#your god is not my god and your heart is blackened
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Seamstress | Part 4
Part 1 here.
John lets the men simmer for two days. Mostly he lets their trip to his seamstress ride to see if they brought it up to him. They didnât. Guess he would be playing this the sly way.
âFound an old quilt from my grandmother when cleaning out my mumâs house last leave.â
Johnnyâs brain sparked on the word association just as John hoped it would.
âFound out I can get my family kilts fixed up and preserved. Met a pretty lass who runs a shop that said it was a possibility.â
âOh?â John folded his arms across his chest, encouraging Johnny to go on by tilting his head in interest.
âYeah, pretty bird, kicked us out when we started asking about-â
He cut himself off pretty quick but John gave him a small scary smile.
âAsking about who, Johnny?â
Johnny started to back up, hands raised as he babbled his excuses.
âFinish your excuses and go get the guys.â
Johnny turned tail and fled from the room. His muppets filed in the room, Johnny getting forced by the neck by Simon who glared down at him. Must have wanted to keep this a secret. Should have known better than to tell Johnny. The man couldnât keep a non-life-threatening secret to save anyoneâs life. Kyle and Gary slid in after the duo.
âMuppets. You will leave my seamstress well enough alone or I will make it a problem for you.â
âSo she is yours?â Gary piped up from the side.
Shooting him a glare John continued.
âI am grown enough to not explain myself to the lot of you, but if I get a call again about any of you bothering her I will make it everyoneâs problem.â
Kyle smirked and spoke out one side of his mouth.
âSeems like Price canât get a date.â
âKyle I swear to my god and yours I will make you disappear if you keep it up. If your clothes go missing, just know they will be back. Now get out of here the lot of you.â
His men shared smiles and eye contact.
They hustled from the room when he picked up his blackened coffee mug to throw at one of them.
âFucking muppets going to send me to an early grave. I donât even have her phone number yet,â he mumbled to himself as the back of them disappeared.
đȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄđȘĄ
You think about John far more often than you should. He is a customer. Yes, he sleeps in your chairs and smiles at you in a way that pulls his cheeks to the moon, and yes he makes your heart flutter the tiniest bit but, but he is a customer who has never shown interest and you refuse to make someone feel uncomfortable in your shop. Your shop was a safe space, for everyone. Your flags are on clear display, so many, many flags, made sure of it.
He stepped through your thoughts carelessly. When you were wandering a superstore you somehow ended up in the camping section. A clearance foldable cot caught your eye and left the store with you. You maneuvered it into your tiny car and into the shop without allowing yourself to question why you had bought it.
John appeared two mornings following your purchase. You smile, wider than you should, at him.
âHi John, welcome back! Got anything new and interesting for me today?â
Did you sound too chipper?
âNothing crazy, one of my men needs a mask fixed.â
âDo you always bring in their items? I hope they are paying you at least,â you joke as you take the offered mask.
Spreading it on the counter you look it over, a tear over one ear and one from the eye portion. Both are decently easy fixes but would require your ring light and some time with a hand needle.
Looking up you offer John another smile. Fuck, can you keep the smiles to a minimum? He is going to think you are weird and then stop coming by.
âThis shouldnât take terribly long, I would say maybe an hour?â
John knocked one knuckle against the counter as he nodded. With both hands on the armrests, you remembered the cot in the back.
âOh, John!â
He paused, ass halfway lowered into the seat.
âI..uh..â you stammer to a stop, unsure of how your words might be received.
âYes?â He lifts a single brow at you, body not shaking as he waits.
Tucking one arm to your chest and the other to your mouth you speak from behind it.
âI found a cot. I brought it to the shop for you to use if you wanted?â
The words rush out of you, mumbled by your hand, and the speed by which you hurl them.
John stands, moving to stand next to the counter where the floor changes, noting the difference in customer space vs working space.
âWhat was that dove?â
Tightening your lips before biting the inside of your cheek you force yourself to say your words again. Slower, clearer you speak.
âI have a cot for you. In the back, so that you can sleep.â
His face goes blank as he blinks at you.
He looked a bit like a 404 code in the flesh.
A small smile breaks across his face as color spreads up his cheeks.
âFor me?â
âWell,â you tighten both arms around your middle as you reply. âNo one else seems to pay me for the privilege of sleeping in my shop, so yes?â
John rubs the back of his neck with one hand.
You awkwardly stare at him. What do you even say now? Do you invite him to lie down? No that sounded weird.
âDo you-â
âWhy don-â
You both started and stopped at hearing the otherâs voice.
Spinning on your heel you turned towards the storage room, confident John would follow. Popping the door open you can do nothing more than point to the cot, still covered in tape from the store.
John slides by you, chest brushing your arm and shoulder as he does. If you have to fight back the urge to take a bite? Well, he would never need to know.
âI can set it up for you if you donât mind?â John looks back over his shoulder at you.
Knowing you are beet red you can only nod.
âI bought it for you but didnât get a chance to,â you gesture at it as if your vague motion will explain all your thoughts.
Johnâs smile, eyes crinkling and shoulders softening, melted your heart.
âIâll take care of it and then take a good nap. My men have started to comment that I am nicer to them after I get a nap here.â He knelt, pulling out a pocket knife and slicing open the package.
âYour men?â You lean against the door frame, unabashedly watching. âWhat is it you do for work John?â
âSpecial forces, Iâm a captain. I lead a group of myself and four other men.â
âWell, that would explain a lot of the smells.â
He looks up at you, brow cocked.
âSmells?â
âLike fire, gunpowder, sweat, sometimes fear.â
âYou get a lot of smell knowledge here?â
âI get a lot of everything here,â you shrug, unable to articulate how no matter how clean a piece of cloth some lingering smells clung.
John turns back to his task. You spend far, far too long watching him. The way his shoulders dip and arms change shape as he uses them. When the cot is built and John stands he turns and catches sight of you, you give a panicked smile and flee for the counter where you had left the mask.
Slamming your body into your chair you turned on your ring light, pulled your black thread, and focused diligently on fixing the holes you had been asked to address. John did not reappear for nearly an hour. You had finished the mask sooner than that but had not yet found the fortitude to go and wake him.
The creases on his face matched the lines on the shoulder of his shirt, and the slight drool stain.
âRight on time?â
You smile and nod.
âWell letâs settle up and I will find a reason to be back in a few days.â John returns to the customer side of the counter, sure of himself and you.
âYou donât have to pay me to come nap if that is all you need,â you start.
He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.
âMy men are hard on clothes. If I can get you some business I feel less bad about using you for some shut-eye.â
Supposing you had to accept that answer you unlock your tablet and complete the transaction.
Once his card clears you pass over the mask.
âYouâre jewelry box should be done by Christmas.â
He drops the statement as if he forgot to bring it up until now.
âChristmas should be fine, I donât have many plans though I will be out of town the week of Christmas proper. I will be visiting my grandmother.â Paternal grandmother since your mother was not allowed to visit, but no need to mention that.
âWe will have to find some time to ensure I can get you the gift then,â he smiled as he said it.
âI told you I would pay for it John,â you chide.
With a shrug, he tucked the mask into his pocket and stepped back from the counter.
âCanât pay me for a Christmas present dove.â
With that, he waved and pushed through the front door.
âThe hell I canât,â you spoke to the empty shop.
Part 5
Masterlist
#cod#fanfiction#cod x reader#price x reader#john soap mactavish#soap cod#john price x reader#captain john price#simon ghost riley#gary roach sanderson#kyle gaz garrick#fluff
108 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, big fan of your work in the whump community :3
Do you have any prompts/thoughts for one of my favorite phrases: "I thought you were dead" ?
thank you so much!!
dialogue prompts in responses to âI thought you were dead.â
âIâm not dead, babe. I just ghosted you.â
âcheating death is what I do for a living.â
âthat was weeks ago/months ago. people change.â
ânot dead. I am Death.â
âand it sucked. being on the verge of death. would not recommend.â
âthatâs what Iâve been trying to tell you. I literally cannot die.â
âno, but you will be if you donât start running.â
âa bullet to the heart canât kill me. you, out of all people, should have known my heart has already been blackened and dried up a very long time ago.â
âsurprise, bitch. I bet you thought youâd seen the last of me.â (the classic one, I couldnât not add this.)
âof course, you did. after all, it was you who tried to kill me.â
âdarling, youâre going to have to try harder than that.â
âthis is gonna sound crazy, but I am dead, and apparently Iâm assigned to be your guardian angel now.â
âyou know Iâm not actually real, right?â
âno, you left me to die. I was just a survivor.â
âyeah, yeah, I heard that before.â
âI am.â
âdid you really have so little faith in me?â
âme too! another thing we have in common.â
âI did, but it turned out death didnât want me.â
âwhoâs going to look after you if Iâm dead?â
âIâll always come back to you.â
âdead? it was just a cut on a finger. stop being so dramatic.â
âsorry to disappoint.â
âboo.â
âyouâve made sure of that, havenât you?â
âIâm stubborn just like that.â
âis it because I disappeared from your life for 20 years?â
âwhy? what happened? why would you think that?â
âoh, I am. and so are you. welcome to the land of the dead.â
âIâm a ghost, and I need your help.â
âI donât have much time. you have to find my murderer.â
âI am. youâre just hallucinating.â
âif I am dead and youâre talking to me, doesnât it mean youâre dead, too?â
âIâm not Dead. Iâm (insert characterâs name).â
âI did. I just crawled out of hell.â
âhell was boring anyway. so here I am.â
âyou canât get rid of me that easily.â
ânothing could kill me. not even death.â
âyou know Iâd never leave you.â
âGod says itâs not my time.â
âwell, this is awkward.â
âoh, I am. Iâm here to take you with me.â
âdid you cry?â
âdid you mourn?â
âoh please, I was gone for less than an hour.â
âthereâs been a misunderstanding. It wasnât me who died.â
âI understand why youâd think that.â
âI can explain.â
âI am, and you will be just as dead as I am if you donât turn around right now.â
âyouâre not gonna believe what I saw on the other side.â
âwhy? you already replaced me?â
âI was hoping so too.â
âI really need to stop dying. let me tell you that shit is not fun.â
âIâm sorry if my survival is so inconvenient for you.â
âI have always been dead.â
âI died a long time ago, actually.â
âwhat are you going to do about that? try and kill me again? because it certainly didnât work the first 6 times. but hey! maybe seventh timeâs a charm!â
âI fooled you, didnât I?â
âIâm not going anywhere.â
âIâm sorry. do I know you?â
âitâs a long story.â
#admin answers#dialogue prompts#I thought you were dead#writing#writer#writers#writeblr#whump#angst#whumpblr#tropes#trope#prompt#prompts#writing inspo#writing inspiration#writing challenge#whump community#whump blog#writing ideas#whump scenario#whump scenes
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
evangelicals are a fucking disgrace and none of them are seeing heaven
#sorry just saw the images of supposed christians in the pro isreal rally and speeches and felt fucking sick to my stomach#you have burned the texts of your god and follow genocidal fuckwads instead#your god is not my god and your heart is blackened#if you do not think any good god wouldn't condemn you you're already too far gone#free palestine#im so fucking sick
457 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fires That Never Freeze
- Summary: You receive the news about Rhaenys' death at Rook's Rest, before Jace arrives as he secures the Twins.
- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark
- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after The Heir of Ice and Ash. To read all parts in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.
- Rating: Explicit 18+
- Word count: 5 524
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess
You cradle your son, Killian, against your chest, his soft breath a soothing rhythm amidst the storm brewing in your heart. His dark hair is thick for one so young, a stark contrast to your own silver strands that cascade down like a river of moonlight, braided intricately yet now trembling at the edges as you shudder with grief. His violet eyesâyour eyesâpeek up at you in curiosity, innocent to the world that has been drenched in blood and betrayal. You wish you could preserve this innocence forever, shield him from the horrors beyond these stone walls, but you know all too well that the winds of war spare no one.
The letter lies crumpled beside you, the wax seal of the Three-Headed Dragon snapped in two. The words are still fresh, cutting through you like Valyrian steel, sharper than any sword you could ever wield. Your grandmotherâbrave, indomitable Rhaenysâis gone. The Queen Who Never Was met her end at Rookâs Rest, where she and Meleys faced the combined fury of Vhagar and Sunfyre. The account is almost too monstrous to believe: how Meleysâ head was severed and paraded as a trophy, how Aegon the Usurper was carried away like a broken thing, sealed in a crate to hide his mangled form. They say he is scarcely more than a corpse now, held together only by pride and the twisted whims of fate.
Your tears fall silently, trailing over Killianâs soft cheeks as he looks up at you, gurgling without a care in the world. He knows nothing of what has been lost, what will never be.
Suddenly, you feel Creganâs presence behind youâwarm and steady like the roots of an ancient tree. He kneels by your side, his grey eyes searching yours with concern. His large, calloused hand rests gently on your back, grounding you in the present. âY/N,â he murmurs, voice soft as the snow falling outside. âI heard. The raven...â
You canât find the strength to speak, so you only nod. He understands without needing further words; he always has. The Lord of Winterfell was never meant for courtly games or gilded halls, but here in the cold North, his honesty and strength have become your rock amidst all the chaos. Yet even his unwavering strength canât shield you from this hurt.
âI thought dragons were⊠unkillable,â Cregan says after a pause, his voice rough with both sorrow and disbelief. âThe stuff of legends, creatures older than men, forged in fire. I thought they were eternal.â
You blink away the tears that threaten to blind you and force yourself to meet his gaze. There is no room for illusions, not in this world where even gods bleed. âAnything can be killed, Cregan,â you whisper, voice trembling yet laced with a fierce conviction. âEven the gods. Even kings and Kingmakers alike.â The venom laced in the last words is unmistakable. Ser Criston Cole, the leech in royal armor, the wretched man who enabled this war to take root with his false oaths and blackened soulâhow you despise him. The thought of him twisting the fate of nations with his cruelty makes bile rise in your throat
Creganâs brow furrows as he takes in your words. He knows of your distaste for Cole, for all those who put ambition over loyalty, who would see the world burn if only to rule over the ashes. He moves closer, wrapping a protective arm around you and Killian. âYouâre right,â he says quietly, his voice a deep rumble, âbut weâre still here, and weâll fight back for those weâve lost. For those who remain.â
Killian shifts in your arms, cooing softly, as if sensing the turmoil in your heart. You lean into Creganâs warmth, letting yourself take solace in the strength he offers. âRhaenys was always so brave,â you murmur, your voice breaking slightly. âShe defied them all her life, never once bending to their will. They feared her because she was a woman who would not be cowed, and now⊠they parade her death like some kind of victory.â
âThey can parade all they like,â Cregan says, his voice turning steely, âbut a victory built on treachery and murder will crumble. Aegonâs body may still cling to life, but his cause is already rotting from within. The realm will see it.â
His words, though meant to comfort, bring little ease. The war rages on, and with it, the losses mount like a tolling bell. Your heart aches, both for those who have fallen and for those who must still face what lies ahead. Yet, as you look down at Killian, you feel a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. He is a symbol of all you fight forâa future not bound by the horrors of the past, but shaped by those who endure.
âThraxata will know,â you murmur, more to yourself than to Cregan, your thoughts turning to your own dragon, the Midnight Fury. âShe will mourn with me.â
Cregan tightens his grip around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. âAnd when the time comes, sheâll fight with you too, alongside us all. This isnât over, Y/N. We have something theyâll never understandâa love forged in fire and ice, bound by loyalty.â
You close your eyes and let yourself be held, the flicker of strength in your chest rekindling. The tears still fall, but now, with every drop, there is something else tooâa growing resolve. Rhaenysâ death will not be in vain. The world will hear the roar of her legacy through you, through your son, and through every soul that refuses to bow to the false kings who sit on thrones built on blood.
For now, you hold your family close, taking what comfort you can in the warmth of Creganâs embrace, in the small heartbeat thrumming steadily against your chest. The autumn winds howl outside, but here, amidst stone and fur, there is still love, still life. The storm may rage, but you will not break.
Not yet.
The weirwood stands tall and ancient, its pale bark almost glowing in the dim twilight. The blood-red leaves flutter softly in the breeze, a stark contrast against the gray skies overhead. You feel small before it, like a child gazing up at something vast and unfathomable. The face carved into the heart treeâs trunk stares down at you with those deep, knowing eyes, as if it sees not just you, but every thought, every secret tucked away in the recesses of your soul.
Youâve been standing here longer than you intended, lost in the quiet of this sacred place. Yet, beneath the peace, thereâs an unease gnawing at you. The chill of autumn clings to your skin, sharper now, more present. It crawls into your bones, but you canât bring yourself to move. Youâre here, but not trulyâyour thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind.
For a moment, everything sharpens. You feel the press of the cold more keenly now, and your breath curls in the air like faint wisps of smoke. Then, the world begins to shift. The rustle of the leaves grows distant, muffled, until itâs almost drowned out by something elseâa whisper thatâs barely more than a breath, carried on the wind. You stiffen, your heart quickening. Itâs a voice, faint yet clear as the first crack of ice on a frozen lake.
Y/N.
It speaks your name, though you cannot tell whether itâs a manâs voice or a womanâs. It sounds old, ageless even, and it seems to echo within your mind as much as in the air around you. A rush of images floods your visionâflashes of faces, places, events yet to come or perhaps already past. You see fire and blood, wings spreading wide against a burning sky. Thereâs the glint of steel, a flash of a crownâsomeone crying out, their voice lost in a roar of flames.Â
Then, as suddenly as it came, the frenzy halts. You stagger back a step, your surroundings snapping back into focus, the world real again. But the cold clings to you, more than it did before. The weirwood watches you, its eyes holding secrets it will never share. You swallow, trying to steady your breath, your heart pounding loud enough to drown out all else.
âY/N!â A familiar voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, pulling you back fully to the present.
You turn, dazed, and see Cregan striding toward you, his expression tense with concern. Behind him is Maester Kennet, his gray robes fluttering as he hurries to keep pace. Creganâs eyes are locked on you, his brows drawn together, the worry evident in his every movement. âWhatâs wrong? Youâve been out here too longâitâs freezing.â His tone is gentle, but thereâs an edge to it, the underlying fear for your well-being.
You blink, still feeling the lingering echoes of the vision, the remnants of those hurried images flickering in your mindâs eye. âI⊠Iâm fine,â you say, but your voice is shakier than you intend, betraying the truth of your unease.
Cregan stops in front of you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one roughened hand, his thumb brushing against your cold skin. âYou donât look fine, love,â he murmurs, eyes searching yours as if trying to find the cause of whatever has you so shaken. âWhat happened?â
âIâm not sure,â you admit, closing your eyes briefly as you lean into his touch. âThe weirwood⊠I thought I heard something. Saw something.â
Maester Kennet approaches cautiously, his gaze darting between you and the heart tree. âThe Old Gods have their ways of sending messages, Lady Y/N,â he says softly. âThe weirwoods are their eyes, their ears. It is not unheard of for them to reach out to those who carry their favor.âÂ
Cregan frowns at that, his grip on you tightening protectively. âSheâs been out here too long, alone,â he says, not taking his eyes off you. âWhatever she saw or heard can wait until sheâs had some rest.â
But Maester Kennet shakes his head, his face grim as he pulls a folded letter from his robes. âI wouldnât have interrupted if it werenât important. A raven came not long agoâfrom the Twins. Your brother, Jacaerys, has secured passage for his forces. Heâs on his way to meet you, Lady Y/N.â
The words bring a sudden, fierce surge of emotionârelief mixed with dread. Jacaerys is alive, fighting as he always promised he would. Yet with every victory comes new dangers, new battles. And the visions, whatever they meant, linger in your mind like a shadow cast over the joy of the news.
Cregan, ever perceptive, sees the conflict in your eyes and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. âWeâll face whatever comes,â he promises, his voice a low rumble, the kind that always makes you feel like youâre standing on solid ground, even when the world tilts.
You manage a small smile, nodding. âYesâŠâ
But as you glance back at the weirwood, its face still and expressionless, you canât shake the feeling that the Old Gods are watching more keenly than ever. The autumn winds whisper secrets youâre not sure you want to hear, and deep in your heart, you sense that whatever lies ahead, the choices you make will ripple far beyond the snow-covered hills of the North.
With a deep breath, you turn away from the tree, allowing Creganâs steady presence to guide you back toward Winterfell, leaving the whispers of the gods behindâfor now.
The winds bite sharper today, swirling through the bare branches of the godswood and over the snow-covered battlements of Winterfell. You stand beside Cregan at the edge of the courtyard, your cloak pulled tight against the chill. Thraxata looms behind you, her obsidian scales gleaming in the pale winter light. The Midnight Furyâs violet eyes are fixed on the skies above, where your brother is soon to arrive. The air hums with anticipation, the kind that makes your heart race and your fingers twitch. Beside you, Cregan rests a hand on the pommel of his sword, his gaze as steady as the stone walls that surround you.
âAre you ready?â Creganâs voice is low, warm like a hearth fire, grounding you in the present moment.
You nod, though the tension in your chest remains. âI havenât seen Jacaerys in so long. I only hope heâs as safe as his letter claimed.â
Cregan squeezes your hand, a brief but reassuring gesture. âIf heâs anything like you, heâll be stronger than ever.â
You smile at his words, but the edge of worry still lingers. War changes people, molds them into something elseâsometimes into something harder, colder. Youâve seen it already in the eyes of the soldiers who have passed through Winterfell, men whose laughter now rings hollow, whose smiles are mere shadows. What has the war made of your brother?
Before your thoughts can spiral further, the distant roar of a dragon echoes through the sky, accompanied by the deep flap of massive wings. All eyes turn upward, and thereâemerging from the rolling cloudsâis Vermax. His green and bronze scales shimmer with an ethereal glow against the muted grays of the northern sky, his wings outstretched as he circles lower. Your heart lifts at the sight, despite everything.
Thraxata rumbles low in her throat, a sound thatâs half-greeting, half-challenge. She shifts, restless, her powerful tail sweeping across the ground and leaving deep grooves in the snow. You place a calming hand on her side, feeling the heat radiating from her scales, even in the biting cold. âEasy, girl,â you murmur, though a part of you understands her unease. The bond between dragon and rider is one forged in fire and instinctâThraxata senses your tension as clearly as you do.
Vermax lands with a powerful thud in the courtyard, snow scattering like dust beneath his claws. Jacaerys dismounts swiftly, his dark curls wild from the wind, his face shadowed with exhaustion and resolve. His eyesâdark brownâsearch the crowd until they find you. Despite the grimness that hangs about him, a grin breaks across his face.
âY/N!â His voice is hoarse, but filled with unmistakable affection.
You rush forward, closing the distance between you, and throw your arms around him. For a moment, youâre children again, finding comfort in each other amidst the storms that have always threatened to tear your family apart. But the moment is brief, tinged with the weight of all that has passed. When you pull back, you can see the subtle changes in himâthe deeper lines etched into his face, the hardened edge in his gaze.
âBrother,â you breathe, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the scar just above his browâa mark of a recent battle, no doubt. âYouâve grown into a man of war.â
Jacaerys huffs a quiet laugh, though it lacks the lightness it once held. âIt seems the war gives us little choice in what we become.â His gaze flickers over your shoulder, landing on Cregan. âLord Stark,â he greets formally, though the respect in his tone is genuine. âYour hospitality has been unmatched. Itâs a comfort to know my sister has found such a strong allyâand husband.â
Cregan inclines his head, his usual sternness softened slightly by a hint of warmth. âYour family is ours now, Jacaerys. Winterfell stands with you, as do the men of the North. We fight together.â
The words, though simple, carry a promise, one that Jacaerys seems to take solace in. He nods, a flicker of relief crossing his features before his expression grows serious once more. âThe Twins have bent the knee. Their armies are ready to march when we give the word. The Riverlands will rally to our cause, though theyâve suffered much at the hands of the greens.â
You clench your fists at your sides, feeling the familiar fire of rage ignite in your belly at the thought of those who serve the usurper, those whoâve turned against your mother, against your family. âWeâll make them pay for every drop of blood spilled,â you vow, your voice cold with determination. âTheyâll learn the price of treachery when fire and blood rain upon them.â
Jacaerysâ gaze meets yours, a shared understanding passing between you. âWe will, sister,â he says quietly. âBut we must be wise in how we strike. Our enemies are many, and some hide in shadows even we havenât uncovered.â
As he speaks, the men of Winterfell gather closer, eager to hear news from the South. Thraxata moves to stand beside Vermax, her violet eyes fixed on him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest. Vermax, ever the more temperate of the two, remains still, watching her with a calm curiosity. The two dragons are like night and day, one fierce and unpredictable, the other steady and patientâa reflection of the bond shared between their riders.
Maester Kennet steps forward from the crowd, ever the dutiful servant, and bows his head. âMy lord, my lady,â he addresses you both, âthe men are ready to host your brother and his retinue. Supplies are being gathered for the march south, but it would do you both good to rest and break bread together before the night grows colder.â
Cregan nods, though his gaze remains fixed on Jacaerys. âYouâve traveled far, and winterâs grip grows tighter by the day. Weâll speak of war and plans soon enough. Tonight, we celebrate family.â
Jacaerys glances at you, his eyes softening briefly before he returns his attention to Cregan. âIâd welcome that. Itâs been too long since Iâve felt the warmth of kin.â He turns to you once more, taking your hand and squeezing it. âMother would want us to stand strong, Y/N. For her, for all of us.â
You swallow back the knot in your throat, nodding. âWe will, Jace. We will.â
As you walk back toward the Great Hall, arm in arm with your brother and Cregan beside you, the dragons shift close behind ready to take flight, their steps heavy on the snow-covered earth. Above, the first stars begin to pierce the twilight sky, cold and distant. You can still feel the echoes of the weirwoodâs whispers, the glimpses of futures yet unwritten. But here, with your family by your side, you draw strength from the bonds that even war cannot break.
The Great Hall of Winterfell is alive with the low murmur of voices and the crackle of hearth fires. The long table is crowded with Stark bannermen, their weathered faces drawn with the seriousness of the discussion. The banners of the North hang proudly on the wallsâgray direwolves on fields of white and gray. The smell of pinewood smoke and spiced wine fills the air, mingling with the scent of roasted meats brought out for the evening. It is a scene both warm and solemn, a brief moment of respite before the weight of strategy drags everyone back into the cold reality of war.
You sit beside Cregan at the head of the table, your hand resting on his arm as Jacaerys stands before the gathered lords. He wears his determination like armor, though there is a heaviness in his eyes that no amount of resolve can mask. His voice, strong despite the weariness clinging to him, rings out over the hall.
âOur enemies have grown bolder since my brotherâs and grandmother's murders. Aemond has broken the oldest of lawsâheâs a kinslayer, and for that, heâs forfeited not only his honor but any right to mercy. The greens think the deaths of Luke and Rhaenys will weaken us, make us retreat into mourning. Theyâre wrong.â His words are met with murmurs of agreement, grim nods from the assembled bannermen.
Lord Cregan speaks next, his voice deep and measured. âJustice for Prince Lucerys and Princess Rhaenys will be served, Jacaerys, but the North is not free of its own burdens. The men and Houses we pledged to your cause will march with you as promisedâgreybeards and veterans who have survived more winters than most. But the majority of our forces must remain here, at least until the winds shift and winterâs bite eases.â
A rumble of assent follows Creganâs words. The greybeards, some of whom are gathered here tonight, nod their heads, weathered faces set in stony determination. These are men whoâve lived through harsh winters, wars, and endless trials. They know the cost of every step taken southward, but they also understand the weight of their oaths.
You lean forward, feeling the cold steel of duty and sorrow twisting within you. âThe Wall grows restless,â you add, your voice quieter but cutting through the room. âReports from our scouts say the wildlings stir, and there are whispers of darker things in the woods. The North cannot abandon its duties here, not entirely, not with winter closing in. We fight on two frontsâone for vengeance, and one to hold back the darkness that always comes with the cold.â
Jacaerysâ jaw tightens, though thereâs no anger in his gaze, only acceptance. âI know what I ask of you, of the North. I wouldnât pull you from your duties lightly. But weâre in desperate need of men whoâve seen true battleâmen who wonât falter when the greens come for us again.â He looks around the table, locking eyes with each of the bannermen. âAemondâs murders of Luke and Rhaenys aren't just an insult to my family, itâs a warning of whatâs to come. Theyâll strike at us all, one by one, until thereâs nothing left to fight for.â
Maester Kennet, seated near the fire, clears his throat, his thin fingers wrapped around a goblet. âA measured approach is wise. The North is vast, and winter makes even the shortest march an ordeal. Splitting our forces to both hold the Wall and reinforce the Riverlands is a sound strategy. But we cannot be reckless. The cold is our greatest enemyâaside from the greens themselves.â
A grizzled voice interrupts, belonging to Lord Harwood Flint. âWeâve sworn our oaths to your mother, Prince Jacaerys, and those oaths stand. The greybeards and I will march south, aye, but only as far as the weather allows. If winter deepens, weâll be forced to retreatâlest we lose more men to frost than to battle.â
Lord Cregan nods solemnly. âThe North keeps its promises, Jace, but our duty here is unbreakable. If winter passes, weâll ride in full force, dragons and all. Until then, youâll have what men we can spare, the strongest and the most experienced. The rest must remain to guard our lands and prepare for whatever winter may bring.â
You watch Jacaerys as he absorbs their words, weighing them against the urgency of his mission. Itâs a hard truth, but one heâs known in his heart. âI understand,â he finally says, though the strain in his voice is evident. âThe North has always held its ground when others falter. Your menâs presence in the Riverlands will tip the scales more than you know. Weâll make every sacrifice count, for all of our sakes.â
A silence falls over the hall, filled only by the crackling of the fires and the occasional clink of cups against wood. Itâs a heavy silence, the kind that carries the weight of lives yet to be lost, battles yet to be fought. You feel the tension in your own shoulders, the mix of sorrow and determination that has become all too familiar.
Creganâs voice breaks the silence, firm and resolute. âThen itâs settled. The North will march with you, Jacaerys, and weâll hold the line here until the time is right to unleash the full might of Winterfell. The Wall must remain guarded, our lands defended. But rest assuredâthe North remembers, and we will have vengeance for both Lucerys and Rhaenys.â
Jacaerys meets his gaze with a nod of gratitude, his eyes glistening with something more than just determinationâhope, perhaps, or at least the stubborn refusal to let despair take root. âThank you, Cregan. Thank you all. My mother will hear of your loyalty, and when the time comes, Iâll see that those whoâve wronged us pay with fire and blood.â
You reach out, placing a hand on Jacaerysâ arm, drawing his attention back to you. âWeâll see this through together, Jace,â you say softly, yet with unshakable conviction. âFor Luke. For our family.â
His lips press into a tight line, but he nods, and in that moment, you see the boy you once knew, the one who would always protect his siblings, no matter the cost. War has hardened him, yes, but it hasnât broken his spirit. And for that, youâre grateful.
The meeting ends with agreements made, plans solidified. As the lords begin to rise and drift away, you, Cregan, and Jacaerys remain, sharing a moment of quiet amidst the chaos. Thraxata and Vermax can be heard outside, their low growls a reminder that no matter how heavy the burden, you are not alone in this fight.
You glance at Cregan, who offers you a small, reassuring smile, and then at Jacaerys, whose eyes hold the same fire that burns within you. The North may be bound by its duties to the Wall, but when the time comes, it will roar in unison, and the South will tremble beneath the weight of vengeance and justice.
Until then, you steel yourself for the battles to come, knowing that winter is both your enemy and your greatest ally. The North will remember, and so will the world.
The chambers are dimly lit, the glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of pine and smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hint of sage and lavender from the herbs hung above the door. Outside, the cold wind howls, but in here, the warmth is groundingâa cocoon that holds only the two of you.
You stand before the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in the flicker of embers. Thoughts of the dayâs discussions linger in your mind, heavy like the weight of armor. Youâre still processing the event, the decisions, and the weight of whatâs to come. But for now, those thoughts seem distant as you feel Creganâs presence behind you. His steps are soft as he approaches, yet you can sense the strength in each movement. When he wraps his arms around you from behind, drawing you into his chest, you let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding.
âY/N,â he murmurs into your hair, his voice a deep rumble. Thereâs a tenderness there that youâve come to cherishâan intimacy that only grows with each passing day. You lean back into him, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, grounding you in this moment, away from the burden of duty and war.
His hands slide over your waist, tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that never fades, no matter how many times heâs touched you this way. âYouâre troubled,â he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. Itâs not a question; he knows you too well.
You close your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. âIâve been thinking⊠about everything. About Jace, the war, what lies ahead. But mostly⊠about what I felt in the godswood.â
Creganâs hands still for a moment, his grip tightening just slightly. He turns you gently to face him, his eyes searching yours, concern and affection mingling in his gaze. âYou saw something, didnât you?â he asks quietly.
You nod, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, roughened by stubble. âI did, but I donât want to think about it right now,â you whisper, letting your thumb brush over his lips. âRight now, I just want to feel alive. I want to feel us.â
Something shifts in his gaze, the concern giving way to something deeper, more primal. His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer, and when his lips finally meet yours, itâs with a passion that sends a surge of heat through you. The kiss is slow at first, a tender exploration, but it quickly deepens, becoming something more urgent, more consuming.
You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as you press closer, your bodies molding together as if trying to erase any distance between you. His hands roam over you, rough and strong, yet every touch is filled with affection. Itâs a contrast that youâve always found intoxicatingâthe fierce warrior and the gentle lover, both sides of him intertwined in every caress.
Creganâs mouth trails down your neck, leaving a line of burning kisses along your skin. âY/N,â he growls against your throat, his voice thick with desire. âYouâre mine.â
You shiver at the possessiveness in his tone, the words igniting something deep within you. âYours,â you breathe, tugging at his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours.
Clothes fall away with hurried hands, the cold air biting at your exposed skin for only a moment before the warmth of Creganâs body presses against you. You pull him with you, leading him to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he lays you down then, his weight a comforting pressure above you.
The passion between you ignites like wildfire. His hands grip your hips as he enters you, and you gasp, arching into him as he moves with a rhythm that feels like a dance, one youâve perfected together over countless nights. Every thrust is filled with a mixture of desire and love, each one drawing you closer to the edge, making the world beyond these walls fade away until thereâs only himâonly you.
Your hands roam over his back, nails digging in as the pleasure builds, each moan, each whispered word of affection driving you both higher. Thereâs a desperation in the way you cling to each other, as if the passion is the only thing anchoring you both in a world that threatens to tear everything apart.
âCregan,â you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips as you reach that peak together, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. He groans your name, his voice rough and breathless as he collapses against you, burying his face in your neck, holding you as if heâll never let go.
For a long while, neither of you speaks, content to simply breathe together, hearts pounding in unison. The room is warm, the glow of the fire casting soft light over your tangled limbs. Creganâs hand strokes your hair absently, his fingers combing through the silver strands as you lay nestled against him.
But eventually, the silence gives way to the thoughts that have been haunting you. You shift slightly, turning to look up at him. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression on his face, but you know heâs awake, lost in his own thoughts.
âCregan,â you say softly, drawing his attention. His eyes open, meeting yours, and the concern returns as he sees the seriousness in your expression.
âWhat did you see, love?â he asks, his voice gentle, though the tension in his jaw betrays his worry.
You take a breath, recalling the frenzied images that had flashed before you in the godswood, the voice that had called your name. âIt was like a storm in my mind,â you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. âI heard my nameâfelt something pulling at me. And then⊠I saw flashes of fire, blood, wings beating against a sky that burned. There was steel, a crown, and screams lost in the roar of flames. It was so vivid, so real, but I couldnât make sense of it. And then it was gone, as quickly as it came.â
Cregan listens, his brow furrowed as he considers your words. âThe Old Gods speak in riddles and symbols,â he says quietly. âIâve heard tales of their whispers, of visions granted to those who stand before the weirwoods. But theyâve never been clearâthey show what might be, not what is certain.â
You nod, but the unease still lingers. âIt felt like a warning, Cregan. Like something terrible is coming, something weâre not prepared for.â
He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âWhatever it is, weâll face it together. Youâre not alone in this. The North is with you, Iâm with you, and weâll do everything in our power to protect what we hold dear.â
You close your eyes, letting his words soothe some of the anxiety that gnaws at you. âI know. But thereâs so much at stake⊠and so many unknowns. I canât shake the feeling that the gods are watching, waiting to see what choices weâll make.â
âThe gods may watch,â Cregan murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your skin, âbut itâs our choices that shape the future. Whatever comes, weâll face it, side by side.â
You find comfort in his certainty, the steady strength he always offers when you need it most. Nestled in his arms, you feel the tension slowly drain from your body, replaced by a sense of peace, however fleeting. For now, the future can wait.
#house of the dragon#hotd cregan#hotd#hotd x y/n#hotd x reader#hotd x you#cregan x you#cregan x y/n#cregan x reader#cregan stark#jacaerys velaryon
441 notes
·
View notes
Note
okayâŠ. but imagine having aemond stuff his cum back inside you, loving to press his seed back inside your overstimulated cunt and breed you every dayâ
â đđđđđđ đđ
đđđ đđđđ.
gif credit.
© aemvnd 2022. do not plagiarize, translate, modify or post my content on any other platform.
authorâs note: yâall betta knowâŠâŠ i just had to write something for this -- my imagination ran absolutely wild with this one. i didnât wanna write a lot, just somethin mini for myself to get these sinful thoughts outta my head⊠im sorry in advance. ⥠if you enjoyed â please reblog, comment + leave ur feedback! thank u & happy reading. :)
warnings: minors dni. smut. breeding kink. p in v sex (slight). fingering. cunnilingus. female pronouns. possessive behavior. dark!aemond. wife!reader. overstimulation kink. pain kink. pet names. romance. fluff. any grammatical errors are my own â in advance, i sincerely apologize.
word count: 2,3k.
pairings: aemond targaryen x reader (f).
âĄàż bliss.
true, undying bliss overwhelmed you, completely.
âyouâre so perfect for me, my sweet girl,â aemond murmured, leaning down to press a loving kiss against your forehead, lingering there and closing his eye for a moment, breathing you in.
pulling back after a few seconds, aemond observed your face closely, feeling a warm sensation tugging at his blackened heart, feeling it crack into a million little pieces, watching you gaze back up at him in awe.
there was a soft look in your doe eyes, wide and innocent and full of love.
love for him, your husband.
aemond would never admit it, but he was almost certain that the very same look graced his face too, softening his sharpened features with equal amounts ofâif not moreâlove.
with a deep groan, aemond thrusted his cock inside your cunt a few more times, feeling your inner walls tightening around him, wanting to keep him inside and milk him dry.
a faint, little mewl escaped your swollen lips, making aemond lean forward again and capture your lips with his, kissing you slowly and passionately. the wet, warm muscle of his tongue slipped out, licking your bottom lip, before tugging it gently with his teeth, causing you to moan.
you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, pulling him flush against you â his naked, hard chest was pressed against yours, constantly brushing over your sensitive nipples, a whine making its way up your throat.
aemond smirked, reaching one hand up and tangling his fingers into your messy locks of hair, his other hand holding on to your hip to stabilize himself so to not crush you with his body.
ââŠmmm â gods, you were made to take my cock,â aemond purred against your mouth, slipping his tongue inside, your tongues slowly caressing each otherâs sensually, neither of you in any rush.
âi love you,â you whimpered, your mouths molding together as one â perfection.
with one last gentle thrust of the princeâs hips, he squirted his warm cum inside of you, his load entering your womb.
aemond stilled his hips, your fluttering cunt sheathing his cock, making aemond throw his head back with a feral growl.
with his cock still buried to the hilt in your pulsing cunt, aemond squeezed your hip that he was holding, digging his fingertips into the sweaty flesh as he felt his cock twitch inside of you, softening and feeling spent.
immediately, he collapsed on top of you, his face nuzzled into your neck. sleepily, he started leaving little kisses against the salty skin of your neck, sucking on your pulse point, feeling your fingers gently brush through his long hair.
aemond practically purred, the feeling of your nails scratching lightly at his scalp, always a sweet comfort. âsweet girl⊠âm gonna try something,â aemond mumbled, though he did not move for a few more minutes, completely relaxed in the safety of your arms.
however, you did not mind â especially the feeling of his large cock still buried deep inside you, making your insides begin to tingle again, your belly tightening at the thought of his royal seed settling in your womb.
gods be good, you prayed silently for a son of your own to give to your dear husband.
you loved aemond more than anything â more than life itself, all that you wanted was to give him everything he wanted⊠most importantly, you wanted to give him all the love in the world, including an heir of his own.
suddenly, aemond slowly pulled himself out of you with a sharp hiss, not hearing you wince slightly at the uncomfortable feeling of being empty overcame you. you tried to suppress it, making your face remain neutral.
the prince simply leaned back on his knees between your spread thighs, tilting his head back and releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction. then, his head looked back down towards you, his one eye sharp and observing you, as usual.
aemond always enjoyed watching you, he liked making you feel uncomfortable, especially when around him, watching the way youâd start to overthink everything about yourself, making yourself think â was there something wrong with you?
it amused him greatly, no matter how many times heâd done it to you.
however, no matter how much the prince could be cruel, heâd never intentionally hurt you. releasing a calming sigh, aemondâs large hands moved to grasp both of your thighs, squeezing them and then shaking them a bit, watching them jiggle slightly with a twitch of his lips.
he adored your thighs.
then, his head snapped back up to look at you, his eye piercing and observing your naked figure, admiring it without shame.
the prince looked at the soft delicateness of your pretty face, down to your neck and collarbones that were littered in love bites from him, to both of your breasts which were swollen from him sucking and biting on them earlier, until you cried out his name.
you watched him trail his eye down further until he stopped at your bare cunt, watching it with an amused glint in his violet eye, his seed dribbling out of you slowly.
smirking, the prince seemed to have thought of a idea.
aemond slowly looked back up at your face, the sapphire that rested in the socket of his missing eye sparkled from the massive fireplace â although, you did not look away from him. if you knew anything about your husband, you knew how he loved a challenge, and you were not going to be the first one to look away.
no, not this time.
chuckling softly underneath his breath, aemond clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, before raising an eyebrow at you.
âwill you be a good girl for me?â he asked, his tone flat but there was that hint of amusement hiding somewhere underneath.
if you didnât know any better, youâd think the prince was up to something.
you gulped, nodding your head and started fidgeting with your hands, making him tsk at you, slapping your hands away. instantly, you stopped â nervousness eating away at you as you dropped your arms directly by your sides, waiting.
aemond hummed, nodding once before shifting his body so that he was now laying on his stomach, resting comfortably between your spread, open thighs. your cunt glistened beautifully, making aemondâs eye dilate with need and a feverish lust.
as he laid down, he could feel his cock twitch underneath himself, no doubt hardening once again. he couldnât control himself when he was around you, you drove him nearly insane with a need to have you â always.
âmy pretty little wife..â aemond drawled, his hands creeping up to rub up the outside of your thighs, his hands warm and comforting.
âyouâre even pretty here, too,â he murmured, no doubt smirking as he heard you take in a sharp breath, his lips connecting to your mound, peppering kisses along the skin and across your hipbones.
he rubbed his warm, large hands up and down the outside of your thighs, closing his eye as he was merely enjoying himself â kissing, sucking, biting your hot skin into his mouth, moving down until his lips wrapped around your swollen, overstimulated clit.
you cried out into your shared chambers, one of your hands reaching up and grasping hold of one of the many pillowsâone that happened to have belonged to aemond, since you loved to lay on it since it smelled like himâfisting your small hand into the soft material.
you immediately wrapped a leg around his head, unconsciously pulling him closer against your cunt, wanting more.
always, always wanting more of him.
aemond had made you come so many times tonightâtoo many timesâthat you had lost count.
without warning, aemond removed a hand from massaging the meat of one of your thighs and brushed a finger up your dribbling slit, gathering his cum that was leaking out and stuffing it back inside you.
you whimpered, fisting the pillow and the silk sheets below you, your head thrown back and your eyes rolling into the back of your head, feeling him curl the finger inside of you.
aemond hummed, continuously sucking and sending vibrations through your sensitive, little clit â before adding two more long fingers, stuffing them inside and just leaving them there, not moving.
almost like a plug.
minutes had passed, with just him sucking and flicking your clit back and forth with his hot tongue, though he fingers did not move, only remaining plunged inside of you, causing your walls to tighten and flutter, endlessly.
âaemond..!? what.. w-what are you doing?â you heaved, your chest rising and falling quickly, feeling your belly tighten once again, painfully â your muscles sore and aching now as you could feel yourself about to come again.
âplease, aemond â i am going to come again,â you sobbed, sweating profusely and your heart feeling like it was about to explode in your chest.
aemond nodded, not missing a beat, âgo on, then.â
âno..! no, no, no â please, aemond.. i cannot. it hurts, it hurts so muchâŠâ you sobbed, tears now burning your eyes, falling freely. your throat felt like it was on fire, as well as like it was closing from you gasping in too much air, trying your hardest not to come again.
however, aemond continued his ministrations on your clit, not stopping for a moment and evening wiggling his three fingers that were inside of youâkeeping his cum from leaking out of you againâand with his other hand dug his fingers into the meat of your thigh that he was still holding, making you yelp in painful pleasure.
you were exhausted.
âp-please.. please,â you sniffled, shaking your head and begging.
aemond growled, pinching your thigh and then slapping it harshly in punishment, feeling you wiggling around too much.
âbe sweet, wife â stop moving and come for me again,â he commanded, his words muffled but you could still understand him.
you choked on your own saliva, âoh, gods..â you whined, feeling your muscles tense and tense and tense, before the band inside of you snapped like a violin string and you let out the most earth shattering screech.
you cried your husbandâs name over and over again, feeling aemond quickly squeeze in a fourth finger, beginning to curl all four of them inside of you, feeling your walls clamp down around them.
you were honestly afraid â afraid that he would want to see how much you could take and shove his entire fist insideâ(you had heard ladies of the court gossip that their husbands had done that to them, and it was the most painful experience)âyou never wanted to find out for yourself.
luckily, for you â even in your blissed out mind, you trusted your husband, knowing he liked pushing you to your limits, but knowing exactly how much you could take.
your thighs were quivering, your orgasm washing over you in tsunami waves of endless pleasure, with aemond continuing to gently lick your clit now, barely applying actual pressure â though his fingers remained.
âso, so perfect for me.. youâd done so well for me, my sweet girl.â
a genuine, dopey smile tugged at your lips, feeling relieved that you had pleased him, again.
once your high had calmed down, aemond pulled his mouth away from your clit, resting the left side of his face on your thigh, glancing up at you with a small smirk on his handsome face, watching you try to keep your eyes open.
âenjoy yourself, did you?â
you giggled, nodding your head yes. âi thought i was going to black out,â you confessed, embarrassment flooding your veins.
aemond lightly chuckled, âwouldnât be the first time.â
you looked down, pouting and making him laugh harder, giving a sweet kiss to your thigh, before locking his violet eye with yours once more.
gods, how he loved you.
âiâm just teasing, my love.â
your eyebrows furrowed, âno, you are not,â you said, knowing he was speaking the truth â in fact, you had blacked out before while he was fucking you, his love for overstimulating you overwhelmed you.. time and time again.
although, you did not mind so much.
nonetheless, you liked to tease him back and pretend you hated it when he teased you â both of you knowing full well that you secretly adored it, just as much as he.
aemond snorted, before lifting his head and leaning forwards again, giving your clit a kiss, feeling you tense up immediately. ârelax,â he said, eyeing your face. âi think youâve had enough for tonight.â
you flushed, feeling his fingers twitch inside of you, before pulling them out slowly and began observing them.. they were drenched in his cum and yours, practically dripping on to your sheets.
aemond felt the corner of his mouth tug up, before opening his mouth and shoving all four fingers inside, sucking both of your mixed essence right off, swallowing with a low hum of approval.
your eyes widened, but then you licked your lips, watching him suck and work his tongue between each of his digits, his eye locked on yours as he put on a little show for you, smirking playfully.
with a pop of the last finger, he smiled, âdelicious.â
you didnât say anything, you couldnât â you couldnât even begin to describe how unbelievably attractive your husband was⊠and he was all yours.
âi love you,â you blurted out, but meaning it anyways. you were always more of the sentimental one between you two, but you could see the softness settle over aemondâs face every time you told him those three little words.
those three little words held so much meaning to him, especially coming from you.
aemond didnât respond â instead, he climbed up your body, being careful not to crush you and settled until he was hovering above you, his face only mere centimeters away from yours. â..i love you, my beautiful wife.â
fin
feel free to send in requests / thots here.
#â đđđșâđ đđđđđ Ë⧠ê#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond imagine#aemond smut#aemond fluff#prince aemond#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd s1#hotd
9K notes
·
View notes
Text
I refuse to create a new au, let's call it "alternate timeline"
Ok so, this is based on this illustration. They were just thoughts that came into my head while I was coloring. I'm bad at narration and good at lists so bear with me...
We are located in the time just before Narinder discovers/creates/idk the way to revive mortals. He is still the bishop of death with his own cult and there are no problems with the rest of the bishops. I want to add a note: since this is set before the whole betrayal thing here Narinder is portrayed as calmer focused on his own thing.
The lamb (we will call her Avan hehe) is part of the cult of the red crown. She is really interested in everything related to spirits and gods and often gets into trouble because of her curiosity.
One day in particular she decides to follow one of the fireflies/devotion lights through the forest and ends up meeting the bishop of death who, thanks to a convenient breeze, ends up revealing his face by accident.
I don't know what happens in this period of time but the lamb ends up visiting the forest often to meet Narinder until it becomes a kind of habit.
Visits in the forest become common company within the cult as well. Avan receives as a gift the red cord that she uses as a belt to match Narinder (thanks to this other cultists believe that she has ascended to a new position and do not usually bother her with questions)
Avan ends up helping Narinder perfect the resurrection method with the knowledge she has of materials (bones, plants, among others) in addition to providing a different perspective and questions to the god of death. In the end they end up achieving the result that we know in the game. [for the ritual to work the summoner gives a small fragment of his life, since Narinder is immortal this does not affect him in any way]
Here the pre-game events take place: the bishops don't like this, they plan a way to stop what Narinder has started and opt to imprison him in the gateway, but first they must kill him (inspired by this post, go check it out )
So Narinder is killed but he is not immediately chained, but rather the bishops decide to first put an end to the cult (to prevent knowledge about the resurrection from being dispersed). Avan's life is spared because "she seemed to be close to Narinder and his memory should not be forgotten" (me to myself: HA FOOLS! they left alive the only one who really knew the resurrection ritual)
As the massacre takes place, Avan (between terrified and confused) decides to do the resurrection ritual on her own. She takes Narinder's heart and hides deep in the forest.
As Avan is a mortal, the ritual affects her quite a bit (you can see her blackened fingers in a sketch). Narinder is brought back to the world of the living as a demigod, as Avan's mortal life was not enough to bring him back fully.
This is where the story gets a little blurry because my imagination started to run outâŠ
While Narinder fervently desires to take revenge, his powers are truly limited now, and abusing them could kill him and even the lamb. Avan, for her part, prefers to hide at least for a while, scared of the bishops and the idea that they will discover that she was the one who brought Narinder back to life.
How the hell do you hide a cat at least three times your height?
Before the story went totally off track this was supposed to be some sort of Narinder flashback for the CFP Au
I did think about designing a lamb especially for this one, but I prefer to take and adapt Avana, it's more fun and I think the blue suits her well.
Is this a romantic Au? dramatic? Platonic? of friendship? of survival? idk, be creative with your own imagination and enjoy.
#I should call this âthe alternate timeline where Avana has more functional brain cells than witsâ#ane doodles yay!#cotl art#cult of the lamb#cotl narinder#cotl lamb#cotl au#pls no#cotl fanart#ane talking#cw blood
595 notes
·
View notes
Text
A curse for a curse
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if thatâs even a thing but itâs there)
Word count: 8.5K
Authorâs note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.
Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver
Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.
She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.
The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.
But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.
âWhen is Aemond coming back?â the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesnât know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?
Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?
What is he doing with that bastard woman?Â
âThey say sheâs a witch.â King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.
âHe killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.â He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. âWhy did he not do it, sweet good-sister?â
He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.
âI do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Godsâ mercy and decided to spare a woman.â
His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and thereâs nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.
Heâs taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.
She has utterly bewitched him.
Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.
He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.
Soon.
Soon was two moons ago and heâs still there.
It doesnât matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.
The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. âPrincess?â
She immediately looks around, but thereâs no silver in that huge black hall.
âWhat are you doing here?â the Hand asks, walking to her âIt is not safe for youââ
âWhere is the Prince?â she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.
Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesnât show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says âThe Prince is not here, your Grace. Heâs out, on the battle camp.â
She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creatureâa lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.
She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. Itâs what sheâs been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.
She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.
âLeave, please.â She orders the men âAll of you. I need a word with the Hand.â
They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.
The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.
âWhat is going on here, Ser Criston?â
He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. âThe situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the momentââ
âI donât give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.â She almost hisses âYou are perfectly aware of what Iâm asking.â
His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.
âWhat is going on between Aemond and the witch.â she states, she is not asking.
The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. âMy Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.â
She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. âWhat should I believe then?â
âItâs true. The Prince spared her life.â
âDoes he keep her in his chambers?â
âWhat? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.â
âDid she ever visit his rooms? Alone?â
Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. âYou must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.â
The wound between her ribs cracks open.
There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?
âI want to see her.â
âPrincess, it is not wise.â
âI believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.â
 Ser Cole sighs again. âSheâsâŠdangerous, my Princess. Sheâs eerily persuasive.â
âSo, you think itâs true? That sheâs a witch?â
âIâm not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is thatâŠone of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she justâŠmurmured something to this man.â He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. âThe next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.â
Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face. Â
âShe claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happeningâthe Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.â
A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Handâs reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. âTake me to her.â
Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. âAs you wish, my Princess.â
Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.
She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.
Thereâs a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.
âAlas, you have come.â
The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she canât stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.
âYou must be Alys.â She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.
The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. âYou are exactly as I saw you in the flames.â
âThat will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.â
âNo. I know who you are.â The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more âI can see his mark on you.â
âHis mark?â
âYes.â She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. âHe leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, Iâd say.â From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. âWe have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.â
The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they wereâŠwhat? Friends? Allies?
Lovers?
âHave you been in his chambers all this time?â she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. âIs that the only reason youâre here? To know if he cheated on you?â
âAnswer my question.â The Princess orders.
âDarling, If I wanted to fuck him, I wouldâve done it ages ago.â She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. âYou left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.â
She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.
âJust as you, Iâd say, since heâs forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever youâre making him do it with your witchcraft.â
She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.
âIâm not making him doing anything. I canât play with his head. Heâs too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.â
âThen what do you want? Gold? Lands?â
âI do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.â
âTo see what?â
âWhat the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.â
The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. âOh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conquerorâs Crown.â
Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?
âSo thatâs how youâre keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.â
âHe asked me to. At the moment Iâm more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.â
The Princess almost laughs at this. âI see. You think you can handle him, donât you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?â
âWell, Iâm not denying heâs handsome enough to please my eyes.â
âAnd once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.â
It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.
âAll your witchcraft wonât be enough to handle him.â
The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.
âSer Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."
âYour Grace, Prince Aemond will not be haââ
âIâll deal with Prince Aemond.â She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips âI know how to handle him.â
The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witchâs wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. âThere is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, thereâs even gold in theâ"
âI told you, I donât wantââ
âI donât care of what you want!â The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. âYou live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.â
Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. âAs you wish, Princess.â
She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.
The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say âI did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.â
Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.
Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they donât have a clue what theyâre talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.
âI am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.â He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. âWhether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.â
There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.
âMy Prince, if you allow meââ one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths âWe should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to considerââ
âI gave them enough.â He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. âThey will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.â
They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.
âSummon the witch.â He orders âBring her to me.â
He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.
âUhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.â
âWhat do you mean sheâs not here?â
âS-she left, your Grace.â
The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. âYou let her flee?!â he rages with his eye blown wide.
âI-I didânot your Grace!â the boy manages to croak while heâs choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcherâs hands.
âHeâs right. I did.â Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.
He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if heâs finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him himâsomething that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhalâs weight, not Alysâ. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.
âOut.â he orders the Lords âAll of you.â
They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.
The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.
âWhat in the name of the Seven are you doing here?â
She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.
âWhat are you doing?â he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.
âMy duty as wife.â She replies sternly, holding his arm âOr did you forget you had one?â she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eyeârage and maybe a tinge of hurt. Â
âAm I doing it right?â she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm âWas your witch friend better than me?â
The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. âI asked you a question. Weâre at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?â
She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. âHow strange, that is a question I should ask you.â
âEnough.â He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.
âEnough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.â
âIn case you didnât notice, weâre at war, my dear wife. Things in war donât go exactly as you planned themââ
âOh spare me!â she cuts him off, freeing herself âSpare me the war talk, thatâs all Iâve been hearing from you.â
âWhat did you expect exactly? Love letters?â
âI expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what Iâve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?â
âI donât want to hear about it.â He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.
âNo, you will.â She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. âThey said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.â
âI donât want to hear about it.â He says again, closing his eye for a moment.
âThey said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.â
âI donât want to hear about it!â he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.
âWhy? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.â
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. âYou know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.â
âYou needed her?â she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. âYou needed her for what? For her to tell you how good youâll look wearing the Conquerorâs Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre canât fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.â
âThe Blacks will not attack.â
âDid she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?â she canât fight back the contempt curling her lips âAre you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.â
âWatch your mouth, woman.â he seethes âYou donât talk to me like this.â
âOr what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought youâd like a token of your time with the witch.â
âDid you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?â his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation âWhat do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? Iâll tell you. None. You canât even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?â
The wound is rotting from the inside and heâs pouring salt on it.
âI came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that Iâm with child.â
Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witchâs curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.
âBut it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.â
She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.
Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.
âI will leave at dawn.â She informs him with a blank face âI wonât disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.â
This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemondâs chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but itâs completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.
A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.
She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.
âWe could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.â Her father had said in a letter, in the aftermath of Lucerysâ death.
As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.
As if he hadnât left his mark on her.
She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldnât bear his child.
âA child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.â Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital âHow can they bless your union with a man so accursed?â
And yet.
She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she canât stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?
She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.
She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.
âEat.â An order, not an invitation.
She doesnât even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. âIâm afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.â
She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.
âEat or Iâll feed you myself.â
She doesnât bother to even answer this time.
Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. âIs it true?â
âWhat?â
âThat youâre with child.â
âIn my husbandâs lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess Iâm capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.â
He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her. âYou will stay here with me.â Another order.
Another rejection. âI will not.â
âYes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.â
âI see. Now Iâm worth something to you, am I not?â and finally she looks up âMy duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. Itâs a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if itâs a boy or a girl.â
Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. âI said enough.â
He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.
His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.
He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."
âI did not touch her.â He says like an oath âEver.â
âI know you didnât.â she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. âMaybe it wouldâve been better if you had.â
âDid you want me to fuck her now?â
âI wanted you to need me, not her.â
His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but itâs not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.
Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.
He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.
The surface has never been so frail. She doesnât even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.
No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.
She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemondâs curse?
âI know you feel guilty.â She says, or rather whispers, as if sheâs being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. âI know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.â
His answer is mute, but itâs the loudest confession she could get.
He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.
Aemond didnât believe in curses.
He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.
He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.
For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.
Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.
In his head, he heard that word with his motherâs voice, with Aegonâs, Helaenaâs.
He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge.Â
He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conquerorâs Crown on his silver head.
And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.
But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.
He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.
She, of course, had sensed it immediately.
âYou canât win this war if your mind is elsewhere.â She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.
He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.
âI told you to stay out of my fucking head.â
âYou need not worry, my Prince.â She retorted with a chilling smile âI canât play with your head. Itâs too heavyâŠand ugly. And this womanâŠoh, sheâs eating you alive.â
The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.
She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.
The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.
The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.
He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.
He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.
âLooking for my love letters?â he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.
âI was looking for ink, actually.â she says looking below a paper left on the table. âBesidesâŠlove letters from you? Ghastly.âÂ
He canât fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and sheâs stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she canât help herself.
He doesnât have a clue.
He doesnât know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesnât have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she canât stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.
âHave you eaten?â he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.
She canât stand it anymore. She canât stand all the questions.
Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?
âIs this how is going to be from now on?â she asks looking up âYou acting as if you are my maid?â
He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.
âFirst you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you donât want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.â
âI want you to be my husband.â She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.
She wants to bathe in it. âI want to be your wife.â
Aemondâs eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. âYou are.â He vows, locking his eye on her.
âProve it.â She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.
He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. âAre you going to bite me again?â
âAs if you didnât like that.â
A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel heâs restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.
They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if heâs blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that sheâs breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.
In all truth, she doesnât have to.
He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.
âYou know what you want, donât you?â He teases with a feral grin.
âCurse you and your hideous smirk.â She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.
âYou love my smirk.â He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. âBesides, Iâm already cursed.â He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.
She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.
She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.
Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. âAlready? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.â
âShut up.â She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.
Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesnât even remember the face of the witch.
He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.
âNo.â she says, and she stops his hands. âDo you think I would make it so easy for you?â
Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now sheâs sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.
âItâs my turn to prove it.â She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.
âProve what?â
âThat youâre my mine.â She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.
She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. âI thought you were the one who wished to be chained.â
âIâm not the one in need of a lesson.â
She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. âWhat if I donât want to?â but thereâs an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.
âThen who will take care of you?â she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. âAre you sure your hand will suffice?â
He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.
âChain me.â
She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.
She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."
He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.
Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.
He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.
The chains metal clink as he winces.
She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare heâs giving her.
âI canât tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.â
âI need you to fucking do something.â
âLike what?â she asks, palming his cock through the fabric âTell me, husband. I may grant your wish.â
He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but itâs a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. âMove, grind on me.â His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is differentâall heated and husky.
She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.
Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds itâs a useless fight when heâs so hard itâs starting to hurt.
But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.
âLift up your skirts. Let me see.â
She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.
âI donât like that tone, husband.â She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored âAsk nicely.â
Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. Heâs completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.
âPlease. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.â
âHmm.â She hums smiling. âBetter.â
Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.
âFuckâ he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesnât have a clue whether itâs the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.
âDo you see how I much Iâve missed you?â she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.
His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.
âI touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.â
âEnough of that fucking witch.â he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. âFaster.â
She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he canât do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.
The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. âOnce Iâm free of these fucking chains, Iâm going to fuck you senseless till morning.â
âUnless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.â
He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride wonât allow him to let go.
But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesnât.
âStubborn, are we?â she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. âYour witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, thatâs why she couldnât play with your head. She couldnât handle you.â her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.
âI can, though.â her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.
âPleaseâŠâ he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.
âLouder, my love.â
His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue.Â
âPleaseâŠâ he begs freely âPlease, touch me.â
A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. âDonât rush it.â she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.
âI canât take itâŠlet me comeâŠâ
âAlready? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.â
âYouâre cursed, woman.â
âTakes one to know one. A curse for a curse.â
She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. âI have half a mind to leave you like this.â She says and for a moment, he dreads sheâs being serious.
âLuckily for you, Iâm just as greedy as you are.â
In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and heâs moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks sheâs going to utterly drain him.
She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds sheâs making.
âGods, yesâŠâ he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her âYesâŠjust like that, just a little moreâŠâ
She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows heâs dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. âDonât tell me youâre going to break the rule.â
Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what sheâs talking about. He isnât even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense theyâre close to snap.
âWhat was it again?â she asks âAh, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.â She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. âMy ever-romantic husband.â
âFuck the rule, youâre driving me mad. Let me come.â
âAsk nicely.â
âPlease.â He begs âPlease let me come in your mouth.â
The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.
He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.
The chains are finally still and silent. Heâs breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.
That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. âDid you think it was over?â
If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.
âSeven Hells, woman, give me a breââ words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.
Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.
Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.
âUntie meâŠâ he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but itâs a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.
âYou are not in charge here, my love.â
âThen quit the act and fuck me.â
Perhaps, if she wasnât so equally desperate for him, if she wasnât leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she canât take it anymore.
She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.
âOh Godsâyes!â she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.
âDâyou miss this?â he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence âDid you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?â
She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft. Â
They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.
He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.
âUntie me now, would you?â he asks softly on the crown of her head.
âIâm not sure.â She muses against his chest. âIâve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.â
âWho said I didnât?â
She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.
âBesides, itâs your turn.â
She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. âNow?â
âHavenât you heard? No man is so accursed as me.â Â
PART III
#a curse for a curse#liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond x wife reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x wife reader#aemond smut#hotd fic#house of the dragon#aemond one eye
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
For Your Safety
no outbreak!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 1.8k
Summary: Your bladder forces you to disrupt your make out session with your boyfriend. Joel seeks out a different way to relieve you.
Content warnings: Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Feminine pet names (baby, mama). Pussy has pronouns (she/her), but reader directly does not. Joel carries reader once. Established relationship. 18+ MDNI!! Porn with very minimal plot. BDSM play/undertones. Exploring new kinks. Slight discomfort/reluctancy (implied safe words in place - Joel will stop if you say the safe words). P in V unprotected sex. Overstimulation. Piss kink. I think that's it! Please let me know if I missed anything!
Author's note: I'M BACK, MY LOVES!!! I'VE MISSED YOU! I've got several things coming your guys' way, but I just wrote this little thing to get my juices (figuratively and literally) flowing again hehehe. Thank you @strang3lov3 for being my second pair of eyes on this little baby and for making this beautiful, perfect fucking moodboard, I appreciate you so much𩶠I hope you guys enjoy xx
masterlist | notifs blog
âMm, baby, wait,â you mutter, breaking away from the puffy lips of the insatiable man underneath you.Â
âYou okay?â He breathes into your mouth, a frown already forming that your lips arenât on his anymore.Â
With a kiss to the tip of his nose, âYes, Iâm okay, I just really need to pee.â
Lifting off of his lap, you begin to turn away before Joelâs pawing at your wrist. âWait.â
You raise an eyebrow at him.Â
âDonât go pee yet.â
âJoel,â you giggle. âIâll literally be two seconds, I know that boner isnât going away anytime soon.â
âNo- I meanâŠâ he trails off. He sits up, his hands finding their way back to your waist. Your body easily begins to give in.Â
âBaby,â you lightly scold.
âYou trust me?â His gaze never breaks from yours.Â
âAlways,â you reply immediately.Â
Without missing a beat: âThen sit on me.â
âWhat?â Your eyebrows furrow.Â
Without further explanation, his fingers find the hem of your bottoms. He gives you a chance to tell him to stop, but when you never take that chance, he lets your clothing fall into a little pile on your living room floor. He pulls away for a moment after, shedding himself of his belt and jeans, letting his clothes join yours.Â
Your heart jumps at the sight of himâhis entire length on display, tip red and leaking, eyes blackened with hunger as he devours you with his eyes alone. âBaby,â you whimper, âI swear to God, if I get aroused any further I will not be able to control my fucking bladderââ
A smirk begins to form across his face.
Oh.Â
The way Joelâs eyes gloss over as you finally piece it together has your body shuddering. He didnât say not to pee. He just said not to pee yet.Â
âCâmere, baby,â he drawls lazily. His hands are reaching out for you, guiding you to straddle him once more.Â
Settling into his lap, Joel wastes no time guiding his length to you, your previous makeout session and the proposition of whatâs about to happen providing you already with an ample amount of slick for him to work with.Â
The second he fixes merely the head of him in your entrance, a pleasurable flutter erupts through you, starting in your lower belly, shooting up your spine. A breathy yelp of a fuck escapes your throat at the sensation, the feeling of your bladder intensifying tenfold.Â
âJoel,â you whine, eyes clamping shut as your hips meet his own, his grip tight and unrelenting. âIt- it h-hurtsâŠâ you trail off, gasping when he begins moving you back and forth, grinding you against him.Â
âIt hurts?â He asks, slowing but not to a halt.Â
So good, you think, it hurts so fucking good. But already, youâre too turned on and blissed out for any coherent thought to form. Instead, your hands find his chest, using the newfound stability to grind down even harder onto him, whimpers and murmured curses in breathy exhales make his chestâand cockâswell with pride.Â
Heâs been meaning to tell you about this secret little fantasy heâs had for a while. Joel has never had a piss kink or anything before, but after that time he made you squirt and you literally sprayed him everywhere from his mouth down? Oh, he needed moreâneeded to feel it happen around himâand he needed it badly. He just wasnât sure how youâd react.Â
Sure, youâre both more explorative in the bedroom than most people, but anything involving pee has always been on the more extreme side. He didnât want to scare you awayâas if you could ever, youâd probably tell him. And he could just make you squirt again, but whereâs the fun in that? The fun in making every part of you lose control from him and him alone?Â
And now here you are, providing him with the perfect opportunity to show rather than tell you about his fantasies.Â
âOh, my poor baby, â he taunts, the worry of you being in actual pain dissipating immediately. âHurts so bad because she needâa cum, huh? That it, baby?âÂ
His chest is heaving with how fucking good you feel, tight and warm and utterly fucking soaked. It is taking absolutely everything within him to not cum inside you at this very moment, but he needs you to get there first. Heâs determined.
With your hips finding a steady, needy rhythm, you nod your head rapidlyâthighs shaking, nails stabbing through the fabric of his green flannel. âPlease, babâ oh my god,â you groan out as he brings his fingers in between where you two meet, the added pleasure forcing the familiar muscle in your belly to clench, your pussy fluttering out of her mind around him.Â
âOh my god, oh fuckââ you cry. A sense of rationale floods your brain, allowing you a moment to slur something decently audible. âJoel, the couch,â you pant. âIâm gonnaâ itâs gonna get dirty, baby, please, I canâtââ
Your hips are still driving eagerly despite your spoken protests, and Joel is just having way too much fun with this. âNever had a problem fuckinâ on the couch before, baby, whatâs the difference now?â He asks with a grunt, the corner of his mouth upturned.Â
âJoel,â you try to bite, but your venom is useless when he has you like this, on the verge of forcing your body into the astral plane with no say in the matter. Still, you try once more. âJoel, Iâ Iâm gonna fuckingââ a moan forces itself out, choking you on your words. âFuck, please, Iâm gonna fucking pee, baby, please, I canât hold it,â you beg, tears pooling into your lash line, the pleasure nearing the territory of overstimulation.Â
Joel contemplates. He seriously has no problems deep cleaning the couch later, but your discomfort is more important. If you donât want to dirty the couch, then you two arenât going to dirty the couch.Â
âHold tight,â he tells you, and you do despite your faceâs confusion. His arms hold you snug against him, and he stands with you on himâwith him in youâand makes a beeline for the bathroom.Â
âOh, fuck,â you groan as he walks, the tinge of sex already sticking to the creases of his neck. Each step causes your belly to flutter, bringing you closer and closer to releaseâcloser to releasing your bladder all over the damn house. âBaby, please,â you gasp, your nails digging into the back of his head as you try to hold off on letting go.Â
Joel kicks the door open, uncaring in the slightest sound of a crack that should make the contractor in him jump, but it doesnât phase him. Heâs got other priorities.
The main bathroom of your guysâ house has a walk-in shower, and a few months ago, he installed some railings against each of the walls. He may have had ulterior motives, but he was adamant that it was for your safety, baby.Â
Smirking to himself at the thought, he steps inside, settling your ass against the wall, perching you against the cold metal for some added support. His arms snake down your body, and he hooks himself underneath the bend of your knees. Gripping onto the rail, he renders you entirely immobile, and immediately, heâs on a mission.Â
He pulls out, the tip threatening to slip from your heat, but before you know it, heâs slamming into you, the sheer force of your man stealing all the breath from your lungs.Â
âJoelââ you scream out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you moan and gasp for air.Â
âGonna cum for me, baby? Huh?â
âY-yeah, fuckâ Iâm gonnaââ
âGonna pee, too, mama? Gonna fuckinâ make a mess âa me? I can feel you, baby, feel her fuckinâ grippinâ me,â he snarls, eyes laser focused on his cream-coated, glistening cock as he pierces you over and over again. âLet go fâme, baby, câmon, I gotcha,â his voice coos, albeit a little muffled to your ears as you finally give in to your bodyâs desires, your bodyâs needs.Â
Your head thumps against the shower wall as your eyes clamp shut, sweet wails of ecstasy reverberating in the tiny-tiled room. Not only does Joel feel warmth and thick wetness along the length of him, but he feels running hot liquid stream down the front of his body, his legs. Fuck.Â
The steady stream he hears and feels is what finally brings himself to his edge, his cock twitching and pulsing, painting every single inch inside you. His movement comes to a reluctant stop, slowly taking away each arm from your leg to let you stand on your own.
âCan you stand?â he asks.Â
âAre you kidding me?â you murmur with a weak laugh. âI had these rails installed a bit ago⊠for my safety,â you smirk, exaggerating the way you hold onto the pipes. âIâll be fine.â
He jokingly rolls his eyes at you before he leans forward, kissing you on the forehead. âIâm sorry I kind of cornered ya with this one,â he mutters softly.Â
âNo, baby, no apologies. You wouldâve stopped if I said, but it doesnât matter anyway because I⊠I really liked it,â you admit, cheeks hotter than a bonfire.Â
âOh,â he says, his cheeks threatening a dopey expression.Â
âJustââ
âYeah?â He cuts off eagerly.
âJust not in places where weâd have people, okay?â
âDeal,â he smirks, catching your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.Â
Letâs rinse off,â you squeak into his mouth. Youâre fucking exhausted after everything, but you can feel your insatiable body getting worked up yet again with the way his mouth is on you.Â
âYeah, alright,â he pulls away, smacking your ass in the process before turning the shower nozzle to the preferred temperature. Not your preferred temperatureâthe temperature that his soft, precious, sensitive skin could handle. You test the water underneath your fingertips, laughing to yourself at how cold it is.Â
âOh, also.â
âWhatâs up?â you ask, prepping the loofah with the vanilla body wash you know he loves but will never admit.Â
âDo we have gatorade? Or like, Smartwater or somethinâ? Somethinâ with those hydration thingsâ what are they called? Electrolytes?â
You cock an eyebrow at him. âWhy?â
âNo reason,â he shrugs his shoulders. âI jusâ wanna make sure youâre hydrated. At all times. Itâs important to stay hydrated, yâknow?â
You look him up and down, calculating your thoughts before you respond. âWe can go to the store after this,â you offer.Â
âYeah? Okay,â he leans forward to drop another kiss to your lips. âYou know how much your health means to me,â he adds.Â
âI thought it was my safety,â you say pointing to one out of the many âsafetyâ modifications heâs added to your shared home.Â
âYour health, too, mama. Especially your hydration, hm?âÂ
âRight,â you say with an exaggerated lilt. âNow turn around so I can scrub your ass.â
Extended note:
I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.đ©¶
I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can helpđ”đž. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.
graphics by @saradika-graphics
#endless thoughts fics#pedro pascal#pedrohub#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#smut#pedrostories#one shot#fic#smut fic#drabble#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel x reader#joel miller fluff#joel miller one shot#joel miller x female reader#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#tlou smut#fic: for your safety
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
angst of having to find out Soap your husband died while pregnant with you twins who he didnât know about before he went on deployment
đ«Ł
Oh god, mah heart! I'm going to let you know, I sobbed writing this. how dare you suggest something to break my heart? i love the suggestions. they make me write outside of my comfort zone.
Johnny had deployed six weeks ago. It wasn't uncommon for him to be gone for months at a time. Usually, he was able to check in here and there, but long stretches of silence weren't out of the norm either.
You had put together a little basket of goodies to surprise your husband, Johnny, with the fact that he was going to be a father of not one, but two bairns. The basket sat prettily on the counter in your home, making you smile as you rubbed your belly. You weren't showing yet, but it wouldn't take long with twins.
It was late at night when there was a knock at the door. You knew it wasn't Johnny. He wouldn't bother with knocking on his own front door. Shuffling over to the door with your robe wrapped tightly around you, you cracked it open to see the other three members of Johnny's team.
"No." The word was out of your mouth faster than you could comprehend. They were there without your Johnny which could only mean one thing.
Your legs wobbled and your hand shot to your belly, covering the space where your babes were growing. Your eyes stared wide and watery at Price who stood there clutching his boonie hat in his hands as if it was the only thing holding him together.
Your vision was starting to darken, the edges blackening as you fainted.
Price caught you before you hit the ground, bringing you into living room where all of you had watched a rugby match or two with the jovial Scot who was no longer with them.
When you woke, you were laying on your couch with a bottle of water across from you on the coffee table. Price was sitting next to it while Kyle sat at the kitchen table. Simon...Simon was staring at the basket on the counter like he was willing it to not exist, to not be true.
Sitting up, you grabbed the water bottle and chugged half of it before holding it in your hands as you rested your elbows on your knees.
"H-How?" you asked, voice cracking as you crinkled the water bottle between your hands.
"Dove, you know we can't tell yo-" Price began, swallowing hard as he mirrored your position.
Standing from your seat, you slammed down the water bottle on the floor, anger presiding over your sadness as you stood in front of Price and interrupted his sentence.
"Bullshit! Jonathan Price, you tell me exactly how my husband died! You owe me that much." Your voice shook with your rage, the outburst drawing Kyle's attention while Simon flinched. Tears burned down your cheeks as you held Price's gaze.
With a sigh, Price recounted their mission with as little detail as he could get away with while you retook your seat on the couch. "He saved my life. I-I owe him and you everything. I will do whatever I can to help you."
"Oh, so you're going to help me take care of two mini Johnny's when you couldn't bring the original home safe?" you're voice sounded dead and you knew your words were unfair. Price stared at you, never hearing such awful things come from Johnny's sweet wife.
"We all will." Simon finally spoke, coming into the kitchen. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes and you nodded, feeling the true weight of the situation.
You were shattered and had about eight months to piece yourself back together. When they left, swearing to come back in the morning, you stayed in the living room, unable to face the bed you shared with the love of your life. You were essentially a zombie as you moved throughout your apartment.
You almost threw the pretty basket away before you saw a glint of something metal laying over the edge.
Johnny's tags.
#call of duty x reader#johnny soap mactavish x plus size reader#johnny soap mctavish x you#johnny soap mctavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#johnny mactavish#john mactavish#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soap x reader#cod x reader#cod soap#soap mactavish#tradgedyinwaves#angst#tradgedyasks
161 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could you pls pls pls write a fluffy oneshot of gojo and his fav student? The colour hair dye and the ice cream oneshots have never left my mind đ€đ
CALL ME SATORU
âł GOJO ăăšă + fem!reader
An evening training session with Gojo and his favorite student, ending as a lavish dinner date.
1k
Note : aaa i hope u like this!! hehe so giddy to know my fics are in ur mind đ€đ thank u for enjoying them
Mentioned posts : hair dye fic / sweet tooth
Warnings : teacher/student relationship, romantic tension
Playme : heaven and back
đ More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works / oct. reqs open
"Gojo-sensei, I'm tired. We've been practicing for two hours." he listened to you complain, and shook his head.
"Tired? Nah. On your feet, let's go through that motion again. C'mon, up up up â what, do I have to pick you up myself?"
His arms hooked around you and he pressed his chest flat to yours while hoisting you up. Few things get his heart racing, but teaching you martial arts? He may seem very composed, but his heart throbs each time he sees you acting clumsy and amateur.
You had such a long way to go, and he wanted to see these days through until you were just as good if not better than him. Even if it was impossible. He still wanted his favorite student to be considered the second-strongest, at least in hand-to-hand combat.
"Ow, my knee..." you mumbled half-heartedly.
"Don't be a weakling." he smiled cheekily, "Is my star student really too tired to continue? Is a bruised knee really gonna stop you?"
You pouted. "You're the one who bruised my knee..."
Look at that adorable pout. She's taking after me.
"Well, maybe you shoulda dodged it." he cheeked.
"Gojo-sensei, you push me too hard." you said.
"I know, I'm sorry." he smiled.
The two of you finally sat down for a break. Night had fallen, stars were up in the blackened sky. There must have been a cricket in the wood panel of the door Gojo leaned against, because he heard it very loudly in his ear. So he scooted away from the noise and moved closer to you, unaware of how the increased proximity made you buzz.
You and him shared a thoughtful silence. Then his voice penetrated deep and low, his tone serious.
"I push you so hard because I want you to become the strongest."
"Why?"
"Uh, haha... do you want me to answer that as Satoru or as your teacher?"
"...? Huh? Hm... um... I want both versions of your answer."
"Well... as your teacher... I want you to be able to fight for future generations and pass on your skills."
"And... as Satoru...?"
He hesitated, then slowly answered;
"So I don't have to be the strongest all by myself."
He looked at you with a sheepish smile.
"Selfish, huh?"
"It's okay to be selfish to an extent. I hardly ever see you doing anything for yourself."
The crickets continued making louder symphonies.
"Satoâ ahm, Gojo-sensei. I will try my best to fill the role you want me to fill. I don't want you to feel alone."
"... I know it's an overwhelming role, I don't really have the right to push this on yâ"
"âI will do it for you because I love you."
"What?"
"What?"
"Respect, I meant respect!" you backtracked.
"Hahaha, sure."
"..."
"... love you too." he winked.
"Shut up!"
"What, I can't tell my favorite student that I love her back?!" he teased.
"Th-that's inappropriate, haha."
"But you just told your teacher you love him. That was also inappropriate."
"Iâ yeah! Well!"
He stared at you for a long, long moment, absorbing the weight of your I love you that lingered in the air between you and him.
"Alright. Let's wrap up practice for the night."
"Really! God... I thought you were gonna make me do the whole thing again out of spite for saying something inappropriate."
He winked, "No, I'll reprimand you tomorrow for that. Come on. We're going out."
"We're going out...? Are you taking me out as your favorite student, or are you taking me out as me?"
He smirked. "Both... I think my favorite student deserves a good reward after practicing so hard today, but I also just... want to selfishly take you out on a date."
Gojo spoiled you on this night out. Really spoiled you. Bought you a dress, put on his best suit ditched his blindfold, took you to one of the most expensive restaurants that he knew of. Indulged in your company not as his student, but as someone he wanted to get to know... someone maybe he was interested in.
He leaned over the table to fluster you with teasingly close proximity, and straightened out his tie because he was sorely aware of how attractive his hands looked when he did that.
"Go on, don't be shy. Tell me about yourself."
"But you already know me."
"I don't know enough." he shook his head.
"Well... I'm lost... I don't know where to start." you chuckled, staring down at your cleared plate of dessert. It was rich and sweet, he said it was his favorite.
"Then I'll ask." he looked at you, and leaned over the table with one elbow, resting his chin on the back of his palm. "What's your love life looking like at the moment?"
You let out a laugh at this, which he half-expected.
"Well, I'm on a date with my teacher..." you said, jokingly.
He chuckled.
"Tell me." he then said seriously, "I want to know."
"Well... my love life is pretty... unsaturated...?"
"Unsaturated...?" he raised a brow. "What do you mean by that?"
"Dull. I mean it's dull. Any time I develop romantic feelings for someone... well they drain out just as quickly as they flood in." you admitted.
He looked at you contemplatively.
"Is that so..."
"Ahah, you seem surprised."
"I am. I thought you'd have a more glamorous love life, like me." he joked.
"Oh? I'm all ears, Gojo-sensei."
He looked at you deeply, "Call me Satoru." he murmured under his breath.
Your heart panged.
"... anyways, uh... haha. Yeah... my glamorous love life... I've been on two dates in my life including this one."
"Just two?!"
He nodded. "The first one doesn't really count, because I was fourteen and it was a boyish crush."
"... so... this one counts...?"
"Well, yes." he said, "Of course it does. This is not a boyish crush, after all..."
You and him stared at each other for a long, tender moment. Got lost in each other's worlds, which were contained in those irises. Suddenly understood each other's deep feelings, revealed by those dilated pupils.
Dilated...?
Yes his pupils always dilated for you, but you never noticed before with that strip of black having concealed his eyes.
"Gojoâ?"
"âJust call me Satoru already." he overlapped his hand with yours, both resting midway on the table.
"Why?" you asked. "Why do you want me to call you that?"
He hesitated, wondering if you were asking that rhetorically. The restaurant was dim, the environment slow and luxurious, fancy, expensive... heavenly golden hue, casting over you and him.
"... because I want to hear you calling out my name."
© arminsumi
Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.
Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.
#gojo#gojo satoru#fluff#gojo fluff#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x fem reader#satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#jjk gojo#satoru gojo#jjk fic#gojo fic#gojo x reader fluff#jjk x you#gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader x geto#jjk satoru#jujutsu satoru#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jujustu kaisen#gojo saturo#jujutsu kaisen#satoru
810 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Worth In Blood
Summary: If he catches you, he gets to keep you.
Pairings: Vampire!Ransom Drysdale X Reader
Rating: explicit
Warnings: Â explicit language, explicit sexual content, chase kink, teasing, blood kink, unprotected sex, PIV sex, minor breeding kink, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 2.9K
Ransom Drysdale Masterlist
Inhale. Long, slow, and drawn out. Exhale.
Breathe in, âMmm.â
Delectable.
Ransomâs piercing cool blue eyes scan into the dusky night. Who is that? He runs a tongue over his razor sharp teeth. Moving the muscle over it before he pierces his tongue. He inhales the intoxicating aroma of you again. You smell divine. Heavenly. But where are you?
Taking a few steps, he scents you again. He can already taste you on his lips, and pouring down his throat. His eyes nearly glow as he finds the pathway to you. Pupils immediately dilating when he sees you. Alone, minding your business, and reading a book at a cafe. Oblivious to the noise and hustle of the city. Your foot taps a steady rhythm on the table leg, and you flip a page of your book.
Lifting your mug to your lips, he smells your bodyâs beautiful scent mixing with the aroma of chai tea latte. His vision zones in on the pulse on your neck. Your body is heating up. Your chest heaves a bit more than the other patrons at the cafe. Heart beating so much faster. Your mouth opens as you inhale sharply. Youâre fucking aroused. So heated over whatever youâre reading he smells your honey, and can already taste you.
He shakes himself out of his stupor, smiling as he walks over to you. Youâre so caught up in the book you donât even pay him any mind, so he sits down in the chair in front of you. My gods, your neck is a work of art. Pristine, and blemish free. Perfect for his bite. You donât care about him, or the fact that he can feel your temperature raise. What has got you so turned on? What is it that makes you feel so â flustered?
He clears his throat, watching as you finish your page before closing your book, âIâm not moving. Thereâs other tables you can sit at,â and you lift your book up again.
âWhat are you reading?â
âNot into small talk,â you chide, trying to read despite his inquiries.
âLittle Stranger?â Ge looks at the blackened book in your hands with a smile. It looks almost sinister.
âMmm,â you respond. You werenât going to finish this book if he didnât stop talking. You want to roll your eyes. You want to show him just how annoyed you are, but you continue along your merry way. Enjoying each line despite the intruder.
âWhatâs it about?â
You roll your eyes up to look at him over the book, and finally you see him. Heâs dangerous. You didnât know who he was, or anything about him, but danger radiates off his pale skin. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness with how bright they are. You want to look away, and canât. He smiles the most devilish handsome smile, and you need to melt into yourself.
âDonât do that,â you demand of him.
âDo what?â Heâs an arrogant thing. His mouth curls up into a grin that would have girls losing their panties immediately. But you sense the danger.
âWhatever youâre doing,â his head cocks to the side in a question, looking like an innocent pup instead of the predator you know he is, and it makes you you gulp. You donât miss the way his hungry eyes go to your mouth, and then your neck. Nostrils flaring when he notices your pulse, âStop it.â
âWhat exactly am I doing?â Heâs a tease.
âYouâre fucking me with your eyes,â his boisterous laugh startles you, but itâs not a bad sound. Itâs musical. âYou know what youâre doing.â
âMy sweet little mouse,â that nickname? Why would he use that one? He isnât allowed to make you feel weaker than you already are. And âmyâ? Heâs already claiming you as his. Are you in a book? Is your fantasies coming to life right before your eyes. âTrust me, if I was fucking you, youâd know.â
âI said with your eyes,â his brows lower as he stares at you. Staring right into your soul. No, your core, sensing the heat and slick pooling in your paties. You whimper. Heat courses through your body, and you feel it tingle all the way to your toes. Your body suddenly has two heartbeats, and one is making you double over. âStop!â
The feeling immediately quits, and you gape at him. âWhat are you doing?â
âJudging by the swelling of your lips, the dilated eyes, and the scent coming from between your thighs, you know exactly what Iâm doing,â you press your fingers on your mouth. Running the pads of the digits over your lips. Heâs lying. âLittle mouse, I didnât mean the lips on your face.â
âYou pervert!â He chuckles again, and you lay your book on the table. Crossing your arms over your chest, and he reaches for the book. âStop! Donât read that, itâs private!â
Randomly the strange man opens your book, stopping where you last let off. His mouth quirks up with each line. His eyes move unnaturally quickly over the words. âI donât think Iâm the one thatâs a pervert,â he chuckles, and then clears his throat. The man looks at you, while he closes the book. Clearing his throat, âHas anyone ever told you how delectable you smell?â
âHas anyone ever told you that you cross too many boundaries?â
âHas anyone ever told you how your heart rate spikes when you read your filthy smut?â You gawk at him. The audacity. âYouâre reading this out in public. Is that part of the turn on?â You didnât have to answer that. Youâre enjoying yourself reading. âThereâs nothing to be ashamed of. Itâs quite a turn on for me that I could smell your arousal across the street, and all because you were reading that,â you clear your throat.
He isnât a bad looking man. Heâs actually â beautiful in an otherworldly kind of way. What heâs saying is embarrassing, and enthralling all at the same time. The man picks your book up again, and starts flipping through the pages. âYou donât lack many pages. Mmm,â his nostrils flare, and his jaw tightens. The man adjusts his sitting, and his pants.
âYouâre uncomfortable with my book?â
âNo,â gulping, you look down at your cup. You wonder exactly what he is reading, and why a stranger is making you feel things deep in the pit of your stomach that you canât explain. It is completely animalistic, and you donât want to fight it. What are you thinking? This isnât fiction. This is real life, and heâs a real man. âIâm not.â
âNot what?â
âA man,â he is all man. You can see that clearly. âNor am I turned off by this. This brother is a menace. Why is he putting blood on his sister?â
âConcerned about the blood and not the fact theyâre siblings?â His nose curls up a bit. An intimidating man, looking adorable. He flips a few pages before glaring at you, âTheyâre not actually siblings.â
âLetâs go for a walk,â he doesnât even ask. He grabs your book, and holds out a hand for you. âI wonât bite. Hard anyways,â so corny. And yet, you still give him your hand. Gulping as his eyes scan over your entire body when you stand in front of him, âImmaculate.â
âFlattery will get you everywhere, Mr.?â
âRansom,â itâs a fitting dark name for him. âDonât ever call me Mr. Drysdale,â lifting your hand, he takes a long whiff before pressing his pillowy lips on your chilled hand, âWhat are you?â Those eyes flit back and forth across your face. âYouâre like no human Iâve ever smelled.â
âYouâre strange.â
âAnd thereâs more to you than meets the eye, little mouse,â you roll your eyes, going to lead the way to somewhere, when Ransom looks up at the name of the cafe, âCoven Cafe, servicing wicked brews, enchanted espressos, and potions all to you from a mystic mug?â
âIs there a problem?â You moan as he pulls you into his marble hard body, and he sniffs up your neck. His tongue flicks out onto your skin, and he licks you, âAre you as impressed as I am that after all these years, you found me?â
âYou bitch.â
âWitch,â giggling, you push Ransom away from you. âAnd yet, you canât get my scent out of your silly little vamp mind,â his eyes set afire. Glaring at you while your lips turn up into a devious smile. âYou think you finally deserve to bite me? To feast on me? Go on, you can bite me if you want to,â pouting up at him, you bat your lashes, âI like it.â
His eyes flutter close, and you take it as an opportunity to run. He could outrun you with his eyes closed, so any head start would have to do. Sprinting to the nearby woods. He can track you. He probably enjoys that even more. Cackling the moment you get into the trees, you begin to peel off parts of your clothes.
Leaving him a trail of discarded pieces of you. Letting him know just how undressed you are. Teasing him as you run away. Whore of a vampire. You are no fool to Ransom, and what it is he wants, and youâre willing to give it to him. Even for just one night. Youâd become his obsession, while he became your ultimate prize. He could deny it. He could say that witches and vampires are mortal enemies. But Ransom has dreamed of a taste from you for too many years. You made sure of that.
âWhere are you?â His voice echoes into the night, and you canât help but to laugh again. Letting your voice ring out into the night.
âUse your vampire made senses. Find me. Claim me. And you can finally taste me,â you duck into a thicket. Your eyes looking into the dark for a sign of one of natureâs ultimate predators. Waiting on him like youâre his prey. And you want to be. You want him to pounce. The stamina of a vampire is said to be unmatched. And you want to test out that theory.
Quieting your breathing, you hear crunching of the leaves, and itâs not the pretty creature of the night. The woods come alive, altering your senses, and you have a deep urge to flee. You donât want to. You need him to catch you. But thereâs too much movement all around you. His presence wakes up the woods. They all want to get away from him.
âRun,â a voice whispers against your back, and you bolt. He chortles. Heâs only letting you get ahead because he loves the chase. Loves the adrenaline rush right to his groin. Loves the way that you smell when youâre scared. Those muffled little snickers tickle on your skin, letting you know just how close he is to you.
All he has to do is reach out, âGot you. Now,â he pushes your body up against his own. Grinding his hips into your ass. âItâs a bit cliche to have a witch running through the woods naked on a full moon, isnât it?â
âBetter make it quick. We might not be the only creatures of the night out here,â he thrusts himself forward, grinning when you whimper.
âThink you can handle that much?â Pressing his bulge up against your ass, you get weaker with every rub against you.
âOh, baby, Iâve been on my knees while a werewolf tried to mate with me. You think your little cock is going to be enough?â His fangs snap out, and you gasp. âDo it,â whining as a fang runs softly against your skin. âI dare you,â your knees buckle, and you mewl as he pierces your skin.
His hips still dry hump you. A free hand roams down your body until he sinks between your velvety lips. âMy gods, youâre leaking,â his fangs retreat back in, and you spin around to glare at him. âOh shut up, you needy little bitch. Are you trying to mate with every creature out there? Iâm a vampire. I donât procreate.â
âDid you ever think that was the appeal?â Ransom rolls his eyes, but calmly starts to remove his clothes. âAble to fuck all day with no consequence. You could spill in my cunt, and never sire a child. AndâŠâ
âDid you really let a filthy mutt mount you?â The disgust on his face is evident. It makes you giddy knowing you can get under his skin so easily.
âWhy?â
âI donât much care for sloppy seconds,â pulling his pants down, his cock springs free, and you nearly drool at the sight. A rock hard rod, looking more like marble than flesh. âAre you a whore?â
âWouldnât you like to know? Oooh!â He picks you up without any preamble. Both his hands gripping a thigh as he spreads you out wide, and lifts you up to his face. âWhat are you doing?â You screech, and he sniffs you.
âStaring at your cunt.â
âWhy?â
âHave you actually taken a mutt?â
The one thing that would offend Ransom, and you said it just to get a reaction. Typical. âNo. Even I have standards,â he starts lowering your body, gazing up at your eyes that are pitch black with sinful lust. âYou gonna fuck me?â
âIâm gonna fuck, and claim you,â lowering you further, he impales you on his cock, and you screech. His pulsing member stretches you out in such a state that you canât even see straight. Giving you no time to adjust to him, he uses your body like a cocksleeve. Lifting you up and stabbing into you over and over again. Wanting you to feel every blinding pleasure throughout your body.
Youâve fucked other creatures, but never a vampire. Their skin is a crawling frost, but the speed at which he moves is enough to make your toes curl. The friction heats you up, even if his body canât. âGods, you are a pretty little witch. Too bad I canât fuck my spawn into you.â
âShut up with the breeding kink. You canât deliver,â Ransom growls. It isnât humane, itâs feral. He leans forward, biting onto your neck, while your body crashes into him. Youâd heard of such highs as a vampire feasting on you during sex, but you werenât prepared for this. This is heavenly. Setting your soul and skin on fire.
Itâs like feeling your pleasure, but also his own. His passion. The way you feel to him. Itâs beyond just orgasmic, you are giving him sustenance. Youâre giving him air to breathe. To survive. âMy gods,â he pulls off your neck, crimson drips from his lips, and he licks it off, savoring the taste of you. âWhat are you?â
âA powerful witch,â moaning, when he makes you take every inch of his veiny cock. Settling you over him balls deep Holding you still while he looks over your face. âCat got your tongue?â
âWitchâs got my cock,â you snort, and he pulls you off him, only to slam you back over his length. âBind yourself to me,â he demands. Vampires have been known to be cocky.
âAbsolutely not,â his brow quirks up. This time he pulls himself out of you slowly before he rails back into you. âYouâre amazing with that magic wand of yours, but I will never bind myself to you without a cost.â
âAnd whatâs that cost?â
His eyes look at your open wound before he leans forward. His tongue flattens against your skin, and he pulls it up your neck. Sealing up the wounds. Returning to look at you. âBind yourself to me,â Ransom scoffs. âItâs only fair. You have a blood bank, and my powers.â
âAnd what do you have, my little mouse?â
âYou,â he settles your legs around his waist. Turning to place your back against a tree. âI know youâve been searching for me. But you enjoy the chase too much to just let you have me. Now you do. Now take me, and become mine.â
âWe barely know each other.â
âYou thought differently when it was just me binding myself to you. Weâve known each other for decades,â he shakes his head, smiling, and you lift the veil. Memories of him following your scent. Getting almost close enough, before you enchanted him. Engraining your essence into him. âYouâve always wanted me. Youâre mine. And Iâm yours.â
His mouth turns into a grin before he slams into your own mouth. Tasting yourself mingling with his sweet decadent being. His hips thrust into you with so much force that your back edges up and down on the tree. So much stimulation for so early in the night. Heâs yours. He. Is. Yours.
With the force heâs pushing into you, youâll be bruised. You can take it. You can take everything this beautiful vampire gives you. Everything. Heâs yours. You were made for him. You can take it.
âYouâll take everything I give you,â Ransom rares back. Panting as he whispers on your lips. âAll of it.â
âEvery last drop,â you respond as his teeth pierce the other side of your neck, and your body comes undone. Euphoria settles throughout you. Sealing your fate with him forever. âForever.â
Yours.
âMine,â he growls onto your body. And lightning courses through your blood. He feels it. He feels it all. He feels you. âAll. Mine.â
Next
Masterlist
Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai
@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989
@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @distractingbeth @musingsfromthemitten
@theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy
#ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x fem!reader#ransom drysdale x female reader#ransom drysdale x y/n#ransom drysdale x you#vampire#vampire!ransom drysdale#vampire!ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale fic#ransom drysdale fics#ransom drysdale fanfic#ransom drysdale fanfics#ransom drysdale fanfiction#chris evans#chris evans character#ransom drysdale smut#knives out#happy halloween#vampire au
91 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tha-thump
We considered ourselves to be a people of power. At least, that's what the story-tellers say. They say a lot of things that, for all their wisdom, the new generation of this world considers to be folly. They say their parents, and their parent's parents, lived it. They say the memory of the fall is fresh.They say we see only what remains, the ashes of wonders. We were a people of power, and our hands destroyed the world.
There is a tapestry in the old city hall which shows a skyline of ice-capped mountains, the knees and jaws of the world. What remains is only a few scattered hills and an empty sky.Â
There is an old, cracked mosaic in the church, which shows gods and their diadems and boons. The colors are faded, and the gilding stripped for it's use in trade. The gods are unnamed and forgotten. They say our people killed them, before they killed everything else.Â
There is a mouth where the mountains once stood.
Tha-thump
We considered ourselves to be a people of power, and we must have been, to leave so many footprints on the earth. I have watched as I walked by the river, as the impressions of my passing faded with each sweep of the water's path. But the river leads to a city, whose broken pillars and towers just like the ribs of dragons. Colors I have seen nowhere else on earth linger there, underneath bleached timbers and cracked stones, dyes we can no longer make with nature's bounty, with a brightness that burns the eyes. Pinks and purples more vibrant than violets, blues like crying stars, and greens like spider venom, puddle in the ruins. The blood of a culture whose eyes were lost between the generations somewhere.
There is ice in the vaults of the earth, pointed shards which blacken the fingers that clutch them.
Tha-thump
There is a place where the old world, with it's old dead gods, and it's vibrant blood still flows. There is a maw in the mountains that breathes, and great eyeless windows which stare, rain-streaked balconies leering icicle fangs at any who dare approach. There is a great citadel, with vaulted hauls, and a living, beating, heart. There is a graveyard where the spirits of the hands that built it sleep, and there are the monsters they made to guard it. There is a frozen throat, and a treacherous maze, and a burning dark. There is a malice which riots against the idea of the living, of a world that moves on without it, and a culture which forgets.Â
There is a holy place where slain gods dropped pieces of their power, defiled by the hubris of those that buried them alive.
Tha-thump
There is a citadel on the horizon where the mountains once stood, built from the bones and knees of the world. It is a dungeon, a maze, a gateway, a crossroads. It is a place that the storytellers fear, a place that my generation watches like some creeping, stalking thing waiting to pounce in the night, as though watching might keep it at bay. There is a holy place, a powerful place, and a gift of wisdom that sings, even as it's tainted heart rails against any sound that breaks it's solitude. It calls to the brave, to the foolish, to the desperate. To the curious. There is a mouth in the broken ground where the mountains once stood that screams.Â
We considered ourselves to be a people of power. This place is our message to all that hear it. This place is not a place of honor. No great deed is remembered here. What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us, and it gets stronger the deeper you delve. The center of all danger is here, below us. The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours. The danger is to the body, and it can kill. This place is best shunned and left to rot.
At least, that's what the story-tellers say. They say their parents, and their parent's parents, lived it. They say the memory of the fall is fresh. They say we will die like their parents, and their parent's parents, if we, too, enter in.
They say a lot of things that, for all their wisdom, the new generation of this world considers to be folly.
Tha-thump
The dungeon is ready for its next victim
Tha-thump
#the barking writer#hermitcraft#tangotek#decked out 2#decked out#im not allowed to start a new longfic but if i were.................
618 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Seven: Ending Anew
|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|
Masterlist of Series
Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.
What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?
Author's Note: Thank you for your patience and understanding with the uploads. I've been working six days a week and have only one day to myself where I can do basic necessities like wash clothes and clean. My bedroom has certainly paid for it and so has my hobbies. (Or lack there of) I hope y'all enjoy this seeing young adult Aemond and reader! (â ïŸâ ââ ăźâ ââ )â ïŸâ *â .â â§
Chapter Warnings: sexual harassment, dubious consent, bastardphobia, implied mental illness, lots of sexism.
The distinction between those we love and those we hate can be subtle. Both emotions are directed towards an individual based on their inherent qualities. Despite this commonality, they are often perceived as opposites. Loving someone entails wanting them to thrive while hating someone involves wishing for their suffering or transformation. However, love and hate can coexist despite their seemingly contradictory nature.
Six years ago, you experienced deep affection for an individual during your youth, believing that their sun-kissed hands epitomized kindness. However, after enduring years of distress, you discovered the unexpected capability to harbor animosity towards this once beloved person. This realization perplexed you as you contemplated whether he endured similar inner turmoil.
You hated Uncle Aemond for hurting your brothers the night at Driftmark many years ago and for not responding to your countless ravens who sought to apologize and keep broken promises. But because of the love that never ceased beating in your heart, you continued to create reasons for yourself to loathe him. Despite realizing your uncle would never respond, you still sent him letters with the blind hope that someday you would have one addressed from Kingâs Landing, though if one ever did come, they were from Queen Alicent, and in which you promptly fed them to the fish-eyed billy goats on Dragonstone.
The contents were of anything and everything you could think of. Sometimes, you retold important events like leaving to study at the Citadel and becoming a lady of Queen Esabella of Dorne as a temporary peace bargain for what happened in the Stepstones. Other times, it was your interests, such as a new plant or a medical technique, that you learned and thought would help him with his⊠ailment.Â
Though you heard nothing from Aemond, that did not mean you knew nothing about him. You heard rumors that he took to putting a sapphire in his empty eye socket, and while the idea was sure to inspire fear in the hearts of many, it fascinated you, wondering if the gem was smooth and round or jagged and sharp, much like your uncleâs personality. It seemed like him to fashion something such as that as he was always a bit odd, though you never minded it. You imagined the discomfort his wound might cause despite it becoming scarred. From what you understood about those with similar injuries, the person could feel the severed nerves and tissue healing themselves, the sensation like a thousand hot needles in the skin.
It was no wonder why he was gossiped to have such a cold demeanor. You hoped one day you would be allowed to see it yourself, even if you were on the receiving end.Â
Some of you worried that Aemond never received your letters, thinking you abandoned him and all the promises made in secrecy. Queen Alicent wouldnât be the one to bar them from him as she most desperately wanted you to visit the Red Keep and mend the bond broken on the night at Driftmark. You didnât understand why it had to be you to be the one to do so. These were matters created by the ruling adults in your life, and they should have sought to fix them.
Nevertheless, neither you, your parents, nor Queen Alicent tried to mend what occurred between the family. Still, that lack of effort did not extend to your relationship with your uncle. You still wanted to fly with him as you promised some years ago.
âThe Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army,â Jacaerys translated from High Valyrian, his words proud but still holding a certain waver to his voice now that you werenât there to assist him.
You stood by one of the tall metal-paned windows in the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, the ancient seat of your family, silently mouthing the words of your ancestorsâ histories spoken by the Maester in your mother tongue.Â
The thick, gray clouds outside cast a dull light into the room, creating a somber yet peaceful atmosphere. You and your brother understood that your imposing maternal presence made him nervous and hindered his concentration. Over the years, you developed the habit of speaking over Jace during your studies.Â
This hadnât gone unnoticed, leading to reprimands from Maester Gerardys and your mother for not giving your twin a fair chance to learn. You only wished for Jace to be the best version of himself he could be. He was to be your King when Mother passed.
âSe BlÄkuata RÄsho drÄñot vilinio viartis,â (And made landfall at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush) Maester Gerardys conveyed, his words slowed and accent thick to convey their meaning.Â
The resounding echo of the chamber doors opening filled the air with the unmistakable clang of metal. As they parted, a graceful figure emergedâyour mother, adorned in a flowing, vibrant red dress that complemented her regal presence. She moved with a poised and graceful stride, her hand tenderly skimming over her gently swelling belly, radiating an undeniable sense of maternal warmth and affection. Catching your gaze, you offered her a tender smile, and in response, she bestowed upon you a fleeting yet soft expression that spoke volumes of her boundless love without the need for words.
âDrÄñot,â your mother asked Jace to repeat, but he stared at her wide-eyed, the words slipping from his mind.
Meeting your motherâs strides to greet her, you answered for him with a bright and eager-to-please smile. âThe mouth.â
She flashed a tight-lipped grin and scrunched her nose, lightly nodding as Jace slouched in self-directed disappointment. âMouth! I knew that, sister. You neednât answer for me,â he expressed with disappointment, stomping his foot on the ground.
âIf you keep speaking for your brother, he will never learn,â your mother lightheartedly scolded as she kissed the top of your head. You have heard those words for the past six years.
If Jace knew the answers, you wouldnât have to help him, you thought reproachfully.Â
You did not rush to pay attention to your twin as you knelt beside your younger brothers Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey. Instead, you focused on the youngest, Viserys. With great tenderness, you gathered him into your lap, the book Elinda brought for them cradled in your hands.Â
Leaning in close to your half-brother, you whispered. âI will teach you our mother tongue once you learn to speak,â as you lovingly smoothed the silky strands of his blonde hair.
âDrÄñot. DrÄñot,â your brother repeated, as if the meaning of Maester Gerardysâ words would magically appear in his mind.
âAnd made landing at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush,â you whispered under your breath so no one would hear, answering for him.Â
You and Jace were the same age, two bodies with one soul, yet different. You could have helped him more if Mother had not sent you away. You never understood why she separated you instead of betrothing you to Jace. She constantly danced around the notion of marrying for years, which was incomprehensible, seeing as the match was the only option that would make sense. You would rule together, and the realm wouldnât have the same unrest they did with your mother.
âPerhaps that is enough for today,â your mother offered as Jace became increasingly frustrated with his inability to master High Valyrian.
âNo!â He exclaimed ardently, holding his arm as if to stop the suggestion physically. âI-I want to keep going.âÂ
You smirked and flipped the page in the picture book you showed Viserys as he babbled nonsensically, his tiny fists grasping the bound leather. As you touched his plump cheek, he smelled like tallow and lavender.
Your mother allowed Jace to proceed with the bob of her head as Maester Gerardys began again. âGuÄsi ropakakson Äegon Ć«ndas.â
âAegon gave orders for the trees to be felled,â you responded as if the question was directed toward you. Your mother quickly snapped her violet eyes in warning. You were used to that look and continued to tend to the babe like nothing happened, as Jace answered with stutters.Â
âAegon⊠ordered that the trees should be⊠killed,â he stated proudly. You released a puff of air through your nose that sounded like a laugh as Viserys took the tome with tiny, curious, grabby hands.Â
âFelled. âTis a related word,â your mother gently corrected as she clasped her hands behind her sturdy back. âI donât expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace.âÂ
âA king should honor the traditions of his forebears,â your brother steadfastly declared as you turned with your brows raised, spine cracking.Â
âThat sounds like something your sister would say,â your mother expressed with a slight tightness in her tone. Pursing your lips with guilt, you returned to Viserys, acting as if you werenât paying attention.Â
That was precisely what you said to him before your lessons today.Â
âUnless you plan to depose your mother, you have plenty of time to study,â she teased with a grin like she always did, her happiness becoming contagious as you returned the look over your shoulder. Jace did not share the same enthusiasm as the chamber doors opened again, revealing that of your stepfather strolling down the steps.Â
You looked to Daemon grimly as he met your mother with a grave expression on his time-worn visage. She declared that you all leave the room as he entered without looking further at you and your siblings. Jace called the young Joffrey to follow him, and you and your motherâs lady took Aegon and Viserys. As you passed your stepfather, he brought his hand out, noiselessly ordering you to stop while handing your mother the sealed letter in his fingers. He traced a calloused knuckle over his sonâs cheek and placed a kiss on his crown, purple orbs piercing your dark ones.
He knew of your distaste for him ever since he wed Rhaenyra mere days after your fatherâs death, refusing to leave your rooms unless necessary. While you never felt like the Velaryon side of your family liked you, they agreed with the unspoken sentiment that Daemon had something to do with your fatherâs death. You disagreed with the idea that your mother did. She loved your father in her way and, in your mind, wasnât capable of plotting the murder of her childrenâs father.Â
You didnât outright disrespect Daemon; after all, he was still a prince, but he would never be someone you looked up to or went to in times of strife. He would never be your father, not even as he irritatingly called you daughter and played with the new pearl and sapphire necklace your mother forced you to wear todayâa gift from your stepfather.Â
You understood Daemon only did these things to irk you, refusing to play with the ruse like usual. With no sentences exchanged between you, the Rouge Prince sent you on your way with his offspring wrapped securely in your arms.
âAnother raven from Dragonstone, Your Highness,â a Steward announced, holding a rolled piece of parchment sealed with a delicate blue ribbon.Â
The One-Eyed Prince sat in a green armchair by the hearth, seemingly unbothered, his lithe form in thought and leg crossed over the other. He did not move. His violet eye trained on the flickering orange and blue flames. No words of acknowledgment were said, and the servant placed the letter on the Princeâs foot table as he took a long sip from his goblet in hand.Â
You were always stubbornly loyal to whoever you cared for, and he thought it rather pathetic, especially when you still sought contact from him after you were met with uncaring silence.Â
On more than one occasion, his mother attempted to uncover what you said to him, Aemond discovering her rummaging through his writing desk drawers. He met her with an anger he had never felt before, as if she had stolen his most prized jewels.Â
The Prince told himself that he didnât care if passersby discovered them. They were inconsequential items containing meaningless ink, and he thought they were a waste of paper until she almost found them. Although he loved his mother dearly, this was something that was Aemondâs, untainted by neither her nor his grandfatherâs fingers.Â
He spent many hours pouring over the subjects you wrote as he battled with the urge to burn your writings, yet desiring to fly to Dragonstone atop the Mighty Vhagar and ensure the oaths you declared in the refined loops of your High Valyrian were indeed true. Aemond never did, only having gotten as close to Driftmark and spotted the glinting silver roof of High Tide before the suffocating feeling inside his chest took hold.
Blood, screams, and horror on your face as he clung to your chest before you crushed the childish hope of being different from the rest of them.
As the Prince grew, he found solace in places he never did before, frequenting the Keepâs gardens and Godswood with Helaena when he wasnât on the training grounds. He was never fond of the outdoors, preferring the company of a good book curled next to a simmering fire, but he discovered that spending time in those areas brought a sense of contentment, though he was uncertain as to why.
Taking one last sip of his wine, Aemond sat his silver goblet and replaced it with the rolled parchment, licking the sticky remnants away from his lips as he untied the soft satin ribbon.Â
âUncle Aemond, I hope this finds you in good health and spirits, as I cannot say the same for myself while writing this. I have overcome a recent bout of melancholia, as Maester Gerardys calls it, and now Iâve heard that Lord Corlys was gravely wounded during an ambush in the Stepstones. Insultingly, Ser Vaemond Velaryon has petitioned the Crown to declare him my Grandsireâs successor upon his passing. This infuriates me to no end. I know if my father were still alive, he would have protected him with his life, and we wouldnât be having such a discussion. My younger brother will be the next Lord of the Tides since our father is gone. While we may disagree on specific lines of heritage, Luke is my fatherâs son, and I am his daughter. I find it ironic, however, that a place that haunts him, and you, he will now have to preside over. He shall be forever reminded of the great misdeed he infringed upon you, and I do find a sort of justice in it, but I would never dare to voice such a thing aloud. Luke is my brother, after all. I love him with all my being, but a part of me will never forgive him for what he did to you. Iâm sure you feel the same. Mother said we would attend the petition to affirm my brotherâs long-decided succession, but we both know the actual cause behind this. I do not enjoy discussing these matters. It boils my dragon blood whenever the false rumors surrounding my birth are brought up. Laenor Velaryon is my father and loved me as such. âTis a fact that will never change no matter what lickspittles and gossipers claim. Oddly, despite its negative connotation and history, I eagerly await my arrival at the Red Keep. Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart and mind. I hope to see you in good health and that my recommendations for your eye, which Iâve mentioned in previous correspondence, have proven useful. Until we meet.â
Aemond did not know whether to throw your letter into the smoldering fire and watch the flames engulf the tan pages or to rip it into a dozen tiny pieces. He hated you. He loathed you with his entire being as he dangled the parchment over the orange and yellow embers, yet he could not will the rage in his heart to drop it as the heat burned his fist. Aemond welcomed the discomfort, the pain. He grew accustomed to and welcomed it until he felt the water beneath his flesh bubble.Â
You were no more than a dirty bastard, a daughter of a whore, yet you flaunted riches like a Targaryen princess, unbefitting of your actual status. Aemond did not want to see you ever again, lest it be you groveling on your knees for his forgiveness. It was you who broke the vows and betrayed him, choosing your filthy, Strong brothers over him. He would never forgive you, though seeing you knelt before him as your pretty tears decorated your plump cheeks would be a lovely sight. The Prince felt his cock impulsively swell at the image.Â
He abhorred you, yet Aemond meticulously placed your letter amidst a collection of others in an exquisitely crafted wooden lockbox adorned with intricate carvings of dragons. As he savored a deep gulp of wine, his gaze fixated on the flickering light evoked by your memories. It brought to mind the recollection of your unique grace, a quality that remained unmatched despite the countless attempts made by him and Aegon to find women of similar allure. The sharpness of his eldest brotherâs words and the acrid scent of his breath lingered in his memory as Aegon leaned in on his thirteenth nameday.
âWorry not, brother. Weâll find one that looks like her for you. Time to get it wet.âÂ
Without hesitating, he flung his drink into the fire, extinguishing its voracious flames.
The ground was cold beneath your fingers despite wearing gloves as you pruned the small plot in Aegonâs Garden. Budding crocus dotted the moist area with tiny bursts of purple petals and green stems, withstanding the late winter season. Spring was a moon away, but winter refused to release its clutch on the land, leaving the dirt to keep the frigid dampness that few things could grow in.Â
Aegonâs Garden was where you found yourself in strife, seeking peace and distraction in your passion. Now, with your motherâs nerves upon hearing that Ser Vaemond Velaryon decided to challenge the line of succession to the Driftwood throne, you felt the heavy burden of the future on your hunched shoulders. You felt bad about the whole situation, from your Grandsire Lord Corlysâs serious injury to the unspoken notion that Vaemond bringing this petition to the Crown was that Lucerys, and by extension, you and Jacaerys were illegitimate. The truth did not matter, not really. It was what those believed or those in power seats told those to think, and it was that you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were the offspring of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.
As the King declared, you were next in line to the throne after your mother and Luke for Lord of the Tides after your Grandsire. His word was law, but it was no longer that of a King who sat on the throne but a Queen.Â
âYou should be readying for the journey, Princess. Your mother wants to leave at first light,â Edwina, your most loyal lady, stated. She stood with her broad shoulders squared, hair tucked underneath her white maidâs cap, and hands clasped behind her back. Though she was barely a few years your senior, she acted as if she had decades.Â
You sighed, rolling your dark eyes in annoyance and sitting on your haunches. You supposed Edwinaâs mothering was not unfounded, as your impulsiveness tended to lead you into regret. âI will not be joining my mother and Daemon on the ship. âTis much faster on dragon back,â you quipped.
âThe Princess wants you all to arrive together,â your lady expressed, taking a few steps closer to show her seriousness.Â
âTo show a united front. Yes, I know Edwina. I could not go,â you teased, smirking, removing your leather gloves finger by finger. âI have no love for the Red Keep, my extended family, or them for me.âÂ
Edwina knew that was a lie. It was evident how she saw you pour over letters addressed to Kingâs Landing. The maid knew not who the intended recipient was, but there was someone who held a secret place in your heart. The Karstark often wondered if it was Aegon, seeing as a betrothal was whispered in the past, though that idea was quickly squashed after you had an uncharacteristic fit when she voiced it.Â
âI understand, Your Highness, but duty is sacrifice. Those of your standing must do things in service to your House and family that are against your wants. I do not envy that,â Edwina offered with a half smile of pity as the pair of you entered the benevolent brimstone walls of Dragonstone.Â
In response, you hummed, linking her strong arm in yours and lowering your head with a look mirrored hers. âThis a small price to pay to live a life of privilege.âÂ
The lady nodded in acquiescence as pictures of the poor folk in line for their food rations showed in your mind. Your travels gave you a perspective that your family did not have, forcing you to confront privileges you were unaware existed until they were thrown into your face. You held a sinking feeling inside when you thought of it for days after, guilt gnawing at your heart every time you were draped in lavish dresses of Velaryon blue and adorned with lavish jewels. It sparked you to grow your plot in Aegonâs Garden when you finally returned home and give to those less fortunate despite the odd looks your family gave you.Â
A similar heavy, sinking weight inside your gut returned as you thought of going to the Red Keep, seeing your uncles and Queen Alicent after what happened at Driftmark. Your guilt and shame felt as prominent as if you were the one who sliced into Aemondâs eye. You tried to reason that he deserved some form of punishment for hurting Baela, Rhaena, and your brothers, but it never worked. Your conscience was too steadfast to allow lies like that to blind you.Â
Your mother planned on staying in the Red Keep for a night to spend time with her father and to renew her place at court. There was no joy in your heart to learn of her plans as you chose what dresses and jewelry to wear before supper. Though Kingâs Landing was once your home, it no longer held the wonderous warmth that came with a place of rest. Childhood memories spent there did not come with a smile when you thought of them. Instead, misery came to mind with lingering stares from adults and Aegon and Aeomndâs relentless teasing regarding your birth.Â
The cold, briny halls of Dragonstone were your home. Everyone loved you and your kin here, and there was no whispering behind silk fans wherever you went. The only gossip was if you would become with child before or after Princess Rhaenyra betrothed you and Jacaerys.Â
After you supped with your brothers, mother, and Daemon at night, you lay within thick furs that threatened to let the frigid midnight air in. When you woke to leave, the ground would dust with the crystalline covering of frost, and you knew how Gaeli despised the cold. He would fly at your command regardless, but you would undoubtedly feel his displeasure until he resided in the heat of the Dragonpit.
This petition felt like a dark cloud looming in the distance of a clear sky, promising its threat of a storm as you soared over Blackwater Bay. Despite your motherâs insistence that you ride on the ship with her because of her pregnancy, you choose to take Gaelithox across the water. In turn, that caused your brothers to want to take their dragons to Kingâs Landing and leave your mother to make the journey with only the comfort of her husband, which you were sure she didnât mind.Â
It was customary for the family to make an entrance together and be greeted by the hostâs kin, but when you emerged from the wheelhouse that took you from the Dragonpit, its dark caverns still the same, you were greeted by only guards. The lack of forethought and the apparent insult of the Greenâs absence sent an icy feeling into your gut, causing you to itch at the skin beneath your black dress.Â
The gown was not your typical style choice, as it was your Velaryon blue and pearls, but your mother wanted you to wear one of your garments fashioned in the Targaryen colors of black and red with a golden linked belt and rubies to match. She planned to present a united front before the Court and the Greens and, without it said, further solidify her and your siblingsâ legitimacy to the throne.
As you stepped out of the carriage with an encouraging inhale, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, along with the nursemaids carrying Aegon and Viserys, followed after a chill running through the air. You brought your fur-lined cloak closer to your goose flesh arms, shuddering as you observed the Red Keep in all its grandeur. It was as big as you remembered, looking at the tall pale red stone towers, windows, and colliers. You felt small, the unmistakable burn of tears under your eyelids, your nose beginning to run as memories from six years ago flashed inside your mindâs eye.Â
Luke and Jace came to stand behind you, taking note of your trembling lip and pink cheeks. The youngest of the two was filled with the same anxiety as you and quickly took his hand in yoursâa united front. They did not know why you were shaking in your riding boots, squeezing Lukeâs fist for comfort as Lord Caswell led your family inside the front gates.Â
While the red and black banners of House Targaryen were raised on the Keepâs walls, it seemed to be House Hightower that occupied the castle. The Seven-Pointed Star was everywhere you looked throughout the halls that once were Harold with the tapestries of flying dragons, riders bounding with their mounts, now those of the Seven, holy pictures of the Crone and her guiding light, the Maiden with her pure, ethereal beauty, and others of religious importance.
It reminded you of your time in the Citadel in Oldtown, the ancient seat of House Hightower, who aligned themselves closely with the Faith of the Seven. Your familyâs relationship with the Septons and Septas was strife until the late King Maegor ruthlessly crushed the Faith Militant Uprising. However, during your stay, you heard whispers from passing Lords and Ladies that the animosity supposedly vanquished long ago was still there, simmering below their fear of House Targaryen and their dragons.Â
While the Seven did offer you something to soothe your soul in times of unease and explain unanswered things, it didnât provide you consolation seeing it paraded around grotesquely in place of your Houseâs history. It churred the feeling of anxious dread in the pit of your stomach as your brothers eagerly left your side to explore the long-forgotten Red Keep.Â
âI would say itâs nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,â your mother said, a slight lilt to her melodic voice and sharing a knowing glance with Daemon.Â
You stood closely by her side, moist lips tucked in concern as you observed your stepfatherâs butter smirk walking before the two of you. You and your mother stayed unmoving for another moment to allow the situation to settle. The abrupt raven, Lord Corlys gravely injured, Princess Rhaenys traveling to Kingâs Landing, Lukeâs legitimacy loudly called to question all happening within a few days was more commotion than you had within the entirety of your stay at Dragonstone. It was a wonder you hadnât plucked at the hairs of your Crown, your digits twitching and coming to scratch at your scalp.
Suddenly, you felt a shift in the air, unable to name the sensation as you turned to your mother, whose beautiful violet orbs were trained on a series of portraits of your kin. While your King grandsire, stepfather, mother, Queen Alicent, and her children were there, your siblings were not, leaving only the elegant, rectangular golden frame of your countenance in the places of your brothers. You felt your heart drop and glanced at your mother with wide, curious eyes.Â
This meant too many things. Not only was it an insult to your mother and siblings to have all but their pictures, but the fact that it was only you there out of the six of you. It was no doubt Queen Alicentâs doing as you forced yourself to swallow a lump in your throat. The tears you kept at bay reemerged as your fingers dug under your black mesh veil, rolling the fine dark hairs at the nape of your neck between the pads of your thumb and forefinger. Â
Swiftly, your mother took your wrist, soothingly rubbing your knuckles as she gave you a brief yet wistful smile. âWhy donât you find the Godswood, yes? I shall meet you there shortly.â
You bobbed your head stiffly, willing your tears and trepidations to quiet as you rubbed at your damp lashes. âYes, Mother,â you responded in kind with a sniffle.Â
You found yourself within nature as you always did in times of strife, gazing up into the crimson leaves of a Weirwood, the soft rustle of branches reminding you of inaudible whispers. They were hard to make with the skyâs brightness, only to see the fuzzy outlines with the gray clouds, but they comforted you. The Old Gods watched you with their unseen eyes as your fingertips traced the rough bark grass crunching beneath your boots.
The Godswood was the only place within the Keepâs grounds that did not cause you significant stress, as only fond memories of your times with Helaena catching insects and playing games with Jace and Luke filled your mind. You had no desire to return to Kingâs Landing despite being away for so long. It felt as if no time could heal the irreparable wounds caused within these walls and the person who did it.Â
Many rumors spread throughout the realm and to your little island of Dragonstone from the smallfolk, whispering that Prince Aegonâs appetite for depravity did not curb after his marriage to Princess Helaena. The people said it increased tenfold as the Prince was spotted frequenting the gambling houses, brothels, and illegal fighting pits. It seemed fitting for your eldest uncleâs character to become the worst of something he was supposed to make the best of.Â
You could only think of the innocent children sired into this world without their motherâs consent and then put into the fighting pits so that Aegon and other highborns could have their entertainment. When you are Queen, you shall kill every man or woman who dares to share the same interests as your uncle. You would not willingly allow such depravity under your rule. No amount of coin from such establishments could be worth it to keep the economy afloat.
The soft crunching of late winter grass caused you to jump, tearing from your thoughts as you turned to see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. You bestowed her with a deep curtsy and smile, coming to greet her with open arms.Â
âGrandmother!â you called with unspoken joy in your tone. âTis a pleasure to see you after so long.âÂ
She extended a tight-lipped smile that looked like a grimace, and you felt deflated. âI wish I could share the same unwitting joy you do, seeing as my Lord Husband lays battling with the Stranger.âÂ
You lowered your arms with chagrin and took a few paces back as you felt the sting of tears resurface. âApologies, my lady. I did not mean for my joy at seeing my fatherâs mother to make light of the gravity this day brings.âÂ
She chuckled wryly at your words, shaking her head as she looked to the Weirwood tree behind you. Following her gaze, you moved from her path as she took steps forward. There were so many things you wanted to say to her, to scream to her how much you loved your father and wished for those involved with his death to pay as you twirled his signet ring on your middle digit.Â
Princess Rhaenys looked to you in the serene noiselessness of the Godswood, the chill in the wind causing you to shiver, gaze drifting to where you worked the gold around your knuckle. She said nothing with her mouth. She neednât, as you could see it written plainly in the deep wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes. The Princess felt the same but would never admit it aloud to a⊠bastard.Â
âI shall leave you in peace, Princess,â you bowed again, walking with less brightness into the Keep as you left the one person you could speak about your father to.
You felt like an imbecile for what you said, even though any grandparent should feel the same glee you did at their grandchildrenâs arrival. A hot wave of embarrassment seared your insides, causing you to dig the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, ripping your veil off in anger. You didnât care about the beautifully plated hair your ladies created, scraping your nails into your scalp to feel the threadlike texture of your bothersome strands that ached to be released as you ran blindly through the stone halls.Â
There had been times when Aemond had forgotten who you were, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, who your birth father was, and the sweet kisses you bestowed on him alone in his chambers. That is why he reasoned that he was surprised to see a woman grown and no longer a girlish figure with a short, flat torso and legs. Instead, it was a lady with the slope of your neck dripping with rubies and dragonglass barely hidden beneath the crevasse of your swelling bosom.Â
Your eyes were all he could think about from the moment you emerged from the second wheelhouse. A scared, almost dovelike look to them as he watched Luke and Jace come to your side.Â
Good, he thought. You all should be terrified. Yet he did not hold the same conviction as his stare drifted back to you.
The Prince thought you were so small and fragile from a distance as he observed you leave the Godswood, an arch to your dark brows that seemed to be in pain. He thought there should be nothing within your perfect ideal life to be so torn about and wanted to give you a reason to be upset. Aemond planned to spit all the vitriol he held within these six years as you rounded the corner, and yet, as Aemond held you within his bruising grasp, you stared at him with such fire beneath unshed tears.Â
The passageway Aemond cornered you into carried a chill seeping in from the outside as he saw your cheeks redden in ire. Your moist, plump lips slightly parted to breathe as he dug his blunt nails into your biceps. He felt his breeches become impossibly tighter as you swallowed, darting your pink tongue out in nervousness, much to his frustration.
Aemond was no longer the sun-kissed Prince with wide amethyst eyes full of light. His plush, boyish face had slimmed in the time lost and turned into one of hardened maturity with a sharp nose and chiseled jaw that came to a point with thin pink lips. His countenance resembled the statues you saw in Dorne as you felt his strong hands dig into your muscles like he wanted to tear at your essence. You felt your body weaken against your will, succumbing to the emotions you felt for your uncle in your youth, but resolved to stay firm against his intimidation. There were still hints of the Aemond you briefly knew in your childhood, the one that kept that night a secret still to this day.
âUnhand me, Aemond!â you spat as if he had swiped filth across your face, a deep wrinkle on your forehead.
Aemond wanted to laugh despite your seriousness as he pressed you further against the pale red stone wall, uncaring if Princess Rhaenys heard your cries. You dropped your headpiece in your struggles and attempted to retrieve it before your uncleâs piercing grip righted you again.Â
âMust I?â he quipped, his stomach churning with excitement as the familiar scent of citrus and something darker wafted into his nose. âYouâre a strong lady. Iâm certain you can overpower me.â
Aemond allowed his gaze to roam over your face as you scoffed with a squirm. He wanted you to be ugly, for you to become the personification of all the wrongs your family committed against him, to be the picture of the betrayal he felt for you choosing them over him on that dreadful night. Up close, he unwillingly realized you were what the smallfolk claimed you to be. The picture of the Maiden though he knew you were anything but. Aemond wondered what they would think should the people discover your true nature.
âYou believe yourself a true Velaryon, do you not? The Old, the True, the Brave,â he asked, his voice low and menacing. His face was so close to yours that you could see the intricate stitchings of his brown leather eyepatch. You wondered if he wore his sapphire today. âYour hair is decorated with gold and pearls, fingers adorned with jewels, and wrapped in lavish dresses. Yet beneath all the decadence you wear, you are still nothing more than Strong.âÂ
His insults meant nothing as you realize your uncle felt the same inner turmoil. Why else would he speak such prose of your being? He loathed and loved you in the same breath, something he fought to keep inside.
âDo not hide behind cruel words, Aemond. I see you as you are.â A delicate hand came to cup his marred cheek, the smooth pads of your fingers tenderly stroking the plunging indentation through his skin. You wished to get through to him, to tell him that despite the rift between your families, you cared for him. He could still be your Mors Martell.
The Prince felt himself crack, an unconscious twitch of his lip that he disguised as a sneer. Aemond felt a sensation he fought to keep at bay since he was disabled, struggling to hide the way memories from long ago clouded his mind. Instead, the Prince focused on how you inhaled a sharp breath when his hand left your arm and came to your face, jerking it towards his as Aemond lost your tender touch. He would swear upon his death that he saw your eyes dilate a fraction too much for it to be the shadow of the torchlight.Â
Wondering then if the rumors were true that you and your twin had a closer relationship, he brought his other fist to encircle your waist, trailing it down the back of your plump thigh until he forced it to wrap around his hip. A part of Aemond was sure you would scream for help as you did when he found you with Aegon, but no words escaped your moist lips.
âYou hurt me, my light. Can I not simply bask in the presence of my long-lost dream?â he mocked and realized that he might have gone too far as he felt your body stiffen and face blanched. The expression on your visage reminded him of the times he saw wounded soldiers return from minor village uprisings, the bloodshed changing their perspectives.Â
The Prince understood that there was no returning from what he said, seeming to have flipped an unseen switch inside you at the mention of his motherâs petname for you. Your lips began to tremble on their own volition, and you abruptly noticed the striking resemblance between Aemond and his older brother. The most venomous expression you could muster curled onto your face, hiding your fright and not allowing him to hold power over you any longer.
âDonât insult my intellect, Aemond. I know what disgusting thoughts play inside your mind, and they intimidate me for naught. You are more alike to Aegon than you allow,â you jeered. You knew what to say to wound him, to compare him to his wastrel of an older brother who raped innocent serving girls and his kin.
Unable to help your wandering eyes, you watched how your uncleâs pink tongue moved within his mouth, how the wetness glistened with the flick of his ire.Â
âAnd what of you?â Aemond rebuked. âYou cannot simply only be close siblings. The dragonâs blood runs thick and even more so between twins.âÂ
You were silent, leaving only the faint rustling of nature in the distance wrapped around the pair of you like a rope, tightening against your skin and pulling you and Aemond closer. Despite the frigid weather, it became hot, sweat collecting on your upper lip and nape. All Aemond could hear was the fierce rhythm of your breathing, his eye wandering down to the elegant necklace perched on your chest.
âYou spout baseless, vile accusations of your kin that have made lesser men lose their lives,â you rebuked, fists coming to clutch at his jerkin and wrapping your digits in the green leather as if you meant to fight him.
âPerhaps,â he breathed with an air of superiority, âbut I donât believe it to be treason to question your morals,â he replied coolly, his light brow quirking with his tone of practiced impassivity.Â
The Prince was stunned into silence when your tiny, delicate palm echoed off his marred cheek. It was not the force that shocked him, but rather the notion that you did it despite the threat of violence.
For a brief moment, white, hot pain seared at his left temple and into his skull as he turned to you and saw an expression of regret. Aemond felt the heat on his cheek and smirked. He knew you intended to hurt him by striking him on his injured side and now understood how to cripple you as Luke did him. It would always be your beloved familyâyour weakness.
The lamb bit as fiercely as the wolf, Aemond mused. You may not be as frail as he thought.
Excitement curled the Princeâs toes at the whimper that escaped your lips as he used his strength around your throat, perfectly styled hair fraying on the stone. Your once flat irises now burst with life as they darted across Aemondâs lean form in brief terror, a proud grin wrinkling his eyes.
âYou ignorant bitch,â he declared, pressing himself closer, his hand firm around you despite attempting to pry them off. His other limb reached down, shifting you to the tips of your toes as he dropped your leg. Though fruitless, he reveled in the terror that washed over your features as you attempted to fight him. He wouldnât dishonor you, but all that mattered was that you did not.Â
Aemond felt disgusted at his actions, believing for a moment that you were right about him, that he was indeed the same as Aegon, yet in different colored clothes.Â
âIâll scream. Just as I did that night.âÂ
âThen do it and let the whole Keep think worse of you,â the Prince mocked, bearing his white teeth. âI shall say it was you who seduced me, and who will they believe? The Kingâs second son or the bastard daughter who fucks her brother?âÂ
He could feel your humid breath against his face, fanning the spot where you had struck him. Aemond stared at this vicious yet adored creature in his grip as he concealed his insecurities with the intimating tilt of his head as if examining a new book. His violet eye traced the ink, waiting for your next move. The Prince would have you think him to be Aegon if it meant fucking his spend into you no matter how undeserving you were of it. Perhaps you would finally see what the true seed of a dragon looks like. Aemond grinned with his unspoken words and felt satisfaction with the anger he stoked in your eyes.Â
âYou will let me go. Now,â you demanded, pushing against your uncle as you struggled for purchase.
âAnd then what will you do? Run? Men in Kingâs Landing are not as kind as I when they see a distressed lady.â Your jaw ached, feeling like a rabbit cornered by a fox as a familiar and unwelcomed primal warmth blossomed between your thighs.Â
You wanted to threaten him, to say that you would feed Aemond to your dragon or poison him in his sleep, but nothing came to mind besides the smell of too-sweet wine and the taste of dried dates. Memories came from that night, as you felt yourself becoming faint, the will to fight to leave you just as it did with Aegon as powerless tears welled on your lashes. You were a fool to think Aemond would see past his injustice for the sake of the past and resign yourself to whatever fate he chooses for you.Â
There was no point in fighting. Once again, you were at the mercy of your uncle, and you only prayed that this one would be gentle.
The Prince no longer felt proud of his actions as he watched your body recoil into itself. There was something in your eyes that Aemond couldnât name as he looked between them, feeling himself slowly pulled into their depths as he did the night after Aegon. The Prince wasnât going to hurt you, not really. He was young and foolish, but not to the extent that he would commit an act of one of the highest sins.
As if the mother herself took mercy on you, the soft murmur of voices down the hall echoed into your and Aemondâs ears. You could not hide your smirk as he stared into you with a deep scowl on his porcelain face. Whatever plans he had, they crumbled like dead leaves underneath your boots as your mother and step-sister came. Taking his momentary distraction to your advantage, you shoved against the hardened planes of his chest, your sudden rush of strength knocking Aemond off balance as you retrieved your forgotten headpiece.Â
Soon, they came into view, their destination no doubt being that of the Godswood as you fixed your disrupted attire. You couldnât help the grin that pulled at your plump cheeks as you saw your uncleâs scowl, taking a few paces to reach them. You seemed the proper princess to the outside, greeting them with a quick embrace and your chin high.
Rhaena acted like Aemond wasnât there. Only the uncomfortable shift of her shoulders revealed she noticed him while your mother extended a short but polite acknowledgment before he stalked away without proper dismissal.Â
âWhat did he do to you?â your step-sister pointedly questioned, scanning your form for any injury.
You looked at her in what you hoped was a confused yet grateful expression and not one of guilt. âPrince Aemond merely wanted to make amends for the lack of presence at our arrival. I do not believe him to be sincere.â
Your mother smirked her delicate peony lips, releasing a scoff of disbelief as she shook her styled hair. She closed the space between you and tenderly grasped your shoulders as she scanned your form for injury.
âDo not let them get to you. They seek only pride and glory,â your mother declared steadfastly, a vibrancy you had never seen before in her amethyst eyes.
Nodding in acquiescence, you extended another brief embrace before you excused yourself, wanting nothing more than for this day to end as you went to search for your brothers.Â
You needed Jaceâto feel the comfort only your twin could give after facing the scars of the past. Before reaching your destination, you felt an iron-like grip across your upper arm, pulling you into a secluded alcove. You feared the worst, that someone planned to harm you and that your last words to your mother would be lies.
âYou are quick, niece,â Aemond whispered haughty into your ear, causing you to drop your headpiece in fright, âbut that quickness will do you no good in Kingâs Landing. Your whore mother has no hold here.âÂ
Just as quickly as your uncle took you, he released you with a shove. You wanted to bite with some clever or witty remark but thought of none. Tears of embarrassed frustration welled in your eyes as you spun on your heel, ignoring the tickle on your wrist like something had touched it.
As Aemond watched your womanly form retreat, dark eyes trailing over your curves, he did not feel the satisfaction he believed the interaction would create, spotting your discarded veil on the flagstone floor. He stared at it for a long moment, tracing the intricately sewn beads as he picked it up.Â
Unsure of what came over him, he brought it to his nose, the scent of citrus flooding his senses and into the blood that engorged his cock. He was able to appreciate the feminine quality of your fragrance fully. Your aroma was refreshing and rounded, sweet but complex and deep simultaneously, similar to the limes that garnished drinks during the Keepâs summer gatherings, but with floral, herbal, and resinous undertones.
With a guttural noise, the Prince tightened his grip on the headpiece, channeling all his hatred towards your family into his clenched fist and tucked it into his jerkin. He swiftly went to the training session with Cole, hoping the knight wouldnât see through his façade before witnessing the impending downfall he believed your family deserved.Â
Masterlist of Series
Spotify Playlist
Sooooo, what did we think about their reuniting? Just two mentally ill and horny young adults. XD I originally wanted the whole meeting with Aemond again, the petition, and the dinner scene to be all in one chapter, but that was waaaaaay too much. I split them up to get those infamous scenes in the next chapter. I'm excited. It's gonna be juicy!
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! (â  â ÂŽâ âĄâ âżâ ăâ âĄâ `â )
I wanted to briefly give credit to @targaryenrealnessdarling, and their fic The Blood is Rare for inspo of the setting when Aemond and the reader meet for the first time. However, I did change things to make it my own. They have a lot of Aemond fics that will surely quench your thirst as y'all wait for the next chapter. (â â â âżâ ââ )
Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , *@p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna
*bold means I can't tag you for some reason ïœĄâ :ïŸâ (â ;â ÂŽâ â©â `â ;â )ïŸâ :â ïœĄ
#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen x strong!reader#hotd jacaerys#hotd fanfiction#hotd alicent#rhaenyra targaryen#hotd rhaenyra#daemon targeryan#hotd daemon#lucerys velaryon#hotd lucerys#hotd aegon#aegon targaryen ii#helaena targaryen#hotd helaena#ewan mitchell#aemond x reader#hotd fic
143 notes
·
View notes
Text
Trailer park Steve AU part 53
part 1 | part 52 | ao3
cw: sex & spit & sadness; period-typical homophobia
They're on each other the second they get through Steveâs front door. Something charged and taut between them; something begging to be snapped.
It's not gentle â Eddie pushes him against the walls as he walks them toward the bedroom, tearing off clothes and palming Steve's cock just enough to get it hard. Shoves him down onto the bed and preps him quick with messy fingers, mumbling praise into the crook of his neck as he spreads him open, one, then two, then, breathless, âThree.â
âOh, fuck.â
âYeah,â he groans. âThere you fucking go.â Frenzied flicks and thrusts, curling just right at the tip, and when he lines himself up he urges, "Come on, baby, let me in- let meâ"
Steve tenses, then lets go. Sets his thoughts to run free in a field of wildflowers, lets himself sink into warm depths where his mind is quiet and his body is in flames and everything is so, so unbearably good. Eddie gives him a second to adjust, and when he moves, Steve moves with him. Earth and moon; tidal force. He plants one foot on the bed to match Eddie's frantic pace, the other leg thrown around his hip, urging him deeper, harder, in in in, and Eddie's fucking him so hard he's sliding up the sheets, so hard he can barely speak, his mouth open on one long, continuous moan.
He can't keep not saying it. He can't keepâ he can'tâ "Eddie," he gasps, whimpering as Eddie angles his hips and strokes in deep, slick skin slapping where their bodies meet. "Eddie, I- unh, oh, fucking god, I lo- lov-"
"Stick your tongue out for me, princess."
Eddie grunts and spits in his mouth. Wet and gross and loud, splashing on Steveâs cheeks and nose, his lips, and he chases it with his tongue; licks over Steve's open mouth and fucks his tongue in deep, then pulls back to slide two fingers in and moan, "Suck my fingers while you come. That's it, honey, that'sâ" and Steve comes with a hoarse shout.
Eddie follows him right over. Fills him up and stays there; collapses on his chest.
Heâs still inside him when the tears start.
Muffled sniffs against Steveâs collarbone, wet and warm and mixing with their cooling sweat, and Steve says, âHey,â but there's no answer.
Eddie stifles another whimper. Steve drops his arms from his shoulders to his waist. "What's wrong?â
The question feels like putting one foot out over the quarry. Fourteen and tipsy on a dare, smiling real wide as his friends counted down from ten. The cheering, the shoulder grabs, handshakes and pats on the back, and then, and then, alone in the bushes, stomach turning as he realized they had almost let him die.
Eddie shakes his head against him; rolls his forehead back and forth on his shoulder, no and no and no. âI canâtâ baby, Iâm not⊠Iâm not good.â His voice cracks, and he gives a low moan, pained and drawn out like heâs fighting off a fever. âIâm a fucking black hole.â
There's no fight in his voice â no hint of hysteria, no sing-song sarcasm, no boisterous breath. He goes soft and slips out, and it's just empty. Just dead. Speared through by the ruthless roots of old grief, and now some deep, hollow misery churns ugly truth like solar flares, the words blackened and raw and wholeheartedly believed.
And Steve wants to laugh, because heâs the black hole. Heâs the rotten thing sucking Eddie into orbit. Eddieâs the brilliant star stuff spinning past his dark horizon. âNo,â he says simply, squeezing his arms tighter around him. âNo.â
They lie in silence for a while. Breathing out of rhythm, hearts thudding against each other's chests. Eventually Eddie falls asleep, and Steve rolls him over and tucks them in, cleans them up with a discarded t-shirt.
He stays awake for a long time; stares at the ceiling, a question tearing at his mind â a jagged thumbnail worming under the edge of a too-fresh scab:
What happens when two black holes collide?
Heâd asked that once. In middle school. Raised his hand in science class, and Mr. Clarke had called the question intriguing, and Tommy H. had called him a fag. âOnly nerds care about space shit,â heâd taunted during recess, âI mean, what are we, eight?â
Steve sometimes wishes that he was still.
Wishes things could be that easy.
Wishes, more than anything, that he didnât wake up alone.
â
part 54
tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)
happy endings only i promise!!
337 notes
·
View notes
Text
Incubus
"Please? Please, please! I'm fucking starving," your incubus whines.
"Crybaby. I told you this was going to be a problem," you sigh, gripping the steering wheel of your rented car.
You had stopped at a gas station ten minutes ago and gotten yourself some food. With your belly full, you're prepared for the next three hours of your roadtrip. Not your incubus though, he's acting like he hasn't had anything in days.
Which might be true. It's been a confusing couple of weeks.
"What was I supposed to do? This is a six-hour road trip," he sighs. "And you said you'd let me."
"Dude, I was drunk and horny," you laugh sheepishly.
He petulantly jams his foot against the glove compartment and tugs his shoe off. The unnatural purple veins in his skin are starting to make an appearance as his glamour wavers.
"Ah, get your demon foot down! What if someone sees it?"
"When was the last time we passed another car on this god-forsaken road?" He pouts. "Besides, my glamour is slipping. I don't have enough energy to keep it up."
"Why don't you sleep the rest of the way? We'll be there soon enough," you reason.
"Fine," he grumbles, tipping his seat back so he can recline comfortably.
Despite all his huffing and whining, he ends up falling asleep. He has one hand draped over his face, sheilding his eyes from the sun. His glamour is in the halfway stage, revealing pointed ears and a body that's now a little too large for the car seat. He twitches in his sleep and moans.
"God no," you mumble in mock horror and stifle a giggle.
The sounds he makes in his sleep are worthy of a porn audio and you feel like you shouldn't be listening. Still, that kind of thing doesn't bother you as much as it did weeks go. You've come a long way. The ride is manageable for a while, until his wings suddenly unfurl like a rebellious umbrella and thwack you in the face. You're forced to pull over.
"Wake up, idiot. You almost made me crash the car." You grab his shoulder and jangle it.
He wakes up with an inhuman growl and grabs you. There isn't much space for either of you to move, so all he ends up doing is pulling you into his lap. Tears spring into your eyes when you hit your elbow on the car door.
"You did that on purpose!" You moan, rubbing the tender spot.
"You can't just touch me when I'm sleeping," he says in exasperation, peering at you with blackened eyes.
He's right. This isn't the first time you've tried to wake him up and he ended up freaking out. It's obvious something happened to him in the past to make him act that way, but he wouldn't let you pry.
"Sorry, I forgot," you admit. "You were moaning in your sleep."
"Was I?" His eyes twinkle. "Look at you, getting all flustered. Hey, don't look away."
To change the subject you say,
"Your glamour is gone."
"It appears so." He flares his wings out as wide as he can, wincing. "I miss flying."
"Soon you'll be able to fly again," you promise, your heart going out to him.
Even though summoning him was an accident, you could have done so much more to make the experience a little less weird for him. You treated him like a literal demon thanks to your religious upbringing. Only when you realized that holy water and crosses and exorcisms were no good did you start to treat him with a modicum of respect. And he endured all of it for you. You've gotten better with your hellish companion since then.
Someone takes the initiative to kiss, but you're not sure whether it was him or you. All you know is that the wall you've built has come crashing down, and all the secret desires you hid away come clamoring forward, demanding attention.
You can't get out of your clothes fast enough, growling in annoyance when you hit your elbow again. You should have rented a bigger car.
"Hold on," he says, ripping his face away.
His lips are swollen and bruised from the heavy makeout session and his pupils are ridiculously dilated, but he still looks aware and a little worried.
"An hour ago you were denying me. Why now..."
"Don't ruin the mood," you tell him, wiggling into the backseat. "I just realized all my little rules are pretty stupid, that's all."
He twists around to look at you in the back.
"You won't regret it later?"
"I will if you made me take all my clothes off only to say you don't want to do it anymore," you say, leaning back and opening your legs. "Come here."
His eyes light up. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. The last of his glamour sheds, and you stare at his ebony-colored horns in admiration. Just a few weeks ago the mere sight of them had you stammering the Lord's Prayer and dousing him with anointing oil in an effort to make him go away. Now you grab one of his horns and drag him closer. The small car means you are both in pretty uncomfortable positions, but you'll complain about your back later.
His licks a blazing trail down your stomach, the purr in his voice muffled as he presses his lips to your body, tracing the red lines where your too-tight jeans aggravated your skin.
"I love this."
"My muffin top?" You snicker.
"All of it. All of you. Goddess," he says reverently before he dips between your legs.
His long, slippery tongue is talented. As he stokes your pleasure higher and hotter, he drinks from the blaze of it. Once he has enough energy to use his glamour again, he glamours his claws away and slides two fingers into you, looking up at you with gleaming, burning eyes.
The way his wings arch makes you think of an eagle protecting its dinner. You dare to touch them, stroking the struts of bone and the delicate membrane stretched between them.
"You're so beautiful," you admit. "And I'm not just saying that because you're so good at this."
He looks amused with the compliment. Maybe he's remembering the time you called him a "vulgar hellion of hell" in a fit of religious indignation.
You jump at the sudden zing of pleasure when he nips your inner thigh.
"Focus on me," he demands. "Let your mind go blank for just a little while."
You nod frantically, clutching the sturdy leather of the car seat. Your hips follow the thrusting motion of his fingers, desperate for more. He gives you what you want. You come when he adds a third finger, the stretch, and the pleasure and the stimulation of your clit throwing you recklessly off a cliff. It feels like he takes some of your energy, crafts it into a gem of pure gold, and passes it back to you in a hard kiss. It's like you've died and gone to heaven.
It's only when he taps your stomach that you remember you have to breathe. You suck in great gasps of air, squinting at him. He wears your cum on his face, his lips glistening as they part into a pretty smile.
"What was that?" You finally ask.
"The best orgasm of your life," he grins. "Please tell me I've ruined you for other people."
"Don't get ahead of yourself," you scoff playfully as you tug your clothes back on.
You think he has though.
#exophilia#terato#monster x reader#monster lover#monster x human#monster fucker#monster smut#incubus
356 notes
·
View notes
Text
Defile
Whb!AsmodeusxGn!Reader
Happy Halloween, and enjoy this sinful fanfiction
Cw: Corruption, primal, predator/prey, breeding, mind control, womb tattoo(what's the gender-neutral term for that), Heat, religious play, CNC, Asmodeus yaps a lot, aftercare
You kneel at the end of the sanctuary your hands clasped together As you pray in the dead of night. As the rest of your brothers and sisters at the monastery slumber, You had woken up early dreaming of sin, pools of blood red eyes staring into your very soul as you feel hands grasp and touch you in ways the Lord will not permit.
You had been plagued with sinful thoughts and dreams for a while now. So you pray hoping that someone would answer your prayers, and you'll be free from temptation.
But in the ivory halls of the church, with nothing but the light of the Moon and the candles lit around the altar to keep you company. Little did you know you were not alone. A darkness more sinister stalks closer. The candle sticks that littered the Sanctuary blow out one by one starting from the entrance when the doors creeped open.
You didn't open your eyes And one by one each candle blows out all around you. You did not open your eyes until you smelled the smoke. The only candles that were still lit were the ones around the altar. You thought as though the wind must have blew them out.
Your eyes adjusting to the dark as you squint looking around for an opened window or door that you are not aware of that could have caused the candles to go out. Your eyes peer into the blackened void behind you. You could almost feel at stare back.
That's when you heard it.
"well well well, What do we have here. A little lamb astrayed from its flock?"
It bellowed. Echoing throughout the entire chamber, your heart quickens as you lose your balance from the shock, falling from your knees to your bum. Your eyes widen as they dart throughout the room, But all you could see was the same inky darkness that not even the moonlight could pierce.
"W-who are you?" Your voice cracks the only words you can manage to get out.
The figure finally steps into what little light that could reach into the monastery. Long pitch black hair his naked figure covered by a single white silk robe ironic for what he was. Chains and barbed vines around his arms and legs and his piercing red eyes with a single yet unmistakable curled horn.
There was no mistaken of what he was. Your breath shakes your whole body shakes. Grasping the gold pendant around your neck You scoot away.
The demon chuckles. "Don't be afraid dear human, I promise I'll take good care of you." The way that word rolled off the tongue made you shiver. You didn't want to know what he meant by that.
"You're not supposed to be here!" You call out
"This is a house of God! You are not welcome devil!"
The red-eyed monster grinned, his smile wide and sinister, flashing his fangs. He let out a deep chuckle. "Your God will not protect you." He smiles. You can hear shackles on his arms and legs shake as he stalks closer. That sinister smile seems to grow wider and wider.
"Do you think you're pathetic little prayers will keep the incarnate of Lust away from what he has claimed. Look into my eyes prey you know who I am..."
As the being gets lower to your level, his claws scratch against the marble tiles as he practically crawls toward you. Eyes full of longing and hunger. Getting so dangerously close, you could smell a sweet temptation coming from him.
They warned warned you about him; One of the seven deadly sins.
Asmodeus.
He didn't have to hear you say it because he could see it in your eyes The delicious fear. He could hear every pump of your heart getting faster and faster And of course you reeked of desire. Pretty virgin things like you always made the most delicious of prey.
"I can smell that you crave for me." He growls.
Your heart practically stopped; that sentence alone finally made your feet move, scampering on the ground before taking off. All you hear was a laugh echoing through the halls as you keep running.
You could hear him coming for you his heavy breath the footsteps behind you that sound less and less human and more like a pack of hungry wolves.
You didn't look back; you didn't dare to. You could already hear how close he was and that he was gaining. Your lungs burned as you pushed as hard as you could. You could only reach outside in the courtyard, the moonlight showing his full figure before he tackled you to the ground, his whole body weight bringing you down.
Using his entire strength, Asmodeus forces you to the ground. You are at his mercy as you try desperately to fight him. You swore you felt drool dripping on your skin when he buried his nose into your neck, deeply inhaling your scent.
"perfect, simply perfect. I've been watching you for a while. And now that you're underneath me, You are far better than I ever could have imagined." His breathy voice tickled your ear as you delicately felt his claws and fingers around your neck. Your heart dropped as you felt a bulge in his clothes pressing against your pajamas. You try to squirm out of his grip, anything to get out, but you are trapped, caged in his arms, back pressed against his chest.
"your ass grinds against me, mate; You're so eager for me to claim you as mine." He sneered. His claws were ripping and shredding through your clothes as if they were paper.
Treating you like a mir doll for his amusement. Asmodeus flips you over, holding your arms together with his big hand.
"Yes, let me see you, let me see my new bride." He purrs. His eyes rolling over you like a piece of meat.
Your struggling was cute, It highlighted how much bigger and stronger he was compared to you but he began to grow tired of your useless attempts at freedom. He likes his mates 'willing' after all.
He let out another animalistic purr pressing his tongue against your collarbone looking up your neck as his other hand presses down on your lower stomach.
You felt heat underneath his palm a sweet pleasurable heat burning into your core when he lifts his palm a mark appears and its place.
That warmth from your core begins to spread all over your body. Places where he has touched, bit, licked, or sucked, begin to tingle all the way down to your core.
Asmodeus watches with a pleasant grin as his influence slowly takes over your body. He presses harder against you, his skin against yours. All he was doing was touching you, yet you felt so sensitiveâthat little warmth beginning to grow hotter and hotter as It became increasingly harder to think. The demon above you begins to explore your body with his hand and his tongue, licking and groping every part he can, feeling up his new favorite toy.
"Good human, become nice and obedient for me. Feel your mind slip away and become mine." His voice seems to echo in your mind; you feel it with your whole body, sending ripples of pleasure throughout.
Asmodeus, lets go of your wrists. Finally, you have a chance to escape, but your body has other plans: staying underneath him, obedient and ready.
Knowing that your body has completely submitted to him, the devil leans backward, unveiling his cock hard and throbbing, his balls swollen. "Come to me, human, come serve your new male. Prepare him for breeding." He moans, His hand squeezing his shaft with one lazy pump before cupping his balls.
His voice echoes in your mind and you obey him without question. The more you resist the deeper you fall.
As your mouth begins to drool at the sight of his dick. You crawl forward on your hands and knees. He watched in delight to your tiny hand wrapping around his demon cock before taking it in your mouth.
His natural musk, sweet yet woody fills your nose All you want to do is bury your face into him and ride him till the sun comes up. Your own drool runs down his shaft using it as lube to pump his cock with your hand while you struggle to take it deeper.
Despite your eagerness to please him, your movements were that of a virgin; he could smell that you were turned on by this, Even if you are under his influence. He plays with his jet-black hair idly, His teeth sinking into his lip. The desire to corrupt you with his demonic seed grows with every bob of your empty little head.
With a wave of his finger for you to stop, you obey like an obedient dog in heat; His cock is coated with your saliva, and your mouth drools from the taste of his pretty cock in your mouth. Asmodeus smirked as he crawled back on top of you with one hand. He parts your your thighs, preparing to sink inside you.
"I've had enough waiting, I'm going to breed you like the sow you are." Asmodeus growled
You arched your back as his cock filled you up just right. Putting your legs over his shoulders as he pressed his entire body weight down onto you. He didn't wait for a moment because if he did, you would be screaming and begging him to move.
With every slam of his hips the symbol on your core begin to glow brighter and brighter.
At that moment, your mind was not yours. It belonged to the man claiming you, but you could still feel it begin to change and warp with every thrust. His cock hits the deepest parts of you, and he snarls, feeling you clench.
"I know you're close. Cum as I fill you with seed and marry you in Unholy Matrimony right outside the very place you kneel and worship Your Lord!" He pants, a crazed look in his eye as he chases his orgasm. He's close, So close, ready to flood your insides and mark you as his. He could feel you tighten around his throbbing cock; you were close, there was no need in try to fight it. He's going to shatter your pitiful attempt at rebellion and rip the orgasm out of you.
Asmodeus let out an animalistic growl, drilling down into you harder and harder. If it wasn't for his voice ringing into your head, all you could hear was the slapping of his hips and his balls against your ass. "I will bind you to me, and you will worship me like your new God! Cum on my cock whore!"
It was a command, ending it with sinking his teeth right into your neck. Your eyes rolled back clenching and exploding all over him. Asmodeus letting out a maniac laugh before slammed with one final thrust deep inside you to steal his hips. He made sure to lift your lower body just right so he was reaching as deep as he could before filling your deepest parts with his virile seed. Your cunt milks him as you cum like it's the first time you came in your entire life milking his cock as you feel every spurt of seed as he drains his balls inside you.
Even as you stopped even after he stopped he still pressed inside you. Making sure every drop stays deep.
The two of you back in the afterglow before you feel as modius wrap his arms around you He nuzzles into your neck peppering it with kisses.
"beloved, My dearly beloved."
He groaned still deep inside you You can still feel how hard he was.
"I still want more... I want more of you." He whined overdramatically, grinding his still-stiff shaft against you.
As much as he wanted to have more of you, as much as he wanted to drill you into the dirt till the two of you were spent and on the verge of passing out, He knew that you probably had had enough. You were merely human, after all. Deliciously and lovingly human.
You felt his tongue drag across your neck again this time affectionately you giggle and push him away "All right get away from me stinky. We can't stay here for long." He lets out a groan despite him being much stronger than you he plays along moving his body giving you a little more space. Only a little.
"Satan doesn't have to know what we use this place for."
Asmodeus purred playing with your hair as he stayed glued to your body like a clingy lover. He cared little for the names you gave him It was a nickname from you and he would accept any.
"I highly doubt he wouldn't know after how loud we were."
He just let out a goofy chuckle. Guilty was charged He wasn't exactly the quietest either.
"Will you stay with me tonight? I promise we can bathe together."
It was a tempting offer. He was desperate to have you in his arms for a little while longer Even if that means doing the one thing he hated. But your answer is still the same, knowing that one night with him will never just be one night...
"You know my answer."
You heard the pout in his voice "Mmh Okay... But at least let me bring you back to your bedroom. I'd like to tuck you."
#smut#making Asmodeus as creepy as I fucking can#The creepiness is part of his charm#*sprays pepper spray sliced with febreze at him*#whb asmodeus#what in hell is bad#whb#whb x reader#wihib#whb abaddon#Asmodeus yaps a lot....#demon x reader#demon x human#whb Asmodeus x reader
125 notes
·
View notes