#womens red tunic

[kneelingshadowsalome]

What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight. 

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you. 

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff. 

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat. 

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin. 

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you. 

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips. 

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life. 

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week. 

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs. 

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him. 

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him. 

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin? 

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale. 

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home. 

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn. 

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent. 

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want. 

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away. 

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear. 

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring. 

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two. 

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been. 

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night. 

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back. 

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all. 

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable. 

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man. 

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod. 

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone. 

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison. 

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek. 

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls. 

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…” 

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself. 

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more. 

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down. 

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?” 

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you. 

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh. 

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death. 

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself. 

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep. 

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice. 

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

[spider-stark]

SPARRING PARTNER

Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin!Reader

Summary - You and Aegon have hardly spoken since sharing a particularly sensual moment a month ago. Now he thinks he stands a chance at beating you in a sparring match.

Warnings - targcest (lightly implied that reader is Daemon's daughter), vague hints regarding smut, blood, horny/stupid aegon & reader, ! MINORS DNI !

Word Count - 2.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Care for a partner?” 

Aegon’s gruff voice had come as a surprise, knocking you from a state of concentration as you swung for one of the training dummies.

Your body jolts. You fumble, then miss your mark by a fraction of an inch. The tip of your blade grazes against the dummies wooden neck, rather than slicing its head clean off. 

Gritting your teeth, blood thrums in your ears as you whirl around to face your cousin. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s dangerous to sneak up on an armed woman?” 

He’s standing within an arm’s length of you—much too close, considering you had been swinging a sword around. One wrong move, and it could’ve been his head that you had taken off. 

In spite of this, Aegon appears utterly at ease. Standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he shrugs at you, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips. “I prefer for my women to be dangerous.” 

“I’m the furthest thing from one of your women.” 

“Really?” He cocks a brow, that stupid smirk growing wider. “Must I jog your memory, then? Remind you of Aemond’s name-day celebrations when-” 

You cut him off with a narrow-eyed glare, raising your blade in a feigned-threat. The tip is poised at his navel when you hiss, “Enough.” 

Obedient as always, Aegon’s mouth snaps shut at your command. His mouth remains curved, though, silently taunting you. Memories from last month flash through your mind—the two of you, drunk and stumbling away from the Banquet Hall, hands roaming freely along each other's bodies. 

A mistake. 

That’s all it was: an ignorant, drunken, mistake. 

Still, you feel your cheeks heating at the thought of that night. You huff, sliding your sword back into the leather-sheath strapped around your hips. “I’m not one of your women,” you huff, though you’re not so sure the reminder is meant for him. “You have a type, Aegon—and that type consists wholly of whores.” 

You had nothing against the whores, of course. Many of the ladies working on the Street of Silk were fine women—if anything, you felt bad that they had to deal with him. 

At least they get paid for it, though. You deal with his flirtations free of charge. 

“Well,” Aegon drones, his lilac eyes dipping further south. Sweat soaks through your tunic, making it cling to your skin in a way that accentuates the curve of your waist. “Not wholly of whores.” 

Your expression falls flat. “How flattering.” 

With that, you spin on your heel, fully intending on continuing your training on the other side of the yard. You make it less than a full step before his fingers snag on your wrist, whirling you back around. 

Your free hand finds the hilt of your sword, a warning flashing in your eyes. Worry flashes across his face, though it’s mostly shrouded by arrogance. 

“You never answered my question,” his voice carries a subtle wobble, hardly noticeable. You catch it, though, unable to suppress a self-satisfied grin. “Would you like a partner?” 

“A sparring partner?” 

The question is phrased like an insult—and, maybe, you had meant it that way. Your focus hones in on the hand still wrapped around your wrist. His smooth, uncalloused, princelike hands. When was the last time he had even held a sword? 

A puzzled frown accentuates the pout of his bottom lip. When he speaks, his voice is so unusually tentative that his response sounds more like a question than an answer. “Yes?” 

You try holding in a laugh—and fail miserably. Aegon’s confusion gives way to annoyance, embarrassment tinging his pale cheeks red. 

“What’s so funny?” 

Several biting remarks instantly come to mind, each a bit more insulting than the last. You hold your tongue. Surely he doesn’t actually believe himself capable of sparring with you, right? When it comes to swordfighting, you’re leagues above him. It wouldn’t even be close to a fair match. 

“Nothing,” you respond quickly, tight-lipped as you hold back another laugh. “But you know what? Sure—I could use some decent competition.” 

Aegon’s chest puffs slightly, confidence soaring. 

You nip that in the bud, “Mind fetching your brother for me?” 

He deflates at the mention of his brother, shoulders slumping forward as he scoffs. “You truly believe Aemond to be better than me?” 

“Without question.” 

Aemond was a bit of a twat—but he was undeniably skilled at swordplay. 

“Do you forget that Aemond and I were trained by the same knight?” Aegon asks, brows raised. “I’m just as skilled with a blade as my brother. If not more.” 

Another laughable statement that has you biting your cheek, trying not to insult him any more than you already had. 

It was true that, same as Aemond, Aegon had been trained by Ser Criston, a knight of the Kingsguard, when he was a boy. But if the softness of his palms was any indicator, then he hadn’t done a good job at keeping up with that training. 

“Doubtful.” Sighing, you then gesture to his clothes, “Besides, you’re not even dressed for a fight, Aegon. You can’t move in that!” 

Glancing down at himself, he observes his tight-fitted emerald tunic, slim trousers, and shiny black boots. Fashionable—but terrible for a fight. 

“I assure you that I can move just fine,” he huffs, weakly defending himself. Bringing a hand to his hip, he slides a dagger from a small black sheath. “I’ll prove it!” 

You stare at the weapon, unblinking. Incredulity lines each syllable as you ask, “You plan to fight me with that?” 

It was, admittedly, a very pretty dagger. 

No expense had been spared in its creation. The pommel was forged of shimmering gold, rounded and delicately crafted to emulate the appearance of glistening dragon scales. Dark shagreen wrapped the hilt, and the blade itself was made of steel so dark it appeared onyx, its tip curved ever-so-slightly, making it ideal for carving through flesh. 

Pretty, but still just a dagger. A weapon designed for close-range attacks would do him little good against a sword. 

“It’s a weapon, is it not?” If Aegon’s at all embarrassed by your teasing, he doesn’t show it. His jaw flexes, lilac eyes boring into you. “Fight me.” 

“This is foolish-” you start. 

“Fight me,” Aegon growls, cutting you off. He takes a step closer. Your spine turns to a steel rod, chin held high as his stare narrows on you. “Unless you’re too afraid to lose,” he purrs. 

Your blood simmers. 

He’s goading you. You know that—and take the bait anyway. 

“Fine,” you answer bluntly. 

Rolling your shoulders, you take your stance a few paces back from him. Feet apart and hands raised defensively, you don’t even bother with drawing your weapon—making his brow raise. 

“What about your sword?” He asks, eyeing the sheath at your waist. 

“Don’t need it.” 

Cocky—but true, nonetheless. If you were to spar with a weapon, then you would probably have him disarmed in seconds. Doing it this way, unarmed, you at least stand a chance of getting a good workout before your inevitable victory. 

“Let’s go.” Curling your fingers, you beckon him closer, a taunt in your voice, “Give it your best shot, Aeg.” 

A shiver crawls up his spine, thinking back to Aemond’s name-day, the last time you had called him that. The two of you had been so impatient that you hadn’t made it further than an empty broom closet; his teeth grazing against your neck, and his name oozing from your tongue like honey. 

His hand tightens around the hilt, remembering how it felt to be gripping your bare waist, instead. Remembering, too, how it felt as his touch drifted lower and lower, his fingers hooking along the waistband of your smallclothes just as a maid pushed the door open and started screaming. 

You hadn’t called him Aeg since that night—since you rushed to fix your gown and darted out the door, leaving him to deal with the maid. To hear it again now—after a month of dreaming of it—was pure bliss, as well as a confirmation that, perhaps, you don’t regret that night as much as you wish you did. 

Voice low, he asks, “Ready?” 

You almost smile. Aegon had been trained by the Kingsguard, taught to spar with honor, to wait until your opponent was ready to strike. 

But you were trained by the Rogue Prince. Taught to say fuck honor—strike first, ask questions never. 

A split second and you’re lunging forwards, making a move for his dominant side. 

Aegon’s eyes go wide—then his guard snaps up, forcing him to focus. 

Caught off guard, his movements are desperate and sloppy as he stumbles backwards, evading your strike. 

Your fingertips brush the sleeve of his tunic. If he’d moved a second later, you would have caught him by the wrist. A second later, and you would have already won. 

“Sneaky,” he chastises. 

You open your mouth to respond, only for the words to be cut off by a yelp. He takes you by surprise, barreling straight for you. Steel glimmers as the onyx blade sweeps towards you, slicing through the air much faster than you would’ve thought. 

There’s no time to dodge the strike—not without the risk of tripping over your own feet. You lift your forearm, aiming to block rather than dodge. Aegon notices this—a heartbeat too late—and purposefully slows his own blow. 

You hiss as cold steel grazes against your skin. Crimson trickles towards your elbow, minuscule compared to what it could have been. If Aegon hadn’t hindered his own strike, the blade could have very well cut-through to pure-ivory bone. 

Anger sparks in his eyes. “You could’ve dodged that,” he pants. 

Taking several small steps backwards, you grin at him through gritted teeth. “And you could’ve struck harder.” 

Aegon’s stare narrows and, instantly, that spark flares to an all-consuming wildfire. Lilac flames lick at his irises, the heat of them nipping at your skin, sweat beading along your brow. 

He moves first. 

Slicing from the left, you duck to the right. His counter is swift, aiming for your bicep. But he’s too hesitant—giving you just enough time to twist your body out of the way. 

His movements are as fast and relentless as they are unsustainable. Aegon’s chest heaves, evidence of his fraying endurance. You bide your time, weaving and dodging his blade's curved tip. Letting him push you back and back and back, focusing on evading rather than striking. 

Swinging low, his blade cuts through the front of your tunic, hardly a fucking centimeter from tearing into your sternum. A bit panicked, you snap your arm up. It rams into the side of his dominant wrist, striking a particularly sensitive nerve. 

He hisses. Takes a step back to regroup. 

Never loses his grip, though, knuckles turning white around the hilt. 

“Impressive,” you bite out, feeling your own temper flare. 

Taking advantage of the small window, you move towards him. Swept towards his ankle with your leg, hoping to knock him off balance but— 

—He predicts your movement, jumping back only to immediately press forward again. Every movement is aggressive; not calculated or precise, but still swift and near inescapable. 

You block and block, stumbling back and back. Your footwork turns sloppy, your focus hazy. Then, suddenly, your back is slamming into rough stone. Blade poised at your chest, Aegon grins even as he fights to catch his breath. 

You curse at yourself, realization settling into your bones. 

You counted on him being a poor swordsman—on being out of practice and out of shape. Waiting for his stamina to deplete, knowing that when it did, you could easily overpower him. 

You hadn’t considered that maybe he’d had a strategy of his own, though. 

Aegon had tricked you. Overexerted himself on purpose. Moved faster and faster, ensuring that you were focusing on him and not your surroundings, allowing him to back you into a godsdamned corner. 

Your temper flares. Instincts kick in. 

Your hand thrusts upwards, aiming for the chain dangling around his neck. His freehand shoots up at the same time, catching your fingers just as they wrap around the thick metal. He doesn’t move your hand away, letting the warmth of your touch linger against the column of his throat. 

You had planned to choke him, and Aegon knows this. And yet neither fear nor worry clouds his gaze. His lilac eyes remain bright, glittering with intrigue, of all things. 

A low chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, which is only mere inches from your own. “If you were this desperate to touch me,” Aegon purrs, the sweetness of arbor red permeating your senses as his breath fans across your cheek, “then you should’ve just asked.” 

“You’re insufferable,” you grind out. 

Aegon leans closer, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as your foreheads touch. Your heartbeat stutters, then quickens. He loosens his grip on your fingers, not caring that you could easily attack him again. As he brushes a strand of sweat-soaked hair behind your ear, you’re fairly certain that, at this moment, Aegon has no cares at all. 

“You were wrong,” he whispers. 

The world around you begins to fade, your vision hollowing until all that remains is him. You just stare at him—wide-eyed and confused, utterly ensnared. 

“Earlier,” Aegon continues. “You said that you were the furthest thing from my type of woman. But you were wrong–” his touch drifts from your hairline, traveling along your jaw in a soft caress, “–you’re the only type of woman that I want.” 

A serrated breath escape escapes you as Aegon pushes himself against you, further caging you against the stone. Close enough that, with each breath, his plush lips brush against yours. Close enough that you can feel his hardening length buried against your thigh. 

“Every night,” his voice drops to a whimper now. “I’ve thought of you every night since then. Dreamed of you, even.” 

You bite your tongue, scared that if you don’t, you might say something stupid—might tell him that you dreamt of him, too. Of the warmth of his touch, fingertips burning against your skin as they dipped lower lower lower. 

Weakness wins out, a strangled moan slipping from parted lips, “Aeg-” 

“Have you thought of me?” Aegon asks, brows furrowing into an unbearably innocent expression. You squirm against him, your back arching off the stone, hips desperately searching for friction. He clicks his tongue. “Words, dove. Use them.” 

Gods—how you hate yourself for this. For how easy it is for him to toy with you. For how much you enjoy it. 

You rasp, “Yes-” 

In response, a satisfied hum. “Good.” 

For a moment, somehow both brief and eternal, you wait for him to close that gap between you. Wait to feel his lips crash against yours, to taste the sweetness of his tongue. To have his touch once again strike a match within your soul, leaving you to burn in the ecstasy of his embrace. 

And then, suddenly, you feel it—

—the tip of his fucking dagger pressed against the underside of your jaw, a single bead of warmth trickling down the column of your throat. 

Lip curling into a snarl, you glare at Aegon. 

He looks all too pleased with himself, smirking as he asks, “Now am I better than Aemond?” 

You don’t answer him—not with words, at least. But he can see the response simmering in your eyes; a certainty that excited him far more than it scared him.

You were going to kill him.

a/n - honestly just wanted to practice writing a short little fight scene with this! originally this was going to be about aemond, but my love for aegon won out as it always does.

as always, like's comments and reblogs are appreciated! and if any of you want to talk about all things aegon or hotd/asoiaf, my asks/dms are open (please none of my irl friends like hotd i'm begging)

[two-white-butterflies]

love by listening | daemon targaryen

Description: Daemon Targaryen goes rogue after his wedding to Lady Rhea Royce, unwilling to consummate the marriage. He finds peace in a Dornish tavern. You meet him in said tavern, and quickly become close friends. You share an adventure. Both unaware that the other person is nobility.

graphics from @saradika-graphics

Pairing: princess of dorne!reader/daemon targaryen

Warning: brief making love (not sex, making love)

A/N: I wanted it to give Dunk and Egg vibes. Reader is bubbly and talkative/has her own ambitions. She does what she wants bcs she's all about that high life. Set in Dorne + young daemon targaryen. open ending.

Daemon didn't believe in gods. He doesn't care about the punishment he'll be given after this. A few hours ago, he was forced to go through the wedding with Lady Rhea Royce. In his opinion, she was not an attractive bride. She was lucky to have come from nobility for she had a basic peasant bitch face.

Despite her odd looks, benevolent Daemon still went through with the marriage. He held his tongue, wanted to make his brother proud - but then they started talking about the bedding ceremony, and Daemon knew that he had to get the hell away from there.

Where did that bring him?

To Caraxes, to flying towards Dorne - and drinking inside of a tavern.

"It's the first time I've seen a foreigner in these parts." your voice breaks him free from his thoughts. He was about to swat you away, but a single look at your face changed his mind.

Beautiful.

There were a lot of pretty maidens in Dorne - but you were one of the most beautiful ones so far. "I did not bring any gold." he warned, under the impression that you were a whore. "Gods, I have no intention of fucking you." you lied, quickly sitting beside him.

"The first time I saw a cock. It was disgusting. I actually vowed to only fuck women after that." you smiled at the memory. Reaching for his ale, and taking a drink of it. "- I suppose I never upheld that promise. Women are beautiful but we are too wet for my taste. Men are just lovely and dry, and they are easier to toy with." you giggle.

He could smell the alcohol on your breath.

You were the first maiden he's seen to speak in that manner. He wonders if the maidens back home are like this too, if it weren't for archaic beliefs silencing their true thoughts. Dorne was a magical fucking place. It was how the rest of the six kingdoms needed to be.

"Why are you talking to me?" he asks, his face stoic just in case you had some tricks up your sleeve.

"Well, you are alone." you pointed out. "- and I am alone. Shouldn't two vagabonds protect each other?" you tilted your head.

"What makes you think that I am alone?" he inquires.

"I've been watching you for quite some time now, love. Are you going to give me your name?" you asked in return, continuing to stare deep into his purple eyes - drawing him closer like a siren to the waves. "I'd like to remain an enigma." he answers, matching your mysteriousness.

He finds himself hypnotized by your eyes. Eyes that were lined with kohl. "I won't share my name too, to be fair." you smiled, and now his attention was drawn towards your lips. Stained red with rouge.

The tension between you was palpable. He felt like a moth to a flame. Allured by this beautiful fire. Leaving only one question in his head: will he burn? Fire cannot harm a dragon. He reminds.

His hands reached for the small of your waist. A sudden boldness. He plays with the textured embroidery of your tunic. Pulling you closer to his body, until you were almost sitting on his lap.

"What will I call you?" he frowned, teasing you.

"Think of something witty." you insisted, fingers dancing along the details of his clothed tunic.

"Gevives, then." he settles on a suitable name. "I am relieved that you find me beautiful, love." you laugh, hands trailing upwards to his collar - pulling him closer until your lips were bridged together.

He melts into the kiss, hands firmly wrapped around your waist. He'd be so easy to poison. But alas, you weren't here to kill him.

He presses you against your bed - the first time he's felt lust in a while. If this was going to be a one-time thing, then he'll be thinking about you until the day he died. He's already placed this encounter in his three best fucks. The way that you looked beneath him, he can almost see himself thirty years later still jerking off to you.

You are fucking beautiful.

Naked - and vulnerable against him.

His hands danced along the curve of your waist, delighted at the smoothness of your skin. You reach for his face, cupping his cheek tenderly - staring at him with fascination. "You are so beautiful, like an illusion." you whispered in a voice that makes him want to sleep.

He positions his member at the entrance of your core.

"So good," you cooed - feeling him begin to thrust. You continued staring at each other, that connection remained unbreakable. "Keep going," you whispered, he couldn't help but smile. So talkative, even when making sweet love. "Gevie," he smiles.

Daemon wakes up to the feeling of light on his exposed skin. He lets out a yawn, rubbing his eyes so it adjusts to the brightness of the room quicker. He takes a deep breath - as he remembers what happened last night.

Last night, he fucked a goddess.

He turns to look at your sleeping form.

Beautiful even when sleeping, he thought.

He was thankful that he commanded Caraxes to return to the Red Keep.

He had no responsibility. None but you.

"Good morrow," you greeted, voice still hoarse from last night. "Good morrow," he responds, wrapping his arms around your waist. This type of touch was foreign to him. He's never wrapped his arms around someone after making love.

It felt domestic. Like how marriage was supposed to be.

"I suppose this is where our paths diverge." he says, unwilling to sound needy. But in actuality, he never wants to leave. He wants to stay like this forever. Inside of an inn, with his arms wrapped around the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Not so soon. I think we should still walk together." you hum, pulling him closer to your body until he was laying on your chest.

"I've made the observation that you have a lot of time on your hands." you breathed, his ears pressed against your chest - listening to your heartbeat.

"Your observation is correct." he confirms.

He had the face of a dangerous man. It was a risk to be in a stranger's company, but your heart told you that he could be trusted. He felt like you - exactly like you.

You kept staring at his body. His toned muscles and broad shoulder. "Are you a knight?" you asked, reminded of the tourney in Starfall.

"I am," he answers truthfully, praying that it was something that you liked about men.

"There is a tournament in Starfall. The prize is a dragon egg." you informed, mind already focused towards the next adventure.

"I shall win a dragon egg for you, then." he announces. He finds no harm in having a little adventure with a maiden. He has won all the tourneys he's attended, after all. "Really? I wanted to steal it." you say.

He responds with a chuckle, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face. How dare you steal his heart. "Why steal it when you can have it fair and square?" he asked teasingly.

You continued staring at his face, a look that was indescribable. "I like the sound of that," you smile - pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Ashara's lips pressed into a thin line. "What god has possessed you to bring a man inside of Starfall?" she scolded, leading you and Daemon towards a secluded part of the tourney. "He is my paramour." you announce, your grip remains firm on his hand.

"Your father will kill him." she says plainly. "- a Targaryen bastard, a scandal waiting to emerge." she scoffs.

Daemon's expression softens, quickly turning into amusement.

Do they all believe me to be a bastard? Apologies, I am legitimate, he thinks, but he decides to bite those words back, lest he be sent back to the Red Keep.

"I did not come here as my father's daughter. I came here under a disguise." you reminded, pulling the grey hood up until it was hiding your face. "You shouldn't have come here, anyways. You'll get me into trouble with mine own father." she glared at you.

"I'm sorry Ashara but we won't be bothering you. We merely want to join the tourney and win the dragon-egg." you say out loud, but she silences you with a finger to your lips.

"The prize remains a mystery to those in the audience. Only the competitors truly know. The Targaryens will be furious, we will be answered with fire and blood." Ashara reminds and you nod silently.

"- I'm sorry, I'll stay out of your way. I promise. Now, can you please lead us to the tents?" you ask and the other woman nods, pointing at the white tents in the far distance.

"Thank you," you smile politely - still holding his hand and dragging him to the direction of the other knights.

You paid a squire a decent amount of money to use their armor. Daemon was quick to wear it, but he still missed his sword. The Dark Sister, previously wielded by Queen Visenya. "I've never fought against this much Dornish men before." he breathes.

He had his experience fighting a few of them. They were good warriors, though not good enough to defeat him. "We fight like rattlesnakes, that's what my father always says." you say, placing the last piece of his armor on his body.

"You haven't been here for that long, huh?" you made another observation, and he nods. Though he still keeps his identity a secret.

"I grew up in Kingslanding. My mother died giving birth, and my father died of a burst belly." he chuckles - laughing his sorrows away.

"Prince Baelon is your father." you say with certainty, piecing the information together. "- he would've made a wonderful King." you add, basing off the stories that your father shared.

"I think it is your turn to speak about your past, gevives. And I've spent enough time around you to understand that you aren't lowborn." he urges while adjusting his straps.

"How did you come to that understanding?" you inquired, curious of his way of thinking.

His hands danced along your exposed arm.

"Your skin is smooth like silk." he says, like he was praying. His hands trailed upwards, until his fingers were on your chin. "- and you take good care of your beauty." he finishes - and he stops touching you.

"My father is a nobleman. I am his youngest child, the only daughter after six boys. Which means that I've been exposed to leeches using me ever since I was born. I ran away from them. I can't trust anyone, but I think I can trust you." you reveal pieces of your past to him, unwilling to give him the full information.

He was the first person that called you beautiful without knowledge of your vast fortune. And now he was here, promising to win a tourney just so you'd see a dragon-egg for the first time.

"Six brothers, like the princess of dorne." he teases.

"Mhm," you hummed - freezing.

"Ser, get ready." a squire peeks his head through the tent. Daemon stands up, and offers his hand for you take - helping you stand up.

"Thank you," you smile, regaining your composure.

"I promise to win, my lady." he places a kiss on the back of your hand.

Daemon won the tourney with ease, any knight that dared to fight against him didn't even last five minutes. All of his fights ended the same. He'd strike them down, the opponent would be on the ground and Daemon would only look to the next competitor.

You continued watching him.

Observing every little thing that he's doing. It was evident that there was a piece of the puzzle that you haven't solved yet. A knight as skilled as him should be renowned, and yet the only information you have on him - is that he is the bastard son of Prince Baelon.

He was an interesting mystery.

"The winner of our tourney, Ser..." Ashara rises, only beginning to realize that none of them knew the name of this skilled knight. Your best friend turns to look at you, but you answer with a shrug. It was a little game between you and Daemon - neither one knowing that the other one's real name is.

"Ser Daemon," he opened his mouth - meeting your gaze.

He added the last piece of the puzzle, and your face was struck with eureka. Prince Daemon Targaryen, you thought immediately. "Congratulations, Ser Daemon. Please claim your prize behind the tents." Ashara nodded.

"The audience was complaining, the tourney wasn't entertaining for them." you open the conversation, stepping foot inside of the tent. "I suppose it isn't entertaining when only one person wins." you smirk.

He holds the dragon-egg in his hands. "I promised that I'd win." he answers, patting the empty space beside him. "Here's your dragon-egg, my lady." he chuckles. You gladly sit beside him, laying your head on his shoulder and marveling at the beauty of the egg.

"You are Prince Daemon Targaryen." you announced, confirming your previous suspicions. "I am," he finds himself unable to lie.

"- I think it is only fair that I know your name too, my lady." he adds.

An amused smile paints your lips.

"I am Princess (Your Name) Martell. I can't believe that we meet under these circumstances." you laugh.

A prince and a princess meeting inside of a tavern instead of a castle. Even beginning to fall in love without the pressure of their respective kingdoms. It was something out of a fable.

Daemon reaches for your hand, placing it on top of the dragon-egg. "It is an honor to meet you, my princess." he acknowledges.

[ihavethedreamies]

Matter of Pride | Hongjoong

Kim Hongjoong - ATEEZ

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5.9k

Pairing: Lion-Hybrid!Hongjoong x Gazelle-Hybrid!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU!, Historical?/Ancient?, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Friends-to-Lovers

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, very tiny mention of noncon, Pet Names (Doll, Sweetheart, Sweet, Love, etc.), Swearing, Kissing, Biting & Scratching & Marking, Bonding/Mating, Heat/Rut, Pheromones, Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…), Monster(?)!Hongjoong (not really, he's a lion hybrid)

Author's Note: Okay, here we go lol. This is NOT Omegaverse, but they do both go into rut/heat. They have animals ears and tails and he's got a spiny lion cock. Hongjoong is not necessarily bigger than reality, the reader is just small. I did also imagine this more to be set in the steppe of Central Asia/Southern Siberia rather than Africa.

I am planning on doing the other members, might just take some time since we are in the process of moving. I wanted to get this up sooner as well, but I live in Tornado Country™.

-> Series Hub <-

🐕 Yeosang's 🐕

🐻 Jongho's 🐻

🐯 San's 🐯

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

Ever since you were a calf, the elders of your herd told you to stay away from predators. You weren't for sure why thought, since all they told you was that they were dangerous. You found that quite odd considering you were not full animals, and as far as you knew, predator hybrids did not literally eat prey hybrids. There was probably some ancient lore-based superstition or something, and it wasn't till you were older did you really think about the real facts. Despite logically knowing that they weren’t going to eat you alive, you still were a bit scared about meeting a predator.

One day you were traversing the rocky steppe of your homeland, right at the foothills of the mountains. Crouching down, you ran your fingers through the grass, feeling for the tell-tale mound of the root you were looking for. The sun was beginning to set, the cool of late-spring settling in the air.

"No." you grumbled, not feeling anything. Standing back up, your attention was quickly drawn to a new sound. Your furry ear, sticking out from the side of your head, flicked at the noise. The wind shifted and your sensitive smell picked up something unfamiliar, but it triggered a deeper, primal part of you. Predators. Logic tried to fight back against instinct, the sound was voices, not the growls of an actual animal. Still, your heart raced, the sound of blood pumping thudded in your ears. Your furry tail swished back and forth nervously, and despite your apprehensions, you moved toward the voices. Finding a path that led a bit further into the foothills, you saw fresh boot marks. Gently, like doing so would trigger something, you placed your own foot in the print, the size difference was striking. You were not a child, you were actually quite a bit bigger than the other women of your herd, but… A boisterous laugh hit your ears, your head turning toward it on its own, instinctually. Swallowing hard, you followed the tracks and when you came around a large boulder, you peered around it. There was a small clearing created by tall, jutting rocks, and a camp had been set up there. Three figures sat around a firepit, great furry pelts wrapped around their shoulders and necks. Lions. There was a fourth figure, leaning against one of the rocks, making him closest to you. Peering closer, he was beautiful. Sharp eyes and jawline, his hair wasn't as long nor as shaggy as the others. His pelt was much nicer as well, and he was the only one with a tunic shirt on underneath. A large axe-like knife was attached to his belt and he had a deep red cloth tied around his bicep. You felt the end of your tail brushing over the rock as it swayed, your nose twitching as the wind carried their scent. You had a hard time pinpointing the exact fragrance, but the one closest to you was the most potent. And the most pleasant. The three around the fire smelled like the smoke wafting around them, and like sweat and dirt. The other one though, he smelled like spiced tea and fragrant tree bark. The wind shifted again, coming up from behind you, carrying your scent right into the clearing. You barely had time to realize what had happened, trying to back away and completely out of sight, but he noticed. As you ducked to hide, his deep golden-brown eyes met your own. The intense look shot fear through your very DNA and you turned to bolt, using your species' long and fast legs to sprint. You didn't make it very far though, and the back of your tunic was seized and you bleated as you were hauled back. Turning to look at your captor as best as you could, it was the handsome one. He smelled even better so close and looked even better. Your face was hot, for many different reasons, and you wondered if he could smell your fear. Was that an actual thing?

"What's wrong Hongjoong?" One of the other lions called and he was able to hide you with his own body. He wasn't as big as the others, but still a good seven or eight inches taller than you.

"Smelled a doe, I'm going to see if I can get her." He shouted back and they went back to their raucous conversation. The lion holding you wrapped his arm around your middle rather than gripping your tunic and easily carried you around the boulder fully and down the slope. You hung there, not sure what else you could do, and he only let you go when he got to the end of the path that led you in.

"S-sorry!" You spun around to face him, not trusting him at your back, "I wasn't eavesdropping!"

"I'm not worried about that, doll. Be glad the smoke covered your scent for the others."

"W-why? Would they…" You swallowed hard, your quivering obvious to him. So were your twitching ears, and he could see your tunic shifting from your wagging tail.

"Would they eat me?" Your question threw him off, to the point that he flinched back.

"What?" He huffed, "No, of course not. Is that what you were told?" You shrugged, feeling embarrassed now.

"That's not what I'm worried they would do to a cute thing like you." Your arm reached around your back, twisting so you could wrap your fingers around the end of your braid, tugging on it. You couldn't meet his gaze, especially because you understood his implication. Also, you weren't sure how you felt about him calling you cute.

"What are you doing around here? What herd are you with?"

"I was gathering herbs…I'm with the gazelle herd southwest of here." You motioned vaguely behind you.

"What were you looking for?"

"Valerian root. It's too early for the plant to be flowering so it's hard to find." He didn't reply for a bit, glancing behind him.

"There's a big tree, east of your village?"

"Y-yes?" You were a little concerned he knew the area so well, but at the same time if they knew where your herd was, and had left it be, it was probably okay.

"What else have you been looking for?" His change of subject caught you off guard, but you answered.

"Meet me at that tree tomorrow evening, and I'll have some for you. Don't come back this way, those others aren't safe."

"You are, though?" Your question didn't sound as bold as you wanted it to. He chuckled a bit, then exhaled hard through his nose.

"Short answer, yes. I don't want to be working with them, but I don't have a choice right now."

"What do you want in return?" You asked, why would he help you just to be nice. It would be a lot of work to gather the herbs you were looking for.

"We'll see how hard it is, then I'll tell you. Deal?" He held his hand out and you eyed it. Finally, taking it, the strength behind the grip jolted you.

"I'm Hongjoong. Do you have a name I can call you?" He smirked softly and you pulled away from the handshake like he had burned you suddenly.

"(Y/N). About this time?"

"Sure, doll. Now go home, and don't come back here." Hongjoong stepped back and nodded for you to do so. Turning back to look at him a few times as you went, you trotted back home, your bag lighter than you had planned on it being.

All through the next day, your eyes kept flitting to the sun behind the clouds, waiting for it to reach the right point in the sky. You were glad you were the head healer, if you had not come back with a good haul before your mentor retired, she would've swatted your hands. In the beginning, it was weird to return to an empty tent, but after nearly six months, you were used to it. It wasn't like she was dead; it was just weird she wasn't there anymore. Your hands moved on muscle memory as you worked through the day, thoughts spiraling, always returning to the image of the lion you met the day prior. It didn't help that he was so attractive, the encounter would have been significantly less captivating without that factor. It was clear he didn't like his comrades, even past that, his appearance was very different from theirs. He had been standing far away from them as well and had even lied when he found you.

The closer toward the horizon the sun grew, the more distracted you were, and you were so antsy that for the last hour before the designated time, you stood at the edge of the village. Some of your herd had questioned your odd behavior through the day, and you brushed it off, telling them you were thinking hard about where to find more herbs. That time of year was difficult with so many different plants sprouting up, and most people accepted your reasoning. Only your mother wasn't convinced, but she also knew not to press too hard, or you would lose your patience. You didn't have too much of that.

From where you were standing, you could kind of see where the tree was, well, the rock that was hiding it. It was behind the big rock. Glancing up at the darkening sky, you could finally see the twinkling of the northernmost star, and you started to trek out. After you descended the slope, and gotten over the hill after it, you knew you were out of sight, and broke into a quicker pace. For some reason, you were excited. Was it the thrill of doing something that others would frown upon? Was it that you got to bask in the presence of the extremely attractive lion once more?

You reached the boulder faster than normal, it seemed your body was just as eager, and had decided to move faster than your brain realized. Swallowing hard, your hand brushed over the smooth stone surface as you moved around it, peaking around. Feeling a small sense of déjà vu, when you could see around the rock, you saw him under the tree.

"There's no need to hide, doll." His voice was warm and you giggled a little in embarrassment, fully coming around. Right when you got close enough, he took a bundle off his shoulder, leaves poking out from the leather wrap. Taking it gently, you crouched down so you could untie it and look. You gasped seeing everything that was there. Not only did he find everything you needed, but there was also a lot there.

"H-How did you get so much?" You looked up at him from your squat and he shrugged. No verbal response, but you were too grateful to question.

"H-here." You reached into your own bag, your string of coins jingling as you pulled it out.

"No, (Y/N). You don't need to pay me."

"But!" When you moved to give him the coins, he wrapped his fingers over yours so they wrapped around the metal pieces.

"What do you want as payment then?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I have, um. I have this mulled wine my grandfather made…" You went back to your bag, going to unite the cord of the wineskin.

"No."

"Um, okay, I have…" You shuffled stuff around in your bag, looking for the flute you still didn't really know how to play.

"(Y/N). You don't have to give me anything, it’s fine." He was closer then, trying to get you to stop your frantic search. His fingers went to your chin, forcing your head to tip back so you could meet his gaze.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes." He dropped his hand and stepped back once more, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"N-nothing?" You felt bad, it would have taken hours to gather that much.

"If you really want, you can sit and talk to me for a bit?" He suggested and the request flabbergasted you.

"Really?" Hongjoong hummed with a nod, turning so he could move to the tree, sitting at the base in a divot in the large roots. Sitting down next to him, you truly felt small then, scratching at a root with your blunt fingernail. Your eyes went to his own hands, sharp claws sat at the end of each finger. You also had noticed when he smiled, his canine teeth were bigger and sharper. His golden-blonde hair, rounded ears, and tufted tail all screamed that he was a lion, even if his demeanor didn't. He wasn't scary, but he was majestic and beautiful.

"Have you ever met a lion before me?" He rested against the tree trunk and you shook your head.

"Have you ever met a predator?"

"Not really. Just seen them from afar." You picked at a dried bit of some poultice you had made that was stuck on your tunic skirt.

"You weren't as afraid as I thought you would be, then."

"If it had been one of the others, maybe."

"Why was I different?" Hongjoong's gaze on you made your face hot, you couldn't return the look.

"You could have given me away to the others, and you didn't." Yep, that was it. Nothing more to it.

"That's it?" He sounded a bit disappointed.

"Why didn't you?"

"I told you; I don't care for them."

"Then why are you travelling with them?"

"It's hard to be a solo male out here. It's easier to work with a group before I try and get my own pride."

"Oh. So, like, a bunch of wives?"

"More like two or three. Not like full lions, but..." He didn't sound super eager for that.

"Are all lion hybrids like that?"

"More or less. Never appealed to me much, to be honest."

"Really?" This piqued your interest, and you didn't dwell too much on why.

"It's rare for lions to have one spouse, out in the wilds anyway. I've debated leaving for the capital, but…"

"Why not?"

"I don't mind living off the land, but I don't know where else to go to find a wife. Most lionesses also want to be in a pride, like some ancient call."

"Huh."

"Are gazelle monogamous?"

"Hybrids are. Have a shit ton of kids though." Your response made him laugh; the sound rumbled through you.

"Can you roar like a full lion?" You were too curious. You needed to know.

"Uh, no. Can you actually bleat like a full gazelle?"

"Not really…" Now you felt stupid, ears flicking nervously. Your tail thumped a bit on the ground, your eyes meandering down to look at his. It was much longer than yours, like his full animal brethren.

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Do you want to get married and have a shit ton of kids?" You hummed in thought. No. It was more because you didn't want to be pressed into a mold. Most herbalists never marry, let alone have offspring, that was part of the reason you chose the trade.

"No."

"You even want kids?"

"Don't know. One would be nice, but that's not how it works…" You stared in the distance toward your village.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"I'm the oldest of eleven."

"Fuck." He huffed and his reaction made you burst into a guffaw.

"Yes."

"Is your mother…okay?" This made you laugh harder.

"Uh, I can't imagine five singletons plus three sets of twins would make anyone okay."

"Not your ideal future?"

"Oh, fuck, no." Hongjoong smiled at your obvious newly relaxed state. It was then you noticed the sun had set completely, little white stars twinkling in the dark purple abyss.

"I need to get back!" You shot up, retying the bundle he had given you.

"Wait!" He stopped you with a hand on your wrist. Turning to look back at him, he licked his lips, letting you go.

"Can you meet me back here in two days. Same time?" Your eyes widened a bit at the request, but you felt a smile tug at your lips.

"Yeah, I can."

You did go back when he asked.

"You came!" Hongjoong seemed genuinely surprised, standing up straight from where he had been leaning against the tree.

"Of course?" You were genuinely surprised at his reaction, "why wouldn't I?"

"I was a bit worried you only came last time for the herbs…" He wouldn't look straight at you, and you noticed he had something in his hand. It was obviously plants.

"Is that why you brought that?" You pointed to them, and he brought them around from behind his back.

"Y-yeah."

"Hongjoong. You're the first guy that still gave me the time of day after saying I didn't want to have twelve children." You motioned behind you toward your village, "honestly I've been really impatient, waiting for…now." Your face warmed and you swiped your leg back and forth, drawing an arch in the dirt with your toe.

"You're the first girl who didn't look at me weird when I said I only wanted one wife…" He huffed, the confident smirk coming back to his face.

"Is it weird, that we're so different?" You voiced the obvious concern between both of you.

"Maybe. But it doesn't feel like it."

For nearly two months you met at the tree, every two days. One night, under a full moon, when you arrived at the tree, he met you right as you arrived, immediately sweeping you into his arms. A bit shocked, you returned the hug, warmth flooding your whole body. You spoke like normal, sitting together, shoulder to shoulder. That time though, there was something in the air. You couldn't place your finger on it, and when you went to leave for the night, he hugged you once more. When he pulled back, his hand went to cup your cheek.

"I…I don't want to let you go." He barely pulled away from the hug but did release you. His head was bowed to be closer to yours, forehead brushing yours.

"Hongjoong?" You weren't for sure what he meant, considering he literally let you go.

"Run away with me. Come to me. Stay with me." He tilted his head, nose brushing yours, his breath mingled with yours. Tears pricked your eyes, a rush of emotions knocking your breath away as he stole it. His lips were hot on yours and a tear escaped your eye. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, and he grimaced at your tears.

"Tomorrow. I'll come to you. Here?" You asked, ready and willing. You did want to at least say goodbye to your family, gather your things.

"No. There's a cave near where we first met-"

"Behind the vines?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there."

Your mother didn’t ask too many questions. She knew there had been something on your mind, and she knew and saw that you weren't happy there. You never would be, especially not after meeting Hongjoong. You didn't have the heart to tell your father, so you said goodbye to him like it was any other time you went to gather herbs. It wasn't like you would never see them again, but you weren't sure when you would go back, not sure where you would end up. With one last glance behind you, you left your village, your bag more full than usual, but no one noticed. Standing at the entrance of the cave, you swallowed hard, parting the hanging vines and stepping in. He was there. Of course he was, it seemed he had been staying there. A very convenient hole lay in the ceiling, casting the sunlight in. The whole cave smelled of him, and once he saw you, he moved forward. You gasped, his hands cupping your jaw, lips sealing over yours. That kiss wasn’t anything like the time before. Hongjoong pulled back slightly, just so you could breathe and you whimpered at the loss. Your tail rapidly flitted back and forth behind you, ears twitching just as fast. Hongjoong's spiced aroma had grown stronger, a slight rumbling building in his chest. His hands were still holding your jaw, the claw on his thumb just barely ghosting over your skin. Stepping even closer, your hands fell on his chest, and you marveled at the hard muscle underneath the pelt around his shoulders. The rumble grew stronger under your touch, and you could already feel your core clench around nothing. Swallowing hard, you breathed in his scent, over and over, like it was a drug.

"Fuck, (Y/N)."  He practically growled, one hand moving to rest on your waist. His face buried into the crook of your neck; nose pressed to your jugular. Your blood spiked and you felt your whole body shudder. You were unsure if it was arousal, or a sense of danger, having the large fangs of a predator near your weakest spot.

"You smell so good." Hongjoong groaned, hauling you closer, leaving barely a space between you.

"Like what?" You wanted to add, 'like a meal or a mate?', but didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Like when the apricots blossom." His other hand on your jaw moved instead to the back of your head, the one on your waist to the small of your back. You gasped at the pressure of his body, feeling him growing hard against your stomach. His face left your neck, and he kissed you again. You wondered if that was what the elders implied, being eaten alive. His tongue had easily entered your mouth, swiping over yours, his large canines clacking against your much blunter ones. You had expected his tongue to be rough, but he didn't know yours would be as well, though not nearly as coarse as your full animal kin. It seemed though, that he was literally drooling, the extra saliva made his tongue glide around yours. You whimpered again, the muffled noise was nearly a bleat, and the rumble of his chest nearly a roar. Hongjoong's lips left yours, a strand of spit connecting your mouths, another trail leaving the corner of his mouth. He licked away the extra, breaking the trail, his pupils had narrowed to narrow slits. Your own pupils were blown wide, the black nearly eclipsing the color of your iris. Part of you felt the need to run, flee, that you were being hunted. Somehow though, that thought turned you on all the more.

"Are you sure, (Y/N)?"

"Huh?"

"Once I have you, I won't let you go." His voice rumbled through you, straight to your cunt, and your scent of arousal built to the point you could smell it yourself. The spiced bark of his own aroma filled your nostrils, making your thoughts hazy.

"You already have me." You replied, voice very soft, to keep it from shaking. Your brain didn't register his next move till it was already done, your back pinned to the rock of the cave, his hand still on the back of your head to make sure it didn't smash against the stone.

"Tell if it hurts too bad." His voice was in your ear, nose pushing against the collar of your tunic. Your hands around his neck moved to his upper back, gripping hard into the pelt as his teeth sank into your shoulder. Your eyes rolled back, the stinging pain just aroused you further, and his hips rutted forward once, pressing his even harder cock against your tummy. As his fangs left your skin, he licked over the spot and you flinched at the sting. Just then, his scent spiked, the aroma becoming sweeter, mingling with yours. You knew predators bonded through mating bites, but you had no idea what it would do to your body. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, blood rushed in your ears and a drop of slick started to flow down your inner thigh.

"Gotta warn you, sweetheart." He huffed, a cocky smirk gracing his features, tongue licking over the drop of blood still on his lip. He palmed his hard-on through his tunic pants, "might look a little different than you're expecting."

"Huh?" You weren't fully registering what he was getting at. Hongjoong's fingers wrapped around yours, bringing your hand to his covered cock, letting you palm over him yourself. You whimpered, you had dealt with plenty of naked males being a healer, and none compared. The thing that you noticed really, what he was talking about, were the little spines at the base of his cock and below the head. Your eyes widened, normally that would concern you some, but your body was ready and waiting. Eager even, begging.

"They don't hurt like a full lion, but I wanted you to know."

"I don't care, I just want you to split me open on it." Your bold declaration made him chuckle, his tongue licking against the tip of your ear. It flicked under the touch and the hand at your head brought your lips back to his. He swallowed your mewls, the hand he had on your back moved lower, gripping the base of your tail. When he tugged, a bleat escaped your throat, and his hard thigh nestled between your quivering ones. He immediately felt the heat of your cunt through the thin leather of his tunic pants, your slick quickly dripping over the material.

"You're soaked, love." He pressed harder, your hips jumping, the slight friction intensified by whatever hex he seemed to have you under.

"Sorry, sweet. You're sending me into a rut." His chest was rumbling again, deeper than before, "It'll be hard to hold back." Is that what was happening to you? Was he putting you into heat? Yours were normally extremely weak since you were unmated, and was it much worse because he was a predator? Did your body need to compensate for his own body’s greater power? The hand on your tail moved to cup your butt, then to your thigh, prompting you to pronk up and into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, the bulge of his cock pressing over your bare cunt and you whined, breath hitching. You felt so small then, he easily held you up against the cave wall, broad enough that most wouldn’t even know you were there but your legs around his middle. Hongjoong kissed over your neck, down to your collar bone, rough tongue searing over your skin. Your hands scrambled, gripping and pulling at the pelt around his neck, trying to get it off. He helped you, reaching under to undo a small button and you pulled it up over his head, letting it flop to the ground. His toned arms were fully on display then, the red cloth around his arm somehow made the sight all the better. He never told you what it meant, and you just assumed it was an accessory. Before you could start trying to wrestle his tunic top off, he held you to him, carrying you to a pile of pelts it seemed he used as a bed. Softly, he laid you down on it, but his following movements were anything but. He ripped his shirt off and you didn't get time to ogle his bare torso because he proceeded to literally tear yours off. You had only been in a linen tunic dress, but still the ease with which he turned it to shreds was incredible arousing. His palms were rough against your soft skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Hongjoo-!" Your breath was kicked from your lungs, vision spattering with dots of light when his tongue buried into your cunt. You hadn't even realized he was down there, hands pressing to your thighs to hold your legs open. Even the slight brush of his lips over your clit as his tongue licked over your walls was intense. A strong wave of pleasure was quickly cresting, your womb pulsing hard, walls clenching.

"Fuck~!" Little bleats and whimpers left you, your tail whacking against the pelts beneath you, dull nails raking through his hair. While you had never had an orgasm, you knew that's what it was. With how quick he brought you up to and over the edge, you knew you were in for a long night. Hongjoong growled, his purr rumbling through his tongue into you, drinking your essence as it squirted from your cunt. Smirking, he pulled back, thumb gathering a drop from his chin so he could lick it off.

"You think your cute little cunt can take my cock?" His knuckles brushed through your folds, careful of his claws.

"Please, need it~" Your foot came up, pressing over his hard-on. He grunted, wrapping his hand around your ankle, forcing it off so he could take his pants off. You watched, hazy eyes trying to focus as the leather hit the cave floor. Your eyes subsequently widened, brain fogging further. Little spines circled his cock, thick and long. Hongjoong kneeled between your legs, spreading them and hooking one of your knees over his elbow to keep you open for him. He chuckled at the twitch your whole body seized from when the hot head met your dripping folds.

"It might sting, love." He warned once more, the thumb of his hand on your waist rubbing small circles over your hip. You nodded, trying to relax but also steel yourself. Yes, it stung, it burned, but it was amazing. Each little bit he sank his fat cock into you, the little spines rubbed and pulled at your walls. Your slick allowed an easy glide, but his own head was swimming from the tight vice of your cunt, eagerly sucking him in. You shuddered with each breath, heat searing through you from your core out, and he was barely half-way in when you felt another orgasm cresting. You thought the pain would diminish the pleasure, but it was the opposite, the burn heated you even further. Hongjoong laid kisses over your shoulder around his mark, letting you adjust to the stretch, even if it was nearly painful for him to go so slow. As the head of his dick pressed against your eager and weeping womb, the little spines at the base brushed your clit and folds, and the final little push finished you off. You threw your head back, eyelids fluttering, nails leaving crescents on his shoulders. He groaned as your tight cunt pulsed around him, more of your slick spurting out from where he was filling you. When the waves of your orgasm faded, you still were shuddering, tipsy on the pleasure.

"Ready, love?"

"Hongjoong~" You mewled, fingers rubbing over his hot skin, blunt nails scratching a path down from where you had them. Your other leg ended up hooked over his elbow as well, and when he pulled out, only about halfway, the little barbs tugged at your gummy walls. He snapped his hips then, burying back inside, battering the fat head against your cervix. He was right, he couldn't hold back. He wanted to start slow, let you get used to it, but he couldn't. The next thrust had no warning, his pace was immediately relentless, your knees pressed up toward your ears. He was fucking you stupid, the noises you let out sounding more and more like your animal kin, bleats and moans melding. Your body had gone limp, only your arms had any strength, hands digging into the pelt under your hips. Your head lolled and your breasts bounced with each thrust. You couldn't think to let him know as he barreled through your third orgasm, more slick gushing from your cunt. His noises were animalistic at that point, anyone passing would think a real lion was rutting in that cave. His tongue ran over his long fangs, saliva spilling from his lips as he growled and grunted.

"Aw, fuck, (Y/N)." He chuckled, burying his cock as deep as he could, pressing those little spines into your groin, pumping your eager womb full. You weren't even sure you could actually get pregnant, but he was bound and determined to fill you to the point that it would leak out of you for days. The heat of his cum inside brought you over the edge too, a much smaller climax racking you. He was still hard as a rock though. You gasped, your lungs spasming as he pulled his cock all the way out, those little barbs digging in. Your world spun, your chest and stomach to the pelts below then, and he yanked your hips up, sinking his cock back in once more. At that angle he got even deeper somehow, each rough plow of his dick battering your back walls. Your vision blurred further, eyes rolling back, fingers futilely digging into the fur below you. His hips pummeled against the skin of your ass hard, the smacking combined with his beastly grunts made your ears twitch. His hand went back to your tail, wrapping around the base, tugging a bit. Shivering shot straight up your spine from where he had you, cunt weeping along with you, tears and drool leaving a puddle on the pelts under you.

"Fucking hell, love. You're so good for me~" He groaned, chuckling as your walls fluttered through another climax. Your cunt and clit stung from the overstimulation, but you needed more, you needed him to pump you full more. The bite on your shoulder flared with heat, so did your skin as his hands wrapped around the small of your waist. His thrusts once again grew unsteady, instead they were hard and shallow, pulling back just enough to rake those little barbs over your clit over and over.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck." You rambled, vision already spotting with white, then nearly screamed when he came again, spurts of white hot jizz leaking from your hole, not able to handle the amount. Your cunt sprayed out as well, the mix of your release leaving a mess on the pelts. You gasped for air, heart thudding, sweat dripping from your forehead. He was still hard. Maybe that's why your people were warned about mixing with predators. His stamina was a beast in itself.

"Can you keep going love? Lions go for a whole day sometimes." Hongjoong groaned when your cunt clenched again, really hoping you could keep going. His body needed yours, just as bad for both of you, and he wanted to fuck you the rest of the week if he could. He might be able to, you on the other hand…

"Fuck me stupid, I don't- just your cock~!" You whined and moaned, giggling like an idiot as his hips rolled again. Picking back up to his monster pace again. Every drag of his dick seemed to eek a tiny little orgasm out of you, your body strung so tight, it sang with every one of his movements. Your brain vaguely registered as the sunlight faded from the hole in the ceiling, fading to the cool moonlight. You didn't think you could walk for a week after, he had fucked so many orgasms out of and into you, you lost count. Globs of thick seed slipped out of your cunt when he finally pulled out, cock finally softening. Your face was blank, eyes open but barely conscious.

"Sleep, my love. I'll need you again in the morning."

-> Series Hub <-

Master-Master List

ATEEZ Master List

[cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu]

I think we all need to conjure the image of Merlin sitting on Arthur's lap whenever a princess/noblewomen comes along to woo Arthur. The mighty warrior, killer of bandit losers, sword twirly hand gesture guy, Crown Prince of Camelot just straight up panics and his natural reaction is to pull Merlin onto his lap and say he's gay for his manservant or throws Merlin over his shoulder and runs away, far away from the beautiful women.

My boi Merlin however wonders why Arthur doesn't just court someone already and stop trying to get him in trouble with Uther or his Uncle Gaius who keeps his fluffy caterpillar eyebrow in constant doom mode; Merlin is not in the mood to deal Arthur's romantic inability nonsense and people thinking he and Arthur are together when they're obviously not.

Seriously they're not together...they both protest loudly as Arthur holds a pantless manservant wearing a loose and very familiar red tunic whilst the prince himself is shirtless and the laces on his breeches are untied.

Definitely not fucking together.

[mybworlds]

Animae duae, animus unus

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader | W.C. 4.6K

Summary: Your father marries you to General Acacius, the most powerful and feared man in Rome after the Emperor.

Warnings: use of you, arranged marriage, unspecified age gap, constraint, loss of virginity, SMUT, pinv, masturbation, sub/dom dynamics (?), Marcus is neither a bad or a good guy here, he's a man of that time (almost!).

A/N I think I completely lost my mind seeing the trailer, folks, so a new idea about General Marcus Acacius crossed my mind. I studied a while ago about the condition of women at the time of Roman age, but a few things could change and not to be historically accurate.

"It's a great honor. For you and our family." that's what your father told you when he decided you should get married.

You should have married a man you don't know at all, a man much older than you, a man whose name alone was enough to make everyone tremble. He's best known for his skill in using the sword, for being a great orator and for being in close contact with Emperor Geta and his brother Caracalla.

You know nothing about the General, you saw him once or twice, you still remember those meetings and what you felt. They made you dress with great care, they made you wear your best tunic, there was a lace that tightened your waist to enhance your figure even more. You were accompanied by your mother and a handmaid in the presence of your father and the man to whom your father wanted to give you in exchange for a better social position and other favors. When you arrive to the triclinium, your father and another man were eating while lying down. Their eyes fell on you and you heard your father introduce you to the man.

The man left the bunch of grapes he was nibbling and came towards you. You only glimpsed the movement as you were told to keep your head down and be submissive in order to make a good impression to him.

You were sure you looked very nervous at that moment, you were afraid. You didn't know who you were supposed to marry, you didn't know anything about him, but you were sure of one thing: you didn't love him.

He wore a finely adorned white and red tunic with two eagles sewn on the chest, a crimson waist belt, a cloak of the same colors and boots. You saw his hand lift and then reach for your chin, he squeezed it and made your head lift so your eyes met. He certainly has very beautiful eyes, in that light they seemed to be honey-colored, but what he did you didn't like at all because he started to to examine you as if he wanted to pierce you through, you could barely hold his gaze.

"Is she all right?" you heard him ask your father, turning slightly towards him.

His voice was confident, deep, raspy and for some reason it made your skin crawl. You looked at him sideways and noticed how tall and broad he was.

"Y-yes, sure, General." your father replied concerned to the idea he could miss the opportunity to make a leap forward in society.

"She's shaking." the General noted, looking back at you and almost piercing you with his gaze.

"She's just a little nervous." your father replied again almost coming alongside the General looking so short next to the man.

The General began to walk around you and observe every little detail of you as if he were looking at a horse at the market and deciding whether to buy it or not. He didn't touch you except for your chin, but you still felt overwhelmed by his gaze and his physical presence.

"I'd like to hear her voice, Tracius." the General said again, turning to your father who swallowed, almost intimidated by the man's tone of voice.

Your father called you almost abruptly, making you suddenly raise your head and inviting you to say something nice to the General. Something that wouldn't make him miss this opportunity, of course.

You didn't know what to say to the General, you were so intimidated by him, all you managed to ask him was how he was. You didn't know if it was correct or appropriate to ask a man of his social status to ask such questions in public, but you had no idea he'd have asked to hear you speak.

He smirked and looked at you with an amused look as if you had just performed a pantomime. You didn't know whether to feel offended or whether to smile too at his strange reaction. When in doubt, you lowered your head and waited to know what you had to do to please your parent.

"General, she will be an excellent wife and will certainly be able to please you. Whatever your desire is, she will be able to satisfy it." your father said as if you weren't even there.

"I'm sure." he said, you didn't know what his expression was since your head was down and the heart in your chest was beating furiously with fear and discomfort.

"So it's decided, General?" your father asked, you recognized that tone of voice: he was scared, but not because he feared for your fate, he was just afraid of losing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"Sure." the man replied, then the two men moved towards the triclinia and you were dismissed.

That same day they decided what advantages would come from your marriage union, if children were born there would be even more opportunities and then naturally under which moons will your union take place.

It's the night before the wedding and you don't know what to feel, how you should feel, you're in your room and you feel a deep discomfort. There is a lot of shouting outside, the slaves go back and forth. Tonight is your last night here, in your bed, in your room, in your house. From tomorrow you will no longer live here, but you will live in the domus of General Acacius. You will be his property.

The next day, after barely eating anything, you are joined by a couple of maids who help you undress and bathe in a scented water. Subsequently, according to an ancient custom you wear a very white tunic with a belt at your waist. The white represents your purity and virginity and the belt is a sort of lucky charm for your union and with the hope that the marriage with the General will bring the arrival of many children. They comb and braid your hair into a complicated hairstyle, then make you wear lots of jewelry and only then, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you realize you're trembling for fear. You don't want to, but you can't escape.

They then place a crown full of beautiful flowers on your head. You remember when your father still allowed you to run along the meadows to pick wild, fragrant flowers. Oh, you were so happy then!

They then place the veil on your head, completely enveloping your figure. Your world completely changes color and turns orange. The maids smile at you, perhaps you should force yourself to smile, but your muscles are paralyzed.

When you leave your room for the last time, you hear singing and festive music coming from outside and when you leave, you find General Acacius followed by a procession of friends, relatives and powerful people of Rome waiting for you.

The General wears an even more elegant toga than last time. His toga is a splendid golden and white color. On it there is the symbol of two golden eagles embroidered on his chest. The cape on his shoulders falls softly along his back greatly enhancing his strong presence. He gives you a long silent look. His gaze is serene, but serious.

A first seal is placed which symbolizes your union from a formal point of view and with which you formally become a property of the man at your side. The sacrifice of an animal then takes place, followed by other ritual phrases. You feel completely dazed, you hear and pronounce everything you have learned by heart, you know what needs to be done, but the anxiety and fear are paralyzing you.

You lift your veil and raise your head to meet the eyes of the man you are marrying.

His gaze is serious, he scrutinizes you carefully. It's difficult to understand or guess what he thinks, while you on the other hand are certainly visibly tense and scared.

His hair is a mass of dark curls, his beard patched and peppered with gray. All in perfect contrast with his tanned skin. He smells of oils and incense.

Your join your hands and therefore with these rituals your union is official. You try to smile, but you're sure that a grimace rather than a smile has appeared on your face. Your groom smiles at you and smiles at the procession that had accompanied him to your house.

A lavish banquet follows accompanied by music, the presence of poets, musicians who enrich the event, you and your husband are sitting next to each other. Your husband has two of his servants taste and drink before starting to eat and sip his wine. He notices your gaze, even if you do everything you can to keep it down or elsewhere, and then he addresses you for the first time without your father present, "You can never be too careful, my wife."

You swallow and nod and then look away, at your father. He's happy, he's toasting and eating his fill. He argues with another man and talks profusely.

"Do you want it?" your husband asks you, handing you a cup of wine which you take in your slightly shaking hands, he must have noticed because he adds, "Have you ever drank before?" you shake your head "Drink little and slowly, I want a wife who will be present on the wedding night."

You look away and witness a dance where a victory in battle is being staged to praise and exalt your husband's abilities.

It's dusk when you definitively leave your home, when you are torn from the arms of your mother to whom you cling one last time, then you are taken to your husband's house, and from today your house, by a small group of guests. The General is no where to be found.

A great noise surrounds you, many torches light the way to your future domus, many songs accompany your journey. You are confused, disorientated and also a little intrigued by the idea of having caused so much joviality along the dark streets of Rome with that event.

The procession stops in front of the General's domus who is there in front of the door waiting for you. You reach him and before you can enter you must perform yet another ritual and lastly you and your husband seal your union in front of the procession with one last sentence "Ubi tu Gaius, ibi ego Gaia", now you can cross the threshold of your husband's house into the arms of two guests who lift you up.

You are in what is now your domus and now you have to consummate your marriage.

Your husband is in front of you and seems to want to devour you, he caresses your cheek possessively, you look at him with fearful eyes and then he walks away to take off the ornaments worn during this long day.

From here you can no longer escape. You are in the bedroom and a maid takes all your jewels, bracelets, flower crown, hairpins off of you. The handmaid talks to you, she tells you how and what to do with your husband, how to satisfy him, but you know nothing of all this and you are afraid.

You find yourself praying, keeping your eyes closed in an expression of almost terror. You didn't even realize that the man came back and the handmaid went away.

Your husband is in front of you, he searches your eyes and finds them full of fear, "Don't worry," he tells you, "no one has ever complained." you swallow feeling your heart pounding in your chest “You are my third wife, you know?” he tells you, as he lowers his eyes to your belt and slowly runs a finger between it and your robe.

You shudder. You don't know if it was because of the gesture or because he confided in you that you are his third wife. You'd be curious to know what happened to the other two women before you, but his hands are untying the belt which falls to the red carpet at your feet.

"Watch me." he orders and you obey. You are his now. You must obey. There is no other way.

You look at him. His tanned skin seems to stand out even more between these four walls, in your bedroom.

His eyes follow the movements of his hands as they move your tunic aside, opening it with a deliberate slowness.

You're trembling and when he looks up at your face he can see and feel all your tension himself because his hands remain still on your hips.

"You don't have to be afraid, I don't want to hurt you. But you know it has to be done, right?" his voice is hoarse, but velvety.

You nod. You would like to run away, but your father has now given you up to him, you are his from now on. And he wants to own you.

"I want to hear your voice, please. It's not your father here, but your husband, and your husband wants to hear your voice." the tone of voice is delicate, but authoritative.

"All right." you simply reply, looking first at his face and then at his hands which are still on you.

"That's better." he comments with a small grin on his face "You're scared." he adds and his is not a question, but a statement. One of his hands leaves your side and goes up your stomach, your ribs, just touching your breast, then reaching your neck and finally your cheek. "You don't have to. I don't want you to have any." his voice is always authoritative, but his eyes are characterized by a great sweetness creating a strange contrast.

"I'm sorry." is the only thing you can think of to say. You lower your head.

"Watch me." He calls you back and you obey "You are a beautiful woman, you are my wonderful new wife." he adds, tightening his grip on the back of your neck.

You almost jump at that sudden gesture, you tremble and your heart beats hard in your chest. You don't know what to expect, you just know that you will be in pain and that he will almost certainly not be kind to you.

His hands push the edges of your tunic away, exposing you to his sight. His gaze is focused and he seems to appreciate what he sees. He then slides your tunic off your shoulders onto the floor and you are left with only two pieces of thin fabric covering your breasts and your privates.

He devours you with his gaze, he scrutinizes you as if he were a predator who is deciding how and when to attack his prey. His eyes are shining and you don't know what to do or how to behave.

"Come." he says, taking your hand and leading you towards a bed full of flower petals. “Sit down.” he orders.

You're scared, you feel your hands and arms as if they were lead. Tears begin to gather in the back of your eyes. You can't cry. You do not have to cry.

He takes your chin between his fingers, forcing you to suddenly lift your head upwards. He's huge, he towers over you. You feel even smaller around him.

"You're beautiful. You have the softest skin I've ever touched, darling." he says, touching your shoulders and then your arms. Your skin crawls as you follow your husband's hands with your gaze. He caresses you gently, while his gaze devours you.

"Undress me." he orders you and you, opening your eyes wide for a moment, obey with trembling hands. You bend down to untie his shoes, then sit back down and reluctantly untie his belt. You look at him for a moment before standing up and lifting his robe off over his head.

Naked he's even more impressive. Massive. Muscled. Although he's significantly older than you, he shows no signs of sagging with age.

"Have you ever seen a man?" he asks, probably noticing your quizzically look.

"N - no " you reply feeling an ever-increasing tension rising inside you at the thought that he will soon be on top of you and inside you.

"Do you even know your body? Do you know what you like and what you don't?" he asks you, perplexed and almost impatient.

You shake your head, “I – I've never had this urge.” you reply and he cocks his head to the side in surprise. “Sorry, General.” you add.

"General?!" he repeats, slightly widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows in a surprised expression "Here, in our room, I don't want formalities. In this room for you I'm Marcus."

Marcus.

"When we are in public you will call me husband only, okay?" he continues, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You nod.

"Lie down." orders you Marcus. You lie down and put your head on the pillow. If you weren't so scared you would appreciate the softness of the bed and the softness of the pillows, but you're too focused on other things at the moment.

Marcus reaches you and it is in that moment that you see him and perceive him in his total might.

He places his hands behind your knees and opens your legs and then slides in between them. You swallow in fear.

"My wife doesn't have to be afraid of me." he tells you before bringing his face closer to yours. You almost gasp when he rests his forehead against yours. Then, he slowly places his lips on yours.

You've never kissed anyone, you don't know exactly what should be done or how you should feel about it, you just know that you have to please your spouse.

You feel his tongue caress your bottom lip and then ask for permission to enter yours, you don't want to, but you can't help it. You part your lips and his tongue enters between your lips exploring your mouth and seeking your tongue. You slowly imitate what he's doing even though, you're sure, you have a disgusted expression on your face. His kiss tastes like wine and spices, it's not a bad taste, maybe the problem is you who can't appreciate that gesture.

His muscular arms are on the sides of your face enveloping you completely.

You don't know exactly where to put your hands so you leave them at your sides.

He brings first one of your hand and then the other to his bare hip. All without interrupting that kiss, you interrupt it a few moments later by turning your head, but he takes your chin in his hands and searches for your lips again, while he caresses your bare side with one hand, his hand goes up to your breast and then goes down again and caresses your thigh and leg.

His lips move along your jaw, chin and then rest on your neck where he leaves a trail of wet kisses. You tilt your head to the side, he continues to kiss you softly your collarbones. Although your head is on the side and tell yourself again that you don't want to, your body reacts to his ministrations.

You exhale deeply, closing your eyes, your husband's lips — Marcus' — are on your breast, even though it's still covered. It's a hot cold sensation you're experiencing. You've never experienced anything like that. It's a feeling that almost scares you.

Your husband reaches up a little and first tears the fabric covering your breast and then he does the same thing with the other piece of fabric. You flinch in fear. Now he will take you by force, you think. You turn your head and wait to feel pain.

Marcus stops kissing you and looks at you. Your head turned sideaways, some of your hair covering your face. He moves them away before saying your name and drawing your attention back to him.

"Even if your head says no, your body is saying otherwise, my beautiful young bride." Marcus tells you "I know you don't know or love me," with this phrase he gets your attention, "I don't know or love you either, but time will surely help us." he adds, "I know you're scared, I know you're inexperienced, and I'm sure you know you're going to be in pain." you nod "I assure you that I'll do everything I can to make you feel as little pain as possible."

You appreciate it. You really appreciate it. The fear for the last gesture he made is slowly fading. You don't know if it's a trick to make you relax, but if it is, he's succeeding.

"Now I'm going to do something, I don't want you to hold back." you frown and look at him questioningly "It's not unpleasant, but it might seem strange to you at first."

He gives you a quick kiss on your lips, you close your eyes instinctively, then you reopen them when you feel his hands first and then his lips exploring your body.

That feeling again. It's not pleasant, but it's not the other way around either. It's strange.

His lips linger on your breasts, more precisely on your nipples which stiffen in response to his cares.

You moan feeling your skin crawl and close your eyes. You feel so strange. You frown, keeping your eyes closed. You thought that by now your marriage was already consummated and he had already left you alone with your pain but instead. . .

He leaves your breast and then moves his lips down to your belly, then goes down between your legs. You gasp when you feel the now torn piece of fabric being pulled away from your intimacy which is now completely exposed to his lustful gaze.

“Is it now that you're going to hurt me?” you ask, raising your head towards him. He raises his head and you see his eyes — now decidedly darker — staring at you and then he shakes his head.

He lowers his head towards your intimacy again and places a kiss there before starting to lick you.

You jump and instinctively move to close your legs, but he grabs your ankles and reopens your legs, exposing you again to his expert tongue.

It's the strangest sensation you've ever felt, it almost tickles you and at the same time it causes strange cramps in your stomach. It almost feels like you're on fire. A small moan escapes you, or rather more than one. If before, you would have liked him not to touch you, now it doesn't seem so unpleasant anymore, on the contrary.

His tongue seems to want to dig inside you and you arch your back throwing your head back with a sigh.

"Marcus?" you name him.

He shows no signs of stopping, in fact this gesture shakes you more and more.

"I feel strange, I think - I think there's something... wrong." you moan almost scared from the unknown sensation you are feeling with him.

Marcus raises his head breaking that contact "What are you feeling?" he asks as he dives into your folds again.

“I have a weird feeling here,” you respond reaching for his big hand and bringing it to your stomach, you jump when he focuses on a specific area of your womanhood.

"Oh, Marcus. . ." you groan "By Jove!" you start to moan uncontrollably and only then you realize that you are completely wet in your intimacy.

Then your vision blurs and you can almost see sparks behind your eyelids.

Only when this unknown tension leaves your body and you relax completely against the mattress, Marcus stops and moves back onto you.

You look into his eyes looking for something, but you don't even know what. He smiles at you tenderly, taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers. You tremble, but not from fear. Now.

He kisses you and this time you return the gesture with less uncertainty. He places a hand in your hair for a moment in an affectionate gesture, then he sits down on his knees and you observe his body curiously: his toned arms, his chest, his soft belly and then your attention is drawn to what you have only seen once in a painting, his virility.

It's really big, its tip is red and seems to be crossed by many veins, you're attracted to it and he must have noticed your look, "Do you want to touch it?"

You nod, “May I?”

"You are my wife." it's his answer. You sit up, putting aside the uncertainty and even a hint of fear, then you reach out a hand towards him.

It's huge, you touch his tip and he jumps, you look up at him looking for confirmation. He takes your hand and wraps it around his huge manhood. You can't touch your thumb and forefinger, it's so big.

"Like this." he whispers guiding your movements back and forth along his cock. When he understands that he can abandon himself to your ministrations, he releases your hand and abandons himself by closing his eyes.

You didn't think the evening would go like this. You didn't believe he was so patient and taught you so much. You didn't believe that caressing him would give you so many shivers and that it would make him harden more and more in your hand. You didn't think you'd ever see an expression of abandon and pure bliss painted on his face. Everything's magnificent. He is magnificent.

He grunts and groans as he throws his head back, some of his curls fall onto his sweaty forehead, his eyes are closed and his lips parted. At this moment he almost reminds you of a Greek god which you could admire in a painting when you once visited Athens a long time ago.

“Now stop,” he orders you. You obey, observing the tense features of his face, he lowers his head and looks at you. Now his eyes are two black pools that seem to want to swallow you. "Lie down." he adds and you obey.

In this position and with his manhood in his fist he reminds you a lot of the statue of the god Jupiter seen in the temple a few moons ago.

He lies on top of you, he caresses your face and moves a lock of hair behind your ears "Now I'm going to hurt you a little." he warns you "Are you ready?"

You don't know if you really are, but now you want to live everything to the fullest. You nod.

You see your husband spread your legs just a little more, then he squeezes his manhood in his fist and aligns it with your intimacy. You hold your breath as you see his manhood approaching you.

"Watch me." he says in an authoritative tone and you obey, eyes widening when the tip of his cock begins to dig in with greater force than his tongue had done before.

You try to maintain eye contact, but you're feeling a burning pain, tears build up in the back of your eyes and your skin crawls. Marcus places a hand on your cheek and then gently kisses your other cheek first, then kisses your forehead, your eyelids, your mouth and then all over again.

You feel full. Full of him. You're out of breath, your eyes are still closed and you're still holding your breath. "You're very good." he tells you, kissing your lips again. He caresses your hips, “Baby, I need to move.” he warns you.

You open your eyes, you're still out of breath, a tear rolls down your cheek which Marcus promptly wipes away by kissing it "It's okay, my sweet wife. You are going to be okay."

You gulp looking at his dark eyes, while he slowly starts to move. You squeeze your eyes for the pain, but you don't want Marcus stops. He pushes inside of you once, twice, three times before you start to moan and not for the pain. You raise your head hiding it in the crook of his neck, while he pushes with greater force back and forth. He places his hands on your hips to soften the blow.

You groan feeling on fire again, "It's almost done," he warns you moaning while he tightens his grip on your hips, "I'm coming, baby." he adds and then he release a long whine in your ear before to collapse on you.

"Remember," he says "I am yours and you are mine. Forever. And forever I will take care of you. I will do everything in my power to always make you feel safe and, if we can, loved."

[alpydk]

Confessions

You asked for a sequel to Consequences so here I bring it.

Part 1 - Tav slept with Mizora, Gale left as we all know. Hate sex ensues at the epilogue party. That's it. Part 2 - They have another encounter - sex ensues. That's it.

Word Count - 3950 words CW - Angst/Smut - Happy ending ^^

The wedding invitation lay on the table, ivory parchment with a cherry red embossed trimming.

Karlach and Shadowheart... Baldur’s Gate... Elient...

It had been six months since the party where they had last met up, where Tav had last seen and spoke with Gale. She gritted her teeth at the memory, one of silver cups splayed in front of her, of her braid pulled taut behind her as he controlled her climax with a sense of dominance she had never seen before. “Now, my dear Tav. Say please.” She smirked to herself at the image of him behind her, his cock pressed against her, his eyes darkened with desire and anger. They had lain on that table for some time afterwards, their hearts beating in unison, an unspoken apology between them which remained unspoken. And now would soon come a wedding, an event that always came with drama of some sort.

Tav picked up the nearby quill, the decision of whether to attend or not posed at her fingertips. To see him again or not after what had last happened...

---

“Leaving so soon?” Gale felt the shift of Tav’s weight from next to him, her ebony braid dragging across his tunic before he had the chance to realise what was happening.

She stood, pulling her scarlet dress down to cover her legs more modestly than where it had been hoisted up to. “It’s getting early, and I’m meant to be back in the city before lunch.”

The warmth he’d known for only a short while had again gone, replaced with the icy walls and defensiveness they’d started the party with. Despite the admittance of why she’d ran to Mizora and now the understanding of where each of them stood, it was clear one night of drunken, angry sex upon an oak table wouldn’t be enough to bury the hatred that had been spat between them with such venom and loathing.

He let out an exasperated huff of annoyance. Once again pushed aside, being punished by the one he supposedly loved. Maybe at this point he was the problem, constantly finding women to fill a void left within. He was certain there was some psychological aspect in play forcing him to go for women similar to his own strong-willed mother, and the concept sickened him, or possibly it was that of the bottle of wine which flowed throughout his system. “Gods forbid something be more important...” he muttered under his breath. Did he even want to give what they had a chance? Was it worth the pain, the heartache?

Tav selectively ignored his words, her body already bristling, a slight hangover drifting in with the taunting sunrise. How could she have been so reckless, so desperate to have him? She shuddered at the thought. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, Gale,” she said, collecting her black lingerie from under the table.

He could see the curve of her arse as she bent over, his body betraying his mind in one fell swoop, and he took the chance of her back being turned to him to sit up and hastily tie the drawstrings on his trousers. A little tighter than normal, he remarked internally, making sure not to make the same mistake as some hours before. “You don’t think we should perhaps discuss-”

She cut him off before the words could even be produced from his wine-tinged lips. “A drunken mistake made by two lonely and desperate people. No different than it was at Moonrise.”

---

They didn’t speak after she had said those words, the harshness of them still causing her to hang her head in shame even now. That night at Moonrise had meant everything to her at one point, how they had admitted their love to one another, how he had conjured the soft bedsheets that smelt of lavender before worshipping her for hours in more ways than she could ever have dreamt of. Yet six months ago she was done, tired of their arguments, tired of Mystra and Mizora, but most of all, tired of him. She had to say it, the worst thing she could ever come up with, just to give them both finally a chance of moving on. 

Her heart had broken behind her built up walls. She would not show him how guilty or hurt she was by all that had transpired. She’d simply brushed herself down and walked away from the campsite, her braid hanging down behind the scarlet dress she’d never wear again.

Since that night she had dated others, worked her way through numerous men and women looking for that same spark that ignited the flames within her, causing them to burn so brightly. She’s tried being submissive with a few, allowing them to order her around, praise her, punish her if that’s what they desired, but none came close to how he had been that night with her. The sensation lived under her skin. It swelled with the memories of him: his dark eyes, firm hands gripping her hips, a voice that controlled her very essence.

As she glanced at the invitation, she let out a deep breath and stretched out her back. She knew she would have to be there, two of her closest friends finally tying the knot, Karlach’s infernal engine fixed after almost a year in Avernus battling for her life. Tav also knew though that he would be there too, dressed in his finest, his heart once again stitched back together after the damage she had done. Black ink flowed onto the parchment, soaking through a tad before she removed the quill. The date was set, the confirmation given, the anxiety building with the thoughts of what was left of the man she’d once loved.

---

The sun was slowly setting over the small chapel on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate. It was a modest church, large enough for a small party of friends and family, far enough away from the city that the sound of hustle and bustle could not reach it. Its white wooden doors lay open, welcoming a soon to be married couple and their guests, and with it came a light wind blowing autumn leaves into the aisle.

Gale sat alone inside on a pew. He’d been the first to arrive, and it seemed only suitable to check over the readings for the ceremony: selected poems he knew all too well. Admiring the red lilies and night orchids, which had been woven together, creating elaborate floral displays over the altar and around the confessionals, he couldn’t help but think. The colours complimented one another well, the crimson shades merging with the hints of purple. His mind drifted back to his old, tattered robes, the cherry red shirt that often lay with them in the corner of his tent as the sun rose during their travels. Nights devoted to making her smile.

He shifted uncomfortably, moving his attention to his suit. He’d gone away from purples long ago, Mystra’s influence tainting the colour with reminders of their weave touched relationship and for this occasion he had decided that simple was best. The black waistcoat he had chosen showed the physique he had been working on the last few months, his forearms toned and displayed from a navy shirt as he rolled the sleeves to a comfortable level.

He was already feeling the nerves, ones that he had tried to shift so many times in the last few weeks, and as his fingertips drifted to unbuttoning his collar, he knew it wasn’t likely to pass easily just by sitting and waiting for company. He rose from his seat, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension, and looked to the main doors of the chapel where moonlight was making its appearance. Soon the others would arrive, but now he needed to stretch his legs and enjoy the little peace that was available.

As the cool breeze blew through the waves of his hair, he spotted Tav walking up the quiet path towards him. Her head was faced away from his, her eyes drawn to the line of wildflowers that grew along the verge. She looked as beautiful as she ever had. Her dark hair hung down around her shoulders, silver beads placed in thin braids glistened as they caught light. Tav had kept her pattern of wearing red; this time, her short figure-hugging dress replaced with one that pinched her waist but flared out at the base. Her pale legs were still on display just as they’d been at the party and for a moment, he was dragged back to the memory of running his hands up those thighs as he’d done so many times before.

He turned his back on her, choosing instead to walk around the other side of the chapel, hoping that before she noticed him, others would arrive, and their interaction could be kept at a safe minimum. He would not make the same mistake as last time.

---

“And now we will hear a brief poetry reading from Gale.” Astarion made sure to emphasise just how brief it would be as he left his position at the altar. Despite it being over two hundred years since his position of magistrate, somehow Baldarian law still gave him the allowance to operate and, as such, he had found himself in the unfortunate position of officiating the wedding of his two old friends. He stepped aside, letting Gale taking charge, hearing the nervous heartbeat that beat so relentlessly.

There were few guests in attendance who weren’t already at the party six months previously, but something about standing before them all, speaking words of love and commitment, filled him with an emotion he wished would vanish. A part of him knew this should have been his day, where the poem read would instead have been vows spoken with devotion to the one he loved. If only they had simply talked to one another.

“Good evening, my dear friends. It’s been some time once again since we last gathered like this. It’s good to see you all.” His eyes passed briefly over Tav; the words meant more for her than anyone in sitting in the room. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Well-” A nervous breath caught him, but it was enough to help him focus his attention. “For this most splendorous of occasions, I have indeed prepared a short poem which I would like to present to our most beautiful of couples.”

Karlach and Shadowheart stood before him, their hands entwined, their eyes glued on one another. The world around them may not have existed as they gazed lovingly at one another, a way in which Gale himself had once looked at Tav. His smile at them briefly turned sad before he shifted the memory and moved on quickly to reading.

His eyes met Tav’s as she watched, words originally meant for her now spoken openly. He hoped she knew this was for her, how despite everything, despite the anger and the heartbreak, it was always for her.

She glanced away from him, a rogue tear escaping her, which she was quick to wipe away. His deep brown eyes glistened under the moonlight, and she wished things could be different between them. How they both wished all this could be different, how the longed-for apologies could be said between one another. How they wished they could find a way back to one another.

---

The ceremony ended, and Karlach and Shadowheart were eager to leave after accepting congratulations from everyone, a quick passing comment about seeing stars heard by a few at the exit to the chapel. Tav stood by the simple altar, rolling the petals of the lilies between her fingertips, lost in her own thoughts of the wedding and all that had occurred.

“A lovely evening, don’t you think?”

Gale’s tentative voice brought her back to reality, her hand quickly drawn from the flowers. Within the hallowed walls of the church, she did not want to fight as they had done the previous times, instead she kept herself quiet, hesitant, and watchful of his actions.

“Hm. It was. Your poetry was very...” She pondered over the words, trying to find something that would explain how much she enjoyed it, but not strong enough that he would see through to the emotions that had been sitting on her sleeve all evening. “...well written.”

He stepped closer to her, and he noticed the way her dress caught with the breeze from the open door, allowing him to catch sight of her inner thigh. “Well, it seemed an important occasion to put in a little more effort into rather than my previous dabbles with poetry.”

“I’m sure they both appreciated it.” Tav could feel as he grew closer to her, her eyes catching on the way he seemed leaner since their last meeting. His body seemed firmer, his trousers snugger upon his groin, the shirt hugging his upper arms in a way that made her want to bite her lower lip. She kept her composure. “You look really well, Gale.”

“I took some time after our last encounter to work on myself a little.”

“Well, it suits you.”

At the altar they stood facing one another, moonlight shining through the small windows, autumn leaves blown along the aisle. She looked up into his eyes, her heart beating in anticipation after what had occurred at the party. It felt as if something were in the air, a powerful force that could not be resisted drawing her to him each time they met, but this time, the anger was muted within the sacred walls.

Gale lifted his hand, brushing a lock of her ebony hair behind her ear, his touch soft and cautious, as if they were together at Moonrise once again and he was expecting rejection. “Tav...”

Just as last time she interrupted him, but this time not with venom filled words. Instead, she brought her lips to his, a resignation to the surrounding forces which bound their souls together. He responded in kind, a hand brought to her cheek and holding her steady, the other grasped to the fabric of her dress and pulling her hips towards his. He broke off the kiss, letting out a shaky breath, searching her eyes for the certainty that this was what she wanted.

She drew herself towards him again, an answer to his unspoken question, flushed lips on his in wanting, but when he did not return her kiss, she pulled back, a hint of rejection she did not wish to show lingering in her mind. “We both know how this is going to end,” she said, desire in her eyes.

“Precisely. We do.” Gale’s grasp on her hip loosened ever so slightly, the hand on her cheek moved lightly to her hair, his fingers curling between the locks. “We’ll share in each other’s bodies and as our souls return to their cages, we will part, just as we have before.”

“So, this is it? The end of everything?”

He looked to the braids in her hair, to how they twisted and turned just like that of the Weave he was so fond of. Everything in him screamed to let go of her, to walk away and never see her again, to find peace. But his heart whispered amongst the din. It ignored the arguments; it ignored the hateful comments they had shared; it ignored the lust. There were only the nights before Mizora, ones where he and Tav had lain simply together, her hand on his chest, their hearts beating together in sync. There had been unsaid acts of love before and after they’d even admitted their feelings, the day where she had held him close after Elminster had told him of his doomed fate, the night where they had simply cried together after Bhaal had killed her and she’d been born anew. How had so many moments vanished with that one mistake? How had so much hate been born from what was once unbound love?

“Gale, tell me. Is this it? If it is, I’ll accept.” Tav’s words were honest, the exhaustion she had felt six months ago bursting through. She didn’t want to fight anymore; she had no fight left in her. All she wanted was to move on, to know he could move on.

His gaze went from the braids to her eyes, moistened, reflecting the moonlight. The whisper grew into a shout that he could no longer ignore. It couldn’t end this way. They found one another again, a tenderness not shared in so long as hands moved from tight clasping to gentle strokes, as passionate kisses were replaced with delicate exploration. He found himself pushing her backwards, the confessional booth the only place of any privacy within the chapel. She was pushed up against the white door of it, the scarlet lilies brushing over her shoulder as she nudged open the door with the base of her heel.

There was little room and even less light behind the closed door, and Tav was quick to shift Gale onto the small bench that met them. “Forgive me, father...”

“Oh, none of that, my love. We do not plan to draw the eyes of any deities in here.”

She pressed herself onto him, feeling the growing bulge under his trousers, grinding her hips into him, allowing her own body to react with need. “Not much room in here.”

Gale smirked. He knew exactly what she spoke of as he felt the ache of his erection pushing on the tight fabric, but for once last time he play with her. “Well, there’d be more room if you hadn’t gained weight.”

“Prick.” Tav scowled, before slipping her tongue into his mouth, finding his and sucking it with wanton desire.

He reacted in kind, his hands moving up under her legs and positioning her straddled across his lap. As she arched herself into him, rubbing herself down against him, she released the slightest of moans and he could feel the way she quivered with each rock of her hips. He brought a hand further up her thigh, dipping under the cloth of her skirt and tracing the lace of her underwear.

A soft mewl told him how heated she was already, how she chased her climax so readily upon his lap. His fingers danced above the fabric, tracing a line down her cunt, feeling as she leaned into his hand instinctively. He released her mouth from his, letting her bury her head into the crook of his neck, heated breaths poured onto his skin. “You’re so eager, as always.”

“Only with you... Only ever with you,” she gasped, feeling as his fingertips slipped onto her naked flesh, languid lines becoming rhythmic circles where she needed them most. Her heart raced, her eyes closed, and all she could do was savour the moments as her wants and needs became a blessed reality. “Gods, Gale...”

A part of him was tempted to tease her as he had last time, a consequence of all she had done, but as she whimpered into him, his name on her desperate lips, all he wanted was more of her, to give to her again as he had done so long ago, to worship her, to love her. He increased his pace, listening as whimpers became moans, as she pulled her head back and bucked herself shamelessly into his hand.

She felt herself nearing her edge, felt the familiar swelling almost at breaking point, the knowledge that it was him doing this to her spurring her on and making it impossible to resist any longer. “Gale...” she gasped through parted lips. Looking down at him in the low-lit confession booth was all it took for the thin strand of control to snap, her orgasm hitting hard and fast, her muscles tensing and clenching. His hand was removed, but with that, she found herself perched again over his lap, his trousers appearing visibly uncomfortable as she lowered herself onto them, trying to ground herself as the world spun around her.  

Gale sighed as she sat atop him, her breath slowly returning to normal. He was remaining patient, wanting each second to span an eternity should it all come crashing down again around them. It wasn’t long though before her hands found the rim of his trousers, tugging at them, and letting her mouth return to his. Very little time was spent taunting with what he had that she wanted more of, his trousers and underwear pulled down, hers left abandoned around one ankle and her dress hoisted up over his lap as she straddled him once again.

Through gritted teeth, he spoke as she hovered above him. “I have something to confess.”

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?” Tav purred, lowering herself onto him, sighing as her body adjusted to his size within her. She’d never forgotten how good he felt, never found anything that compared to him.

He breathed through the relaxed roll of her hips, but noted the way her arousal was building quicker with each thrust into her. “Maybe... but now or never...”

His words were falling on death ears as her hands explored the sides of his abdomen, more toned than six months ago, less to grip, but the sight made her wish she had the composure to remove his waistcoat and shirt, to see what lay beneath, teasing her. She wanted to reply, but words were escaping her, his rhythm, his angle, the forearm that held her close as she arched her body into him, wanting more of him, needing more.

A firm hand gripped her hip, preventing her from writhing, allowing him to plunge into her more firmly, to let him feel every needed bit of her. “I love you, Tav...”

The words hit her hard, the confession that he still loved her even after everything making her heartbeat quicken, her climax upon her in an instance.

He felt as she tightened around him, her walls contracting, putting pressure on him. His movements became more demanding, more focused as he sought his own release. Whispered words met his ears, words of love and care, confessions of her own singing out through satisfied breaths. His hips snapped into her, the bench beneath and her above giving little room for him to leave her fully, just a constant pressure wrapped around him, bringing him to his precipice.

The more he rutted into her, the more she began to whine, wave after wave of pleasure, an orgasm ending only to lead into another as one of his hands once again found her sensitive bundle of nerves. “I love you... I love you...” she screamed out from the confines of the enclosed stall.

Those words, the admission of truth were all it took. Gale gripped her closely, his body jerking as he spilled himself into her. Her neck was on his lips in seconds, the salted taste of her sweat upon his tongue welcome as aftershocks caused him to convulse into her further. With each one came another gasped moan, soon growing quieter and quieter as both relaxed into one another’s gentle embrace.

They held each other for some time in the darkened shadows of the confessional, as moonlight became the lazy rise of a sun within the chapel. They had shared how they both felt, forgiven each other without spoken apologies, shared their love just as they had once done. For now, all they had was this one night, one under stars and shadows of a stall, amongst scarlet lilies and dark purple night orchids. Talking could come later.

[wandanatsgf]

Pray and I Shall Answer Thee Part 2

Pairing: Aphrodite!Wanda x Follower!Reader

Word Count: 1182

Summary: You wait for months for Wanda to return, and yet she never shows. Now you're determined to get over her, but a certain goddess won't allow that.

Warning: This contains smut and oral (r receiving)

Author's note: On my old blog this was called Call and I Will Come or something like that, but I decided to rename it (hope you all don't mind),

Part 2

It has been a few months since your encounter with Wanda and she hasn't visited you since that night. Maybe it was just a one time thing to her, but to you it meant everything. Still, you were determined to get over her and you knew the perfect way to do so.

The walk to your local tavern was a long. You can already feel the cool autumn air seeping into your bones and you still have another 15 minutes to go. You pull your coat tighter around your body as you continue to walk.

The sound of a carriage makes you steer yourself off the road, letting the carriage hopefully pass you by without getting you wet. Unfortunately you weren't so lucky. You hear a loud splash and before you know it, you're soaking wet.

"Oh my gods I am so sorry darling," you hear an angelic voice say as the carriage comes to a stop.

A woman steps out of the carriage and she is one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen. Her red hair curls around her face. and her green eyes sparkle like emeralds in the moonlight. Her white dress wraps around her like wings. She looks angelic, almost godly.

"It's quite alright," you say quickly.

"No it's not. Let me take you back to my place and give you some warm, dry clothes," the woman says. Normally you wouldn't accept such an invitation from a stranger, but there is just something about her that makes you say yes.

"What's your name?" the woman asks you.

"Y/n," you say.

"Y/n," she repeats. "That's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl." You can feel yourself blush as you thank her.

"I'm Natasha."

"Well it's nice to meet you Natasha."

You climb into Natasha's carriage and the two of you converse about all sorts of topics until you make it to Natasha's home. As the carriage comes to a stop, you take in your surroundings. You're amazed at this woman's mansion that she calls a home. She was clearly much more wealthy than you.

Natasha helps you out of the carriage and inside her house. She leads you to her bedroom, which contains a closet full of the most gorgeous clothes you have ever seen.

"Here you go darling. Call for me if you need anything," Natasha says as she hands you the clothes.

"Thank you so much," you say with sincerity.

"It's really no problem," Natasha says, leaving you to change.

You strip out of your tunic and start to pull the new, soft, dry garment on when you hear a voice behind you.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You spin around and come face to face with the goddess who has been on your mind every single day since that night.

"Wanda," you breathe out.

"What are you doing?" she growls out. She looks like a predator stalking its prey.

"I'm changing," you say like it's obvious.

"No you're not," Wanda says. She pulls the garment off of you, leaving you naked. "You're not putting on her things."

"I'm sorry what?!?"

"You heard me. This would be the goddess you call Athena's clothing you are putting on and I won't allow that."

"You won't allow it?!? You're not the boss of me," you say snappily. You snatch the clothing out of Wanda's hand and put it on. You can tell you're angering Wanda, but you don't care. Not after she left you with no contact for months.

"We're leaving," Wanda says. She grabs you by the arm and pulls you towards the front door where Natasha stands.

"What do you think you're doing Wanda," Natasha yells out.

"I'm taking what's mine," she says like it's obvious. The two of them continue to argue over you as if you are some sort of property. You take this opportunity to slip out, unnoticed by the two bickering goddesses.

You had been walking for about five minutes when Wanda appears by your side.

"What do you want goddess," you ask, saying goddess snarkily.

"I have come to apologize."

"Ok. Get on with it."

"I'm sorry for not treating you properly. I haven't been with a human before and I don't quite know how to act. I know I haven't quite courted you properly and I'm sorry," she says.

"I forgive you," you mumble out. "But I want you to do better. I need to see you more. I need stability and I need to see you more, and not just when you're jealous or want something."

"I'll give you that and whatever else you wish darling. Say the word and it is yours." You smile at this.

"Right now all I want is you." This was true. You hadn't been able to get yourself off ever since that night and now that she is here you can't help yourself.

"That can be arranged," she says. You're enveloped in a cloud of red magic. When the cloud disappears you're back at your home.

"Come here," Wanda says. She grabs your hips and pulls you into her. You feel her capture your lips with her own. You moan into the kiss as her hands slip down your sides.

"Jump," you hear her say once your lips break apart. You jump up and wrap your legs around the taller woman's waist. She places her hands on your ass and walks the two of you over to your bed. She gently places you down and crawls on top of you.

"I have a lot to make up for don't I?"

"Yes you do my goddess," you say. Wanda smiles down at you. She takes your dress off, leaving you in a set of bra and panties. She lets out a low moan at the sight of you, and it makes your core tingle with excitement. Wanda places soft kisses against your collar bone while her right hand slips down to your bra covered tits. She gently gropes your left boob before taking your bra off. She throws your bra to the other side of the room and quickly attaches her lips to your nipple.

"Fuck," you moan out.

"Am I making you feel good baby?" Wanda asks.

"Yes goddess. You're making me feel so good," you say. You grab Wanda's hair and lightly pull. Wanda detaches herself from your nipple and moves straight to your core. She slips your panties off and immediately attaches her lips to your clit.

“Gods,” you moan out.

“It’s not gods honey. There’s only one god making you feel this good,” Wanda says as she sucks on your bundle of nerves. Wanda continues to suck and lick your core and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release.

“Please goddess,” you beg.

“Cum for me baby. Cum for your goddess,” she says. That’s all it takes before your release spills out onto Wanda’s tongue as she licks it all up.

"Thank you Wanda," you say.

"Anything for you darling and I'm truly sorry for my behavior. I promise I'll be better." Wanda places a gentle kiss on your lips. which you reciprocate.

"It's alright, all is forgiven," you say.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of assault, mocking, face fucking, somnophilia, dacryphilia, dubcon.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, did you all see AO3 was down? I was distraught lmaooo wtf??? But it's back up now which means I can have my little night time stories again hehe. Reader has been working hard to get where she is and honestly? Slay. So here is the next chapter, I will say, things will be moving a lil quickly from here on out so buckle yourself up babes <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 81: A Council of Green

The dinner was uncomfortable for you all. Just as expected. 

You had gotten dressed for the evening with the help of Joanna and Amala, a black dress with red stitching and embroidery, hair half up, and half done in intricate braids with small rubies laid inside.

Aemond had been dressed in his usual black leathers again, the tunic buckling up high on his throat, but his hair was braided back and away from his face, half up, half down. 

Two halves of a whole.

You had walked together, anticipation strumming in your veins with every step you took towards the Great Hall with Aemond. Anxiety steadily building as you got closer, knowing that you would be in the presence of Aegon once again, and not only that, but his entire small council including the slimy Lord, Jason Lannister.

When you had arrived, you had been relatively on time. Most of the Lords arrived at the same time as you, with Alicent decked in her usual deep green. She had blinked at you oddly, as though she had not expected you to join, or that she had been told that you would not.

Though Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

Ser Otto Hightower however, did not even spare you a second glance, as though you were part of the furniture or one of their tacky Seven tapestries that defiled the castle walls.

Perhaps you were like a part of the furniture by now.

There, seen, and rarely heard.

When Aegon finally arrived, all having waited for him for a time, food already atop the table, he was flanked by Ser Cole, who announced his entrance to the Great Hall and the small council who joined as though they were not aware of who the pompous silver haired fool was already.

The wives of the Lords of the Small Council were also present, dressed conservatively in their House colours, bright blues and soft yellows and reds. When you had sat yourself down and looked amongst the long wooden table, you had attempted to gage the attention of the other women, hoping that perhaps you could make a friend. But none of the women turned to acknowledge you, avoiding your eye carefully.

The table was full tot he brim, and even the longer tables that flanked the sides of the Hall were full of men and women, servers and guards stationed about the sides of the room. There were even some lower Lords who were not a part of the council, but in charge of large plots of land or advantageous Houses and trades. 

It was, for the most part, a loud and joyous affair for them, or for all those except anyone who had witnessed the Prince and the King’s spat. Whenever Aegon’s eyes would graze over the two of you, landing on you in curiosity, the Maester or another Lord like Jasper Wylde, or even Otto Hightower would ask the King a question, speaking loudly to gain his attention. 

Like you would a child.

But whilst most eyes were not on you, you felt a pair beside the King’s short glances to be particularly burning. 

Jason Lannister sat at the end of the table, donned in his House colours of red and Gold, his blue eyes glued to you and Aemond. Beside him, an empty chair where his wife would have been.

"And where is your wife, Jason.” Aegon asked, noting the absence of the woman, and the presence of every other Lords.

“She sends her apologies that she could not join me in King’s Landing. She is recently with child, and well…” Jason intoned, a limacious smirk winding on his face, “You know how women get when they swell.” 

The Lords wives stayed quiet, some with small, shy smiles on their faces in mock agreement whilst the Lords half heartedly agreed, others more enthusiastically than others.

It made your skin feel alight. 

“And how do they get, Lannister?” Your voice carried across the table snidely before you could stop it. 

A knife scraped across a plate, and all eyes were on you. You could feel Aemond’s careful gaze on the side of your cheek as you stared at Jason. 

Prick. 

The sound of Aegon snickering caught your ears, and you fought to not turn and face him. 

The Lord pressed his tongue into his cheek as he looked at you, “Well, I am sure you will find out in due time.” He smiled, eyes flicking from you to Aemond. 

“Of course, but I’m asking you.” You smiled back falsely, reaching to take a sip from your wine primly. 

Jason laughed, and some of the other Lords laughed awkwardly with him, sensing the tension, “My wife,” He began, looking around the table, “Has a terrible craving for fried trout, and will burst to tears if she is without it. It goes without saying, her hysteria can be quite jarring.”

“Interesting.” You mused, placing the wine back down, “Perhaps she is not being adequately satisfied with other smaller meats.” You grinned. Aemond hummed in amusement beside you. 

Aegon bellowed, large hand slapping against the wood of the table jolting goblets and cutlery. The other Lord’s joined in with their King, seeing permission to laugh at your snide remark. Even Jason himself huffed out a laugh, though the smile did not reach his eyes, and his jaw was clenched tight. 

“My niece everyone.” Aegon boomed, “The sharpest of tongues and the tightest of cunts.”

The room burst into laughter again, some more nervous than others. Otto did not laugh nor smile, and Alicent glared at her son. Aemond inhaled sharply beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Ser Cole shift. 

"Aegon." Alicent warned beneath her breath, eyes darting from Aemond, to Ser Cole, and then back to Aegon.

“My brother is a lucky man.” Aegon hollered, raising his goblet up in mock toast. 

Aemond did not move, eyeing his brother down, anger radiating from him. 

It was perfect. 

You lifted your goblet to Aegon, toasting to yourself, before taking a deep sip, turning your head to Aemond, smiling. With a soft hand, you grasped his on the table, squeezing it twice. 

Aemond did not squeeze it back.

“That he is.” You smirked, head still turned to Aemond who slowly turned his gaze onto you. 

He was furious. 

Good. 

“And how is your son, My Lord?” You asked across the table, looking at Jason Lannister who’s face beamed with pride, “The last I remember was you offering his hand to me, not too long ago.”

Aemond took his hand away from yours and moved it under the table, gripping your thigh. 

“Loreon grows bigger by each day,” He grinned, “ A fine young Lord. He has his mothers eyes, but thankfully my hair. Can’t have a lion without its mane.” The Lord joked, and all chuckled with him. “Perhaps one day if you are to have a daughter, the Targaryen and Lannister Houses can be united.” He grinned. 

When the world is on fire, and I am long gone. 

The rest of the Lords moved to their own small conversations as you continued yours with Jason, feeling Aemond’s fingers dig meanly into the flesh of your thigh.

“Only if you were to build a Dragon Pit in Casterly rock. Our daughter will need to house her dragon there some day, and I expect I would come to visit.”

“You are welcome at the Golden Tooth whenever you please, Princess. We have the finest silk sheets, and the softest of beds.”

“I suppose I will have to see for myself if the riches of the Lannister House are truly what they are said to be.”

“If it is anything like the beauty of the Targaryen House is said to be, then you will find that the riches are just as spoken of.” He boasted and flirted. 

You had to bite your inner cheek from gasping as you felt Aemond’s hand bruise your leg meanly, his nails biting into your skin.

“You’d best watch yourself, Jason.” Aegon smirked, “Aemond looks ready to summon Vhagar.”

Jason paled, “My apologies, Your Grace. There were no ill intentions.”

“My husband is a possessive man and protective.” You intoned, turning your head to face Aemond whose eye was locked on Jason again, "Issa iā orvorta, ñuha dōna. Ao gīmigon iksan aōhon.” He is a cunt, my sweet. You know I am yours, You cooed sickly sweet, hand coming to brush against Aemond’s cheek.

Aegon burst into childish giggles, throwing his crowned head backwards against the high seat of his chair. Aemond’s jaw clenched. Whilst Jason cocked his head, not sure of what you had said and turned to join conversation with the other Lords. 

“Yn emā issare ñuhon tolī.” But you have been mine too, Aegon grinned, looking at you with bright violet eyes. 

Your heart leapt in your throat, bile rising in your mouth. 

“Daor ondoso iderennon.” Not by choice,You plastered a fake smile upon your lips, Aemond’s hand digging harder into your thigh as he straightened in his seat. 

To anyone else at the table, it looked as though the three of you were having a lighthearted conversation in your mother tongue. 

To the three of you, it was a stand off. 

“Kostan tepagon ao iā iderennon.” I may give you a choice, Aegon smirked, sipping his ale, “Aemond kostagon urnēbagon lo ziry jeldan.” Aemond may even watch if he wishes.

“Aemond iksis ñuha iderennon.” Aemond is my choice, You purred, sipping your wine, mirroring the King. You felt Aemond’s hand on your thigh loosen. 

Aegon rested his elbow upon the table lazily, sitting his chin in his palm as he looked at you both, “Sesīr hae ēza iā līve?” Even as he has a whore?

Anger bubbled up inside of you. You ground your teeth together and pushed out a false laugh, far too high to be believable, Alicent’s eyes darting to you with her brows drawn.

“Sesīr pār.” Even then. 

“Lēkia, emā zirȳla orvorta qilōny.” Brother, you have her cock whipped, Aegon smirked. 

Aemond hummed lowly, “Issa iā sȳz ābrazȳrys.” She is a good wife.

You almost beamed at the praise. You picked up your goblet to stop yourself from smiling, bringing the cup to your lips to sip at the honeyed Essos wine.

“Ivestragon nyke, qilōni's orvorta iksis rōvykta?” Tell me, who's cock is bigger? Aegon asked, and you spluttered your wine, inhaling it and coughing into your palm. 

The urge to dive across the table and force a knife between his eyes grew larger. 

You stayed quiet, sipping the wine again to settle the tickling burn in the back of your throat, and the rising anger that continued to mount within. Words fought in your chest to fly from your lips, but you swallowed them.

“Aōha lykemagon vestras nyke.” Your silence says me.

“Ñuha āeksio valzȳrys’.” My Lord Husbands, You smiled, wishing to sink your teeth into his throat, biting through the tendons and flesh, and ripping your head backwards, tearing the flesh away and watching his blood spurt out. 

Aegon ignored his Small Council, Lords and Ladies who had travelled from all over the realm to dine with him, and enjoyed the small time given to direct snide remarks to Aemond without the chastising of his mother. 

“Ao gīmigon lēkia, eman ryptan mirri sȳz udir hen Harrenhal.” You know brother, I have heard some good news from Harrenhal.

Aemond stilled.

The King grinned, teeth and gums being revealed by his lips pulling back, “Ēza Aemond ivestretan ao?” Has Aemond told you?

“Nyke gīmigon iksā nūmāzma naejot.” I know you’re about to, You snipped.

“Ah, ēza daor. Sȳrī,” Ah, he hasn’t. Well, Aegon smirked, leaning forward, “Gaomagon ao remember bona witch isse Harrenhal?” Do you remember that witch in Harrenhal? He tapped his chin in mock thought. 

He knew who she was.

“Alys?” He continued.

Alicent’s head snapped to her son, eyes darting back and forth at the sound of her name. Your heart raced against your chest, heat rising to your cheeks. 

How could you forget? 

“Hen rhinka.” Of course, You said dully, swirling your wine in your hand as you tried to not give him any satisfaction as rage bubbled inside of you.

Not only at the King, but at your husband.

“Ñuha lēkia ēza issare working qopsa, pār emā daor given zirȳla iā dārilaros.” My brother has been working hard, since you have not given him an heir.

An heir. 

“Aegon.” Aemond warned, jaw set in a stiff line.

“Skoros? Kostagon nyke daor biarvī manaeragon ñuha lēkia becoming vala? Iā kepa?” What? Can I not celebrate my brother becoming a man? A father?

Your blood ran cold, and fire licked at your face.

“Kepa?” Father? You seethed, teeth showing, smile faltering on your lips.

“Oh yes, Alys iksis lēda riña.” Alys is with child, Aegon grinned.

With child.

With child.

You saw red.

“Alys iksis lēda riña.” You parroted, tying to collect yourself as you thought of driving your fist into Aemond’s sapphire eye.

With child. 

Alys was pregnant. 

“Y/n-“ Aemond began.

“Aemond,” You interrupted him, turning your face to look at your husband, face cool, “Rijes aōt issi isse jorrāelatan. Kostilus, jikagon ñuha udir naejot aōha līve.” Congratulations are in order. Please send my word to your whore.

Aegon guffawed, eyes bouncing between the two of you. Aemond stared at you with a sallow face, your own carefully schooled.

You were enraged.

Your hand around your goblet tightened, nails reaching around the cool metal to dip into your palm as you desperately tried to use it to ground yourself. 

“Bisa iksis daor skorkydoso-“ This is not ho-

“Valzȳrys,” Husband, You smiled joylessly, all teeth, “Ivestragī īlva daor ȳdragon hen aōha nādrēsy’s.” Let us not talk of your bastards.

“Kostilus īlon should maghagon-“ Perhaps we should bring-, Aegon began.

“Aōha Valyrīha jorrāelagon mirre.” Your Valyrian needs work, You snipped, mock toasting your wine to him again, small droplets falling from the rim to the table below at the force of your thrust, barely contained anger spilling over. 

You let your eye trail over the King, his crown atop his head, wavy silver hair peaking beneath it, a small blush on his cheeks from the ale. 

You were furious. 

You were enraged. 

You wished to hurt Aemond. 

"Sir bona nyke pendagon hen ziry, iksā qumblie.” Now that I think of it, you are thicker, You mused, eyes quickly dropping to Aegon’s waist before back up at his face.

You reached to grasp the decanter from in front of you to refill your wine which disappeared at a rapid rate, and Aemond’s hand shot out, grasping your wrist tightly. The rest of the tables eyes flitted to the sharp movement. You snatched your hand away from him, not even sparing the man a glance as you continued to refill your wine. 

"Konīr's bona ēngos,”There's that tongue, Aegon chuckled, smiling at you appreciatively, his eyes grazing down your body, "Nyke gīmigon iā sȳrkta gaomagon syt ziry.” I know a better use for it.

"Ȳdra daor.” Don’t, Aemond finally spoke, voice low and rough, hand returning to your thigh where he dug his fingers into it again, possessively and angrily.

Aegon giggled, excited that he had finally gotten Aemond to react, the unfinished fight between them simmering to almost a boiling point. “Nyke gōntan daor jiōragon naejot sylugon ziry.” I didn’t get to try it, Aegon pouted.

“Se kesā daor.” And you won’t, You purred, sipping your wine, “Yn ñuha valzȳrys gaomas.” But my husband does.

Aemond’s grip on your thigh tightened again, and you watched as he grabbed his goblet of wine and drank deeply from it.

"Kostilus kesan mirri tubis.” Perhaps I will some day, Aegon mused, pouting his lips at you as he fought off a grin. 

You steeled yourself for what you were about to do, swallowing thickly as you looked Aegon in the eyes.

“Kostilus.” Perhaps.

The conversation had ended there, and Aegon had smirked, eyes half hooded as he looked at you. Alicent did not take her gaze from the three of you before you excused yourself, stating that you were tired and wished to leave your husband to his duties and fellow Lords for the rest of the evening. 

You had pried Aemond’s hand from your thigh and bowed to Aegon and the other Lord’s, reminding Jason Lannister that he should begin preparing a Dragon Pit for Casterly Rock, to which he grinned in response. Aemond’s heated gaze followed you as you left the Great Hall, walking back to your chambers alone. 

You arrived in your chambers and laughed loudly, furious at the news of Alys.

She was pregnant.

She was pregnant and he had not told you.

She was a greater risk to you now than before. You picked up a goblet at the side table and filled it with wine, already tipsy from the night, tossing its contents back down your throat. 

But Aemond’s reaction at dinner was another thing all together. 

It worked. 

Your last lingering comment to Aegon, a small, ‘Perhaps', left the One-Eyed Prince reeling in his head, his hand not once undigging itself from your thighs. Even Jason Lannister unburdened flirting that evening had helped you along tremendously. 

You had filled your goblet with wine once more, sitting in Aemond’s armchair, drinking slowly as you thought of the evening. Of the way his anger rose off of him in heated waves, the way he had become possessive of you with Jason. The way he scowled at his brother. 

He was beginning to resent them all.

The door to the chambers slammed open, and the storming footfall of Aemond caused you to lazily turn your head to look at him. 

He was irate.

“You seek to humiliate me in front of the council? In front of the King, flirting like a whore?” He sneered, marching over to you as he yanked you up from his chair, the goblet of wine tumbling from your fingers to the stone floor below, the red alcohol spilling across the tiles like blood. 

“And what of you? What of your whoring? Your bastard is pregnant.” You retorted, lips pulling back to bare your teeth. 

“She gave me an heir long before you did.”

You hand slapped across his cheek, Aemond’s head turning to the side. 

“You disgust me.” You spat.

A shadow crossed Aemond’s face.

Your knees hit the harsh stone floors before your brain could catch up, Aemond’s large hands jarring you down by your shoulders. His eye crazed. 

“You want to act like a whore, I will treat you like a whore.”

You tipped your chin up to look at him and smiled meanly, “Like Alys?”

“I told you, I did not see her.” He growled at you, hand gripping the side of your hair as he tugged your head. 

“I don’t believe you.” You sneered.

Aemond’s hand moved to the front of his breeches and began to tug at the strings, impatiently ripping them open in front of your face. 

A warmth spread within you. 

He was so angry. 

So on edge. 

It had worked.

It was working.

Aemond finally undid the last of his ties and yanked his pants over his ass, pulling his cock out of the confines of his breeches. You looked up at him defiantly as he began to stroke himself in his hand, slowly getting hard. 

“Having trouble?” You mocked, watching as he frowned down at you.

“Cunt.” He swore, before grabbing the back of your head roughly and tugging you towards his length.

“Open.” He barked, and you obeyed, keeping your eyes on him as he slid his length cruelly down the back of your throat in one rough push.

You gagged around him, tears prickling your eyes.

“Much better when you can’t talk.” He grunted, holding you down on him, the light curls at his base tickling your nose.

Aemond roughly pulled you back off of him by your hair, a spluttering cough escaping your lips as you sucked in a lungful of air. 

“I should have his head for that. Who does he think he is?” Aemond growled, pulling you back on his length, saliva dripping from your lips onto the stone below. 

Your knees ached as he began to thrust into your face harshly, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you breathed through your nose, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Fucking Lannister scum. A Dragon Pit?” He grunted, using both hands to pull your mouth up and down his length, “He thinks he could fuck you? He thinks he could please you? Silk sheets? Is that what you want? You want fucking silk sheets?”

You gagged loudly as he pushed himself all the way in, holding your head down on him as he shook you with your hair, causing his cock to beat against your gag reflex.

“Stupid cunt. None of them could give you what I do. None of them could fuck you the way I do.” He continued, and you squirmed on the spot, bringing your hands up to his thighs to hold on for balance.

Aemond’s hands slapped yours away, “No. I didn’t say you could touch me.”

You dropped your arms, digging your fingers into your thighs as he continued. 

“I am the only man for you. You are my wife.” Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust. 

Warm heat settled in your gut as you hummed around him, curling your tongue up against the underside of his cock. Aemond moaned, letting go of one side of your head to brush hair away from your cheeks.

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, He praised, framing your jaw with one hand, “Such a good little whore.”

Your core clenched around nothing and you shut your eyes, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache that steadily began to rise in you.

“Aegon is a cunt." The Prince growled, "A depraved, pathetic excuse for a man. Do you think he could please you?” He grunted.

You did not want to think of Aegon.

You squeezed your eyes tight.

“A useless King,” Aemond continued, thrusts becoming harsh again, “Can't even perform his own duties. Has me do them. Has me fly about the realm when he has Sunfyre and does not ride him.” Another growl, his length heavy on your tongue, you could feel every vein and ridge. 

“Mother should have put me in line for the throne. We had to search the Silk Lanes for him when father died.” The wet sound of your mouth filled the room with Aemond’s complaints. “I hate him.”

I hate him.

Hate.

You sucked at Aemond’s length harder, a whine falling from this lips.

Rewarding him.

It spurred him on. 

“He should beg for my mercy. Should have me rule.” 

Delight sparked within you. 

You curled your tongue up against the underside of his shaft, pressing the wet muscle against him as his thrusts became sloppier, thick strands of saliva hanging from your lips as he continued, the front of your dress and the stone floors below wet with it.

“Fucking pathetic.”

You hummed in agreement, opening your eyes to look up at him. Aemond looked down at you watching the way his cock disappeared into your lips. A groan falling from his mouth as you caught his gaze.

“He could never have you. He does not deserve you. He is not worthy.” His tip hit the back of your throat, “Not worthy of your perfect cunt.” 

You moaned around his length.

“Not worthy of the throne.”

Thrust.

“Not worthy of life.”

Thrust. 

You suck sharply on him as his thrusts grow sloppy, his mouth slackened as he breathed heavily, hands holding your head still as he chased his peak. You fought against your gags, tears moving down your face as you continued to squirm from your spot on the tiles. 

It turned you on. 

“Fuck.” Aemond moaned, pushing himself as deep as he could go.

His hot seed burst down your throat, causing you to cough and gag on his length as he moaned above you, holding you down on it with no escape. Each pump of his seed coating your mouth and tongue. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke.” So good for me, “Vok byka ābrazȳrys.” Perfect little wife.

Aemond pulled himself from your lips, and a sharp inhale sucked air into your lungs as you coughed, swallowing what was left of his seed. The Prince’s hand moved to the side of your jaw stroking it as he looked down at you, thumb swiping up the seed that had escaped from the side of your mouth. Aemond rubbed it over your lips as he looked at you, your knees aching in protest.

“Filthy.” He purred.

Aemond bent down and pulled you up. The Prince took you to bed before hardening again, fucking his seed deep inside of you in the hour of the owl. You had whined and moaned, and he had fucked you roughly against the soft sheets, growling about his brother, about Jason, about the throne. 

And you had encouraged it. 

As the ebbs of your third release left your body, you found yourself boneless in the bed beneath Aemond, who crawled down the length of your body, planting insatiable kisses against your sensitive skin. 

“I am falling to sleep.” You had argued, trying to pull him up and away from your core, where his tongue darted between your folds. 

“Then sleep.” He uttered, “Let me enjoy the pleasures of my wife.” 

His tongue was soft and gentle, pressing soothing kisses to your core as you felt your eyes flutter shut, fatigue dragging you down into the depths of sleep.

You woke some time later to the familiar stretch of Aemond’s cock moving through you. You had groaned, blinking in the dark up at Aemond he pushed himself inside of you.

“Wha-“

“Shh. Go back to sleep.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[mandaloriandragontrainer]

So I wrote this in October 2022, before season 4, but never finished it. It doesn’t really align with canon anymore, and it’s just been sitting in my drafts unfinished. I didn’t want to delete, and I don’t want to finish it, so here it is.

TW: Childbirth

“Please sit down, Your Highness. Your worrying is not helping the princess.”

Callum wiped the sweat from his brow, barely acknowledging Opeli’s suggestion as she brushed by him into the bedroom. He attempted to follow her, only to have the door promptly shut in his face.

“She’s in the best possible hands, Callum,” Ezran assured. He moved the aging glowtoad asleep on the red velvet couch beside him onto his lap, gesturing for Callum to sit. “Everything is going to be all right.”

Callum glanced at his king, who offered him a sympathetic smile. Ezran had excused himself from the court hours ago, ready to stand vigil at his brother’s side. At sixteen, he was already taller than Callum, and far more composed and mature than the brooding mess his elder brother had been at that age.

“I know, I know, it’s just…. stuff can happen, stuff they can’t do anything about, and…” Callum bit his lip and resumed pacing, as he’d been since the moment Rayla was whisked from his sight, wearing a path into the plush carpet of the suite’s sitting room. It was impossible not to worry. His wife, his princess, was the love of his life, his everything, and even with the most skilled of assistance, women still died in childbirth. He remembered a classmate whose mother had died delivering his baby sister. Though the memories were vague (he only went to school for one year after all, educated only by private tutors once his mother wed the king), he would always remember the empty, reddened eyes of his playmate’s father each day when he came to collect his son from the schoolhouse. It was if he would never stop crying. Callum then became convinced the same would happen to Sarai, and howled for hours into Harrow’s tunic when the time came for Ezran to arrive.

He fancied himself more rational now, of course, but the fear remained. Ezran had summoned the most skilled midwives from throughout the Pentarchy to attend his sister-in-law’s labor, joined by several women from the Silvergrove, including Rayla’s own mother. Callum knew a more capable team couldn’t possibly exist than the one aiding his wife. But none of them had ever delivered a halfling child.

Rayla’s pregnancy had been smooth, for the most part. They’d scarcely been married three months when Rayla began to awake sick to her stomach, rousing Callum as she hurried to the bathroom despite her best efforts to remain discrete. He would kneel beside her, gently holding back her silver hair as she hunched over the chamber pot. He insisted his Rayla see the palace physician, and after several miserable mornings spent on the cold marble floor, she relented. Callum shared with the doctor his theory that some elf-hating kitchen worker was poisoning his new bride’s food, and nearly collapsed when the woman instead laughed warmly and informed the couple that the princess was not only perfectly well, she was with child. It was the happiest and most terrifying moment of their lives. They were both so young, still learning to live as husband and wife, and now they were about to be parents. They cried together, both in fear and utter joy, and immediately began squabbling over names.

As far as the doctors and midwives could tell, the baby was growing healthy and strong, and Rayla seemed her usual vibrant self. But no one really knew what to expect. Neglecting his high mage duties, Callum spent many long hours in the royal library, scouring for information on halflings. Surely such children existed, but records were few and far between, and those that did exist spoke either of wretched abominations forsaken by humanity and the arcanums alike or of pitiful little waifs born too soon and dead before their first sunrise. He sought out information from many in the humans kingdoms and Xadia alike, to little success. A Skywing mercenary told him that he once traveled alongside an Earthblood companion with rounded ears and small horns, clumsily attributed to a poor diet as a youngster. An elderly shopkeeper from the Del Bar capital city recalled an infant born in her girlhood village, with four fingers and pale blue skin. The townsfolk shunned mother and baby, and both passed away during the winter. The story made Callum sick, and he felt useless to his wife and unborn child.

He’d scarely left Rayla’s side for the past week, except for when she ordered him out of the room because couldn’t he hear how annoying his breathing was? But elf pregnancies last eight months, humans nine, and she was right in between the two. There was no way he was leaving her when she could labor at any moment.

She’d woken him early that morning, just after the sun rose, grabbing his arm and whispering that something felt different.

“Different like… you want the moon berries inside the jelly tart this time?” he mumbled sleepily. Barius may well bludgeon him to death with his rolling pin if he bothered him again about the consistency of his crusts making Rayla nauseous.

“No, ye’ big dummy,” her violet eyes were big and excited and a touch frightened. “Different like… I think I’m havin’ the baby today.”

Callum shot up right, flinging the duvet onto the floor. “Wait, really? Right now? You’re sure? Okay, don’t panic, you stay right here, I—I’ll go get the doctor! It’s gonna be okay!”

He sprinted out the door, before scrambling back in and planting an enormous kiss on his wife’s forehead. “I love you!” Rayla could only shake her head as he charged back into the hallway, screaming for a maid.

That had been hours ago.

The couple spent the morning in the kitchen with Ezran, munching on pastries and fresh moonberries, before roaming the long palace corridors, Rayla holding Callum’s arm as she walked through the cramps. After her waters came away, her midwifes settled her in her bedchamber, and the pains began in earnest.

At first, the midwives allowed Callum to stay with her. He rubbed Rayla’s back, wiped her forehead with a cool cloth, lifted a glass of water to her lips—before spilling it all over her thanks to his shaking hands. She was in good spirits, all things considered. Certainly handling the whole ordeal better than he was.

“Would ya quit your frettin,’ ya big oaf,” she’d scolded fondly after he apologized for the tenth time over spilling the drink. “Ya’d think you were the one laborin’ with how badly you’re sweatin.’”

The pangs intensified in the afternoon, and Callum found himself wanting to cry at the sight of Rayla’s face, pinched and contorted with pain as she bravely breathed through it. Once the pains came consistently every few minutes, the head midwife checked her and, with a stern expression, ordered Callum from the chamber.

“It isn’t personal, Prince Callum,” Opeli assured with a kind smile as she guided him into the sitting room. “It’s simply the way things are done. King Harrow was not with your mother when Ezran was born either.”

“I know,” Callum stole one last look at his princess, recalling how he clung to his stepfather with all the strength in his little hands as he listened to his mother’s howls echo through the palace halls. “But… but he wanted to, didn’t he?”

Opeli smiled again. “You are like him in many ways.”

It seemed like an eternity had passed since Callum was shut outside the door. Except for Opeli checking in, and the occasional maid fetching fresh supplies, no one had left the room.

A pained grunt from within the bedchamber sent Callum to the door yet again. “Is everything all right?? Rayla, are you okay!?”

A young Moonshadow woman answered a few moments later, shooting the prince a dirty look. “You’re disturbin’ your wife.”

“She—she’s in pain. I just need to know she’s okay. Just—just let me check on her.”

“Childbirth is painful, Highness. She’s doin’ fine. Now sit back down, we’ll let ya know when your bairn arrives.”

Ezran stood up to put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “She’s okay, Callum. You know how strong she is. And if something goes wrong, they’ll know what to do.”

Another cry tore through the room, and Callum felt the young king’s grip tighten, a flash of fear in his wide blue eyes. A stab of guilt prodded at his heart. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the kid was only sixteen. His little brother. It was Callum’s job to be strong for him.

“Hey… you’re right…” he smiled weakly, returning Ezran’s embrace and internally scolding himself for acting like a fool in front of his brother. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ezran dropped his head down to Callum’s shoulder. “You love her so much. I know it’s awful to hear her in pain and not be able to do anything about it.”

Callum straightened the boy’s crown and repeated the mantra he’d be telling himself all day. “It’ll be over soon.”

Staying strong for Ezran lasted all of ten minutes. Rayla’s moans grew to agonized wails, so long and miserable that Callum feared she wasn’t even able to get in a breath.

“Callum… are you okay?” Ezran asked softly, lightly touching his brother’s hand. Even Bait appeared concerned, his skin a purplish green. It was then Callum realized he had tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I’ve—I’ve never heard her… scream like that before…” the mage’s voice wobbled, his throat thick. “It sounds like… like she’s—”

“Oh, Callum! Help me!”

Before Ezran could react, Callum was on his feet, nearly throwing the door off its hinges. “Rayla!” Two maids and the stern-faced Moonshadow woman hurried to stop him, almost knocked to the floor by the frantic young man.

“Callum, please, where are you!?” Rayla sobbed. “It hurts… Callum, it hurts!”

“Your Highness, you cannot be in here!” Opeli rushed to help the other women evict Callum from chambers.

“What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, fighting to reach his wife’s side.

“Callum!” Rayla gasped, her eyes finally locking with his. Her face was flushed and streaked with tears, eyes wild with pain. The thin white nightgown that usually hung so loosely around her nimble frame now clung to her skin, soaked through with sweat. But what scared Callum the most was the blood that stained the sheets around her legs. “Callum, help me!”

“Rayla!”

“Out. Now!”

“Callum, no! Come back, please!”

“No, wait—!” Callum grasped at his hair as the door was once again slammed in his face while his princess continued to scream his name.

“I’m coming, Rayla!” Pausing for a moment, Callum suddenly threw off his outer cloak and charged for the stairwell.

“Callum—”

“Stay there, Ez!”

The high mage barreled down the stairs and into the hallway, narrowly avoiding several collisions with mystified staff members, before sprinting across the inner courtyard to the base of the wide tower holding his study and personal chambers. Even so far below, he could hear his wife's cries, but now her ragged voice offered a glimmer of hope. The sight of the drapes flicking out above him in the evening breeze confirmed his suspicion.

The window was open.

"Manus. Pluma. Volantis."

It took only two powerful strokes to launch Callum up the full height of the tower. Tucking his wings to his side, the prince skillfully swooped into the bedchamber, striking them out again to balance himself as he landed on one knee, his sudden entrance prompting startled shrieks from at least half of Rayla's attendants.

"What is the meaning of this!?" the lead midwife gasped indignantly.

"Callum!" Rayla screamed, reaching out toward her husband. "Callum, ya came!"

In an instant, Callum was at his wife's side, clutching her hand and pressing kisses to her temple. "I'm here, love, I'm here... it's okay, I've got you..."

The midwife attempted to speak. "Prince Callum—"

"Ach, just let him stay, for pity's sake!" Tiadrin barked from her vigil at the opposite side of Rayla's bed, venom in her glare. "Muh poor lass is sufferin' enough without ya draggin' her husband away like a criminal!"

The woman swallowed and glanced back at Opeli, who only shook her head permissively. "Very well. His Highness may stay with the princess so long as he does not interfere with our work."

"I won’t, I swear. I just need to be here with her."

"Oh Callum," Rayla whimpered, a sob escaping her as she gripped his hand with all her strength. "I can't do it, Callum, I—I'm so tired, I think—I think I'm goin' tae die..."

"Shhhh... you're not gonna die, love, you're doing such a good job," Callum assured, tucking a loose strand of her shimmering silver hair behind her ear. "Just hang on a bit longer. It's almost done."

"Baby's head is nearly born, my lady," the midwife announced. "I need you to push with this next pang."

"Callum, I can't!" Rayla bawled, collapsing back against her pillow. "I can't!"

"Yes, yes you can, Rayla! I know you can!" Callum wrapped an arm around her shoulders and helped her upright, squeezing her hand as if he could share his strength with her. "You're so close, Rayla!"

The princess screamed as the pain ripped through her body, bracing down and grasping her husband's hand.

"The head is born, my lady! One more push with the next pain, and your baby will be here."

"You hear that, my love?" Callum kissed Rayla's hand. "Just one more. You're so close." She could only sob in response, turning her head against him and gasping for breath.

"Push, princess!"

[the-grey-hunt]

i was encouraged for two seconds and now you all get to look at medieval ghost trick—heavily based on the medieval AU by @theriveroflight!

MORE WORDS BELOW THE CUT:

im gonna talk about each outfit specifically because again, someone encouraged me for 2 seconds and i love talking

YOMIEL (and SISSEL): Sissel gets a little medieval hood instead of a plain kerchief, because it's adorable.

Yomiel's outfit is based on this gentleman here, but with a longer doublet to mimic his suit jacket. His red clothes are plain and a common color, but the richness of the color (from an early dye batch) indicates that it's probably a bit expensive, and the rich black collar and blindfold (because sunglasses didn't exist) are also some flashy signifiers of wealth.

The white leather of his shoes and belt would also be pretty showy (even if those white shoes are a bad idea in medieval mud...). I couldn't figure out a way to make the hat work, but I kinda wanted to.

CABANELA: As a knight, Cabanela not only has some flashy white leather for his belt, but he's wearing a full-length chainmail shirt (expensive!) AND a deep black skirted tunic—lots of fabric that would take LOTS of expensive dye. This is conspicuous consumption to the max, showing off his status (indicated by his silver chain and pendant) as a royal knight.

His sword doesn't quite seem to match...as it's not his, but Jowd's old sword, still bearing Jowd's family's crest. Cabanela's outfit is taken from these two 12th/13th c. knights.

LYNNE: A younger and less established knight than Cabanela, she's wearing more common colors (red, blue, yellow) from cheaper dyes, and her armor is based on this 9th/10th c. fellow. Older gear and much less flashy—she has plain brown leather accessories—but she bears the green ribbon favor that shows her commitment to Jowd's case.

Plus, her hose (pants) are a pretty deep blue and her armor is polished. She's taking good care of her handmedown gear and has made a few splurges on clothes! Her sword may not have a crest, but there's still a few jewels set in the hilt, befitting a royal knight.

KAMILA (and MISSILE):

Kamila as a young noblewoman is referenced from this statue of a French queen. Her veil and circlet are typical for medieval women—most wore some kind of hair covering—but her circlet is metal, while most ordinary people would use fabric. I'm very proud of how nice all the gilding turned out. The power of shading!

Her little purse is not only expensive, but a royal favor—it's silk dyed Tyrian purple, a color that was often legally banned for anyone not in the royal family. I imagine it's a gift from her friend, Princess Amelie! Her clothes are pretty plain, light colors for a noblewoman, which is probably a matter of taste and/or youth.

The pose she's in, holding her cloak fastening down so it doesn't pull against her throat, is very common in medieval artwork of the period where this type of sash fastening was common.

Missile is Missile. you can't improve on perfection XD. I have given him a green collar, in a style to match Kamila's fancy gilt belt.

JOWD:

Jowd is dressed in his "prison clothes", this rough brown friar's robe and rope belt that I copied the pose from as well. However, being brought back onto the case as a knight, he's recovered his old green "coat", a very nice garment called a gardcorps. It's a simple green, not too expensive, but it's lined in a contrasting white, showing the care put into its make.

I switched the opening on his gardcorps to the front, rather than the side as in the original illustration, so that the rope belt would be visible because I really liked the belt. It's got most of the "penitent" vibes I was trying to give Jowd. Also, like the friar, he is barefoot (prison does not give one a big clothes budget).

The background shows the city, like the original green-monochrome city skyline from the game's promo images. This city, however, has fewer and smaller lights, indicating the palace and the castle wall—and over the sea, the Viking longships of Sith's country are swarming in! (it's explicitly not longships in the fic I reference, but the Vikings are just too suitable a reference)

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Hiii can u write part 2 about Maegor when the stepson is older and again like Aemond he became a amazing warrior. His father family can to petition Maegor about something and reader ia there with her new kids ans her son. Her ex husband family is panicking when the son calm Maegor father and because he doesn’t use an eye patch. There’s a ruby in the place of the eye he lost. He’s basically a mini Maegor without write hair. His mother and stepfather’s are proud.

A/N: I hope you like this!

pairing: Fanon!Maegor Targaryen x Reader

summary: Maegor when the stepson is older and again like Aemond he became an amazing warrior. His father's family came to petition in front of Maegor about something and reader is there with her new kids and her son. Her ex husband's family is panicking when the son calls Maegor father and because he doesn’t use an eye patch. There’s a ruby in the place of the eye he lost. He’s basically a mini Maegor without white hair. His mother and stepfather are proud.

Word count: 1,5K

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Garvey hissed moving out of the way before the sword could hurt him and deflected it easily with his dagger. His right hand adorned with a sword and his left with a dagger. As usual a crowd had formed around him and his personal guard to watch them spar, a friendly daily occurrence, sometimes you came to watch him along with his siblings and sometimes you his stepfather decided to join. This day however you both were busy preparing for a petition, his old family the Grey family was coming soon. Garvey was twenty and six now, at the hight of his strength.

His older brothers who were twins were fighting over lands and the title of Lord, again. Garvey raised his foot and kicked his guard in the chest sending him on his back powerless and moved to place his sword at the guard's neck and his dagger over his stomach.

"I yield" The guard called, two words Garvey had heard from the same man every single day for the passed three or so years. Garvey smirked and moved to stand up straight and helped the guard up.

The crowd around them exploded into applause for him. The Grey that was raised among dragons. His hair was long enough to reach his shoulder but he tied the front of it back to show his face, to show his scar like his stepfather told him to do, show it proudly. Maegor had gifted him a ruby to place in place of his eye and now he had one grey eye and one red eye.

His remaining eye paused when the gates opened and two wagon houses rolled in with the flags of house Grey waving in the wind. Garvey turned to his sister Maena who was ten and six, the only one of his siblings to have showed up that day to watch him, not surprising considering the fact that they were in love and in the process of convincing his mother and her father to let them marry instead of marrying her to her younger brother Aegon. She gave him a small smile and moved to wrap her arm around his.

"Come brother, you must wash before the petition" She scolded. he obeyed and let her pull him away from the crowd and into the Red Keep again.

Garvey bathed quickly and changed to wear the clothes you probably sent for him, black trousers with a red tunic to top it, the colours of house Targaryen. When he stepped into the throne he was announced by one of the guards.

"Lord Garvey of house Targaryen and Mormont" The entire Grey family whipped around to look at him, he was announced by the last name of his stepfather and his mother, your last name, Mormont, it was unheard of to be announced by the house name of the mother.

Maegor smirked watching their reactions atop his throne of swords and turned to look at you. You were glaring at your old stepdaughter whose son was the one to maim your son but when Garvey stepped in your face morphed into a proud smile watching him strut closer to the throne. The Grey family moved to the sides forming a walkway for him leading to the throne, some of the women gasped in horror at the sight of the scar and missis eye uncovered and instead a ruby in its place. Garvey bowed to Maegor before moving to stand by your side.

Maena snicked by Maegor's other side at their reactions. Maegor face softened when he looked at her admiring Garvey and him smiling back at her from the other side. Aegon who was only ten and two, the age where he despised his older sister and thought all girls disgusting. Beside Aegon stood your third child from Maegor and the last, a little son of five namedays who was called Viserys.

"You're late, Garvey" Maegor scolded, however his tone was light and made Garvey raise a teasing eyebrow.

"Apologies, father" Garvey's heart fluttered with joy at the horrified gasps.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dannis, the oldest of the twins hissed glaring up at the king.

"Why is our brother calling your grace father? Disrespectful shit needs to be punished, your grace, we apologise for our uneducated brother" Laina, his sister scrambled to say, trying to get on the good graces of Maegor. The sister who taught her son that what he did ti Garvey was okey because he was weak. Maegor burst out laughing much to their shock. You giggled behind your hand.

"No one will touch my son, Lady Laina, Garvey is the son I did not father but raised and soon he will be the husband of my eldest and heir, Maena" Maegor gestured to Maena. She gasped turning to look at her father as if awaiting him to say that it was a joke but he did not. You winced a little finding this queer but did not spoke up, your children loved each other and the King himself betrothed them, you had no say in the matter so you chose to ignore the fact that they were siblings and was happy for them.

"An honour, your grace" Laina stumbled a little. Her son's eyes were wide looking around before settling on Maena, that fucker. Garvey's fists clenched when he noticed who that little shit was looking.

"But wouldn't my son, Randar, be a better match? he is whole after all" Laina pushed her son closer to the throne. Your hand snapped to Maegor's shoulder squeezing it tightly, furry build into your form when she dared to look at you and smirk.

"Lady Laina, it would do you well to learn your place. Slandering my wife's first born will end with your head on a spike!" Maegor yelled, slamming his hand down on the metal handle of the throne, one of the rings on his fingers hitting the metal harder than the rest letting the sound of metal echo around the room. "His lost eye does not make him any less of a man"

"Garvey" Your calm voice followed Maegor's loud and booming voice. You took a step forward letting your hand slide down Maegor's arm and let him hold your hand instead. Garvey turned to look at you instead of glaring at his sister.

"Do tell me son, when was the last time you lost a fight either in the training yard or at a tourney?" You asked, calm on the outside but fuming on the inside and Maegor knew from the deathly grip you had on his hand but he did not mention it, he never complained and instead always said he was too strong to fell pain from it.

"Three years ago mother" Garvey answered, a smirk returned to his face. You smiled proudly and turned to look at Randar.

"When was the last time you won a tourney?" You asked. Maegor smirked noticing the change in the question.

"Never" Randar mumbled ashamed. Laina wanted to jump at you and kill you in your spot but you were queen now, she could not do that.

"In that case who is the better match husband? One who never looses a fight and can protect our daughter or one that never one a fight and probably would push our daughter in face of danger to save himself?" You asked turning to Maegor. He raised your intertwined hands and placed a kiss on one of the rings he had gifted you, it was a ruby in the middle of a gold band, a ruby of the same colour of Garvey's eye.

"I think there is no comparison, sweet wife" Maegor answered. Garvey looked down at Randar who huffed annoyed, rolling his eyes. That broke Garvey's control and made him pull out his dagger stalking over to his nephew and pulled him closer by the collar with the dagger to his throat.

"You dare roll your eyes at your king?" Randar's eyes widened in shock. Laina tried prying Garvey off her son but her strength was nowhere near his.

"Garvey, let the fool go, he is not worth your energy" Maena called from beside her father. Garvey sighed feeling weakened by her voice alone. He closed his remaining eyes to compose himself before pushing his nephew off making hims tumble and fall on his behind. Randar was horrified to find that Garvey's maimed eye did not close and remained open.

"Now back to your petition, Lords Dannis, Laroy" Maegor ended the argument turning to the order brothers who were silent the entire time. Probably the smartest decision they have ever made in their lives.

"Your grace" Laroy shakily stepped to the middle so he could petition for himself. Garvey put away his dagger before moving to stand by Maena instead of his mother this time. Maena reached between them to grab his hand in her own, he maybe older than her by ten namedays but she was the one with the more patience and the one to anchor him.

[scriptorsapiens]

Classicstober Day 13: Arachne (𐀀𐀨𐀏𐀕)

Arachne was a mortal woman and a weaver beyond compare. She claimed that her skill surpassed even the gods'. An old woman warned her in a cracked voice:

"Be careful what you say, child; the gods loathe hybris."

"I'm not afraid of the gods. Even if Athena, goddess of weaving herself, appeared before me I know I can make a better tapestry than her!"

Arachne clearly had no idea she was living in Bronze Age Greece, because when an elder warns you about the ways of the divine it is ALWAYS a god in disguise.

Long story short, she is the reason spiders can weave so well.

Those of you who know me, and those of you who take the time to read these 'behind the scenes' things know that I do lots of research, but sometimes there just are no resources for me to draw on. Case in point, we know that the Mycenaeans had looms like the one I depict here, but as far as I know no Mycenaean tapestry has been preserved. This is not unexpected, since perishables like cloth can't really survive 3000 years without lots of luck and/or intentional preservation, but it also left me with a question of how Arachne's tapestries might have looked.

While we have some preserved Mycenaean and Minoan frescoes, I decided to not really draw from those for Arachne's tapestry. Her art was supposed to be breathtakingly realistic, so I opted from a more naturalistic, if a mite stylized, rendering of a woman. Perhaps a little anachronistic, but Arachne was a prodigy.

Speaking of which, Arachne is wearing a typical Mycenaean skirt and tunic but this piece finally gave me a good chance to show off Mycenaean makeup. Women, when depicted in Minoan and Mycenaean art, are often very pale and sometimes their faces are decorated with red florets on the forehead and cheeks. Arachne is not royal, but she is incredibly proud. Therefore I decided she would powder her face and rouge her lips, almost making herself look royal. The florets are just dots on her face, but the extras added to her forehead let me evoke the spider eyes she will bear in the near future.

Gods often take the appearance of the elderly (Zeus, Hera, and Athena all come to mind taking this disguise), and for whatever reason I have always had a vivid image of what Athena's mortal guise would look like. I know black was usually a very difficult color to dye, making it reserved for the wealthy, but maybe because of the old women in Portugal I grew up seeing the archetypal Old Woman is wearing black and using a shawl.

I would also like to formally apologize for not including the Linear B name for Athena, which is preserved: 𐀀𐀲𐀙

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 21

Hello, there readers. Here is the new chapter. Enjoy :) And as always you're all awesome! ❤️

Don’t freak out if you can’t immediately channel your dragon’s powers, Mira. Yeah, I know you have to be the best at everything, but this isn’t something you can control. They’ll channel when they feel you’re ready. And once they do, you’d better be ready to manifest a signet. Until then, you’re not ready. Don’t push it.

—Page sixty-one, the Book of Brennan

This really isn’t necessary.” Violet glances sideways at Liam as we make our way toward the door of the Archives. The cart doesn’t even squeak anymore. He fixed that the very first day.

“So you’ve told me for the last week.” He shoots her a grin, revealing a dimple.

“And yet you’re still here. Every day. All day.”

“Come on, Vi. Don’t be like this.” I chided her. “Admit that you actually like him. Liam is awesome, you know.” I wink at her.

“Shut up, Aelin.” She retorts but blushes so hard, her face is almost red.

And that’s it. Liam’s charm is working. He’s courteous, funny, and ridiculously helpful. He makes it difficult to loathe his constant presence. I mean I tried to avoid him when we first met, but somehow he wormed his way into my life. And Violet can’t hate him either. Even though he leaves wood shavings in little piles everywhere he goes. The guy is constantly whittling with that smaller knife of his. Yesterday he finished the figurine of a bear.

“Until otherwise ordered,” he answers to Violet’s remark.

I shake my head at them as Pierson jolts upright at the Archives doors, straightening his cream tunic. “Good morning, Cadet Pierson.”

“You as well, Cadet Melgren, Cadet Sorrengail.” He offers us a polite smile, which dies as he glances at Liam. “Cadet Mairi.”

“Cadet Pierson,” Liam responds, as if the scribe’s tone hadn’t completely changed.

My shoulders tense as Pierson hurries to open the door. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t been around marked ones before Basgiath, but the outright hostility toward them is becoming glaringly, uncomfortably obvious to me.

We walk into the Archives and wait by the table just like every other morning.

“How do you do that?” Violet asks Liam in a hushed whisper. “Handle when people are that rude without reacting?”

“You’re rude to me all the time,” he teases, drumming his fingers on the handle of the cart.

“Because you’re my babysitter, not because…”

“Because I’m the son of the disgraced Colonel Mairi?” His jaw ticks, his brow furrowing for a heartbeat as he looks away.

I silently squeeze his shoulder and he faintly smiles at me.

„I guess I’m really no better, though. I hated Xaden on sight, and I didn’t know a single thing about him.” Violet says softly.

Liam scoffs, earning us a glare from a scribe near the back corner. “He has that effect on people, especially women. They either despise him for what his father did or want to fuck him for the same reason, just depends on where we are.”

“You actually know him, don’t you?” She cranes her neck to look up at him. “He didn’t just pick you to shadow me because you’re the best in our year.”

“Just now catching on, huh?”

“Hey, take it easy, Liam. I needed time too. It’s not that obvious.” I elbow him in the ribs.

A grin flashes across his face, then he looks toward Violet. “I would have told you that on the first day if you hadn’t been so busy huffing and puffing about the pleasure of my company.”

I roll my eyes as Jesinia approaches, her hood up over her hair. “Hey, Jesinia,” I sign.

“Good morning,” she signs back, her mouth curving in a shy smile as her gaze darts up to Liam.

“Good morning.” He signs with a wink, clearly flirting.

It shocked me to my toes that first day that he knew how to sign, but honestly, I should have known. He’s awesome at everything.

“Just these today?” Jesinia asks, inspecting the cart.

„And these.” I reach for the list of requests amid their obvious glances and hand it to her.

“Perfect.” Her cheeks flush and she studies the list before putting it in her pocket. “Oh, and Professor Markham left before his daily report arrived to teach your briefing. Would you mind taking it over?”

“Happy to.” Violet waits until she’s pushing the cart away from us, then smacks Liam’s chest. “Stop it,” she whispers out loud.

“Stop what?” He watches her until she turns the corner at the first set of shelves.

“Flirting with Jesinia. She’s a long-term-relationship woman, so unless that’s what you’re looking for…just…don’t.”

Ohhoo, Violet are you jealous?

His eyebrows hit his hairline. “How does anyone think long-term around here?”

“Not everyone is in a quadrant where death is less of a chance and more of a foregone conclusion.” She says as she tries to calm herself down.

“So you’re saying that some people still try to make cute little things like plans.”

“Exactly, and those some people is Jesinia. Trust me, I’ve known her for years.”

“Right. Because you wanted to be a scribe when you grew up.” He scans the Archives with an intensity that almost makes me laugh. As if there’s any chance someone is going to lunge out of the shelves and come after Violet.

“How did you know that?” She lowers her voice as a group of second-years passes, their expressions somber as they debate the merits of two different historians.

“I did my research on you after I was…you know…assigned. And Aelin is really gossipy.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen you practicing this week with those blades of yours, Sorrengail. Riorson was right. You would have been wasted as a scribe.”

“Hey, I’m not ‘gossipy’, you moron.” I scowl at him.

“That remains to be seen.” She answers both of us.

At least challenges haven’t resumed. Guess enough of us are dying during flight lessons to hold off on killing more through hand-to-hand.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Violet asks suddenly.

“Alive.” He shrugs.

“How do you know Xaden anyway?”

“Riorson and I were fostered at the same estate after the apostasy,” he says, using the Tyrrish term for the rebellion.

“You were fostered?” Her mouth drops open.

Fostering the children of aristocrats was a custom that died out after the unification of Navarre more than six hundred years ago.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs again. “Where did you think the kids of the traitors”—he flinches at the word—“went after they executed our parents?”

“I didn’t think.” She admits it in a meak voice.

Oh, Vi. I didn’t know her mother never mentioned it to her. It seems I am much more informed on the subject. Thanks to The General…

“Most of our great houses were given to nobles who had remained loyal.” He clears his throat. “As it should be.”

I don’t bother agreeing with what’s obviously a conditioned reply. King Tauri’s response after the rebellion was swift, even cruel.

The burning of Aretia, which had been Tyrrendor’s capital, to the ground had never sat well with me, though. Liam was the same age. It wasn’t his fault his mother had broken faith with Navarre. And I’m sure there’s more to it.

“But you didn’t go with your father to his new home?” Violet asks.

His gaze swings toward her, and his brow furrows. “It’s hard to live with a man who was executed on the same day as my mother.��

“No. No, that’s not right. Your father was Isaac Mairi, right? I’ve studied all the noble houses in every province, including Tyrrendor.”

“Yes. Isaac was my father.” He tilts his head, looking toward the area where Jesinia disappeared, and I get the distinct feeling he is over this conversation.

“But he wasn’t a part of the rebellion.” She shakes her head, trying to make sense of it. “He isn’t on the death roll of the executions from Calldyr.”

“You read the death roll from the Calldyr executions?” His eyes flare.

“I needed to see that someone was on it.” She admits it.

He draws back slightly. “Fen Riorson.”

She nods. “He killed my brother at the Battle of Aretia. But your father wasn’t on that roll.”But Liam was—as a witness.

“Vi, enough.” I try to stop her. We should not tear open his wounds.

She glances at me and I can see the understanding in her eyes.“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“He was executed at our family’s house.” His features tighten. “Before it was given to another noble, of course. And yes, I watched as they did it that time, too. I already had the rebellion relic by then, but the pain was the same.” He looks away, his throat working. “Then I was sent to Tirvainne to be fostered by Duke Lindell, the same as Riorson. My little sister was sent elsewhere.”

“They separated you?” Her jaw practically unhinges.

He nods. “She’s only a year younger than me, though, so I’ll get to see her when she enters the quadrant next year. She’s strong, quick, and has good balance. She’ll make it.” The edge of panic in his tone reminds me of Mira.

“She will make it, Liam. And after that we’ll be there to help her.” I grab his hand and squeezes it.

“She could always choose another quadrant,” Violet says softly, hoping it will soothe him.

He blinks at her. “We’re all riders.”

„What?”

“We’re all riders. It was part of the deal. We’re allowed to live, allowed a chance to prove our loyalty, but only if we make it through the Riders Quadrant.” He stares at her in bewilderment. “You don’t know?”

“I mean…” she shakes her head. “I know that the children of the leaders, the officers, were all forced into conscription, but that’s all. A lot of those treaty addenda are classified.”

“I personally think the quadrant was chosen to give us the best chance of rising in rank, but others…” He grimaces. “Others think it’s because the death rate is so much higher for riders, so they were hoping to kill us all off without having to do it themselves. I’ve heard Imogen say they originally figured the dragons have unimpeachable honor, so they’d never bond a marked one in the first place, and now they don’t quite know what to do with us.”

“How many of you are there?” I ask him, because I don’t know the exact number.

“Xaden’s never?” He pauses. “Sixty-eight of the officers had kids under the age of twenty. There are one hundred and seven of us, all who carry rebellion relics.”

„The oldest is Xaden,” I murmur.

He nods. “And the youngest is almost six now. Her name is Julianne.”

I think I’m going to be sick. “Is she marked?”

“She was born with it.”

I understand it was done by Codagh, but what the fucking hell? My father is a monster.

“And it’s all right that you ask. Someone should know. Someone should remember.” His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. He suddenly turns toward Violet. “Anyway, is it hard for you to be in here? Or is it more of a comfort thing?”

Subject change noted.

„It’s like coming home, but not. And it’s not that it’s changed—this place never changes. Hell, I think change is the mortal enemy of a scribe. But I’m starting to realize that I’ve changed. I don’t quite fit here. Not anymore.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Something in his voice tells me he really does.

That’s when Jesinia reappears, the cart laden with the requested tomes.

“I have everything here for you,” she signs, then gestures to the scroll on top. “And that is for Professor Markham.”

“We’ll make sure he gets it,” Violet promises, leaning forward to take the cart. Her high collar shifts, and Jesinia gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

“Oh gods, Violet. Your neck!” Her hand movements are sharp.

“It’s nothing.” She puts her collar back in place, covering the ring of yellowing bruises, and Liam reaches across me, taking the cart. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

She bobs her head and wrings her hands as we turn for the door. Pierson closes it after we pass into the hallway.

“Riorson taught me to fight during the years he was at Tirvainne.” Liam’s change of subject is appreciated and no doubt intentional once again. I still feel terrible. My farher is a monster. There’s no doubt about it. “I’ve never seen anyone move the way he does. He’s the only reason I made it through the first round of challenges. He might not show it, but he takes care of his own.” He glances toward me with a smirk.

“Are you trying to sell me on his finer points?” I ask as we make the ascent.

We round the corner and take the path past the Healer Quadrant.

“How can you do this anyway? Guard someone whose own mother oversaw the wing that captured yours?” Vi asks before he could answer.

“Wondering if you can trust me?” He flashes another easy grin.

“Yes.” The answer is simple.

He laughs, the sound echoing off the tunnel walls and glass windows of the clinic. “Good answer. All I can say is that your survival is essential to Riorson’s, and I owe him everything. Everything.” He looks me straight in the eye for that last word, even as the cart hits a raised stone in the paved corridor.

The scroll on top tumbles to the floor, and Violet retrieves it and it unrolls along the slight slope of the passage.

“Got it.”

The thick parchment isn’t eager to roll back into place, and when she looks at it, she pauses.

“What does it say?” Liam asks.

“Sumerton was attacked.” She flips the scroll to see if it’s marked as classified, but it isn’t.

“On the southern border?” He looks as confused as I feel.

“Yeah.” She nods. “It’s another high-altitude attack, too, if I remember my geography correctly. It says a supply convoy was looted.” She reads a little further. “And the community storage in nearby caves was ransacked. But that doesn’t make sense. We have a trade agreement with Poromiel.”

“A raiding party, then.” I say.

She shrugs. “No clue. Guess we’ll hear about it in Battle Brief today.”

Attacks along our southern borders are rising, all with the same description. Mountain villages are being torn apart wherever the wards weaken.

I hear an enermous growl.

„Sorrengail?” Liam looks over at her, concern etched between his brows.

“Tairn’s awake,” she manages to say, clutching her stomach. „Does it ever get any easier?” Being tackled by what they’re feeling?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Aon is pretty good at keeping his emotions to himself, but sometimes I can’t separate myself from him.”

Liam winces. “Deigh keeps pretty good control of himself, but when he’s angry?” Liam shakes his head. “It’s supposed to help once they start channeling and we have the power to shield them out, but you know Carr isn’t going to bother with us until that happens.”

I’d already assumed Liam didn’t have his abilities yet, considering he’s with us in every single class, but it’s comforting to know he’s still in the waning population of powerless riders with me.

“So neither Aon nor Tairn has started channeling to you, either, right?” Liam asks, a look of uncertainty, vulnerability on his face.

I shake my head. “I think he has commitment issues,” I whisper.

“I heard that.”

“Then stay out of my head.”

Suddenly waves of emotions washes over me.

„Don’t be an ass.”

I swear I hear him chuff a chuckle in response.

“We’d better hurry or we’ll miss breakfast.” Liam says.

“Right.” Violet finishes rolling the scroll and put it back on the cart.

---

“I want to be like the cool kids,” Rhiannon grumbles as first-years from Second and Third Wings pour out of the stairwell of the turret that leads up to Professor Carr’s classroom that afternoon, further clogging the hallway on our way to Battle Brief.

“We will,” Violet promises, linking her arm through hers.

“You may be cool, but you will never be as cool as I am!” Ridoc pushes past Liam and me, and throws his arm over Violet’s shoulder.

“She’s talking about everyone who’s already channeling,” I explain, juggling my books so I don’t drop them. “Though at least if we’re not channeling, we’re not stressed about manifesting a signet before the magic kills us.” The relic on my back tingles.

“Oh, I thought we were discussing how I just owned that physics test.” He grins. “Definitely the highest score in the class.”

Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “Please. I scored five points higher than you.”

“We stopped counting your grades months ago.” He leans forward slightly. “Your grades in that class make it unfair for the rest of us.” He looks between Liam and me. “Wait. What did you get, Melgren? Mairi?”

“Not getting into the middle of this,” Liam responds.

“Me neither” I laugh at him.

I had pretty good scores. Only thanks to Liam. Despite of his assignment, he still has time to study with me. And I will be eternally grateful to him.

I smile at him as we’re entering the bottleneck of cadets to get into the briefing room.

“Sorry, Sorrengail,” someone says, stepping out of the way and tugging their friend with them as we enter the tiered classroom.

“Nothing to be sorry about!” She calls out, but they’re already headed up a few rows. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

“It definitely makes getting places easier,” Rhiannon teases her as we descend the steps that curve along the massive turret.

We find our row and walk to our seats, sitting as a squad among the first-years.

The room buzzes with energy as riders file in, and I can’t help but notice that no one has to stand anymore. Our numbers have decreased exponentially in the last four months. The number of empty chairs is sobering. We lost another first-year yesterday when he got too close to another rider’s Red Scorpiontail on the flight field. One second he was standing there, and the next he was a scorched patch of earth. I kept as close to Aon as possible the rest of the session.

My scalp prickles, but I fight the urge to turn around.

“Riorson just got here,” Liam says with mirth in his voice from the seat to my left, breaking from the little dragon figurine he’s carving and looking up the rows toward the third-years.

“Figured.” I hold up my middle finger to him and keep my eyes forward.

He just loves teasing me. Asshole.

Liam snorts and grins, flashing his dimple. “Now, that we’re talking about Xaden. I noticed that you two are always bickering. Tell me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant? ”

“You could try it yourself and find out,” I suggest, opening my notebook to the next empty page. I can’t turn around. I won’t. Wanting Xaden is fine. It has to be. Indulging the impulses it gives me? That’s asinine.

“That’s going to be a no from me.” He shakes his head.

I lose the battle with my self-control and look over my shoulder. Sure enough, Xaden is seated in the top row next to Garrick, mastering the art of looking bored. He gives Liam a nod, which Liam returns.

Then he concentrates on his carving, which looks a lot like his Red Daggertail, Deigh.

“Then you should focus on Vi. She is you’re assignment, not me.” I shot back.

“I swear, you’d think there were assassination attempts on me during every class with the way he makes you shadow me.” She shakes her head.

“In his defense, people are fond of trying to kill you.” Rhiannon sets out her supplies.

“One time! It’s happened one time, Rhi!” She says as she adjusts her posture.

“Right. And what would you call that whole thing with Tynan?” Rhiannon asks.

“Threshing.” She shrugs.

“And Barlowe’s constant threats?” I arch a brow at her.

“She has a point there,” Sawyer chimes in, leaning forward from the seat next to Rhiannon’s.

“They’re just threats. The only time I’ve actually been targeted was at night, and it’s not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom.”

„I mean, I’m not opposed—” he begins, his knife hovering over the piece of wood.

“Don’t even start.” She whips her head to face him and she blushes. “You are a shameless flirt.”

“Thank you.” He grins and goes back to carving.

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Don’t mind her, she’s just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.” I say and write the date down on the empty page with my quill. Those easy, mess-less pens some of the others can already use is just another reason I can’t wait to channel. No more quills. No more inkpots.

„That has nothing to do with it.” She shots me a glare.

“And yet I don’t hear you denying it.” I smile sweetly at her.

“I’m sorry I don’t make the cut,” Liam teases. “But I can review a couple candidates, especially if it means you’ll stop being so edgy.”

“And how exactly would you be reviewing candidates? What will you be scoring?” Rhiannon asks, one eyebrow raised above her wide grin. “This I have to hear.”

I manage a straight face for all of two seconds before laughing at how horrified he suddenly looks.

“Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll make sure to run any potential liaisons by you.” Violet teases him.

“I mean, you could watch,” Rhiannon continues, blinking innocently at him. “Just to be sure she’s fully covered. You know, so no one…sticks it to her.”

“Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?” Ridoc asks from my other side. “Because my entire life has led up to this very moment.”

Even Sawyer laughs.

“Fuck me,” Liam mutters under his breath. “I’m just saying that since you’re protected at night now—” We laugh harder, and he blows out a deep breath.

“Wait.” Vi stops laughing. “What do you mean I’m protected at night? Because you’re next door? Please tell me he’s not making you sleep in the hallway or something obnoxious.”

“No. Of course not. He warded your door the morning after the attack.” His expression clearly says she should know this. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?”

“He what?”

“He warded your door,” Liam says, quieter this time. “So only you can open it.”

“But if he’s the one who warded it, then he can get in, too, right?” I ask.

„Well, yeah.” Liam shrugs as Professors Markham and Devera walk down the stairs, heading for the front of the room. “But it’s not like Riorson is going to kill her.”

“Right. You see, I’m still adjusting to that little change of heart.” I fumble my quill and it falls to the ground, but before I can lean over, the shadows beneath the arm of my desk lift the instrument like an offering. I pluck it out of the shadows and look back at Xaden.

He’s locked in conversation with Garrick, not paying me a speck of attention.

Except, apparently, he is.

“If we can get started?” Markham calls over the room, and we fall silent as he places the scroll we had delivered to him before breakfast on the podium. “Excellent.”

I write Sumerton down at the top of the page and Liam trades his knife for a quill.

“First announcement,” Devera says, stepping forward. “We’ve decided that not only will the winners of this year’s Squad Battle receive bragging rights—” She grins like we’re in for a treat. “But they’ll also be given a trip to the front lines to shadow an active wing.”

Cheers break out all around us.

“So if we win, we get a chance to die sooner?” Rhiannon whispers.

“Maybe they’re trying a reverse psychology thing.” I glance at the others around us who are clearly overjoyed and worry about their sanity. Either I am a fool or everyone else.

“You crave the action just as much as they do, little one.”

“Don’t you have better things to do with your day than listen in on my private thoughts?”

“Not particularly. Now pay attention.”

“Stop butting in and maybe I can,” I counter.

Aon chuffs. One day I might be able to translate that sound, but it’s not today.

“I know the Squad Battle doesn’t commence until spring,” Devera continues, “but I figured that news would give you all the proper motivation to apply yourselves in every area leading up to the challenges.”

Another cheer resounds.

“And now that we have your attention.” Markham lifts his hand and the room quiets. “The front lines are relatively quiet today, so we’re going to take this opportunity to dissect the Battle of Gianfar.”

My quill hovers above my notebook. Surely he didn’t say that.

The mage lights rise to the Cliffs of Dralor that separate Tyrrendor, lifting the entire province thousands of feet above the rest of the Continent, before shining brightest on the ancient stronghold along the southern border. “This battle was pivotal to the unification of Navarre, and though it happened more than six centuries ago, there are important lessons that still impact our flight formations to this day.”

“Is he serious?” I whisper to Liam.

“Yeah.” Liam’s grip bends his quill. “I think he is.”

“What made this battle unique?” Devera asks, her eyebrows raised. “Bryant?”

“The stronghold was not only set for a siege,” the second-year says from high above us, “but was equipped with the first cross-bolt, which proved lethal against dragonkind.”

“Yes. And?” Devera prompts.

“It was one of the final battles where gryphons and dragons actually worked alongside each other to annihilate the army of the Barrens,” the second-year continues.

I glance left and right, watching the other riders begin to take notes. Surreal. This is just…surreal.

None of them knows what we do, that an entire village of Navarrians was ransacked last night along the border and supplies looted. And yet, we’re discussing a battle that happened before the convenience of indoor plumbing was invented.

“Now, pay close attention,” Markham lectures. “Because you’ll be turning in a detailed report in three days and drawing comparisons to battles from the last twenty years.”

“Was that scroll marked classified?” Liam asks under his breath.

“No,” Violet responds just as quietly. “But maybe I missed it?”

The battle map doesn’t even show activity near that mountain range.

“Yeah.” He nods, scratching his quill against the parchment as he begins to take notes. “That has to be it. You missed it.”

I blink, forcing my hand through the motions of writing about a battle I’ve analyzed dozens of times with The General. Liam’s right. That’s the only possible explanation. Our clearance isn’t high enough, or maybe they haven’t finished gathering all the information needed to form an accurate report.

Or it had to have been marked classified. We just missed it.

Or…they withold information from us.

I need to speak with The General. Somehow I have to gather more information.

“Careful, little one. You need to be careful when you uncover the secrets.” I hear Aon’s warning.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons Chapter 3

Any Viking/Norse words and customs were found on Google, so if it's incorrect please educate me!!

Summary: Princess Y/N has a secret that her parents are ashamed of.  A conquering Viking chief recognizes the gift she has.  Will they be able to bring peace between warring people, and maybe find love along the way?

Viking!Bucky Warnings: eventual smut, abuse, violence, animal attack, blood

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Y/N held Bucky’s arm as he led her through the village.  People who hadn’t been down by the shore watched her walk by, some of them bowing and others smiling widely.  They reached a tall black structure, the hof, or temple as Bucky explained, and she was separated from Bucky and brought inside.  She followed Winnifred until she was presented to a group of women who were surrounding a bath.  They were all in simple strapped dresses, as the heat of the water dampened the air heavily.

“We must prepare you for the marriage ceremony tonight,” Winnifred said.   Y/N nodded, trying to relax the nervous flutter of her heart.  “They will take care of you, and I will come for you when they’re finished.”  Y/N was stripped and washed extensively.  Her hair and teeth were brushed and cleaned, her body scrubbed in all the crevices, even in spots she was embarrassed being touched.  She took it all in stride, assuming that it was customary.  When it was all done she was dried off with a fine blanket and then dressed in an outfit like what Winnifred was wearing, but the dress was a dark green color and the fur adorned on her shoulders was that of a fox, the red complimenting the dress nicely.  Her hair was braided and her fingertips dipped in a red paint that dyed her skin quickly.  She was given a necklace that attached to her dress made of beads, metal and bone. A circlet crown was placed atop her head nestled in her hair, made of finely woven metal, more beads and tiny pieces of gold.  

Winnifred came to collect her and brought her to the front door of the temple.  “I will present you to our people, and you will be given a new name,” she explained.

“A new name?” Y/N questioned.  “What’s wrong with my name?”

“Nothing, my child.  You will go by both names.  Y/N, your English given name, and a new Danish one, given by prophecy from a seer…me,” she gave Y/N a wink.  Y/N nodded as Winnifred tapped the doors with her staff.  They opened instantly from the outside and Y/N was greeted by everyone in the village, torches lining the way as nightfall set in.  Winnifred led her out into the small clearing in front of the temple.  “I give you Y/N, a lost daughter of Freya, our soon-to-be Drottning and wife of my son, James.”  She lifted her hands towards the sky.  “I call upon our Aesir!  We present this child to you for reclamation!”  Her hands shook and a faraway rumble of thunder was heard, making the crowd of people mumble as they watched the sky.   The clouds seemed to clear for a moment, and as the stars peeked through Winnifred smiled.  “Astrid,” she beamed.  She placed her hands on Y/N’s face.  “Y/N  Astrid, daughter of Freya, Drottning of the Danes, child of the stars.”

The crowd of people cheered as Y/N smiled at Winnifred.  Winnifred led her to Bucky who stood nearby.  He had also bathed and was dressed in a long dark red tunic, brown pants and deep brown boots, an even longer fur coat on his shoulders.  His braids and hair adornments were renewed and he wore a necklace with a round pendant.  Y/N gawked at him, appreciating him all cleaned up as he took her hand, leading her through the people.  Many of them reached out their hands to touch her, speaking to her in their language and some in English congratulating her and welcoming her.  Bucky led her to a clearing in the middle of the village with a large bonfire heating the area.  There were garlands covered in flowers and fruit, furs placed throughout the seating areas, and people playing instruments she didn’t recognize.  A few women were singing along with the music, their voices hauntingly rippling through the air.  Something about the whole thing felt so right, so comforting, so true, that Y/N fought back tears watching them celebrate.

They approached an arch made of horns where another woman dressed similar to Winnifred stood.  As people got into positions around the fire and seating areas the woman held her hand up to quiet the players and singers.  She held up her painted red hands that were holding a braided rope that was made of fabrics, ribbons and a strip of a black animal pelt.  

“Frigg!  We bring to you a couple wishing to bind themselves together in life and beyond.”  She gestured to them to give her their hands.  They presented their entwined hands to her and she proceeded to bind their hands together.  She started what sounded like a prayer in their language and Bucky lowered his head.  Y/N followed quickly.  As the prayer continued Y/N felt her power flowing through her without thinking about it or calling upon it herself.  Her hands began glowing in the binding, and as the woman’s voice rose in volume the power seeped into Bucky’s hands.  He didn’t react at first until the power seemed to inject into the veins of his hand.  His eyebrows furrowed, then a low hiss passed through his teeth, and then he began to shiver as the green light zapped through him.  Y/N looked on in horror, trying to release his hands but unable to because of the binding.  She looked at the woman, who was still chanting, and then behind her to Winnifred, who just nodded at her with a serene look on her face.  Bucky shivered more violently then suddenly stopped, his body almost going rigid before a heavy sigh left his mouth.  The woman finished her prayer and did the motion in front of her face that Bucky and Winnifred had done in greeting before turning towards him.  

“Awaken, White Wolf,” the woman said quietly.  Bucky’s eyes opened and he blinked rapidly until his gaze met Y/N’s eyes.  She gasped upon seeing her power flash in his irises before it disappeared.  “You now share the power of Freya, Jarl.  She has bestowed her gift through her daughter to you.  Your children, their children, and their children and so on will carry this power, this gift, this responsibility.  Treat it well and with respect, else it will be taken from you and lost forever to the land and its people.  May it bless your lives together.”  She reared back and let out what almost sounded like a howl.  The people around them all did the same.

“Frigg and Freya bless this union happily.  You may seal this marriage with a kiss.”

Bucky still looked shocked at what had just happened but smiled as he leaned down to Y/N.  He pressed his lips to hers as they shared their first kiss.  The people around them cheered, and yet Y/N couldn’t hear them.  She was too entranced by his lips, the softness, the tenderness, but most of all the fire it ignited deep within her.  A rush of their now combined power flowed through them and melted into the ground below them, creating another whistling wind that sounded like laughter and a rumble in the earth that sounded like a hum of acceptance.

He pulled away and grinned widely at her.  The woman untied their hands and Y/N immediately brought her hands to his face.  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what was happening, I didn’t mean to hurt you–”

“I’m fine, my Drottning,” he kissed her nose.  “I feel…reborn.”  Y/N huffed out a laugh as she scratched his beard, the worry still etched on her face.  “Now we celebrate, Asynja,” he pulled her along to one of the seating areas and pulled her into his lap.

The night was filled with songs and dances and performances.  There were even fights, with the people making bets on who would win.  Mead flowed heavily and food was shared as the night drew on.  Y/N was approached by many of the people, some of them just to say hello, others to bless her and Bucky, and others who asked for blessings from her to their children.  Y/N didn’t know what to say, and yet each time something deep inside her seemed to take over and the words just spilled from her mouth.  After hours deep into the night Winnifred stepped forward.

“It is time for the union to be completed,” she motioned to Bucky and Y/N to follow her.  There were some “oohs” and “aahs” and whistles heard through the crowd as Bucky excitedly pulled Y/N out of the clearing and back towards the temple.  Once they’d reached it the women who had bathed Y/N before opened the doors for them.  A large bed had appeared in the temple where benches and tables had once been.  Y/N tensed as she knew what was to come next.  “Here I leave you.  Congratulations my dear Bucky,” she took his face in her hands again, giving his cheeks a pinch, “and welcome to the family, Y/N Astrid,” she walked up to Y/N and pressed her forehead against Y/N’s forehead.  She gave them one final head bow then retreated back towards the clearing.  

Bucky pulled Y/N into the temple and the doors were closed behind them.  Y/N was still tense as she stared at the bed.  The temple was warm, making her start to sweat under the fox fur she wore, but she was afraid to make the first move and take anything off.  She knew what the wedding night entailed, how it was done, but had never done it before herself.  It was a strict rule that an English princess was to be untouched by anyone until her wedding night with her new husband.  Y/N didn’t know if the Danes had different traditions.

“You look afraid,” Bucky observed. 

“That’s because I am,” Y/N answered quietly.

“So it’s true?  The English don’t let their royals do anything until marriage?”

“Yes,” Y/N glanced at him, surprised.  “At least, they try.  Have you done this before?”

Bucky shook his head.  “No, but not because I wasn’t supposed to.  Just because, well, war,” he said somberly.  “Never got the chance.  Or found someone I’d be willing to be with.” Y/N nodded, her eyes flitting around the room.  Her breathing became heavier as her nervousness gripped her heart.  “Hey,” he stepped in front of her.  “It’s going to be fine.  We will learn.  Together.”

Y/N nodded again as she tried to slow her breathing.  Bucky pulled her chin up with his finger so she would look at him.  He leaned his face down to her and brushed his lips down her cheek leaving a wake of small kisses across her nose to the other cheek, and then hovered above her lips.  Y/N’s eyes fluttered as she watched him, her eyes flicking back and forth from his eyes to his lips.  He pressed his lips against hers like he had for their first kiss, then angled his head to deepen it, pressing more firmly against her mouth.  The fire deep within her was ignited once again as his lips moved against hers.  Her hands gripped his shirt as his arms wrapped around behind her and pulled her flush to his body.  

Bucky walked backwards with her until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed.  He slid his fur off and then broke the kiss and sat.  His hands slid from her face to her shoulders and unhooked the fox fur off of her, then slid behind her and untied the back of her dress.  It loosened around her and she let it slide down her body.  She wore an almost sheer underdress and some underwear underneath it.  Bucky pulled her underwear down and helped her pull the underdress over her head until she was left bare before him.  Y/N instinctively started to cover her breasts with her arms, her legs trying to cross to cover her most private parts, but he held her still.  “You’re beautiful, Y/N, don’t hide from me.”

He leaned forward and kissed her stomach then dragged his lips across her skin to the underside of her left breast.  He kissed it, making her shiver, then licked his way to her nipple, giving it a soft lick and then sucking it into his mouth.  Y/N’s hands shook as they laced behind his head, holding him against her as he nipped lightly at her skin.  His hand went to her other breast and massaged it, his fingers rubbing her other nipple.  

Y/N’s knees felt like they were about to give out from the pleasure she felt at just his mouth and fingers on her.  She gasped as he switched breasts, his mouth now laving at the opposite nipple.  He let out small whimpers as he sucked and licked her, his breathing becoming faster.  Y/N moaned at a particularly hard suck, her head falling back.  Bucky’s metal hand slid down in between her legs, his fingers rubbing her lower lips until he found the little spot that had her nearly buckling against him.  The metal against her skin felt glorious.  His mouth let her breast go with a pop and he stood.

He turned and pushed Y/N onto the bed and motioned for her to scoot up as he kicked off his boots.  He pulled his shirt, pants and underwear off and stood before her.  Y/N’s heart rate jumped as she looked at him.  The contrast of his metal arm against his skin was tantalizing, but she was shocked by the amount of markings he had on his body hidden under his clothes.  A tapestry of animals and runes littered his torso and his right arm.  As her gaze wandered down she audibly gulped.  This man was huge in every way.  Her widened eyes made him laugh.  “It will be alright, Drottning,” he said as he crawled onto the bed.  “I will get you ready for me.”  He laid on his front and hooked his arms around her legs, pulling her body towards him so that her core was in front of his face.  She tensed, not knowing what he was doing.  He felt her hesitation and smiled up at her.  “I’ve been told that this helps.  You’ll like it, I promise,” he winked at her.  Y/N nodded.  He kissed her thigh and then dipped his head down.  She wasn’t sure what to expect until she felt his tongue lick her slit and she gasped loudly.  He licked her lower lips languidly then would dip further into her and flick at her entrance.  He moved upwards and found that spot again, flicking his tongue quickly on it.  Y/N’s back arched, her hips trying to twist out of his iron grip, not because it was painful but because it almost felt too good.

“Bucky…” Y/N moaned, her hands pulling at his hair.  It only spurred him on, a deep hum from his mouth vibrating into her pussy, making her squeal.  He sucked on the spot and unlooped his flesh arm from her hip.  She felt one of his fingers start to prod at her entrance that was quickly getting wetter by the second.  He slipped his finger in then thrust it in and out slowly.  Y/N felt a tension deep in her gut start building.  He slipped another finger into her, stretching her as he thrust them in and out, picking up in speed as his lips sucked her spot into his mouth.  The tension was making her see stars, her legs trying to clamp shut around his head.  He then sped his fingers up again and started flicking the spot harshly with his tongue.  Y/N moaned loudly as the sensations all became too much and she felt the tension snap inside her.  She felt a gush come from her by Bucky’s mouth as she nearly ripped at his hair.  Her legs shook uncontrollably and her hips bucked violently.  The feeling started to ebb away and Bucky pulled his fingers out of her, licking some of the liquid that came from her before pulling himself up.

“Taste so good, my Drottning,” he said in a husky whisper.  He lifted his wet fingers to her mouth.  She opened her mouth instinctively and he put them in, making her taste herself.  She moaned a little at the taste as she tried to breathe normally again.

Bucky’s fingers retreated and he put them in his own mouth, licking up anything left she didn’t get.  He spread her legs further apart and settled between them, his hips inching closer to hers.  Y/N tensed again, knowing what he was about to do.  “I don’t think it will…” she started, then shut her mouth.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised, kissing her again.  “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Y/N hesitantly nodded.  Bucky took his stiff cock in his hand and pumped it a few times, making himself moan, then lined it up with her pussy.  The head of it slowly pushed into her, making both of them groan.  Y/N tried to relax but felt herself tensing at the intrusion.  Bucky stopped and began sucking at her breasts again, distracting from the pain and pressure.  As he worked her into another pleasurable frenzy he would slowly inch forward, until he was fully sheathed inside of her.  Y/N appreciated him going slow, letting her adjust to him, and when he was all the way in she sighed.

“It feels…so full…” Y/N said dreamily.  The fullness was making her feel delirious, like she had been missing something she didn’t know was a possibility.  If it always felt this good she wanted him inside at all times.

“So tight, Asynja.  Ah,” he gasped as her pussy fluttered around him.  “Gods, you feel so good…so right,” Bucky slowly pulled back then pushed forwards, letting her feel every part of him.  Her hips trembled again, her legs wrapping around his hips as he continued to thrust in and out of her.  She looked down at where they were joined, watching him move in and out of her, the sight making her whine deep in her throat.  Bucky moaned at the noise she made, pulling her head up with his hand and kissing her passionately.  As their tongues entangled his hips started moving faster, making her gasp against his mouth as her eyes rolled back in her head.  “Feel good, my Drottning?  You beautiful, powerful, strong woman…destined for me,” he whispered against her ear as his head dropped into the crook of her neck.  He thrust harder into her, making her fingers dig into his back.  “Mine,” he nearly growled as his hips rolled.  

Y/N felt a heady drunkenness setting into her mind, her head feeling foggy as the pleasure took over all of her senses.  She felt herself nodding as he claimed her.  “Yours,” she babbled,  whimpering with each hard thrust as the tension built again deep in her core.  “Your Drottning…your Asynja…my Bucky…”  Bucky suddenly hauled himself up, holding her against him so that he was thrusting up into her.  The angle made her yelp as he felt even deeper than before.

“That’s right, you're mine…I’m yours…Y/N Astrid, my star,” he pulled her down onto him as he thrust upwards.

The snap was unexpected and even more tightly wound this time, so much so that when Y/N screamed his name it reverberated through the temple.  She clung to him as her entire body tensed and she gushed around him.  Her pussy squeezed him like a vice and he shouted as he finished inside of her.  Y/N could feel him filling her up and it prolonged her shaking around him as she whimpered with each shock she felt spread from her pussy.  Bucky fell to the bed, stopping himself from crushing her at the last second.  They lay together, sweaty and exhausted as they came down from the high.  

Bucky turned his head and kissed Y/N’s cheek softly.  She smiled, her tired eyes blinking slowly at him as he rubbed his nose against hers.  “I think we’re pretty good at this,” he huffed out a laugh.  Y/N giggled, then groaned as Bucky slid his cock out of her, making him hiss.  He lay next to her as they both stared up at the ceiling.  Y/N felt around for his hand and laced her fingers in his.  Bucky smiled widely at the gesture.

Just as Y/N was on the brink of falling asleep she felt a fur being draped over her and a kiss to her forehead.  She smiled dreamily and snuggled close to Bucky’s warmth.  She had done it.  Married the supposed enemy, created an alliance that brought peace to his and her people, and found a new home that was accepting of her and the magic she possessed.  She missed Alfie terribly, but hoped that in due time, if her ability had shown her correctly, he would be alright and become the great king he was destined to be.

**picture is A.I. from Pinterest, unknown original "artist" or "creator"**

@wintrsoldrluvr

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

The Other Sister || D. Targaryen x oc

GIF by @hopemikaelsongf DIVIDERS by @straywords

Summary: In which Elys’ older sister is to be wed to the Rogue Prince Daemon himself, however, the Prince’s gaze finds itself on her, and you only.

P.t 1 P.t 2 P.t 3 P.t 4

previous 

“You are quite good for a women” A voice calls out making Elys turn around. She assumed she looked very unlady like, hair all over the place, red cheeks, and trousers and a tunic hung loosely on her body.

She scoffs as she sees a man in armour approach her, “And who are you?” The girl questions, “Ser Criston Cole my Lady, protector of the Princess Rhaenyra” She simply nods as he studies Elys.

“You train in combat? Why?” He adds as she plays with the tip of her sword. “I’d rather swing around a sword than sit still and look pretty for my husband,” He chuckles as does Elys.

“Let’s see how good you are Ser Criston shall we?” “We shall, first person to get tapped loses. Fair?” “Fair.” She replies as the two ready their stance.

He swung his sword left and right as Elys gracefully misses them making her smile. The younger Stark was quite skilled as to the fact that she practically knew where the sword would aim at.

She continued moving backwards as the knight grunts in frustration. As she got closer to the wall, his sword aimed for her shoulder as she duck causing him to stumble forward giving her a chance to tap his back.

A round of claps made Elys look across to see her father and sister accompanied by the rest of the royal family. Only one person didn’t clap, he just kept his eyes on her with his hands behind him.

Elys shakes hands with Criston as she walks closer to the rest. “You fight well Lady Elys” Viserys praises as she bows, “Thank you, your highness.” “We are going for a stroll so that Lady Elaena and Daemon can spend some time in each other’s accompany. Do join us!” Rhaenyra beamed as she chuckles. “Of course.”

Rhaenyra decided to come with Elys as she went back to the castle to get changed. “Should I worry for my sister?” She half playfully say as she looks at Rhaenyra. Elys was dressed in a tight fitting dress, much opposite to her trousers and tunic for training.

Rhaenyra softly chuckles, “My uncle is an intimidating person, and ruthless, but he has a heart. My uncle’s feelings is something I can’t quite figure out, but I am sure he will grow to love your sister” She looks Elys in her eyes with a smile.

She smiles back as Elys faces the front, she sees the rest of the others already walking. Joining her father, he offers his arm to his daughter which she gladly took.

The two were behind King Viserys and Alicent, Elys’ sister and Daemon infront of them. “Are you alright, my darling?” Her father questions as she look at him, “Quite” Elys replies, her gaze on the ground.

She couldn’t help but think back at the way Rhaenyra’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Like it was tight lipped hiding away her true feelings regarding her uncle’s love that supposedly may soon grow on your sister.

Looking up for a quick moment, Elys locks eyes with the Prince himself. A small smirk evident on his face as she quickly looks away, finding Alicent’s hair interesting.

Elys watches as her sister leans her head on Daemon’s shoulder. She had no idea why, but she felt a small flutter of jealousy in her heart. Shaking away the horrid feeling—the feeling of somewhat betraying her older sister who dreamed of marrying into royalty—Elys excuse herself from the stroll and walks away.

~

With amazement, the corners of Elys’ mouth twitch up at the sight of the red scaled dragon. She had no idea who’s dragon it belonged to, but she imagined herself riding it into the horizon.

Elys was always quite fascinated by the big scaly beasts and longed the feeling of being up so high in the sky. On the other hand, her sister was terrified of them, thinking that they were horrid.

“Would you like to ride him?” A voice calls out from behind the girl making her spin around. “I-“ A genuine chuckle leaves his lips as he walks closer to her. “That is if he likes you” He grins, offering his hand.

Like a moth attracted to light, Elys takes his hand as he leads her into the dragon pit. “His name is Caraxes” Daemon looks back at her as she lets him guide her closer to the red beast.

Missing the warmth of his skin, he leans up against the dragon, his hand rubbing the dragon as Caraxes closes his eyes and lean against his rider.

“Give me your hand” Daemon outstretches his hand as Elys cautiously steps closer to him to take his hand. Taking her small hands in his, he presses it against Caraxes’ scales.

A gasp leaves her lips as a huge smile finds its way on her pretty lips. Daemon watched in awe at Elys’ side profile as she slowly rubs his dragon, a smile on his lips too.

He found it comforting that Caraxes allowed himself to feel comfortable with another person’s touch, not just his. They say dragons were the Targaryen’s other halves, an extension of their feelings but in a fire breathing dragon.

“He likes you” Daemon says in a matter of fact, “Does he?” She questions looking up at Caraxes’ eye, “Mhm,“ Eyes flickering to Elys’ face once again, an idea pops up in his mind. “Have you ever experienced the night life in flea bottom?”

Looking at Daemon questionably, she replies, “No I haven’t, my Prince” “Say, would you like to accompany me tonight? Curtesy of Caraxes of course” His hand motions to the blood wyrm.

“Aren’t you and my sister suppose to be entertaining everyone tonight you Grace?” Elys tilts her head as he scoffs looking down, “Kostis umbagon” Daemon directs his gaze to his left. (They can wait)

“Nyke pendagon ēzi already ēdas enough hen waiting syt ao syt tubī Daemon” Elys replies, crossing her arms as she lift her chin up towards him. (I think they have already had enough of waiting for you for today daemon)

His eyes dance in amusement as the High Valaryian rolled of her tongue in the most melodic way. “I thought you could speak my tongue” He smirks, offering his hand once again as she takes it naturally.

He helps Elys up on Caraxes as a giggle escapes, she felt so high up already and she hadn’t even left the ground. Daemon sits behind her, his chest leaning against her back, close enough that she could feel his body warmth and his breathing in her ear.

He places both hands on her waist as he leans against her head. “Issi ao ready?” Daemon’s hot breath fans her ear as Elys gulps, nonetheless, she nods as his hands give her waist a light squeeze. (Are you ready)

“Soves!” Daemon shouts as Caraxes lets out a screech before lifting off the ground.

next

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