shouldn't feel so guilty about being attracted to you but surely it's perverse to want you this badly when you're not even doing anything. At least if you were naked in bed trying to seduce him he'd have good reason to be this turned on. Sam shudders and replays the mental image of you, naked in bed, looking up at him trying to pull him towards you. Fuck he needed to get on top of you.

Just as that thought crossed his mind you bent over the waist-height wooden stand to grab something from your toolbox jutting your ass out in front of him. In a second Sam is on his feet, walking towards you before he can register what he's even doing, all he knows is that he needs you.

"oh, Sam-" you gasp, jumping a little when you turn to see him right behind you. For someone so big he moved silently. Sam takes a step forward and presses you back against the barn wall. "What's going on honey?" you ask trying to sound calm but you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous about his behavior. Sam had always been so cautious with you, overly gentle and paranoid that he might hurt you by accident. The Sam you knew would never pin you against a wall like this, it was nervewracking but also exciting.

"I uhm I just wanted to be close to you I guess," he mumbled, lowering his snout to your shoulder as if he was smelling you. Sam steps closer and you feel something brush against your thigh at first you think it's his leg but you look down and realize it's his barely restrained cock poking into your thigh.

"Do- are you uhm in heat Sam?" You ask and the monster on top of you freezes.

"do- do minotaurs go into heat?" he asks puzzled.

"I guess I don't know but most monsters do have you really never gone into heat before?" You ask then wince, it made sense that he wouldn't go into heat when he was under such harsh conditions his body wouldn't let him go into such a vulnerable state.

"No," he said, his hips grinding softly against your thigh he groans at the friction and you can't help but shudder too. You might not go into heat but you did want him just as much. "Will you help me?" he asked desperately.

"yes- yeah, I'll help you let me just-" As soon as he has your consent all other thoughts fly out of his head. He pushes his mouth to yours kissing you and effectively shutting you up. This wasn't like any of the other soft and innocent kisses you and Sam had shared in the past this was heated, and needy and caused a warm heat to bloom inside of you. This isn't a kiss for the sake of kissing, this is a kiss that promises much much more to come.

Even desperate like this, Sam still tries to be gentle as he strips your clothes and kneels down so he can hook your legs over his broad, muscular shoulders, your back pressed to the wall of the barn he holds your weight easily.

"I'm going to get you nice and prepped for me, my cock is big and I need you to take every inch, okay?" he asks softly, kissing the soft skin of your inner thigh as his thick fingers ghost over your cunt.

"Hold my horns while you rid my face," Sam instructs. You look down at his horns, one normal and the other broken and jagged. You hesitated, you knew how much that broken horn hurt him and you didn't want to grab it, but before you could put much more thought into it Sam pressed his mouth to your cunt, running his large soft tongue over your folds getting you wet enough to slot his big fingers inside of you. You yelp and settle for holding on to his good horn with one hand and tangling your fingers in his hair with the other.

Sam's cock ached. He needed to be buried inside of you, but he held himself back. He imagined the pained squeak you'd make if he tried to fuck you without any prep and that was almost enough to snap him out of his lusty haze. Almost.

You lose count of how many times you cum as he stretches you out and gets you ready for his dick, eventually though he decides that you're ready for him, or he just gets tired of waiting. Your legs tremble and for a second you worry you're not going to be able to stand on your own but you needn't worry, Sam had no intention of letting you stand. he readjusts his grip so that your legs are over his forearms and he pins you against the wall again his cock nudging your opening, slipping up your pussy as he tries unsuccessfully to push into you. His cock head bumps your clit and you feel a pulse of warm precum ooze out onto your hot skin making you shudder, your thighs tense in his arms, and Sam grunts, spreading your legs a little further as he grinds his cock over your cunt again.

You reach between your two bodies and grasp his cock. You curse silently to yourself feeling the weight and girth of it for the first time. You stroke him a few times before you guide his dick inside of you.

Sam had been so careful to be gentle with you this whole time, but now that he feels your tight heat gripping him in a way he's never felt before he no longer has the restraint. His brain shuts off and he feels more like a beast than he has in years. Sam slams his hips against yours burying his cock to the hilt in one swift motion. You cry out and dig your nails into his biceps, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you with all the strength of a bull plowing a field. You're pretty sure you hear something crack and for a minute you aren't sure if it's you or the barn wall behind you that's breaking.

Sam groans loudly as he sinks his cock into you over and over again. His hips have a mind of their own as they steadily rock back and forth. He hates to admit it, but every time you cry out in pleasure or in pain it makes his cock throb. He would have thought the sound of you hurting-hurting because of him, would be enough to break his heart instead it makes him whimper and only fuels his desire to fuck you harder and fill you with his cum until you were swollen with it.

The mental image of you bloated with his seed proves to be too much for him and with one more deep stroke he cums deep inside of you, his legs shake with the relief of finally breeding you. He pulls you away from the wall and crashes backward into a hay bail laying down to catch his breath while keeping you impaled on his cock.

It feels right to have you on his chest and be surrounded by the earthy comforting smell of hay and dirt. You shift a little and his hands fly up to your hips pushing you back down.

"Stay... please," he almost begs softly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam, I just want to get off your dick," you promise, trying to shift again. then he looks at you with the saddest most pleading look you've ever seen. his big brown cow eyes sparkling at you.

"Please don't, I want to be inside of you so you can feel me get hard again before I fuck you," he mumbles pleadingly. how could you say no to that face?

[uzurimisery]

bitter frost, honey i'm coming home. / logan howlett x reader / nsfw

warnings: MDNI, angst, p in v, mention of vomit, makeup sex, death (not character), thoughts of suicidal ideation, sappy emotional sex, old man cums quick, Logan yells at reader, smoking, knotting (not a/b/o)

wc: 9k

A/N: I do not know brevity. This was only meant to be 4k max

It’s cold on the ranch now. The first frost came barrelling through, ice crystals hanging on the barbed wire fences and freezing over the troughs out in the pasture. Days on the ranch start early, often before dawn, the first rays of light peeking over the crest of the mountains, painting it pink and golden. He’d step out into the crisp morning air and go to the barn, where he’d feed the animals. The chickens were too loud if he didn’t feed them first, the two roosters crowing till he did, so they went first. After the chickens, it was time for the two horses and the cows. After three years of doing it, he moved with practiced precision. Scattering hay, pouring oats, and spreading seeds are all mindless tasks. 

Logan had to venture out on Weston, a reliable but honorary son of a bitch, with an icebreaker to free up the water for the herd. Then, he had to head into the barns and ensure they weren’t frozen. He should pull out the heated troughs, kept convincing himself he’d do it next weekend 27 weekends ago, and now it was necessary. His back ached a bit at the thought. Pulling out all the equipment and placing it was a full day's job with just himself doing it. He was getting a fucking headache just thinking about it.

It’s not that he wasn’t strong enough. He was just old. He was far too old to run a ranch independently with so little help. Each winter felt a bit long as if there was too much work. Maybe he had grown lazier, too, over the years. No more fighting and not working at Xavier’s school; he was just living on the land now. Cattle ranching. Felt like an All-American cowboy when he had on wranglers, flannel, Justin boots, and some hat he had picked up at the tractor supply store a year back. The hat had seen better days, and the ridge was beaten up and dented from all the times he’d fold it in half and tuck it into his back pocket. He didn’t bother with a jacket, be far too warm that way. 

The ranch was quiet, save for the sound of cattle and horses. Now, the yellow pasture stretches out from the start of his property line on the road to near the base of the mountains. His little private valley. At first, the quiet made him anxious, like he was waiting for another catastrophe to come and tear it apart. That he’d wake up with someone trying to kill him, and all too often, he’d close his eyes and envision all the torture he’d been through—too much pain and suffering in his life. 

The quiet also gave him too much time to think about everything he’d done. Everything he’d lost. He was a man who had known mainly suffering for all his life. Sometimes, he felt he didn’t deserve this peace, this serenity. It was dissonant. He was a fighter, a soldier, a weapon made human to kill and kill and kill again until the only color he knew was red, the only scent he smelt iron, till the collar around his neck pulled so tight it’d break it.

His hands ached, claws threatening to come out as he worked himself up, the sting of vomit on his tongue. The back of his knuckles split open like they weren’t even there, like there was no skin or muscle for the adamantine to cut through. Like it didn’t hurt every time it did.

Weston whinnied under him, tired of lazily trotting around the barn to check for coyote marks. He wanted to gallop around the outskirts of the land while Logan sniffed out any danger to the herd. Didn’t need a cattle dog when he was a glorified one.

“Yeah yeah, asshole.” His spurs dig into Weston’s sides, urging the horse into a gallop. He might as well get the morning round done now. 

The horse broke into a gallop, bouncing Logan in the saddle, wind whipping him in the face. For a moment, the noise in his head quieted. There was no constant thought of you, just what he had to do after rounds. 

As they reached the fence line, Logan scanned the horizon, senses on high alert. He knew he was never looking for just coyotes or stray animals; he was always searching for something more. A threat that might never come. Some bullshit hopped-up mutant on a vendetta or some power-hungry human looking to use him.

Now, at a canter, the two patrolled the whole property line as he took deep breaths, inhaling the cold air, trying to focus on the present. On the life he had here. Not what he had left behind. But the past is never far behind, and he had so much past to run from. It would always be near him, lurking in the shadows. The ranch could never drown it out, cover it up, and make him forget. Maybe it was just another reminder he could never truly escape who he was, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Easy now,” he murmured, pulling Weston to a stop near the far edge of the property. He could see everything from here. It was beautiful and peaceful, but all he could feel was the weight of what he was missing. 

Sometimes, he swore he smelt your perfume on the breeze.

“Let’s head back.” Weston turned around, ready to run the way back toward the barn. This routine was the only thing that kept him sane. The work. The responsibilities. Barely enough to keep him busy but not enough to keep him from sinking too far into the darkness in his thoughts. 

He’d gotten lazy the past week and fallen behind on the hay maintenance, so he’d need to buck it today. Move it all from being covered under some tarps to the hay barn. Move them all one by one. He was glad that 150 pounds felt like nothing to him in times like that. 

The chicken coop also needed a roof repair. The last storm did a number on it. Logan bought the supplies the last time he was in town. It just meant stripping the old one off, resecuring the waterproof liner, and hammering the steel roof. Maybe he’d add some more insulation next weekend in preparation for the winter. 

Today was going to be a long one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

A knock on the door echoed in the ranch house, slicing through the quiet thrum of the fridge kicking on and the TV volume on low. He wasn’t expecting company as he stopped mid-swig of his beer, brow furrowed. The neighbors knew by now to leave him the hell alone and had enough run-ins to steer clear of him unless it was an emergency. There were no ranch hands due to arrive until next Monday. 

His boots thudded with heavy steps as he rose from the couch and walked over. The tips of his claws cut through his skin, the metallic ring soft as he reached the door.

He grabbed the handle, ready for it to be blown off the hinges by someone knocking it down.

“Logan, it’s me.” That's a voice he’d recognize anywhere, unmistakable and achingly familiar. The one he longed to hear to the point it drove him crazy. The one he dreamed of every night, of all the terrible things it had said to him because of what he’d done. Heard it in his sleep and his waking hour like a fucking ghost haunting him.

“Can you open the door already? I know you’re in there.”

He blinked as he did, trying to grapple with his emotions brought to light by the reality of you standing there. 

“What?”  his voice cracked. “What are you doing here?” 

You looked so sad, a deep sorrow in your eyes—the kind that had been there when the two of you had argued the night before he left. It made him feel like he missed something crucial like you had lost a part of yourself—one that settled deep in your bones and moved in your muscles and ligaments.

“Charles told me where you were.”

His throat felt painfully tight, as if the words were squeezing his neck. He didn’t expect this- hadn’t expected you to ever ask Xavier where he was and come see him.

Neither of you moved, the door half-open as he stood blocking it.

“You ain’t supposed to be here.”  His tone was gruff. He had been smoking more since coming to the ranch, trying to dull his brain.

Your voice was steady but filled with so much sadness it made him want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Plead with you to transgress his sins. Go to confession and tell all his wrongdoings. “I needed to see you again.”

He looked out into the driveway, seeing nothing but emptiness.

“Did you fly over here? You don’t even have your suit on.”

“It’s fine,” you said with a shrug, “it’s dark out anyways.” 

He stared at you. The porch lights set a soft, warm glow on your skin, the panes of your face made clear. You looked beautiful, mesmerizingly so, as you stared up at him.

“You gonna let me in or not?” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” he grumbled, his tone softer now that you were closer. He opened the door wider, letting you walk past him.

He had the fire going, for which you were grateful. Flying without your suit always left you frigid afterward, especially since Logan had taken to living in the middle of nowhere nestled in the Rocky Mountains. You had always been jealous Storm didn’t have to deal with that. 

The ranch house Logan was living in was quaint. It was a three-bedroom, two-story house built in the 1880s that the previous owners renovated in recent years to feature modern amenities. The floors creaked as you walked, clearly still the original hardwood. He hadn’t done much decorating. It was clear that Charles had been the one to decorate the place for him.

He wasn’t ready to see you. Ready to talk about why he left you in the middle of the night four years ago. 

You quickly found your way into the living and dining room. Logan had left pocket doors open in these two separate rooms. Sitting on the couch, you could see through to the kitchen. A large pot was on the gas stove, the flames flickering on low. It smelled like beef stew.

Logan lingered by the entrance to the living room off of the entry space, unsure of what to do next. Watching you settle into the beat-up couch made him feel a mess of relief and anxiety. He was glad to see you were okay. Your hair was shorter, and you must have cut it after he left at some point. Grey hairs were coming through at your temples. 

“It’s, uh, good to see you.” Having his eyes on you like this made you feel small again. Like he was leaving you all over again.

Logan nodded, swallowing hard. “You too.” 

You smiled at him, and it hurt. Cut him like a thousand glass pieces over and over again. He was getting sandblasted and healing through it. 

He walked into the kitchen, trying to distance himself from you and his feelings, and stirred the stew. “I wasn’t expecting company,” he commented his back to you.

Your hands wrung together automatically, anxiety creeping up your throat. Maybe it was a mistake to come here and see him again when he had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do to you the night he left. “It’s fine, I don’t need to eat.” 

The wooden spoon clatters against the rest, and he puts it down harshly, making you wince. “Nonsense. I can hear your fucking teeth chattering from here.”

“I’m fine, really. It's just wind chill.” 

“Just take the damn food!” Logan bellowed, his hand slamming down against the counter, breathing heavily. “Just take the damn food.” 

You were silent for a moment, reeling. He’d never been like this with you before. “Okay.”

Logan closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, and pushed it out of his mouth, trying to steady himself. He didn’t mean to lash out at you, to snap, but just seeing you again put him in confrontation with his past and his own feelings. It was more than he could handle. He grabbed a second bowl from the cabinet, ladling the stew between the both of them. Even after all this time, he took care to give you more potatoes than beef and half his carrots.

“Come sit at the table. Don’t want soup on the damn couch.” 

You moved quietly, always did. It unnerved him when he first met you. Your mutation lets you float more than walk and never hear any footfall when you move. He sat across from you, and you could finally get a good look at him. The years had never been kind to him, but he seemed older now than ever. The past three had been the worst of his life. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and the wrinkles on his face seemed more pronounced. 

The silence between you was thick with unspoken words, cut only by the scrapping of metal spoons against ceramic bowls. The sound echoed in the quiet house with the TV now shut off.

As you finished up your food, he looked antsy. His left leg bounced up and down, hand strumming on the table.

“Thank you for the stew.” you pipped up, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, well, you look like you needed it. " Despite all these years, he still cared for you and loved you. It was evident to you. 

You both sat there momentarily, the silence returning but now filled with different tension. The possibility of reconciliation hurts more than anger.

“Why did you come here?” he puzzled. “After all this time, why now?”

You tapped against the bowl, inconsistent drumming on the sharp ceramic cutting against his ears. “I needed to see you.”

“Bullshit, what do you want”

“Jesus, Logan,’ you finally snapped, lightning crackling as you did. He acted like the wounded party when he was the one who had left you. “Am I not allowed to want to see you?” 

You didn’t mean for it to happen. Far past the age that your powers slipping up due to your emotions should be embarrassing. Static electricity builds up around you.

“You left,” you continued, to reel in your emotions, to keep them in check. “You left me without a word, without an explanation, and now you’re demanding an answer as to why I'm here? Do you have any idea what you did to me?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he looked to the side. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have this conversation with you. Not now. The night he left, you felt like he was ripping out his own heart, running from his feelings and the truth about the world around him.

It was like he was on autopilot as he stood from the table, knocking his chair off balance as he went. Like a bull in a china shop, that’s how he moved. He could hear you talking and feel the vibrations in the air, but none of the words meant anything. You were begging him to just sit down and talk to you, a pleading whine in your tone. 

But he couldn’t.

Just like the last time he saw you, he walked out the door with nothing but the clothes on his back into the night down the porch steps. 

The screen door slammed shut as you walked out after him, your body trembling with the intensity of your emotions, your hair standing on end from the static. He never told you what was wrong or why he did what he did. He just left. Tears blur your vision as your back hits the siding of the house, sinking down.

“Logan!” you yelled, calling out after him, voice breaking. “Please just talk to me!”

He didn’t turn around. His figure grew smaller, illuminated by the porch lights flickering from your lack of control. It felt like your heart was breaking again. The ache of his absence, familiar and painful, made all the more unbearable by seeing him again. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“I’m staying here till you talk to me.” 

When he finally came back to the house, knowing all too damn well, he had to take care of the ranch, that was the first thing you told him. He didn’t like it but found it hard to argue with you and Charles. It was impossible to change Charles’ mind; he knew you were too stubborn to leave. So he let it happen. 

Letting you sleep in the guest bedroom across from his was easier. It felt like he slept better since you had shown up. Even if you woke him up in the middle of the night, the floorboards creaking in protest under your weight as you went pee around 4:15 a.m. every night.

He’d lie in his bed, now fully aware of the space in it next to him, listening to the sounds of the house. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the ticking of the clock downstairs, the wind outside. He would never admit it, but you being there gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. The night terrors that plagued him endlessly seemed to ease. For the first time in a long time, he could close his eyes without fear of being swallowed up and spit out by the past. 

During the day, you had a tentative routine with him, and he woke up earlier than you did. It had only been a week since you had shown up. You had left at one point to fly back to the school and get some of your belongings. Every morning, you’d go out to the chicken coop, collect the eggs, and make breakfast. It was nothing fancy, some variation of a bread product, eggs, and a protein. Sometimes, it was pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Other times, it was steak and eggs. Today, it was omelets. 

You’d help out in other ways, too. Go out and move the steer to a different part of their sectioned-off pasture. You were faster at de-ice the troughs, flying, and whatnot, so he let you take over that job. It was hard work, and your muscles ached like they hadn’t for a long time. 

Logan had to admit it’s helpful having you on the ranch. He’s got a greenhouse and some therapy project Charles talked him into, but that’s been looking worse for wear. The weather pattern changed the past couple of weeks, and there’s been an inversion that has left the valley with no direct sunlight. All the plants inside had started to wilt and were on the path to dying, not that he cared. He’d survive without some tomatoes. Then you threw open the door, solar energy pouring out from your palms, and they’d perk right up. You had that effect on plants, hell, people too. 

Something about you, even if you didn’t have your mutation, would have made you shine as bright as the fucking sun to anyone. All wild curls and big smiles, a helping hand to those in need—just one of those people who made the world a better place by breathing. You always said you were just doing your part, but god, there was so much good, so much sweetness in you. If he took a bite, he’d even get a cavity. Seeing you wrapped up in an old wool sweater of his, bent over coaxing a plant back to life, made him feel so ashamed of himself. 

“The plants in the greenhouse look a lot better this week.” 

Some of the leaves crunched underfoot, but most of them were soggy in the mud as you walked over to the steer barn where he was working. One of the steers had a rock impacting his back hoof, and he had to get it out. Logan had just finished spraying it with salicylic acid and wrapping it as you walked in. 

“Like I said, you don’t need to be doing all that.” He grumbled, standing from the stool and leading the cow back to the enclosure. 

Where he spoke dissent and anger, you heard what he really felt. Fear. He was still that little boy in his father's manor.

“It’s not a problem.”

It hurts to be this close to him and not have him, to know that things could just be better if he were honest. 

You'd cook him dinner in the evening, sit at the old wooden table, and comment about the school. About what you’d been up to. You steered away from the elephant in the room. It was best to talk about the mundane things. Sometimes, you’d slip and tell him something more personal than you meant to. He didn’t add much to the conversation because he hadn’t been doing much since leaving you, but he’d chime in about the animals. About the fox that kept creeping around the chicken coop.

Logan still had moments of withdrawal, times when he’d just disappear from the ranch, and you wouldn’t see him till the morning. It was hard on you, a reminder of just how much had changed between the two of you. You used to come home to him after a day of teaching and collapse into his arms on the couch. He’d offer you a sip of his beer, something dark and hoppy, and you’d taste it and declare it’s gross. Logan had told you one day, he’d find a beer you liked, and he’d stock the fridge with it. The closest you’d gotten was some Mangocart IPA that he told you was meant for 17-year-olds, and you told him to go fuck himself. 

Healing wasn’t a straight path forward. And healing couldn’t start until you cut out the festering parts. You can never go backward, but you must go forward while looking at the past. 

The two of you sat on the porch tonight, twilight hues, deep indigo taking over the sky, and the stars coming out. The first night you were out here with him, you couldn’t stop staring at them. Had a whole thing about them since they charged up your mutation, but he just thought you looked gorgeous. Older but still gorgeous. 

That was another thing that scared him. You are aging. He didn’t know how long he had left to live, hell, if he could even die. Some wounds should have killed him many times over, but they never did. They never do. But he's seen you bleeding out and broken after a fight with Magneto, a laceration so severe you had to self-cauterize the wound on the spot and passed out multiple times while doing so. You were getting older, and he was staying the same. 

You were 24 when the two of you first met. Your parents were good folks, never held any bias towards mutants, and helped you learn to control your powers and keep yourself hidden from the government when they were still rounding up mutants. The only reason you got found out was because of Cerebro and Charles. With so little training, it should have scared him how strong you were back then. A few years with Charles, and you were deadly. Deadly, but a pacifist. 

The air was cold. You could see your breath as you rocked in the rocking chair he had out there. Wafts of pungent tobacco hit your nose as he lit up a cigar. He had stopped when you lived together. You looked over at him, feeling the weight of his eyes on you. As soon as your own met his, he looked back out into the night sky. The silence was heavy.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked softly. 

“Miss what?” he drew another drag from his cigar.

“The school. The kids. The…purpose.”

“I think about the students daily. It was good work. Important work. But…” Logan trailed off, searching for the right words. What were the right words to say without telling you everything? “It got complicated.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken part of his statement, drawing your knees to your chest. “It’s still important. And the kids still need you.” 

After all this time, you still wanted him. Despite every wrong he had done to you and all the harm he caused you. The most pathetic part of him was ready to take your kindness, love, and care and bathe in it. Draw you back into the bottomless pit of his life and ruin you like he had all the others. 

You saw him clench his jaw. A twisting wave of guilt and self-loathing ate him up. A man made to destroy and he was afraid to destroy you too.

“The kids will be fine without me.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, they’ve been fine without me so far.” He shot back, but there was a hollow note in his voice. There wasn’t any gumption behind it. 

“They’ve managed, but that doesn’t mean they’re fine. You gave them something no one else could, Logan.  They relied on you, they needed you-they need you.” You corrected gently, reaching out to touch his thigh. He was always so warm.

He took another drag, blowing the smoke away from you. “They’ll move on. They’re better off without me.” 

“They didn’t move on, and they aren't okay without you.” 

Logan looked down at your hand on his thigh, his expression a mixture of pain and something else. Something so soft, buried deep beneath the layers of hardened exterior. He didn’t pull away, but you could see his temptation rising.

“I’m not me without you, Logan. Please just talk to me.” Your grip tightened, the denim rough under your fingers, and you begged him to let you in again. To tell you why he left you, why you haven't heard from him since.

He needed to keep you safe from himself.

“You should leave.” Standing from his chair, he threw open the screen door, letting it slam shut behind him as he walked over to the living room. 

You rose after him, chasing him into the house, your heart pounding in your chest. The floorboards cracked up the both of you, echoing in the house. He moved with a desperate, frantic everything. His broad shoulders tense as if he could outrun the conversation you were about to have.

“Why won’t you let me care about you!” You cried out, voice breaking, trembling with the weight of the emotions you've been holding back. He didn’t stop, didn’t turn around, but kept going, and your words spilled out like a damn bursting.  “I am begging you to let me in, to let me love you, to stop pushing me away like you do every time! You left me. In the middle of the night, you left. I woke up, and you were gone. And all I have ever asked of you is to let me love you.”

From behind, he looked like a man barely holding together as he reached the living room.

“I don’t want you to.” he ground out. Each word hurt to say, and he hated lying to you. 

“We both know that's a lie, Logan. I’m not stupid. I know you love me. Just please let me in. Why won't you let me in?” 

“Because I don’t want you to wind up fucking dead!” His voice reverberated off the walls. “Everyone and everything I have ever loved is buried six feet fucking deep, and I don’t want you to join the shithole graveyard that is my life.” 

Logan’s voice cut deep through the room, his shoulder hunched as he leaned over the back of the couch. The sob was settling in his chest as he tried to keep it at bay. He didn’t want you to see him crying. It was like he could see you now, lying in that grave, another name added to the long list of people he’d killed or gotten killed.

“You think leaving me is protecting me? You think that by pushing me away, you're saving me?” You hated being an angry crier, the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m already in this. I’ve been in this for years. You leaving didn’t save me—it fucking broke me.”

“I just,” his breath was shaky, knuckles white against the couch as the wood splintered from his grip. “I can’t lose you too.” 

You stepped closer, a hesitant hand hanging in the air a moment before it made contact. Slipping over his back, meeting your other hand in the front as you hugged him from behind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, voice soft and thick with sadness. “I’m right here, and I’m not leaving. I’m not letting you leave this time.” 

He shook his head, tilting it backward to keep the tears from falling. “You don’t understand. I keep telling you that I’m cursed, that everyone who gets close to me, everyone that I love,” the crack in his voice hurt you, “ends up dead. And I can’t let that happen to you.” 

“You’re not cursed,” you mumbled into his back. “You’ve been through hell, but you deserve a chance at happiness and love.” 

His shoulders shook as the sob he had been holding back finally broke free. He crumples against the back of the couch, wrenching at his waist as his head meets his hands. You went down with him, following the curve of his back with your front, holding him tightly as he cried. 

“I’m here,” you cooed into his ear, your tears cresting down your cheeks. “I’m here, baby.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” he choked out between sobs. 

You tightened your hold on him, wishing that the pressure could soothe his aches and worries and make him feel whole again. That it would wash away all the suffering he’s been through and wipe it from his mind, even if you knew that pain was part of what made him him. 

“Yes, you do. You deserve love and happiness and to find that with me.” 

“I’m just going to hurt you again, like I have before.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me-”

“God dammit, I’ve killed people,” he stood up straight to face you, his voice jumping in volume, shaking you off balance. As you stumbled, he reached out, a hand on your hip to steady you. “I’ve killed so many people that it’d take them years to find all the bodies that I’ve fucking piled up in my 230 years of life. I am a fucking mess of a man who is so goddamn broken, and I don’t want to drag you down in the mess that I have made.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around your face as he did. His beard was grown out, the greys now outnumbered the black, jaw trembling as he spoke. 

“And just when I think I can start to be okay without you in my life, you show up, doll, and it ruins all that progress I made, if I even fucking made any in the first place. Make me realize just how damn much I need you. And how much I am so fucking scared of losing you because I can’t take it if I do.”

You reached up, hand cupping his face against the scruff of his beard. “I know that I’ve always known the life you lived before meeting Charles, and it doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the thought of you shutting me out and living out here on your own till you die. You’re not this terrible monster you think you are. Yes, you’ve done terrible things, but you’ve also done so much good in the world. You’ve saved just as many lives as you’ve taken.”

His eyes softened, tongue darting out to wet dry lips that stuck to his teeth. 

“I can’t change who I am. I can’t be someone you deserve.” 

“I’m not asking you to change.” 

His other hand met your hip, both of them squeezing them tightly as his body shook. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promised. It was easy to promise that to him. As much as he needed you, you needed him. “You and me, we’ll get through this, and all that's to come.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. 

For a long while, he just stared at you, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes searching yours, looking for any doubt or lie in what you said. Fearful you’d sweep the rug out from under him and leave. He couldn’t find any indication of the sort. All he could see was how much you loved him, how much the distance between you had hurt, and how badly you wanted him to let you in.

Logan let out a shaky breath before pulling you into a kiss. His facial hair tickled your face as your lips met. It was intense as his lips moved against yours, his hands sliding down to your ass to pick you up and hold you. You could feel all his longing, desperation, and the despair he had been holding back. His lips were chapped from working outside, not caring for for himself like he should be, but you didn’t mind.

It sent a shiver down your spine, having him so close after so long. He was so warm against you. Your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Logan groaned as you did, parting his mouth enough that your tongue could meet his. 

The kiss deepened. You could taste the salt of his tears mingling with your own. His grip on your ass tightened, pulling you flush against his body like he was afraid you might disappear. His mouth moved hungrily against your own tongue, nearly forcing yours into submission as he held you close.  He felt like a man starved. 

You matched his intensity, trying to pour all your love and care into the kiss, your lips moving together in a way that felt both familiar and new. Hoping that enough of your love could spill into his cup and fill him so full it didn’t matter what spilled out his cracks. There’d be more poured in every second. A rediscovery of what the love between the two of you had been. 

The two of you have to part far sooner than he liked, your lung capacity smaller than his own. His eyes were still wet with tears as he watched you, your chest rising and falling as you gulped down the air. 

He leaned in towards you, placing a small kiss on your forehead as he rested his head against your own, moving your ass to rest against the back of the couch. You had changed your conditioner; it smelled like honey now, but no matter how fragrant it was, it couldn’t cut through the smell of you to him. You smelled like home. 

“I’m sorry, doll.” his voice was a murmur against your scalp, heavy with regret. If hammer home the point, he’d bend nail after nail into soft wood, splitting it down the middle with how much metal he’d drive into it, just how sorry he was.

“I forgive you.”

Somehow, he gripped you tighter.“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“I know you will.” you pulled away from your position tucked against his chest to look up at him. “Kiss me again?”

He compiled without hesitation, his lips finding yours so tenderly. It was slow, deliberate, a melting of his body with yours. A promise, shared understanding, a soul tie that bound the two of you together.

Pulling away, his eyes met yours, and all he could see was love. 

“You gonna take me to bed or what, big boy?” 

Logan moved quickly up the stairs, taking two of them at a time. The promise of having you again was all the incentive he needed. He missed you. The way you felt under him, the way your pussy felt against his dick. How you fluttered around him every time he angled just right, how you smelt. He'd been jacking off to the thought of you for years now, and finally getting to have you again was like a fevered dream.

It wasn’t graceful the way he swung open his door and tossed you on the bed. You bounced a few times, mattress springs creaking as you did, before propping yourself up with an eyebrow raised, questioning him. No doubt he’d never hear the end of it; could hear you nagging him now. “A spring mattress? Logan? You’re made of metal. You can't have a spring mattress. You know this.” 

You raised a finger, curling in towards yourself, beckoning him closer. He was a dog on a leash for you, moving like a well-trained animal. If they’d found you during Project K, he would have listened to every command they gave. Hell, he’d roll over right now if you told him to. 

His knees enclosed your legs as he crawled over you, dog tags slipping out from his white tank top and dangling in your face. You smelled like him. His body wash and house, mixed with your fruit conditioner. Underneath it all, he could just smell you. The salt on your skin, the heady scent of your arousal. Logan lowered himself, tucking his head into your neck, and took a deep breath, groaning at the smell of you.

“Need you logan.”

That was something he’d missed. That pitched whine in the back of your throat you got when you were all horny and needy for him. Your voice turned raspy and low, caressed his ears so smoothly, and it made him want to purr like a fucking cat. The cadence just scratched an itch in his skull, setting his nerves on fire. 

With a low growl, he cradled your face in his hands, thumbs tracing over your cheekbones, relishing the heat coming off your skin. The little bumps and scars that crossed your skin felt like home to him, a map he’d always know how to read no matter how many years passed. He leaned in, lips meeting yours, and it just felt right. It always felt right. He was stupid for trying to run from you all this time. 

Your fingers laced in his hair on the nape of his neck, fingernails scraping his scalp. He groaned low,  wanton, animalistic, your tongue meeting his own in a warm, wet dance. Logan devoured your lips, his hunger for you impossible to sate. It was messy, desperate, the way he clung to you. Grabbing your waist and lifting you closer to him, you felt like a feather to him, all soft flesh and curves against his hard angles. 

He pulled away from the kiss, moving along your jawline and neck, stubble brushing your skin, making it more sensitive than it already was. Not stopping at your neck, he continued down over your collarbones and the expanse of your chest, all the skin he could access in the v-neck you wore. His fingers tugged at the hem of your sweater, pulling it over your head. You weren’t wearing a bra, perfect fucking nipples already perking up for him.

Logan leaned forward, his lips closing around your nipple. You gasped, back arching off the bed, the cool metal of his dog tags stinging against your skin. His tongue swirled around your nipple, fingers digging in at your waist before he pulled away with a pop, your chest heaving. You always looked so beautiful coming under him, over him, beside him, any position in which your naked body was near his and your flesh met in sinful desire.

“Oh,” his voice was ragged like he had fought all his battles and wars at once. “Oh god, doll…”

Testament and faith could be read about in books and studied. The Bible could teach you of Jesus’ preaching, but true faith, true trust in the unknown, could never be read about. It had to be felt and experienced. Logan slid to his knees, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed as he went. The fabric of your leggings felt too thick, separating him from his worship. He could smell you through them, through the lace of your panties. Heady, musky, a whine rumbles through his chest as his face falls against your thigh, nose pressed against the fast of your pussy. He breathes in deep, savoring your scent, his mouth watering like he can taste you.

“Doll, please,” he begged, opening his bloodshot eyes, his voice needy. “Let me taste you?” 

“You don't have to ask, Logan,” you replied, smiling. “I’m yours, always yours.” 

Logan hooked his finger into the waistband of your legging and panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. The cold air of the room met your skin as he did, but you didn't have long to think about it as he parted your legs, and his hot breath made contact with your pussy. His mouth hovered above for a moment, just wafting in your scent, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Fucking love the smell of this pussy.” he murmured to himself, a low growl, before he dove in, tongue parting your folds.

Wet muscle slid between you so easily before swirling around your sensitive clit, teasing it. His hot breath ghosted over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers flew to his head, trying to find purchase in his hair as he went. Logan was ferocious. He went from your clit to your hole, delving inside you, trying to taste every inch of you. He grabbed your hips, tilting them upwards, making you squeal as he opened his mouth wider on you. Working himself into a frenzy, growling, the vibrations amplified by his adamantium skeleton. It rumbled through you, low and deep, like the base setting of a vibrator.

He takes a second, not quite remembering the perfect rhythm for you right away, but he gets to it quickly. Starts playing with your pussy like a fine-tuned machine the way he has you gushing in minutes. Your wetness coats his tongue, and that engine is firing.

Each stroke, each flick of his tongue on your clit brought you closer to ecstasy. The stars might power you, but he’d have you see them tonight. He devours your pussy like a man starved, primal hunger driving him. You couldn’t fight back, not that you wanted to. All that you could do was let him keep going. Let him take you to the edge. Push you past it. Over it. Your breath hitches, heart pounding in your chest so hard you feel it in your temples.

You push his head back, abdomen muscles flexing, a thick line of spit and arousal connecting Logan’s mouth to your pussy. His pupils were blown wide, eyes unfocused, hungry. A red, ruddy color spread across his cheeks. He felt hard enough to cut steel with his length, rutting against the bed. They move on their own accord, desperate for friction. There’s a growing wet spot of precum at the front of his darkening blue jeans.

“Cum for me, doll, please, I need to taste it.” That low vibration of his voice made you whine, hips bucking against him.

Logan spread his tongue flat and mercilessly kept going at your clit. Your moans grew louder, fingernails digging into his scalp as he manhandled you around like you weighed nothing. He gripped your hips tighter, tilting them further, ensuring he had better access to your pussy, before taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it. An involuntary squeal came out of you as the added pressure made your back arch. 

The suction made your stomach drop, and your toes curl. He kept swiping his tongue side to side, little pulses of suction in time. It left you writhing and gasping. One of his hands released your hips, moving so that he could slip two fingers into your wet hole. You were so soaked he met no resistance, walls clenching around his digits as he slid them in, desperate for something to clamp down on. The pads of his fingers brush against your G-spot, and the lights of the room glow brighter as you begin to lose control. You’re so close so quickly it feels like you can’t breathe from how overstimulating it was. 

You push his head back, abdomen muscles flexing, a thick line of spit and arousal connecting Logan’s mouth to your pussy. His pupils were blown wide, eyes unfocused, hungry. A red, ruddy color spread across his cheeks. He felt hard enough to cut steel with his length, rutting against the bed. Your vision blurred, light filling your eyes, your only point of focus in the world, his mouth on your sensitive pussy.

“Taste so goddamn good,” he licked his lips, breaking the strand before diving back in. Your legs shook, thighs clamping down around his ears. You were so close, you could taste it. Logan picked up the pace, his tongue rapidly flicking over your clit, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering hole. 

The room was filled with sloppy, wet sounds of Logans eating you out mixed with your cries of pleasure. He presses your pussy harder against his face, moaning as he does. You clench around him, body drawing tight like a bow as your release nears, his fangs scrape on the fat of your pussy lips.  It's like you leave your body for a minute, your ears ringing and your heart pumping. Every nerve in your body is lit up.

Logan reaches up to grope at your breasts, and with a pinch of your nipple, you cum with a loud moan that startles the cows, the lightbulbs exploding as you do. Your body trembles and shakes, juices gushing onto his palette like a tall glass of iced tea after a long day of work during the summer, and his thirst is quenched, but his appetite is only hungrier. You felt like you were melting, pleasure pouring out of you.

“Fuck,” you sound winded, “I haven’t had that happen since I was 24.” Your smile shows crow's feet, crinkling comforts near the sides of your eyes as you smile, really smile at him for the first time this week.

“Getting old, kid.”

“Oh, shut up!” 

He ducks to the side to dodge the pillow you throw his way. 

“You want to keep going?” 

“With you, I don’t ever want to stop.”

His eyes go all soft at the corners, caught up in his feelings. “Promise you won’t ever have to again.” 

“Good.”

He picks you up and places you up on the center of the bed, grabbing the pillow you threw at him to place under your hips for support. His clothes come off, and his blue Wrangler jeans drop to the floor with his tank top and boxer briefs. The dog tags stay on. He knows you’ve got a thing for them.  They glint in the dim light, steel catching your eye.

Rough, calloused hands slide up your legs, starting at your ankles, and he kneels between your legs on the bed. He folds you nearly in half, hooking your knees over his shoulders, his hip meeting yours. You feel the curling wisps of his pubes tickle against the back of your thighs. Always been a hairy guy, told you it's how he was so warm all the time. It makes your stomach flutter.

Logan leans down, capturing your lips against his own in a kiss before lining up his pre-cum soaked tip with your entrance. He eases into you with a hiss, your walls squeezing him tightly. The length was never an issue, he was only about an inch and a half above average, but it was the girth that made your jaw go slack and droll pool out the sides as he fucked you. The stretch is delicious as he slides inside you.

The first inch yielded a slick gushing sound from your pussy, while the second made you gasp, and the third had your walls tighten around him, taking his and your breath away. The stretch felt so good with how fat of a cock he had. One that felt so much girthier than you’d ever imagine it to be. His cock twitched, heavy, inside you, his pulse beating in time with yous.

“Jesus, princess, you’re squeezing me so tight. Relax,” he rolled his hip about halfway in and still meeting resistance.  Relax.” It came out like a pant. Fuck you were so tighter, like a vice around him. He wanted to take it slow, cherish you, show you how much he’d been missing you, but he was an old dog, and he wouldn’t last that long with how bad you were squeezing him. 

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails cutting the threadbare cheap cotton ones he’d been using for all these years. “Too much Logan.” You could barely breathe, let alone get the words out.

“You can take it, doll, remember?” he groaned, finally sliding in, flesh meeting yours in a wet slap. Your poor little hole stretched to the max as you whimpered. “See? You can take it.” Logan emphasized each word with a thrust of his hips. 

He felt his control slipping, thrusts starting to pick up, super strength coming into play. It coiled deep in his belly as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. “Feel so fucking good. Oh fuck. You’re so perfect, perfect little pussy.”

Logan’s hands move to grab your breasts, pushing them together. He plays with your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index finger. His pace is brutal, and the position allows him to hit that perfect spot on your gummy walls that has you seeing stars. He’s all grunts and whimpers, silver tips eclipsing the skin of his knuckles. It gets to the point he wants to go faster, the need to cum inside you far too great, and he lets go of your tits and balances himself on the bed. 

The base of his cock swelled, his knot beginning to grow. This was the part you missed the most. The way he’d stretch you out so good on his dick, only to then slip his knot inside you and stretch you even further. 

“Ain’t gonna last much longer, doll.” 

You moan, reaching down to play with your messy clit. It’s so wet between your legs it’s hard to find any purchase, and the sensitive nub slides back and forth so easily. The bed creaks, the wood floors groan, and the bed frame slams against the wall. He’s getting rougher by the second, his knot starting to press against you. 

“Give it to me, I’m ready.”

Logan thrusts forward, his knot sliding in with a satisfying pop, your words spurring him on. He pulses, cock swelling impossibly large before he cums. Thick, hot white ropes paint your insides as he stutters and groans, nearly growls, dropping to his elbows and forcing your knees to your chest. His hips don’t stop moving, still rutting up into you as you play with your clit. You just need a little bit more to push you over the edge. 

His voice is gravely in your ear as he careens over you, half squishing you with his weight. “I love you.” 

It’s the emotion of the moment that makes you cum. Tears in your eyes and love in your heart. Love is a lot like faith, blind trust in the unknown. A bishop can train his whole life, be a theologian, a scholar of the bible, know all of his god’s teachings inside out, and have less faith than a man who’s lived through hell. Putting your trust into the unknown and praying that good comes back to you. You felt like you were finally home, like that piece of yourself you’ve been missing for years is clicking back into place.

Logan didn’t know romance. He was gruff and awkward, snappy at the random way things. But he stood on the outside when you walked along the street, never let you carry anything, and opened every door for you. Never bought you flowers because he hated the local guy who sold them. But he picked them for you daily on his runs. Didn’t ever wash your laundry, but he folded every piece of clothing you owned and hung up all your shirts, all of it, just because you mentioned hating folding clothes to him once. 

He’d never be able to admit to you how much you meant to him fully. When you came into his life, he was close to ending things. There had been so many dark, endless days that only he remembered now. Horrors beyond human comprehension were his burden, shadowing his every waking moment until you came walking into his life.

There’d be a conversation in the morning that probably would rise into an argument. He’d likely storm off, and you’d be there waiting, telling him to get therapy, and this time, he would. This time, he’d go talk to a shrink about the mess in his head and sort it out for you, for himself. This time he wouldn’t fuck it up and leave you in the middle of the night. He’d have the difficult, uncomfortable conversations that activate his fight or flight. 

You were soft under him as he lifted off of you, still unable to pull out due to his knot. He rotated the two of you so you were on top, your chests pressed together as he lazily traced your spine. 

“I love you too.” 

“I love you more, sunbeam.” 

“Oh, absolutely not. You know I hate that name.”

©️ uzuzrimisery

thank you @txjis for beta reading

[hyper-fixates]

low honour!arthur morgan x virgin!reader

this is really just one long-winded fic idea that i need to speak into existence.

tags: literally save a horse ride a cowboy, afab!reader (feminine pronouns, descriptions, and names used), religious topics/imagery, obsessive!arthur, virginity kink, age gap relationship, loss of virginity, corruption kink

Reader is in her early 20s, privileged to come from a family with wealth from their heritage and inheritance in the oil industry.

The era of cowboys and outlaws has started to become a thing of the past from the shifts in climate and industry throughout the country. Reader has resided in Saint Denis her whole life, never needing to worry about gangs, outlaws, or even cowboys.

She has never even seen a cowboy before, but she’s heard stories; none of them particularly pretty. The presence of law enforcement throughout the streets and the sheer distance of Saint Denis from other towns is enough to deter most of them from causing trouble.

Functionally, she should never be compatible with a cowboy.

Her father has always preached about her waiting for a “good, proper man” that can marry her into another family with obscene wealth. And so, she protects her chastity and innocence just as she is expected to—just as her father expects her to.

Hell, she doesn’t even know how to ride a horse! Her father believes that riding horses is beneath them, so anywhere she wants to go is accommodated by a stagecoach.

Cut to: reader is accompanying her father on a trip to Annesburg to discuss potential investments in the mining industry. He hates leaving her alone. She knows he worries that she’ll get “up to no good”.

Her father has chosen one of their more comfortable, flashy stagecoaches for the longer ride, giving him more storage for his financial documents and whatnot. A perfect target for gangs.

And, inevitably, they get robbed.

The robbers’ faces are all concealed by hats and bandanas, and one of them ties her arms behind her back with careful hands before guiding her to her knees on the wet grass.

The man who tied her up stays close by her side, and she can see her father pleading for his life to another man who’s not listening.

“Are you a cowboy?” Are the first words she says to him, not a note of fear in her doll-like eyes that make her look so fuckable in this position with her on her knees next to him, dress billowing out around her form.

He looks down at her confused. “Uh, once, I suppose.” His voice is a little muffled by the black bandana hanging over his nose and mouth.

She can see that his hair is so long that it starts to curl up and out at the ends under his hat.

“Well, you got the hat. And the horse,” she reasons, wondering if she’s truly meeting a cowboy under circumstances she thought she’d never be in.

He looks to her again, left hand causally hooked in the leather of his belt as he waits for the rest of his gang to finish up. “I guess you’re right.” He tips his head to her in agreement.

“Leave them! These people are leeches. Let the wolves decide their fate.” A man with a deep, booming voice announces atop his white horse.

Now she starts to panic.

She pulls against the rope around her wrists, looking up to the man who tied her as he begins to walk toward his horse. “Wait! Mister, please! Please don’t. Please,” she yells to him.

He looks back to her, then his horse, then back to her again. “Hold on.” He signals to the man on the white horse before walking back over to her.

“Take me home. Please just take me home, mister. I won’t say nothing, I promise, but just take me home and I’ll give you anything you want,” she begs to him.

He sighs, but not out of annoyance or hesitation for her request. He sighs because he has no idea what she has just done to herself.

He places his bandana over her eyes and leads her to his horse. He unties her hands and lets her blindly climb into the saddle, legs shaking from unfamiliarity.

When she settles, she blindly grips onto the saddle horn for dear life, wishing her father let her ride at least once in her life so she wouldn’t appear so delicate in this situation. The man chuckles off to the side before mounting up behind her. She notices the saddle is not quite meant for two as he pushes in tightly against her ass, seemingly not even concerned about it.

This is probably the closest she’s ever been to a man.

“Where to, miss?” The man leans forward against her back to grab the reigns, caging her in with his arms.

She tells him in a quiet voice, and he kicks against his horse, setting them into motion.

When they arrive at her French two-story home on the outskirts of Saint Denis, the man dismounts swiftly, hand circling her wrist before saying, “Swing your right leg over and I’ll help you down.”

She slowly brings herself around, feeling the man lock his hands around her waist to guide her to the ground.

He tugs at the knot holding the bandana around her eyes, and she doesn’t let herself turn around until she feels he’s had enough time to tie it back around his face.

“Thank you, mister,” she whispers.

He tips his hat and leaves without another word.

In the following week, the man watches her after the sun sets. He watches her pray before bed and change into her silk nightgown, waiting for the night he can maybe finally see the more explicit side of her. But it never comes.

She’s perfect.

Eventually they cross paths again one day. The man purposefully chooses to ditch the bandana, too.

“I don’t think my daddy would appreciate me talking to someone like you,” she admits slyly as she continues her trek into Saint Denis.

The man follows beside her on his horse, left arm lazily hanging down by his side. “Someone like me? And who’s that?” he asks, a slight smile also on his lips.

“A cowboy. An outlaw,” she says, sneaking a glance up to him as his horse steps in time with her down the path.

“Well your daddy ain’t here.”

“No, mister.”

“Come for a ride then.”

And that’s how it’s starts for them. He introduces himself as they ride to his gangs camp, and she complains about how sore her legs are when they arrive.

“You don’t ride?” Arthur asks, intending for it to be a joke.

“That was my second time. Ever,” she laughs.

And that’s when he understands what type of lady he’s dealing with, so he goes for it.

“Maybe you should practice on me sometime,” he remarks, untacking his horse.

She wonders if she heard him right. “Uh, mister—”

“Arthur,” he corrects.

In that moment, she realizes he can teach her everything her father has kept from her, show her everything he had protected her from. Throw away the innocence and chastity and truly experience what life should be. But Arthur doesn’t know the entirety of her sheltered life. She needs someone like him.

“Arthur…I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for,” she admits. “I…I’ve never been with no one. Ever.”

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Just as my daddy said I should be. Until marriage.”

And Arthur makes it his mission to make her experience her own sexuality in its completeness, so he starts off slow.

He would always touch, never breaching her or letting her do anything to him. The focus was always on her.

Her virginity and pureness made him conflicted: he wanted to ruin her in all the ways she has never been, but he wants to tease and rile her up and watch her experience all the sexual frustrations for the first time.

It was cute. The more bold he got with his touches, the more bold she got in trying to take what she wanted. He would take her behind a tree and slowly lift up the dainty material of her summer dress, gathering it in his left hand as he used his right to rub her clit through her underwear while he licked and sucked along her neck, careful not to leave marks.

She would get weak so fast, Arthur could barely handle how virgin her body truly was. She would grip onto the leather straps of the rifles hanging down his back, trying to force his hand harder and faster.

However, the first time he made her cum was an accident.

He confidently placed a gentle kiss on her lips while they were alone in his tent—he just wanted to see how she would react.

She leaned in and returned it, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling him down to her. He pulled her into his lap, laying them down on his cot as they started making out like a long-distance high-school couple.

Arthur mindlessly starts grinding against her, ignoring the clothing separating them. She doesn’t realize what she’s feeling as Arthur’s hard cock slides against her clothed pussy.

Her orgasm just kind of happens.

Arthur watches her shake and twitch under him as he pulls away to see what happened. The wet spot on her underwear is all the evidence he needs.

Ever since, she’s been insatiable. She wants Arthur to show her everything. Teach her everything. She wants to feel everything if that means she can cum like that again.

Around the campfire she’d sit on his lap, tightly circling her hips against him until he’d grow hard before stopping. Then she’d do it again.

Arthur would mostly ignore her teasing. He didn’t want her to know how much she was driving him up the wall, so he’d retaliate in a way that was ten times worse then whatever she did just to prove a point about her innocence, how she knows so little compared to him.

The first time they fuck, he makes the horse riding joke again: “I’m sure this’ll be good practice for you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a laugh, rubbing his cock through her folds as she straddles him. He’s built up her confidence so much, it’s all been leading to this.

He’d guide her up and down, back and forth, testing her body to see what she likes. Seeing what spot makes her tremble.

He finds it. “Fuck, there it is,” Arthur groans.

She can’t even think. She doesn’t know what to think. She’s doing everything her father told her not to.

Premarital sex.

Premarital sex with a cowboy.

“Oh, Lord, forgive me,” she prays, her pussy sliding so perfectly along him as he grips her hips harder.

Eventually, he’d eat her out in her childhood bedroom. Her father sleeping in the room above her own, separated by the thin wood of the floor. She arches against the bed, and her eyes meet the iron cross hung above her bed frame.

She’d often ask him to leave the hat on, and he’d laugh, pleased that she is slowly adopting sexual preferences and interests.

She was his perfect, sophisticated woman that he was free to defile and poison with his desires.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Zuko when you’re paralysed with fear at the sight of Azula…

It had been a peaceful morning just like the previous two days - until the ground quaked violently. Eyes flew open at the imminent danger and Aang was quick enough to deflect an incoming fireball as the rest of the group scrambled to their feet.

Zuko’s eyes widened when he realised their attacker. “It’s Azula.”

You had just thrown a bag into Appa’s saddle when you heard him and ice trickled through your body. Stumbling back, you accidentally stepped on Momo’s tail to which he screeched and then nursed in his little paws.

You would have apologised. You would have done anything but you stood frozen with fear clawing at your throat seizing all breath.

There was a series of calls for you but it was fuzzy to your ears - all but one. Golden eyes found themselves in your line of vision until it was all you could see. A warm hand against your waist, another on your cheek giving off a natural heat that thawed you for a few moments to focus.

“Look at me. You need to get on the saddle, okay? I’ll handle this.” Zuko said.

You took in a small breath, apparently you were still alive and breathing. Unable to find the words, you blinked and it was enough for the Prince.

He gently but quickly urged you towards the sky bison where Sokka had a hand extended. When he had yours gripped firmly, Zuko let you go and ran for the ledge to face his sister.

What happened in the moments after were a blur, there was yelling and the smell of fire and earth in the air. Appa was speeding through the valleys in order to escape and you held the side of the saddle to keep from flying off.

Just as he levelled out, you heard a voice in the air. That conceited, cold, relentless one that spent days and nights in your prison chamber. Then you heard her laugh - the very same one that echoed when spikes of lightning shot into your shackled, defenceless body until your screams forced blood.

Scrunching your eyes, you let go of the saddle and covered your ears. You didn’t care if you flew off. You just wanted to be away from her. Curling into yourself, you laid on the leather base and tried to drown out the sound.

There were shouts from somewhere above. A hand gently pressed against your arm as Appa changed flight and dipped low hard. The hot rush of air reminded you too much of the prison cell and memories began to flash. You started to drown in them, missing the additional thud of a body in the saddle.

Appa levelled out once more, still maintaining speed but the loud voices outside had reduced to softer tones - unlike the ones in your head.

Your nails dug into your scalp as your mind drowned you in the very worst trauma. And you begged for it to stop. You’d do anything for it to stop.

Something familiar moved closer, warm hands finding purchase over yours. They were steady and safe, carefully prying the tight hold away. A muffled voice made its way through your head and worked a soothing balm across the chaos.

Finally, you could feel a line between the past and reality. And you fought hard to stay in the land of the latter.

The air around you had cooled. Your cheeks felt wet and your hands were holding onto a soft fabric that smelled of home.

It was enough to finally pull you out of the haze and understand where you were.

Zuko was laying with you. His arms wrapped protectively, body flush against yours. His head nuzzled by your neck while his mouth whispered to you alone.

He was telling you a story about a prince who promised to give his life to protect the love of his life.

“You’re the love of mine.” He said with a gentle squeeze. “You will always be and I will never let you hurt like that again. I promise.”

~ More imagines here ~ (for more ATLA)

A/n: 2.5 hours sleep works wonders sometimes…

[greaseonmymouth]

As you've asked for asks!:

Do you have any quick-and-dirty book/fic binding methods a terrified-of-failure novice could use to bang something out to get over the first collywobbling step of Actually Doing The Thing? (this may be something I've been meaning to ask for ages)

yes! I absolutely do! in my opinion the best quick-and-dirty bookbinding method is a no-glue pamphlet: you don't have to mess with glue or measuring or cutting anything, all you need is your text, some paper, a needle and thread. you can use the same needle to punch holes if you don't have an awl.

this is going to be a little long but that's because I'm going to write out some fairly detailed instructions for an A5 sized pamphlet. If you don't want detailed instructions and think you can glean the necessary info from photos, just skip to the photos! I've also linked tutorials.

for preparing the text to printing, in whatever software you use (word, libreoffice, gdocs, whatever) make sure your document is set to page size A5. make it look readable. then save as/export that document as a straight-paged PDF. now go to the bookbinder JS tool (https://momijizukamori.github.io/bookbinder-js/), and upload the PDF. source manipulation: none printer paper size: A4 display unit (you can ignore, or choose cm if it gives you anxiety that it automatically displays points) printer type: select single-sided or duplex accordingly* rotate paper: ignore flip on long side: check if you are printing duplex and if your duplex printer flips the paper on the long side page layout:  tick folio page scaling: original page positioning: centered ignore the rest flyfleaf: ignore signature format tick: standard signatures. in the length drop down, this depends on the type of pamphlet you are doing. for folio i generally find 4-5 pages per signature a comfortable thickness. if you have 6 whole A4 pages you can still do that as a single signature or you can split it into two signatures 3 pages each. wacky small layouts: ignore this signature info click the generate preview button to see what your PDF looks like imposed! I love this step especially when I'm doing quarto (A6) or octavo (A7) sized books generate output - click this to generate an imposed PDF

for A6 and A7 sized books the instructions are much the same, except for these you make sure the page size is A6 or A7 in your software, and then you choose quarto or octavo instead of folio. for signature length drop down I keep signature length to 1 for octavos typically and 2 for quartos, as this still refers to sheets of paper, and for octavo 1 sheet of A4 paper will turn into 4 smaller sheets in one signature once folded and cut.

*if you don't have a duplex printer you will have to manually turn the paper to print on the other side. I cannot be arsed with this so I bought a printer capable of duplex printing (I didn't have a printer anyway). if you already have a printer check what it can do as you might be surprised and go from there.

now to the pamphlets! you don't need a cover - I have one for the long stitch pamphlet but for the saddle stitch one I didn't bother and just made sure the first page had a title on it. you can always take a different piece of paper and print a cover on or or just use coloured cardstock and create a simple cover, but a cover is not necessary unless you're doing a long stitch pamphlet. all you need to do is to punch holes and start sewing. there are a few different stitch types below, I wouldn't say any of them are more difficult or easier than others, but they do look different so...pick one you like the look of and go from there?

pamphlet stitch (uneven number of holes) I haven't ever done a pamphlet stitch but here's a tutorial for how to do it: https://www.starpointestudio.com/simple-pamphlet-stitch-book-step-by-step/

saddle stitch (uneven number of holes) I realised that what I was thinking of as a pamphlet stitch is actually saddle stitch, as in this A7 pamphlet:

here's a tutorial for how to sew saddle stitch: https://www.bookbindingworkshopsg.com/saddle-stitch-bookbinding-tutorial/ here's a video tutorial: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWHkY5jOoqM (sealemon has a lot of bookbinding tutorials and I know many people who like her videos, I used her tutorial for coptic binding way back when I first made a book but I can't otherwise vouch for the quality as I haven't used her videos)

french link stitch (even number of holes) in this one I used french link stitch which I typically use for thicker textblocks that i'm not planning to use tapes with as the french link gives it some robustness, I used it here because I had never done it before and wanted to try it out. I am planning to take these stitches out and re-sew this pamphlet with a cover now that I've found a suitable piece of transformer fanart to use as a cover:

french link tutorial. it's quite long but it has a colour coded bit towards the end that shows how the thread is supposed to link which i find very helpful to visualise: https://www.handmadebooksandjournals.com/bindings/french-link-stitch-binding/

here's a video tutoral from DAS bookbinding (he is my go to for techniques and he has the most soothing Australian accent as well, though fair warning not all of his videos are for beginners): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4ZPdbaM-Ws

long stitch (even number of holes) for this one I used long stitch and I had a cover. this one is my favourite variation because I can make these pretty and simple covers and the stitch looks nice on the outside as well, so this one scratches the 'i want to make a book' itch for me.

here's a tutorial that also includes a how to on a cover that is different from my cover: https://lccprintmaking.myblog.arts.ac.uk/files/2020/06/Long-Stitch-Tutorial-A4.pdf DAS also has a video tutorial for long stitch but it's like three videos long, maybe watch it later :'D  here's one I haven't watched but seems decent: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XnignTL_wDQ

you can use saddle stitch for this kind of pamphlet as well, that's what I did for dozens of ships and hundreds of souls (https://ashmouthbooks.tumblr.com/post/681587080267202560).

I hope this helped!!

[aemondsbabe]

Into the Woods

summary: in nature & deepthroating || you just can't resist aemond after he's been riding

pairing: aemond x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, public kind of (they’re in the middle of the woods and no one shows up but it’s still public ig???), dirty talk, deepthroating, gagging on a cock, oral sex (m receiving), cum, swallowing cum, brief spitting, crying but it’s good, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), aemond treating vhagar like an oversized housecat, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.9k

a/n: happy day six of 12 days of smuff! halfway there!!! i hope y'all enjoy this, frankly, depraved one!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @hoosbandewan!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“And one more step, sweetling,” Aemond says from behind you, his hands firmly on your waist as he helps you climb down from Vhagar’s enormous saddle. Finally, both of your feet touch the earth once more; you can’t help but let out a relieved sigh, no matter how many times you ride Vhagar with your husband, you’re always thankful to make it to the ground in one piece. “There we are,” he says with a smile, spinning you around and sweetly pressing his lips against yours, “Perfect, as always.” 

Even after so many years together, you still blush at his compliments. “You were right about going riding today,” you admit with a small sigh, thinking back to him finally convincing you to accompany him earlier that morning, “It was absolutely breathtaking as usual.” 

Aemond merely smiles and leans in to kiss your forehead, lilac eye soft as it meets yours, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, my love.” 

Finally, he turns to Vhagar with a bright smile, the only time he ever smiled fully, with his teeth. “Se ao gōntan rōvēgrie tubī tolī, ñuha gevie riña,” he said brightly, stroking his hands along her rough scales as if he were petting an enormous cat, “Kirimvose, Vhagar.” He whispers, downright reverently, and rests his forehead against her for a moment, as if he were trying to communicate telepathically with the giant beast. (“And you did great today too, my beautiful girl.”) (“Thank you, Vhagar.”)

And for all you know, maybe they are, for it‘s at that moment that Vhagar grumbles contentedly, the pattern of it familiar to you now. She swings her massive head around to sniff Aemond, huffing in a way that sounds pleased, even to you, like she’s just as happy being with him as he is with her. 

Finally, her huge, breathtaking orange eyes fix themselves on you. Your heart leaps in your chest, it always does, and you can’t imagine there will come a day when it doesn’t. Steadying your breath, you lift your arm in the smooth, calm way Aemond showed you many years ago, and extend your hand out. Your breath catches as she leans in and you glance at Aemond, who is still rubbing away at her side and murmuring Valyrian praises, a soft smile on his face. Vhagar huffs as she sniffs your hand, her warm breath fanning over your arm, before another loud purr rumbles through her, evidently pleased with you in some way you’ll never understand, before turning her head back around and resting it against the forest floor, an indication that she’s done for the day. 

Aemond pulls away from her with a sigh, patting her once more before taking your arm and leading you from the massive forest clearing in which the dragon resides. “It’s a pity she’s too large for the Dragonpit,” you say sadly as you and your husband walk hand-in-hand down the narrow, winding path that leads back to the Red Keep, “I hope she doesn’t get lonely out here.” 

Aemond huffs out a small laugh, smiling as he turns his gaze toward you for a second. “Truthfully, I think she likes it out here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, “She needs some solitude, I believe.” 

“She’s very much like her rider in that way,” you smile, bumping your shoulder against his, “Always needing alone time.” 

Aemond is quiet for a second, sinking into that contemplative silence he so often went to after a long day. Just when you’re ready to accept that the rest of the walk back would be done in silence, he speaks again. “Never from you, though, my love.” He says lowly, squeezing your arm a bit tighter as he does. 

You look over at him with a soft smile, the evening sun shining through the canopy of leaves overhead lights his pale hair in a golden halo, making him look every bit as ethereal as the Targaryen’s are rumored to be. 

The light in his hair makes you think back to earlier that day, makes you think of every time you’ve ridden Vhagar with him. You think of how commanding he is on the saddle, how regal and elegant he looks with the breeze blowing through his long hair. How free he looks, how happy. On dragonback is truly where your beautiful husband shines, where he’s most himself. 

It makes a familiar heat burst to life within you. 

Suddenly, you feel nearly dizzy with how badly you need him. How badly you need to please him, to worship him like he’s one of the Gods. 

Unable to contain yourself further, you come to a quick stop before pressing him back against the thick trunk of a tree, catching him so off guard that he has no time to react and lands with a soft thud against the bark. 

“What — ?” He hardly has time to voice the question before you’re pressing your lips against his desperately, letting out a shuddering, high-pitched moan as you press yourself against him. The kiss is more teeth and tongues than anything else, Aemond determined to keep pace with you as he pulls you ever tighter against him, his length already hardening in his leather riding trousers at your eagerness. 

Finally, you pull away from him with a soft, shy smile, teeth biting into your lower lip. “Where in the Seven is this coming from?” Aemond asks, peering at you with amusement. 

“I need you,” you nearly whimper, grabbing at his leather tunic, “Now.” 

His eye widens, glancing around the forest before flicking back to you, “What, here?” You merely nod, and he huffs out a small laugh, “Sweetling, why not wait until we’re back in our —.”

“I can’t,” you sigh, cutting him off yet again as you trail kisses down his jaw and neck, “Need you now.” You murmur before sinking to your knees, though you don’t miss the way his eye darkens as your knees plant themselves against the earth. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, fingers immediately running through your hair, smoothing it out in the way he always does, “My love —.” He starts again, and you can sense the refute coming. 

“Aemond, if I don’t, I fear I’ll die.”

“You’ll die?” He laughs, blushing despite himself, as he cups your cheek gently in one hand, sighing as you lean in and press warm kisses against the outline of his hard cock through his pants, “We definitely don’t want that… get on with it.” He pants, lightly tapping your cheek in a way that makes your eyes flutter, the casual dominance of it sending you into a tailspin. 

Your hands shake with need as you quickly unlace his breeches, your groan almost as loud as his when his hard length springs out, his cock already throbbing and dripping before you even wrap your hand around him. 

You peer up at him through your lashes as you finally grasp his length, whimpering at the way it twitches against your palm. 

Just as you’re about to lean in and lick the tip, he stops you with another gentle tap against your cheek, “Open.” He commands simply, and you blush deeply as you comply, opening your mouth in a perfect O shape as you look up at him. You watch as he gathers spit in his mouth before he leans forward and nearly connects your lips before spitting harshly into your mouth, chuckling at the breathy moan you let out as it settles against your tongue, “Good girl, sweetling.” 

His simple praise is enough to have your center aching and you continue with more determination as you wrap your lips around the head and suck gently, using your hand to stroke his length as you do. 

The effect is instantaneous, a proud heat stirring in your belly as Aemond’s head falls back against the tree, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously as he lets out a gruff moan. His fingers twine through your hair as you begin bobbing your head over his length, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth, savoring the heavy feeling of him resting against your tongue. 

You focus on breathing through your nose as you take as much of him into your mouth as you can, until your nose rests firmly against the warm skin at the base of his cock. His length swells into your throat, making your eyes water as you look up at him, watching the way his chest heaves as you try not to gag. 

Finally, he looks back down at you and growls low in his chest, resting a hand on the back of your head as you work your mouth over his cock, not enough to push your head down but enough to remind you he’s there. 

You moan around him, one hand braced against one of his thighs while the other comes up to cup his stones, gently kneading them in time with your gags around his length, a few tears streaming down your cheeks as you let him prod at the back of your throat. 

“Gods,” he rasps, sucking in air through his teeth, “You want me to breed that sweet little throat, my love?” He asks, his voice low, nearly menacing, as he gazes down at you, lilac eye almost black enough to match the patch that covers the other one. 

You nod around him as best you can, determined to keep him in the back of your throat until he meets his end and, lucky for you, that doesn’t seem too far off. 

“Sweetling,” he rasps, fingers tightening in the hair at the back of your head as he ruts his hips against you, spearing your mouth somehow further down on his cock, a handful of times before he groans loudly, eye rolling back in his head as his length pulses in the back of your throat, his spend pouring into you. 

Your eyes water as you take all he has to give, fingernails digging into the leather covering his thighs as you swallow around him. Finally, he relaxes and you pull off of him and suck in deep lungfuls of air, coughing a little as you wipe a hand over your mouth. 

Aemond pulls you up to him, cupping your cheeks gently as his thumbs wipe away your tears. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he whispers reverently, eye sweeping over your face as he takes in your flushed cheeks and rosy lips, “You did so well for me.” 

“I always hope to please you, husband,” you say with a soft smile, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips before sighing as he trails kisses down your jaw and throat. 

Before you know what’s happening, he whirls you around, pressing your back against the thick tree where he once was. You open your lips to ask what he’s doing but he silences you with another kiss. 

You gasp as he sinks to his knees in front of you, a mischievous smirk on his face as he pulls up the skirts of your gown. “So well, in fact,” he starts, pressing kisses up the inside of your thigh, “That I think my good girl needs a reward.” 

Any reply you had waiting dies on your lips as a moan escapes you at the first swipe of his deft tongue against your soaked core, your hands tangling in his hair in the same way his had in yours. Yes, you thought as you tilted your head back against the tree, The Targaryen’s are absolutely sent from the heavens.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 4.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, violence, beheading, blood

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At first, y/n watches Katsuki pack by himself. Eventually, he starts barking orders at her that she doesn't get. He keeps pointing at things y/n starts moving his belongings toward his dragon. Katsuki binds the bags onto the saddle with some rope. When he's done, he shakes everything one more time to check if it's secure. Y/n stands next to him feeling a little bit lost. She feels insecure since she doesn't know what's going to happen next.

"Will he take me with him?", she wonders. If he does, what will it mean? She's not stupid. Y/n knows exactly who is standing in front of her. Bakugou Katsuki, leader of the dragonblood tribe, tamer of the biggest beast known to mankind, slaughter of man. The last thing she witnessed herself.

Clearly, she has heard enough stories about his clan. About their ruthlessness, their crimes. How ten of his men can take out an entire village. She shudders when she thinks about what the stories say they do to women. Y/n gnaws at her bottom lip in distress. So far, Katsuki hasn't shown any aggression or ill intentions towards her. She wonders if the stories are lies or at least exaggerations.

Then again, so far she's only seen Katsuki. He is rude and mean. Thinking back on how he laughed at her when she burned her mouth, he also likes seeing people in pain. Moreover, he easily could kill her if he wanted to. What would it be like if she was in a whole group of men like Katsuki? Group dynamics often develop a strange momentum.

The point is, does she want Katsuki to take her with him? If he takes her back to his home, she would have to live with these people she's heard so many terrible things about. She doesn't speak their language, she doesn't know anything about their culture. How would she even fit it? Y/n shakes her head trying to push the thoughts out of her head. She can't even be sure that that's Katsuki's plan. In addition, what other option does she have? She knows her chances alone out here are grim. Teaming up with the big scary men might just be a chance to survive.

Just when she decided that, as long as no other option opens up, she might as well go with the flow, Katsuki whistles at her sharply. Y/n is ripped out of her thoughts. He stares at her angrily and shouts instructions at her. When he gestures at her to come over, y/n walks closer to him.

When y/n stands next to him and the winged animal, Katsuki explains something speaking rather quickly and wildly gesturing. When y/n doesn't do what he wants her to do, he grabs her hips and lifts her up the dragon. Y/n throws a leg around the saddle and Katsuki pushes her up. Then Katsuki lifts himself up into the saddle. Sitting behind y/n, Katsuki grabs the reigns and gives the dragon a sign.

While y/n still feels anxious about being so high up in the air, she's not as scared as last time. She still clings onto the handle until her knuckles are all white. Katsuki's broad arms cage her in which gives her some sort of comfort. At least she can't fall off on either side.

After a while, she relaxes and suddenly becomes painfully aware of how close Katsuki is to her. She can feel his abs pressed against her back and his breath against her ear. She shivers even though Katsuki's body warmth keeps her comfortably warm.

Katsuki seems to have a plan for where they were going. They fly for about two hours before the dragon lands on the outskirts of the forest. Katsuki gets down first before he helps y/n get down. Y/n feels a bit unsteady on her legs. The inside of her thighs ache and y/n excuses herself behind a tree. Lifting up her skirt, she takes a look at the tender skin on the inside of her legs. They're red and sore. Y/n's surprised the skin hasn't grazed off to a point where she's bleeding. Her dress wasn't made for riding a horse or a dragon.

*~*~*

Katsuki watches y/n disappear behind the tree suspiciously. He noticed how she was still not comfortable with flying. He wonders whether she needs to piss or puke. Scoffing, he turns around and starts setting up camp. When y/n wobbles back, she starts helping him.

They were just about to undo the knots of the rope that secured the bags onto the saddle, when the dragon shifts and lets out a deep, threatening growl. Y/n shys away. "Woops, does he not like that?", she exclaims. Simultaneously, Katsuki swirls around watching the edge of the forest. His hand rest on the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly, the buzzing sound of an arrow fills the air. Katsuki grips y/n's arm and yanks her to he side just in time. Her injured shoulder almost gets pierced again. Next, a bunch or rough-looking men attack their little party with roars of war. "Bandits.", y/n thinks. Katuski yells something at her and gestures at the dragon.

The dragon moves quickly. One second he was behind them, the next he is in front of y/n biting a man's head off. Y/n ducks behind the beast. She hears Katsuki swearing and blades clashing against each other. Y/n rumbles through her back for her hunting knife.

Suddenly, a hand is pushed onto her mouth and an arm grabs her midsection. The person tries to drag her away. Y/n struggles against the man's grip. "Keep struggling and you only make it worse for yourself.", the man tells her.

The dragon blocks the view and y/n can't spot or yell at Katsuki. The man keeps pulling her backward. Instead of panicking, y/n suddenly feels very calm. Living on the road, the wandering folk teach all their children basic self-defense. The scenario of being grabbed from behind is something her elders have practiced her a hundred times.

She prepares to free herself out of the man's grip. She stomps onto his foot and bites his hand simultaneously. She bites so hard, she can taste the metallic flavor of blood. The man yells in distress and lets go of her in his surprise. Swiftly, y/n draws out her tiny knife. She goes straight for his liver. She should've gone for his Adam's apple, piercing his throat, as her elders taught her but somehow she's not courageous or fierce enough to do so. Instead, she stabs him in the liver. However, she's not sure if her tiny knife could even cut deep enough to harm the organ. Nevertheless, it's enough for the man to fall onto his back and clutch the wound in pain.

Y/n swirls around. The dragon is busy fending off some bandits. Somewhere behind it, Katsuki's fighting. Suddenly, Katsuki stumbles backwards and into y/n's view. There's a cut on his bicep and cheek. He holds a sword in his head that drips with blood. Three more bandits come into view, all three attacking the blonde at the same time.

"I've got to do something!", y/n thinks in a panic, "He can't fight them all on his own!". It's not a rational thought. Her elders always drilled into her head that the moment someone carries a knife or another kind of weapon, you do not try to fight them. Despite that, y/n finds herself rushing towards them. Without a real plan, she jumps onto on of the bandit's back. Her weight is enough to make the bandit stumble backwards. It also throws off the other two momentarily giving Katsuki enough time to swing his sword at one of them. He cuts open one of the bandit's throats similarly as he did to the man from y/n's village.

Meanwhile, y/n is still holding on tightly to the third guy's back who tries to shake her off. Y/n clings onto his throat for dear life and the bandit has trouble breathing. Luckily, bandits usually are not skilled swordsmen thus the man is too disoriented to get the idea that he could use his weapon against y/n. Unfortunately, he's still larger and stronger than y/n so he does manage to shake her off eventually.

Y/n falls onto her butt. An uncomfortable pain shoots up her injured shoulder. The man swirls around to her clutching his throat and raising his saber. His face is contorted in anger. "You little bitch!", he roars as he raises his weapon to strike.

Katsuki sees what is happening out of the corner of his eyes. He's still fighting the other bandit but upon noticing that y/n is about to get killed, he turns to the side in an attempt to rush to her aide. This gives the bandit an opening to strike. While Katsuki reacts quickly enough to stop the bandit from piercing him with his weapon completely, the bandit still manages to cut deeply into Katsuki's right leg.

Meanwhile, y/n is quick to roll over and the saber misses her by inches. Quickly she's on her feet again, crouching and holding her knife up in defense. The man takes another swing at her but before he can fulfill the action, his head is severed from the rest of his body.

While y/n wasn't looking, Katsuki killed the second bandit and went to her rescue. The bandit's head drops to the ground with a loud 'thup'. The rest of his body falls to the ground still twitching. Y/n stares at the sight in front of her with wide eyes. The sight doesn't seem to faze Katsuki at all but he is out of breath and his face in contorted in pain. He grabs y/n's injured arm and pulls her towards the dragon who is still fighting off some bandits. From the edge of the forest more cries of war are heard as reinforcements of the bandits run onto the open.

"Shit.", Katsuki curses. There are too many even for him. Where on earth were these assholes hiding? He should've been more observant. He shouldn't have been so distracted by this stupid woman. He pulls y/n towards the beast and pushes her up. Y/n is quick to react and pulls herself up into the saddle just as Katsuki does just seconds after her.

The dragon beats his wings and the force of the air sends a few bandits backwards. Some still try to climb the dragon in an attempt to get to Katsuki and y/n. When one manages to grab Katsuki's foot, y/n stabs her knife into the man's hand who immediately lets go.

As they rise into the air, more bandits lose hold and fall onto the ground. Arrows are shot at the three of them and Katsuki pushes y/n's head down in an attempt to stop her from getting shot in the face. Once they are high enough that the bandits can't reach them, Katsuki lets go of y/n's head.

Just when y/n thinks they're safe, Katsuki turns the dragon around and steers it back to the bandits. "Is he absolutely out of his mind?", y/n thinks as they descend again. However, they never touch land. Instead, the dragon lets out a rumbling sound and spits waves of never-ending fire. Suddenly, the world is burning and hot. Y/n hears the cries of the bandits and the heat licking at her legs.

Quickly they leave again and y/n watches the bandits and parts of the forest burn to the ground over her shoulder. Just when they are out of sight, she notices Katsuki's heavy breathing behind her. She also notices how his grip on her isn't as tight as it was before. That's when she feels a warm liquid drop down her leg. Katsuki rests his head on her shoulder.

Y/n lets go of the handle of the saddle and grabs his hands with both of hers stabilizing his hold on the reigns. The last thing she wants is for both of them to fall off the damn dragon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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