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sophie-looks-at-stuff · 6 months ago

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A Wolf in the Dragon's Den

Pairing: Aemond x Stark reader

Summary: The Greens have won The Dance of Dragons, and your family has offered your hand to Prince Aemond as a means of forgiveness for your part in the war. But what shall happen when a wolf meets a dragon in its den?

Warnings: SMUT, mdni 18+, p in v, kind of mean Aemond? but he gets better lol, Aegon being Aegon, use of pet names like Little Wolf or My Dragon, fingering, soft to rough sex, uhhh language for sure haha if I missed anything let me know y'all!! It's also not proof read so forgive any mistakes haha

AN: Well ... sorry this took me so long y'all! I guess my summer classes caught up to me a bit but that's ok cause after long last here it is!! A good old-fashioned Aemond x Stark reader fic. I hope you guys enjoy haha, I'm working on a request next, but let me know if there's anything else y'all wanna see! :)

King’s Landing was a hot, humid, fish-smelling shit hole. The warm temperatures were much too hot for your usual furs, heavy cloaks, and skirts. Even your horses were succumbing to the heat, panting more than usual, the poor things. You could have rode in the carriage, along with your mother and younger siblings. But you preferred horseback, the wind in your hair, and the breeze on your skin. Although, the air here was salty and thick.

Your father and brother, Cregan, rode beside you. “Hells, could it be any hotter,” your father murmured under his breath, sweat beading on his brow.

“Those vapid Targaryen’s couldn’t bear it any other way, something about the ‘dragon’s blood–”

“Careful brother, they could have your head for that–” You chuckled a bit, but you all knew there was truth to the statement. The Dance of Dragons had proved as much, the Greens' force and display of violence was wide and plentiful. “Rash and brash” as your father had put it once. Especially that of your betrothed, Prince Aemond One-eye Targaryen. Or “the one-eyed cunt” as many northerners took to calling him. The betrothal, much to your dismay, had been arranged by your father, in a weak attempt to repair your house's relationship with the monarch.

“Hmph, well if I had my way we wouldn’t even be here at all. Those ‘dragons’ wouldn’t survive a damn minute in the North. Their blood would freeze, and then maybe we’d all be rid of their problems.” Cregan said the word “dragons” with a mocking tone, a scoff in his voice.

“That’s enough, your sister is right boy, they would have your head for that. Or perhaps feed you to one of their dragon’s” And with that, your father put an end to that potentially treasonous conversation. Cregan however, had muttered something under his breath about “told you to stop calling me boy”.

Having had enough of the bickering, you tapped the sides of your horse, trotting ahead by several paces. Your dire wolf, Snowcap, had evidently decided to part temporarily from the group, to hunt or to shade herself you didn’t know. But you couldn’t blame her either way, the journey from the Winterfell to King’s Landing was a long one, and not a particularly comfortable one.

The gates to the Red Keep came into site ahead of you, the streets leading up to it peppered with Gold Cloaks and guards. The people of King’s Landing pay little mind to your small party, too busy with their buying and selling. You had chosen to travel light, there were no copious amounts of banners flying, or any regalia at all really. You would be surrounded by plenty of that kind of thing soon enough.

To say that your greeting was lackluster, would be an understatement. Ser Criston Cole stood beside the Dowager Queen Alicent atop the Red Keep’s stairs. Besides another dozen or so Gold Cloaks, that was what there was. Cregan scoffs in annoyance from beside you, he must have caught up to you somewhere along the way.

“He cannot even come to meet his bride-to-be, what a disrespect, pathetic,” You made a bit of a noise beside him, urging him to keep his mouth shut. You were in the dragon’s den now, who knows who could be listening in? Another glance around the unfamiliar faces does confirm your brother’s statement. Your betrothed was nowhere to be found. Even the training yard remained empty, and from what you’d heard, Prince Aemond could often be found there.

As you dismount your horse, Queen Alicent begins to make her way down the steps, towards you and the rest of your family. Your father and eldest brother move to stand to your left and right. Your mother and younger siblings finally join you, to your left. Your mother gives you a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder as she moves to stand beside your father. You curtsey as the Queen approaches, she takes your hand in hers. Her palms are soft and warm, gentleness radiates from her person.

“My Lady Stark, how nice it is to finally see you arrive. I hope the journey south wasn’t too unpleasant” She gives you a small smile, not as lovely as your mother’s, but kind nonetheless.

“It was alright, long, very long, but alright,” You say, matching her smile. Queen Alicent releases your hand and carries on to greet the rest of your family, Ser Criston following closely behind her. Still no sign of your betrothed, nor his elder brother, the King. Although you supposed he must be occupied with his duties on the Small Council. You know you will hear an earful from your brother later on the matter. Had Creagn been born a Lady, he would indeed circulate most of the gossip around Court.��

— — — — —

The Red Keep was massive in comparison to your expectations of its size. The halls appear more like an intricate intertwining of mazes rather than passageways. Your footsteps echo and reverberate off of the stones. Tapestries depicting great moments in Targaryen history line the walls. Lit torches line the halls, the windows, and the arches looking out onto bustling the city below. Servants, guards, and other nobles wondered about, gossiping, rushing to and fro. Ladies, lords, and servants alike whispered to one another as you and your family walked by, being led by Ser Cristin and the Queen.

It was no secret that your brother had sent Northeners and Graybeards to fight in Rhaenyra’s name. “Fight like Northerners they will,” your brother had said once. And they did indeed, the bitter cold and long winters having hardened them into mighty soldiers and fighters. Barbarians, some called them. Your father had handed over the duties of Winterfell to Cregan as he grew older. Your father had hardly left the North in all his years of life, but he had become confused and temperamental in his older age. It had ultimately been Cregan’s choice to join the Blacks, a decision he is now trying to repair. Or it would be more accurate to say you were trying to repair. Since you were a wolf being offered up to the dragons for slaughter. Perhaps the only reason that the Greens hadn’t burned down Winterfell, and your family around with it, is because they know the importance of your family to Westeros. And if the North falls, we all fall, and no one knew the North better than the Starks.

As you continue on your walk through the winding halls of the Red Keep, you finally come to stand before a set of doors. Modest in comparison to some of the others you’ve passed by. Metal filigree winds its way up from the handles like vines, the rest of the door was rather lackluster. Ser Cristin steps forward, dutifully opening the doors for your party.

There in the middle of the small council room, stood your betrothed. After long last you finally laid eyes on your betrothed. Aemond stood proud and tall, his long silver hair pulled back into one thick braid, tied together at the bottom with a strip of black leather. His back was turned towards you, hands clasped behind him. He was dressed in what appeared to be his riding gear, perhaps he had just come back from a flight with Vhagar.

“Aemond, there you are. You missed the arrival of your betrothed,” Alicent chided her son, who could not be less interested in the conversation at hand.

“Mhm,” He hummed, “I was–” He paused thinking, “ –busy”. From beside you, you can hear Cregan scoff a bit. Your mother puts a warning hand against his back, he was never one for formalities. But then again, most Northerners weren’t. The Prince finally turned towards your party. The famous leather eye patch covering the sapphire in his socket. The faint pink lines of his scar peeked out on either end of the patch. He’s beautiful, you think, in a macabre sort of way, but beautiful nonetheless. He looked ethereal standing there, backlight from the evening sun shining through the windows.

His lavender eye rakes itself over your form, as your mother pushes you forward a bit, to better meet his gaze. He lets out another hum, of approval, or disapproval, you cannot tell. A cord of annoyance strikes through you, not having the wherewithal to be subjected to such petty scrutiny.

Alicent places a guiding hand on your waist, walking you forward, closer to the One-eyed Prince. You curtsey once you reach him, the lessons your mother taught you as a girl kicking in and taking over.

“I did not know you Northerners were capable of such manners,” Aemond scoffed as he said this as if he was telling a bad joke. Your teeth grind together, hands clenching into fists in your skirts. Behind you you can hear the scuffle of footsteps, and then a halt. Presumably, your brother acting out again, or perhaps your father this time. Typically, your family wouldn’t care much about appearances, but you were all treading on thin ice, and you knew it.

Rising back up to your full height, which annoyingly still made you have to look up at him, you say: “We are rather steeped in our traditions in the North my Prince. We value honor decency, and the truth of one's word,” You glare at him through your lashes as you say this last bit. If it were not for the threat upon your entire house and bannermen then you would not be here, wolves were not creatures made to bow, even in the face of a dragon.

Surprisingly, Aemond lets out a hardy laugh. You chance a glance over at his mother, she looks to be just as stunned as the rest of you. Silence befalls the room.

“Smart mouth you have, huh, my Lady Stark?” He chuckles some more, then leans closer, intending his next words to only be for you. “Watch your tongue in my court, or I shall have it served to you on a platter at our wedding feast,” and with that, he straightens, and walks away. Yelling something over his shoulder about the training yard, and Ser Cole come with.

“I–” Alicent begins to say, but you cut her off, rather impolitely, “ It’s quite alright Your Grace,” You offer her a smile. You liked Alicent, the poor woman had been through enough as it is, and the arrogance of her son wasn’t any help. “I am just pleased to finally have arrived here at court, and to settle in at my new home,” It was most certainly a half-truth, but there was no need to make tensions rise any higher.

— — — — —

The following next few days were spent quite the same. Your little party with the guidance of Alicent took tours of the Red Keep as well as its many gardens and docks. One afternoon Alicent and Queen Helaena accompanied your mother and yourself down to one of the traveling markets of King’s Landing. It was rather grand, merchants coming from all across Westeros to sell their wares. Helaena had shown you a favorite merchant of hers, a man who made intricate gold and silver jewelry in the shapes of little bugs and small creatures. You had purchased a ring depicting the head of a dire wolf.

Aemond had remained illusive, he only graced everyone with his presence at meals. Choosing to sit far away from you, his brother, the King, talking about who knows what was next to him, but all the while his lavender eye remained fixed on you. It made you squirm a bit, being under his heavy gaze. Overthinking how you raised your fork to your lips, or where you held your cup of wine, on the stem or the rim as you’d always done.

With your wedding on the morrow, your nerves became more frayed than usual. Your mind is plagued with silly thoughts like: Will he think I’m pretty? Will he learn to love me? But as soon as those thoughts enter they are replaced with others such as: Why should I care? He’s been nothing but unpleasant and rude. But the younger, little girl in you still hopes to have a fruitful marriage, one filled with respect and love. Much like that of your mother and father’s. Although you know now that that is an anomaly in this world.

Your night is filled with restless sleep. Your body follows a pattern of waking for an hour and then sleeping for another. The heat of King’s Landing did not aid in this, the covers bunched down by your feet as you tossed and turned. Shortly after the sun had risen, maids had burst into your room, wedding gown in hand. You spent the next couple of hours being dotted upon like the princess you were about to become.

It wasn’t a large service by any means, not that you minded. Something smaller and more intimate was more to your liking. Your father walked you up the long aisle to meet your soon-to-be husband. Aemond stood at the altar in the sept, his house cloak in his hands to drape around your shoulders. The closer you got to him the more you could see his eye attempt to devour your appearance. Surprisingly, he gently held your small hands in his. His fingers and palms were calloused from many hours of training with a sword, and flights upon Vhagar. He was a handsome man you thought, too bad his arrogance made him ugly. Perhaps a bit naively you thought, I can change that. But maybe it was just wishful thinking. Your mind already trying to fix something potentially broken.

Aemond’s lips touched yours, forever sealing your vows to one another. Unlike his hands, they were smooth and soft, and uncharacteristically gentle. He was a good kisser you think, but then again the only other boy you’d kissed was a farm hand back at Winterfell when you were much younger.

Aemond thought you were beautiful, the moment he laid eyes upon his Little Wolf he thought perhaps this union will not be one of suffering and strife. At least she will be pretty to fuck. As his lips touched yours in the sept in front of the Gods, he tasted honey and black tea. You smell like vanilla, spices, and what Aemond assumed fire to smell like. His hand came to fist in your hair, possessively anchoring you to him.

When you part you suck in a breath of air, cheeks red. Such a sultry kiss in front of your family and the Gods caused a rush of embarrassment to course through you. Aemond however, gave you a wicked smirk in response to the color in your cheeks. Still clutching your hand tightly in his, he guides his new bride down and out of the sept, to return to the Red Keep for the evening's festivities.

— — — — —

The great hall was filled with the aroma of cooked meats, potatoes, wine, and the heavy laughter of your party guests. Your mother and father sat with you and your new family at the head table, looking down slightly upon the rest of the partygoers. Where the ceremony may have been smaller, the feast after it was not. Several more houses and bannermen of your brother’s came to celebrate the historic union. Boltons, Lannisters, Freys, Greyjoys, Hightowers, and the like filled the hall. You chose to remain seated beside your new husband, the ever-dutiful wife. You knew and had seen many times how rowdy Northmen could become at such a venue. You preferred to keep your distance, although it was not unusual to find you dancing with your younger siblings back home at Winterfell.

By the looks of it, your brother had loosened up a bit, a tanker of ale clutched in one hand.

The king had joined him and the others closer in age for what looked to be some kind of drinking game. Meanwhile, Aemond’s hand absent-mindedly made its home on your thigh, stroking up and down. The gesture was a stark contrast to his previous words and actions.

“You have barely eaten wife,” He noted as he glanced at you, “You must be well full and ready for what I have planned for you.” The same small smirk crosses his lips once again. Leaving you with a funny feeling in your stomach. But you can’t help the small wave of heat that strikes your core. Your mother once told you that men can become rather possessive of their women, and it can be quite cumbersome most of the time. Restricting one's freedom, constantly wanting you in their presence, she had said to expect this with someone like Aemond. But she mentioned that sometimes, in the confines of your marital chambers, it can be very — riveting to lay with such a man. It wasn’t until now that you began to understand what she had meant.

“I am afraid I have no appetite, my lord husband. My nerves do not allow me to eat it seems,” Aemond’s gaze darkened at the use of the word “husband”. Prince Aemond was not a man who did anything halfway, if he were to do anything, it was to be done fully without exception. A wave of dark possession seeps into his gut. He had already claimed a dragon but now he wishes to claim a wolf too.

From across the hall, his thoughts are abruptly interrupted by his brother's drunken yelling.

“ – the bedding ceremony! Come now little brother it is time for the bedding ceremony,” Aemond’s fists clenched, the hand on your skirts bunching in the fabric. “Will you fuck her like a hound brother? Woof Woof hahaha,” The hall had fallen eerily silent. Aemond’s chair clatters to the ground from the force of his standing. From beside Aegon, you see your brother place his cup of ale on the table, hand reaching for his sword. Your father is already a step ahead of him, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Your mother goes to stand in front of your younger siblings, shielding them. If you had no appetite before you certainly don’t have one now, your hands had gone cold and clammy, your head feeling light at the insults thrown your way. From beside you, Alicent stands, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“That is enough Aegon,” She begins to say.

“Oh come now Mother it was only a jest. Can I not be proud of my little brother?” Alicent opens her mouth to respond but Aemond beats her to it.

“You can take your ‘jests’ down to your whores on the Steer of Silk but you will not speak in such a way in front of my wife, let alone her family.” His voice is dangerously calm, ready to snap, and bubble over into pure rage at any given moment.

“Always so uptight little brother, as if someone has shoved a stick up your ass–” It is your turn to stand now, the feet of your chair scrapping the stone floor beneath you.

“I am quite tired, husband will you escort me back to our chambers?” You look at Aemond, a stern, silent plea evident on your features.

“Certainly wife,” He responds with the same tantalizing calmness. Offering you his hand, which you take, grasping on tighter than perhaps necessary, you both make your way out of the great hall. Leaving the mess that is Aegon behind for someone else to clean up. It was your wedding day after all and you needn’t worry yourself with such matters.

The walk to your marital chambers is quiet and tense. Your hand still firmly grasping Aemond’s, although he now squeezes yours back. The heels of your shoes echo off of the palace walls in an attempt to keep up with Aemond’s long strides. After an eternity of uncertainty at what was to come next, you reach Aemond’s, and now your, chambers. The room is large and furnished quite cozily. A large four-poster bed makes its home in the center back wall of the room. A table of what looks like chess pieces and a map sits by the open windows.

Aemond however reaches for the pitcher of wine on another small side table, pouring a cup for himself and downing it in one go. He pours a second, and a third for you. He offers it to you, you shake your head, afraid you cannot stomach the drink after what had just happened.

“I am sorry–” You break the silence. Aemond raises a hand to silence you.

“It is I who should apologize. My brother is a foul and evil creature who feeds off of the discomfort of others. But never had he dared to do so so boldly before,” He pauses, taking a sip of wine. “I have been absent since you arrived at the Keep and I believe I owe you an explanation,”

You cross your arms over your chest, the air coming in from the harbor seeming chilly now. “Yes I do believe you do,” you say.

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at your sass, a small smile spreading across his lips. “They told me women of the North have sharp tongues and poor manners,” You scoff, his smile widens, “but I must say I’m rather enjoying that thus far.” He moves toward you, one hand still holding his cup of wine, the other reaching up to cup your chin, turning your face to meet his eye.

“I must admit that when I learned that your treacherous brother’s offered your hand to me I was quite – unnerved. I had no desire to marry, let alone marry a traitor,” A cord of anger courses through you, and Aemond notices this. He sets his cup down on the table next to you, the one with the chess pieces. Your eyes follow the movement, better taking in the contents of the table, a war game perhaps, you think.

“I didn’t want to be chained to a dull, meek little pup for the rest of my life,” His now free hand comes to rest on your hip, and his thumb and forefinger move from your chin, to trace the shape of your lips, then your jaw, and down the column of your neck. “But I must say, that you have certainly exceeded my expectations. I shall enjoy breeding you,” His alkaline nose moves to smell your hair, and you inhale a sharp gasp at the vulgarity of his words. You feel him smile into your neck as he continues his ministrations, placing the whisper of a kiss here and there.

“I do not understand you. You show me kindness, even apologizing for the acts of your brother, but then you insult me and my heritage. What is it that you want from me, Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You question him, hoping your voice comes out as steady as you command it. Aemond pulls back laughing, both hands now finding purchase on your hips, he begins to guide you backward towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the wooden frame.

“Perhaps I wish to see how far I can push you Little Wolf. I enjoy your banter and wish to hear more of it. It pleases me that I’ve been matched to a woman who is not afraid to speak to me in such a way. People so quickly cower and whisper when I am near, it is refreshing to be met head-on.” His blunt statement surprises you, you had not expected such a confession from the Prince.

“Perhaps–” You pause, choosing your next words carefully, “ – perhaps then we can learn to love one another in this marriage.” You almost whisper the last bit, uncertainty in your voice.

“Yes, I think perhaps we can,” Aemond whispers back to you, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. The tension in the air is palpable, maybe he was waiting for you to make the first move. To see how far he could push you as he had said a moment ago. Deciding to test this hypothesis you stand on your tiptoes, slotting your lips against his, just as you did in the sept. A hungry growl leaves Aemond’s throat using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against his chest. He kisses you back with ferocity.

A hand grapes your throat, guiding you down towards the bed, your back hitting the feather mattress. You gasp against Aemond’s lips, swallowing the sound, he continues his assault. His hand against your throat tightened, although not unpleasantly, heat rushing to your core. His lips begin to retrace their path down your jaw and the column of your neck, biting and sucking red marks in their wake.

“Aemond– someone will see–” He parts from you only for a second, looking into your eyes.

“Let them, after all, isn’t that what my imputant brother wanted proof of our coupling? Perhaps it will give him something to pleasure himself to–” The thought makes Aemond’s cock harden impossibly more in his trousers. The fact that he could pleasure his wife to a level that his brother could only imagine, was nearly enough to drive him over the edge.

“Husband that is not reason enough to leave –” You're interrupted by a particularly sharp bite to the collarbone. A moan of pain and pleasure escapes past your lips, spurring your new husband onwards. With a sharp tug, Aemond pulls the bodice of your dress down, exposing your chest to him. He murmurs a simple “beautiful” under his breath before latching onto one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling at the flesh. Your back arches slightly in response, desperate to bring yourself closer to his touch.

As he continues his ministrations he begins to unlace the remainders of your gown, shimmying them down your body, to pool at his feet. You feel his calloused hands roam up and down your body. Sketching your shape into his memory. His fingers knead the flesh of your breasts, your thighs, your ass. Finally, he swipes his fingers between your folds, you emit a soft whine at the contact.

He raises an eyebrow, “I’ve barely even touched you yet Little Wolf, and you're already soaking my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock–” He trails off, mesmerized as he begins to pump two fingers in and out of your core. Your cheeks flush a deep scarlet at his words. Your hands find purchase in the sheets of your new bed.

“Oh– oh Aemond –” You whisper in between breaths.

“Say it again, say my name again,” It’s almost a plea, begging to hear it again.

“Husband– Aemond– My Dragon –” Aemond harshly withdraws his fingers from you. You nearly scream at the loss of the delicious contact. Discarding the remainder of his clothes, tossing them haphazardly to the side, Aemond grabs you by the ankles pulling you down towards the end of the bed where he stands. You catch site of his cock as he gives it a few tugs in preparation. The tip angry and red, glazed in his arousal for you. Your eyes widen a bit, your mother never prepared you for what might happen should your lord husband be too – big.

Aemond sees your moment of concern, he positions himself over you, cock aligned at your entrance. His hand carresses your cheek, as he says “I shall be gentle, if you ask me to.Give you time to adjust –”

“No,” Your answer surprises the both of you. “I want you, I am not some small flower, I can take what you give me. I want whatever you shall give me Husband.” You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, as if to reassure him that what you say is true.

“Seven fucking Hells, you are something did you know that?” He rests his forehead agaisnt yours, as he ever so slowly begins to sheath himself inside of you.

You let out a small giggle, whispering back “I know–”

Aemond bottoms out inside of you, his cock fully enclosed by the walls of your cunt. He could die like this, he thinks. Cock sheathed in the cunt of his gorgeous Little Wolf. Your walls squeeze him perfectly, he needs to take a moment to catch his breath. He had fucked women before, whores in the Street of Silk. His brother having dragged him there once, and to seek some kind of perverted comfort there during The Dance. But none of them compared to this moment, none of them –

“Husband, Gods move please,” Aemond is brought out of his thoughts by your pleas, you voice hoarse with want and need.

“With pleasure Little Wolf.” He begins to thrust, moving his hips at a slow and steady pace. It’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. He’s afraid that should he move to fast he won’t be able to carry on for very long. Beneath him your hands clutch the sheets of his bed, your cheeks are flushed the most lovely red, your hair played out in a halo around you on the pillow. If he could burn the image into his mind forever, then he certainly would.

Aemond’s cock stretches you out perfectly, boardering on pain and pleasure, but only for the first moments. His thrusts are steady and calculated, but never the less delicious. The movement causes friction on your clit, sending a wave of pleasure to your core. It’s lovely, you think, but you want more. Moving from their place in the sheets, your hands settle on his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Aemond– more,” His lilac eye flits up to your face, asking for silent reassurance that that is indeed what you want. “For Gods sake Husband, move faster please I–” Not needing to be told twice, Aemond picks up speed. Where his thrusts were slow and sensual, now they are fast and hard. He fucks you like a man starved, as if he was told this is the last woman he will ever lay with. Which in his case, was true, since you were married after all.

Your tits bounce at the force of his movement, your hands that were previously on his hips, begin to rake down his back. Your legs come up to circle his waist, drawing him impossibly closer.

“You like this then, huh, Little Wolf. Treated like my own personal whore, to fuck how I please?” The sounds that fill the room are egregious, skin against skin, moans, whimpers, and screams.

“Louder Little Wolf, howl for me, let the whole Keep hear how I pleasure you so,” Perhaps that same small part of him wanted his brother to hear. As if Aemond had something to prove to him, that he made a better husband, a better lover than Aegon ever will.

“Aemond, Aemond, oh Aemond–” You chant his name like a mantra. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you, you gasp eyes widening at the feeling.

“Seems I’ve found where you feel pleasure best. Is that right Little Wolf?”

“Yes, Gods Aemond, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna –” Hearing that was all the motivation he needed to pick up his pace even more. To fuck you even harder than before. He grips your hips pulling you closer to him at the end of the bed, from this angle he has full control over your body, and can fuck you as you so desire him to.

The force of his thrusts, and the friction against your clit cause you to see stars behind your eyes. With one last scream of his name, you cum around his cock. Your walls pulling him in, attempting to root him to you. Aemond however, does not let up, chasing afer his own release.

“Just a moment more, my sweet, perfect Little Wolf. I’m going to breed you, and watch you swell with my pups. Wouldn’t you love that huh?” Aemond continues to piston in and out of you, the feeling almost too much, but still just as lovely as before. Nonsensical moans leave your lips, and Aemond laughs at you babbling, although not rudely.

His hips begin to stutter as he nears his end, his heavy balls slapping against your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” He mutters under his breath as you feel his seed coat your walls. The feeling warm, and full and lovely. Aemond remains seated inside of you as he rests his forehead once more to yours. You kiss his nose again, a new favorite spor perhaps. He offers you a small smile in return.

You both groan as he pulls out. Your cunt perfectly overstimulated and happy. Wordlessly Aemond leaves the bed, and begins to rummage around some drawers in one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. You worry for a brief moment that he will leave, and that he meant none of what he said. But as he brings a damp cloth between your thighs to clean you, your worries wash away. He tosses the rag aside, to be dealt with on the morrow. For now, all he wanted was to lay with his wife in his arms as he drifts off to sleep.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you move to covers to lie beneath them. Aemond pulls you to him, tucking the top of your head under his chin, he kisses your hair. You both think that perhaps this marriage will be fruitful, that over time you will learn to love one another. It seems as if you both are on a lovely start for that though as is.

“Good night ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved),” Aemond mutters into your hair.

“Sleep well, My Dragon,” you say in response. You both drift off into a peaceful sleep, held comfortably in each other's arms. No one knew what the morrow would bring, let alone a fortnight from now. But you both knew you would see it through together as equals, husband and wife, dragon and wolf.

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trulyumai · 3 months ago

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unfit and disloyal

Pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader

Synopsis: Seeing your husband get so close with another woman, you confront him. But such an accusation of disloyalty makes anger swell up bubble beneath his skin. Until eventually it oozes out and onto you, his darling wife.

Warnings: Geta gets violent, angry.

A/N: This was highly requested, thank you all so much for the messages and comments!

A glass was thrown, shattered against the back wall of the chamber. Geta let out a surprised cry, still bent towards the ground in the quick action that fled his senses. He had expected a hug, maybe a kiss of welcome from his pretty wife.

“You idiot—you fool! You... you—!”

Another cup was already in your hands, and Geta barely made it behind a merciful beam that splayed out in the middle of the room.

“What are you doing, wife?!” Geta’s voice was hoarse with confusion as he peered from behind the pillar, his chest rising and falling from the sudden burst of chaos. He had prepared himself for an evening of peace after the long day—he had not been ready for war within his own walls. Where was his sweet wife to dote on him? To kiss and smother his face with little pecks, to hug his frame like it was the missing piece you were waiting for?

“What am I doing?" you snarled. "What am I doing?" Your hands shook with fury as dainty fingers fumbled for another object to throw. Your eyes, usually soft and full of warmth, were now blazing with a fire he had never seen before. “You dare to ask me that when I saw you with her? You let her touch you, let her throw herself on you like—like a dog in heat!”

Geta’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall how you could have come to such a conclusion. Woman? What woman? He was with you all night! The only time he wasn’t was when you had stepped away after the dessert had been devoured, kissing his cheek as you uttered a tired departure.

He meant to follow, but decided to finish his goblet first—and then it hit him. The realization sank in. The woman who had placed herself upon his knee, whispered generous actions and promises without batting an eye.

"Her? You mean the woman at the celebration?" He stepped out from behind the beam cautiously, raising his hands in surrender. A laugh already escaping him from such a deluded thought. “She meant nothing. Less than nothing. She was dealt with, pretty wife, without a second thought!”

You scoffed, laughter bitter and sharp. "Nothing? You looked like you were enjoying yourself, while I stood there, watching, like a fool. And in front of the citizens... Have you no shame, husband?" The words were spat with venom, the kind of harshness only Geta had spoken with before.

Geta’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “You left before you saw what happened next. I pushed her off the moment you turned away, threw her to the ground like the vermin she was for daring to disrespect you.” He took a step closer, trying to close the distance between you. “I grabbed her by the face and told her to remember her place—unless she wished to be charged with treason. Wife, trust me, I beg of you.”

Your grip faltered, and the third cup clattered to the floor. Your breathing was uneven, the anger mingling with something else now—uncertainty. “Then why didn’t you stop her sooner? Why did you let her touch you in the first place? Why bestow such a public betrayal onto me?”

Geta’s shoulders sagged. He was exhausted, emotionally worn from the day’s battles, and now here he was, fighting the one person he loved most. The shift in the air was palpable now, the sting of your words pressing further into his skin. The thought of you doubting him, even for a moment, sparked something darker within him. His eyes darkened, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“You accuse me of betrayal?” His voice, though low at first, began to rise, sharp and jagged as he stepped closer, each footfall deliberate. “You think I’d ever choose someone else over you?” The fury in his tone rattled the air between you, and his body towered over yours now, his shadow swallowing the small frame you stood in.

His breath came fast and heavy as he drew closer, his face inches from yours. “Do you know what kind of man you married? The kind who would crush anyone who dared stand between us!” His words came like thunder, reverberating against the stone walls, spit flying from his mouth in his rage. “I've killed men, burned them at the stake, slit their throats for weaker words. Yet you still sit there.. And look at me with such animosity, hm?”

Your body recoiled instinctively, shrinking away from his imposing presence. For the first time, there was fear in your eyes—fear of him. Geta’s breath hitched at the sight of you trembling beneath his gaze. He froze, his fury draining as quickly as it had flared. He blinked, his body suddenly stiff as realization set in.

He had never meant to frighten you.

“I didn’t...” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair, his jaw still clenched tight. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You stood frozen, still shaken, your breath shallow. Geta took a step back, releasing a slow breath as he fought to control himself, his fists relaxing at his sides. “Pretty wife, listen to me,” he rasped, voice now gentler, though it trembled. “I was angry. But not at you. Never at you.”

“But you said-”

“I know.” He interrupted, already regret bit at the seams of his mind. He didn't need a reminder.

Ringed fingers reached for your cheek, gently wiping away the spit that had landed on your skin. “I would never hurt you. You know that, don’t you?” His voice was soft, desperate, as though each word were pulling him further from the edge of the abyss he had been teetering on.

You looked at him, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “I saw you with her,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “And for a moment, I believed it. All the rumors. The lies. I believed you had chosen someone else.”

Geta’s heart clenched. He could see it now—how fragile your faith had become. He stepped closer, cupping your face with his large, calloused hands. “Never,” he breathed. “There is no one else for me. There never will be.”

You looked up at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Then why does it feel like I’m always competing with the world for you?”

His chest tightened, the weight of your words sinking in. “You aren’t competing. There’s no contest. I may belong to Rome, to the battlefield, to the politics of the Empire... but my heart, my soul, they belong to you.”

You searched his face for a long moment, and the anger finally faded, giving way to vulnerability. Letting out a shaky breath, you leaned into his chest, your voice small and muffled against his tunic. “I'm sorry, husband.”

Geta wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His chin rested on top of your head as he whispered, “It's okay.”

He breathed in your scent, sweet and intoxicating to his overburdened mind.

“It's okay.”

#emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #gladiator x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator #gladiator 2 #x you #x reader

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valtsv · 6 months ago

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man operating on levels of forced family the hinged mind can hardly concieve of

there's this skin-crawlingly infantilising manner carson adopts with... well, nearly everyone he interacts with in the silt verses that really is emblematic of the flaws in the structures of social power and how it's wielded to me. the familiarity, bordering on familial, but simultaneously dismissive, obsequious, and entirely lacking in true intimacy, of it; somewhere between the affect of a father convinced of his own innate patriarchal superiority and a gratingly condescending schoolteacher. the way he enforces this dynamic with his colleagues and associates in order to regress their interactions into negotiating with a kind of nauseatingly paternalistic authoritarian figure, and treat them the way children are often treated - like idiots. like property. absolutely insane levels of exploitation of the imbalances inherent to the traditional familial power dynamic going on in there. truly the kind of guy who describes his workplace as "one big happy family" while actively abusing the staff into compliance like the worst kind of parent.

#🐉#rip to shrue and VAL in particular for getting government assigned carson as father/father in law figure #'you belong to me. i made you. i make your wishes come true. and i can take it all away.'#carson voice id like you to meet my daughter Weapon and my in law Treason who i arranged married to her for a laff #the silt verses

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beloveds-embrace · 24 days ago

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Dukedom au masterlist (yes i need to update it ik) and we will not talk abt the abrupt ending 😭

The grand ballroom of glittered with the light of a thousand candles, their flames dancing across marble floors and golden fixtures hung from the ceilings. A symphony played softly in the background, a perfect complement to the hum of ongoing conversation and chatter. You stood at the center of it all, draped in a gown of midnight blue silk, embroidered with silver thread that mirrored the stars. A gift from Simon, one that had you staring at the beautiful dress in awe.

Tonight, you were the very image of grace and poise.

Your face and movements are calm and collected, hiding what you truly feel beneath. Lately, whispers of dishonor had begun circulating; rumors that your husband had fled a border skirmish back when he’d been deployed, abandoning his men, yet had paid for the matter to be buried. Vile lies, born of cowardice and malice. John’s name, his reputation, and the honor of your house were at stake; disloyalty towards the empire was seen as treason, and that was unforgivable.

You would not allow it.

The first spark of rage had ignited the moment you’d overheard the vile accusations from another lady, one of your more arrogant rivals who had laughed snidely. From there, the rumors spread like wildfire, poisoning the halls of the court and society.

But you were no stranger to such games like these. Tonight, after much planning, you’ll put an end to this farce.

You began with your loyal ladies-in-waiting. Each one owed their position to you, and in return, they offered their unwavering loyalty. “Listen carefully,” you instructed them during a private meeting in your sitting room, the door locked behind you. “Go into the court, the markets, the salons- anywhere whispers thrive. I want names, places, and patterns. Who speaks these lies, and who listens too closely?”

They curtsied and departed without hesitation, melting into the bustling world outside of the manor. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to your maids and house staff. Servants were the lifeblood of any noble house, privy to secrets thought hidden.

You met with them personally with Kyle’s help, ensuring they understood the stakes. “Speak subtly,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Let it slip that those who spread these rumors do so for their own gain, that there’s no substance to the rumors. Plant doubt. Create cracks.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Kyle nods his head, hands on your waist. He leans down, and kisses your forehead, and you smile all sweet and pretty at him. “Whatever you want.”

While you wove your network of spies, John watched quietly from the shadows of the manor. Though he trusted you implicitly, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of awe and unease. He didn’t want to doubt you, but he worried nonetheless for you.

In his study, he sat with Kyle.

“How’s she faring?” John asked, puffing a cigar as he leaned back in his chair. Papers were scattered on his desk, though they didn’t require immediate attention or replies. Pressed close to Kyle, bodies warm, he didn’t want to go back to working for now.

Kyle hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She’s… efficient, John. The staff is utterly devoted to her even without my help. I’ve seen no signs of hesitation in her plans.”

John chuckled dryly, though there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I am not surprised. She’s scarier than any battlefield, Kyle. And they love her.”

With the groundwork laid, you began preparing to host a big gala at the manor. Invitations were sent far and wide, carrying the promise of exquisite dining, captivating entertainment, and the opportunity to curry favor with one of the most powerful families in the region.

None dared refuse.

Johnny worked tirelessly to ensure every detail of the menu was flawless, and though he would have helped anyways, he still enjoyed all the kisses he got as reward from yoh. “You’re pilin’ it on thick, Duchess,” he remarked one evening, wiping his brow as he inspected a rack of lamb. “Even for you.”

“This isn’t just a party, Johnny,” you replied, humming. “This is war.”

“War it is, then. Anything for you, bonnie.” he muttered, diving back into his work with renewed determination. After a very heated look from you that had him preening, though; he looked handsome in his element. And you’ll make sure to really show him your appreciation for all his hard work later, in the privacy of your rooms.

At every other gala and gathering, you moved through the crowd like a dancer with a purpose. You guided conversations subtly, planting seeds of doubt and faltering those who tried to be a bit too brave- and your reputation as a “people’s princess” helped so greatly. Your allies- the few you trusted among the nobility-played their roles perfectly.

Simon, especially. You had specifically asked for his help, curled warm and cozy on his lap one night. He’d kissed you breathless and told you he would always be there for you.

“Lord Marcan, was it?” Simon mused during one party, his glass of whiskey balanced effortlessly in his hand. The others immediately listen to him; though he isn’t the most talkative noble, his words carry weight. “I’ve heard some interesting things about him. Did you know he’s deeply in debt? I wonder how far a man would go to escape ruin.”

The other nobles exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. You watched from a distance, satisfied as Simon delivered the blow with effortless charm.

Your web was nearly complete, each thread pulling tighter around Lord Marcan- the instigator of the rumors- until he had no room to maneuver. At the final ball of the season, the one hosted by you and John, you made your final move.

You descended the grand staircase as the guests gathered, your presence commanding attention. At your signal, the servants unveiled a surprise: a performance of actors reenacting a scene from an old skirmish. But this was no ordinary play; it was a dramatized retelling of that battle, one that highlighted John’s bravery and leadership even when Lord Marcan had tried to say John had fled that day.

The crowd was entranced, all earlier doubts finally wavering and shattering. You saw Marcan shift uncomfortably, his face pale as his lies unraveled before him and eyes turned towards him in disgust.

From the balcony above, John watched with Simon and Kyle at his side. “She’s terrifying.” he murmured, though his voice carried a note of awe.

Simon smirked. “You married a bloody tactician.”

Kyle simply nodded. “She fights for you, for us, John. And she wins.”

By the end of the evening, Lord Marcan was a broken man and his wife, Lady Marcan who had laughed at you by the rumor, was seething. Their allies abandoned them, their name tarnished by his cowardice and deceit and her aftions.

And the rumors about John’s supposed abandonment of his men? Gone.

That night, as you removed your jewelry in the quiet of your chambers, John approached you. His hands rested on your bare shoulders, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’ve been busy, beloved.” he said, his voice soft but laced with admiration.

“I did what needed to be done.” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I know you could have simply challenged him to a duel… but we didn’t have full confirmation it was him who started. I had to do it this way.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re terrifying, love. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

From the shadows of the room, Simon leaned casually against the doorframe. “She’s not wrong, John. Best keep on her good side.”

Johnny’s voice echoed from the hallway as he came by with a tray of food. Kyle comes as well, carrying glasses of wine. “Aye, and keep feeding her. Keeps her from plotting.”

Kyle sighs, though he has a smile on his face as he sets the glasses down and instead comes to help you. “…he isn’t exactly wrong. You were incredible…. And scary.”

“Perfect, in other words.” John hums, an eyebrow raising. You do not have enough time to ask anything before he and Kyle are gently turning you around on the seat, face to face with John who kneels down. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for us, my Duchess. Let me take care of you now, hm?”

“John…“

“No more words, my love,” he shakes his head, Kyle’s hands reaching to unlace your dress, your corset, until your breasts spill out. John doesn’t even seem mildly bothered by the layers of your skirt, flipping them up until you are indecent in front of your men and he is face to face with your panties. The way they look at you, so much want…

You don’t mind. The slick spot forming speaks more than enough anyways.

“Tonight,” John murmurs, kissing your inner thighs. “Will be all about spoiling you, wife.”

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midascrow · 9 months ago

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Great Minds Think Alike

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

synopsis: Alastor is jealous of his own shadow.

a/n: The reader is portrayed as being pretty smart and into science and stuff. I like the idea of Alastor being fond a character who’s pretty intelligent, he finds them fascinating and likes seeing how they tick. Also this might be a little rushed I apologize in advanced!

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

Alastors shadow is a traitor and a fake.

That’s what the man himself believes anyway, whilst he watches HIS shadow flutter around you, a wide smile trying far too hard to appear innocent on its face, as it helps you reach an especially high set stack of papers.

“Oh! Thank you so much…” Your sweet, melodic voice trailed off into an unsure note, not quite aware of how you should address the shadow that’s…ears(?) Twitched and wiggled, eyes(??) squinting back at you as it danced across the walls.

The radio demon wasn’t the least bit sure what had caused his shadows sudden bout of rebel, or why it had seem to take a special interest in you of all people.

Not that there was anything wrong or displeasing about you. Actually it was quite the contrary. Alastor found your company to be far more pleasant than most of the hotels staff and inhabitants.

You were awfully kind for a sinner. And not quite in the same realm of naivety that was the princess’s kindness.

You were smart. Clearly. Always aware of what went on around you and the neighboring spaces. Hardly had you been known to be caught off guard by the entrance of another, nor had you ever bumped into any of the sinners contrary to how the group seemed to enjoy clumping around each other in the foyer during special…”redemption” activities.

You were even so aware as to avoid any touch with the inhabitants of the hotel, including Alastor himself.

And while he wasn’t a very large fan of touch himself, even finding that he could appreciate your aversion to it, the demon couldn’t help feeling a little displeased by the lack of power it left him with when you evaded his touches so expertly.

Always stepping just slightly to the side when his hand attempted to connect with your shoulder. Head craning back, just quickly enough to appear natural when he made and effort pinch your cheeks condescendingly.

Frankly..it was frustrating.

And despite all that, despite all your evasions of the radio demon….here you were, practically-!-canoodling with his own shadow!!

“Oh..! You’re so sweet..” Red ears flopped and twitched, while his eyes narrowed. Alastor could not believe he was being made to watch this…disgusting display of treason.

You giggled softly, hand brushing along an invisible form, as the shadow curled around your own. You watched with a smile as your shadowed hand fell into the hair of the deers, only to gasp when met with the soft sensation of hair beneath your finger tips.

“Oh my…so you’re tangible..?” The shadow nodded vigorously, bumping its head into your palm before grabbing your wrist and laying a gentle kiss to your hand. With that smug fucking grin.

A static screech echoed in the parlour, turning the heads of the incoming dwellers, prompting them to gap at the twitching and seething demon.

And oh, was he seething.

You were far too curious for your own good frankly. So eager to dissect and experiment in what ever had caught your eye. Magic, contracts, demons, anything you could possibly find you wanted to study.

And Alastor was known to be one of the more enthusiastic individuals who indulged in your fascination. Encouraged it even.

Angel had often joked about the way he seemed to preen and puff up in pride whenever he dropped a newly disembodied sinners corpse at your feet, seemingly delighted in your ecstatic gasp of approval.

Which was…another thing. Redemption. Did you want to be redeemed? You’d hardly spoke of it. Sure, you participated in the trust exercised that the princess set up, but nearly everyone had to regardless. Perhaps you were too fascinated with the underworld to truly even think about the idea of redemption.

Alastor himself knew he wouldn’t, nor could he ever be redeemed. And frankly, the idea of you being thrown up to those pearly gates made his insides squirm in the most horrible way.

But that’s not something he wanted to ponder on right now. Not as he practically teleported to your side, shooting his shadow a sneer that it had the nerve to return, as he bent slightly over your shoulder. “My dear! What is it that has currently caught your eye this fine evening?”

When your eyes snapped to his own, he could practically feel the static buzz around him pleasantly, a smug shine in his eyes having successfully stolen your attention from that accursed shadow.

“Alastor! I was just…uh..chatting I suppose with your shadow! He’s been very helpful today. Did you send him?”

No-“Why yes! I did my dear. I figured it wouldn’t help to lend you a helping hand this night, after all you’ve been such a joy around the hotel since your arrival!”

The shadow swished and darted around, vigorously shaking its heads and hands in a way to catch your attention, but a small tap of alastors can to the floor sent it dissipating back to his feet with a displeased hiss.

“I simply could not stop myself from assisting the lovely little sinner that had come into the arms of our sweet little hotel.”

His smile twitched and stretched at the sight of your shiny flattered gaze, that darted across his face with the same awe you exuded when coming upon a new bit of information you had to uncover. A new mystery.

Perhaps Angel had a point. Prior to before…he could feel the way his back straightened..the way his ears stood tall and proud, and the tail of his coat shifted just slightly. The Radio Demon could not deny the pride that fluttered into his dead heart and seeped into his flesh.

Even as he hummed about a new species of sinner he had stumbled upon. Even as he watched with somewhat softer eyes as you gasped and leaned just the slightest bit into his space, eyes alight with interest. Even as his dark shadow like tentacles darted beneath his feet and out the door, in search of a new test subject to grab- just for you.

Even as his hand touched the dip between your shoulders blades, when he led you towards his room for a refreshing lunch before your next scientific session.

Alastor could not deny,

He and his shadow were one and the same.

#hazbin x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastors shadow #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor

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gtgbabie0 · 10 months ago

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-Cregan Stark x Reader

{You learn that your husband is a very affectionate drunk}

I’m so back… Enjoy my lovelies! 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆

Northern men know how to drink, it’s something you learned from first-hand experience on the night of your wedding. How the lords and ladies danced and drank together throughout the night, slurring their words and spilling their ale.

Today was no different, a celebration for your husband's name day that has been going on since the sun had started to rise. You couldn’t complain about it, it was nice to see Cregan not overwhelmed with his duties.

The dining hall is dimly lit with candles that are littered everywhere, the white wax melts in clumps on the wooden tables that are stained with ale and wine. You notice how much calmer the atmosphere seems to be, now that the evening has approached, as you lean back into your chair.

Most of the guests had taken their leave by now and only a few Lords and Ladies remain, and even their faces were visibly exhausted. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you glance over to Cregan, who is already looking at you with soft, glossed-over eyes.

“You look beautiful” he whispers, his words are slurred from his drunken state, but they still carry so much honesty and love that it melts you.

The smile that teeters on your lips is uncontrollable and it only makes Cregan admire you even more. He leans back in his chair whilst he drinks the sight of you in with hungry eyes.

You rest your hand over Cregans as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Have you had a good day?” You ask as he nods his head, his big hand caressing your thigh lazily.

“The best… thanks to you my lady” he says with a soft chuckle at the way you give him an almost shy smile. He can’t help but adore everything about you… you’re beyond perfect, 'a gift from the gods' as Cregan always says.

“I’m glad, though, perhaps it is time to call it a day now?” You tell him as you take his calloused hand within yours. He hums in agreement as his thumb soothes against your palm.

Getting him back to your shared bedchambers was a very humorous challenge. You were practically dragging him along as he leaned onto you for support, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst you guided him through the cold halls of the Winterfell castle.

The fireplace warms your bedchambers, bathing the cosy room in a soft light, as it crackles and pops. Cregan watches you take off your jewellery before changing into your nightgown with a soft smirk, his eyes gleaming with fondness.

“Gods, look at you… an absolute goddess” he says, his raspy voice just above a whisper. He wastes no time in approaching you clumsily, his hands grasping needly on your body as he tugs you closer to him.

The giggle that escapes you leaves Cregan breathless and it certainly doesn’t help when your fingers begin to brush through his hair as you stand between his legs. He looks up at you with a smile as you cup his face gently… he simply can not get enough of you.

“You should sleep,” you tell him softly knowing how awful his morning fog will be. He shakes his head softly as he rests against your stomach, his hand still grasping at your hips.

“Not before I thank you properly… my queen” His tone is teasing as he lets out a soft chuckle at the way you gasp.

“Shh… your words are dangerously close to treason” you whisper softly as your hand moves to clasp over his mouth, you look down at him with an almost shy smile.

"My words will only be treason if someone hears them... and we are alone." He pulls your hand away from his mouth, his fingers caressing your wrist. The way you look when he praises you makes him crazy. Your eyes, your smile, you are beautiful.

He hugs you close, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "But you are my queen. You rule over my heart. No one could ever take that place from you."

The honesty and love that are woven within his each and every word takes you back, your expression softens and your eyes start to well up with tears. It’s an overwhelming feeling that warms your chest and makes your skin tingle.

You take a seat on the bed beside him with a soft sigh. His thumb wipes away your tears as he presses another kiss to your cheek. “Don’t cry… you’re far too pretty for that” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

A bright smile teeters on his lips at the sound of your precious laughter, he brushes your hair behind your ears before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I love you, Cregan.” The words feel so natural and he absolutely relishes in the way you say it. He buries his face into the crook of your neck with a boyish smile.

“I love you too… my queen” he replies, his tone heavy with exhaustion as the alcohol starts to weigh on him however that doesn’t stop him from pressing lazy kisses all over your face, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

Cregan will soon find sleep, with his arms wrapped around you and his face buried into your neck. You’ll have to tease him tomorrow about how much of an affectionate drunk he is.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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ataraxiaspainting · 2 months ago

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Stuck Replaying the Memory.

Yan Aventurine x GN (Avgin) Reader.

Synopsis: Life exists with the support of the Aeons, but malice is something humanity has reigned over for thousands of years.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, human trafficking, the reader is described having blonde hair and Avgin eyes, descriptions of past abuse (not from Aventurine), and major spoilers for Aventurine's backstory.

Word Count: 700.

a big thanks to my friends @harmonysanreads and @mochinon-yah for proofreading some of it!!

*~*~*~*

You were taught to keep your head down and your hopes just as low – hell seems like heaven this far beneath dead soil and skeletons of the past’s nameless victims.

Your new god makes no critique of your stance that is akin to a prayer’s and not a slave. Despite your posture being near perfect from the eleven or so past lords and ladies that would burn your skin and tongue with hot iron if you had done otherwise, you still find your posture imperfect. Impolite. There were screams and fires just moments before – your master and his new wife fleeing with guards, pleading for mercy that they had never granted to you – and then silence from outside your chamber.

*~*~*~*

“Hair like honey,” The man’s fingers brushing through your locks are cold and have long nails; the same ones that the woman caresses your scarred back with. “Eyes like jewels. Pretty rare little thing; there aren’t many of you left… If you misbehave, perhaps that number will decline even further.”

*~*~*~*

The divine starts to kneel before you – one of his hands caressing the tattoo on the side of your neck.

It’s an odd sight; so odd that you have the urge to look up.

You don’t though, because you have been taught how not to get hurt when great beings bless you with their presence.

You hear him read your new name aloud. “Sun…”

You wince from the past memories of it being called in the places where dinner guests would populate the most on the estate. The gardens and the banquet table especially. They would gawk at you and give you all their unwanted attention. Your behavior would be evaluated and you would either be rewarded with gifts befitting that of a royal or chains befitting that of a dog.

“That isn’t your real name, right?”

The question is raised with a tone that is often paired with your wrist, or worse your hair or ear, being tugged until you confess an answer to the presumption or question. Suspicion of treason leads to you getting charged for the crimes you did to help yourself – a small tunnel being dug with a spoon, a lockpick made from a bobby pin one of the maids put in your hair, bleeding feet from running as fast as they could carry you – most of the time you get hurt or put in a small room by yourself until you beg to be released from it.

*~*~*~*

“But if you listen, the promise to love you will never be broken.” His wife adds.

*~*~*~*

This god looks like you.

Eyes akin to a galaxy that has lost its stars. Flowing hair that reminds you of your lord’s treasure trove locked down below. There is a tattoo on his neck similar to yours, but has some imperfections that only you would notice. It says ‘Slave’ but the outline of the word seems a bit rough. The artist had an uncooperative muse it would seem.

“Do you remember me?” He asks. His tone is sweeter now – possibly from how he had taken note of the trembling you were trying so hard to hide. Your ears register his voice and your brain compares the many screaming, yelling, heinous voices from the past. The memory starts to play in your brain like an electrical shock one of the maids would give to you whenever you would do so much as to look past the doorway to the outside world.

“Kakavasha?”

“It’s Aventurine now,” Your old friend stands up holding the chain attached to your handcuffs. Something tells you they won’t come off any time soon. “We have a lot to discuss, [First].”

He swings the key in his other hand and puts it in his pocket.

“I’m not letting you go again.”

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br0kenangel · 4 months ago

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𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, this shot is not following the series time, it's just a especial shot for you to have a glance at their future. Hope you enjoy!

The evening sun cast long shadows across the Great Hall of the Red Keep, where the court had gathered for a summons issued by King Viserys. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the anticipation of an impending confrontation. On one side of the hall, you stood, your gaze sharp and unwavering, with your sons, Aegon and Aemond, beside you. On the other stood Rhaenyra, her bastard children clinging to her skirts, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Viserys paced the dais, his face a stormy mask of fury. His royal robes trailed behind him like a shadow, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. His anger had been ignited by a recent incident—a confrontation in which Aegon had brutally punished one of Rhaenyra’s bastards for mocking Aemond.

Aegon stood beside you, his face red and defiant, while Aemond, still shaken but resolute, clung to your side. The King’s voice echoed through the hall, a thunderous roar that made everyone flinch.

“Why did you attack that boy?” Viserys bellowed, his eyes blazing with fury as he fixed his gaze on Aegon.

Aegon looked up at his father, his chin held high despite the trembling in his voice. “He made fun of Aemond,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “He said terrible things about him.”

Rhaenyra, standing with her bastards clutching at her skirts, shot a smug glance toward you. Her expression was one of malicious satisfaction, her gaze clearly relishing the turmoil unfolding before her.

The King’s rage was palpable. “So you took it upon yourself to act as judge and executioner? Is this how you are taught to handle insults? By violence?”

Before Aegon could respond, Viserys’s hand shot out, clearly intending to strike him. But you moved with swift, decisive action, placing yourself squarely between the King and your son. Your posture was rigid, your expression fierce.

“Stop,” you commanded, your voice a steely edge that cut through the King’s fury. “You will not lay a hand on him.”

Viserys’s eyes widened in surprise, his anger momentarily faltering. “And why should I not?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“Because Aegon did nothing wrong,” you replied, your tone unwavering. “He defended his brother from a child who deserved punishment. Her bastards should be the ones to be ashamed, not my son.”

The hall fell silent, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Rhaenyra’s smugness faltered, her eyes flicking between her own children and you. The King’s face twisted with both anger and confusion.

“How dare you speak to me in this manner?” Viserys roared. “Are you suggesting that I am blind to the truth? That my own daughter and her children are to be shunned while your sons are treated as paragons of virtue?”

“They are your sons!” You faced Viserys with unyielding resolve. “You may choose to be blind, but I am not. Rhaenyra’s children are the ones who instigate and mock. My sons are merely defending themselves. And if you choose to punish them for that, it is you who are blinded by favoritism and false loyalties.”

Viserys’s eyes flared with indignation. “Watch your tongue, Y/N. Such words are treasonous, and I will not tolerate them.”

“Cut my tongue if you must,” you declared, your voice rising in defiance. “But you cannot blind people like you are blinded by Rhaenyra’s lies and deceit. Rhaenyra is the one who bears bastards, and it is she who should be held accountable, not my children.”

The hall was filled with a stunned silence, broken only by the soft, nervous whispers of courtiers and servants. Viserys’s face grew red with rage, but before he could respond, you continued.

“I will not stand idly by while my children are mistreated. You want to punish Aegon for protecting his brother? Then do so. But know that in my eyes, you are as much a part of the problem as Rhaenyra’s misdeeds.”

Viserys, caught between his anger and the startling boldness of your words, struggled to find a response. He looked at Rhaenyra, whose face had now twisted into an expression of barely concealed outrage.

“Enough!” Viserys finally bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “This matter will be dealt with as I see fit. And if any further insults or violence occur, there will be consequences.”

You met his gaze, your expression resolute. “I will not back down from protecting my children, even if it means facing your wrath.”

Viserys’s face softened slightly, but only in the sense of weary resignation. He turned his attention to Rhaenyra. “Get your children under control. If there is another incident like this, it will be dealt with harshly.”

Rhaenyra’s lips curled in a sneer, but she knew better than to argue further. She gathered her children, her eyes shooting daggers at you as she left the hall.

As the court dispersed, you gathered Aegon and Aemond close, your protective instincts in full force. You kissed both of them on the forehead, your eyes filled with both love and a fierce determination.

“Do not worry,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, I will always be here to protect you. You did nothing wrong, and you never should have to apologize for defending each other.”

Aegon and Aemond nodded, their expressions a mixture of relief and lingering unease. You led them out of the hall, your heart heavy but your resolve unshaken. For you, there was no higher calling than the protection of your children, and you would let nothing—neither court politics nor royal indignation—stand in the way of their safety and happiness.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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myownwholewildworld · 1 month ago

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faber est suae quisque fortunae (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: marcus would die for you. literally. a/n: this is a drabble from a whole story i didn't think i'd write into a fic but maybe i should?? idk c': comments, likes and reblogs are really appreciated! <3 warnings: kissing, an unhealthy dose of angst. that's it really. w/c: 579 (a baby)

“You shouldn’t be here, Carissima (dearest),” Marcus’ coarse voice was just but an inaudible whisper, his dry, chipped lips moving against yours.

His warm, wounded hands cradled your face, his thumbs swiping the salty tears falling from your tired, reddened eyes. A sob tore through your throat, unable to control the fountain of mixed feelings boiling inside you, giving way to desperation.

You were certain you were about to lose him. The man who had stood by your side through thick and thin in the last few months; the only shoulder you had allowed yourself to cry on. The rock who had kept you afloat since the death of your husband, no matter how treacherous the ocean of your emotions was. Marcus had been the only true constant for the past year of your life; the only person you could rely on and bring you comfort. The only one you would trust.

And because of that, because of his loyalty and devotion to you, he was going to die a traitor. Long forgotten were his sacrifices for the Roman Empire — his whole life committed to serving Rome, his own son slaughtered to quench the thirst of Rome. None of it had mattered.

Your father, Emperor Traianus, would have his head before he could have your hand. In your father’s eyes, Marcus had betrayed his trust, having been accused of treason. Traianus had even ventured to say Marcus had killed your late husband so he could have you. Nonsense, for you knew the truth.

You nuzzled your cheek against the palm of his calloused hand and kissed the rough skin, hugging him tighter. Only leaned back slightly to study his handsome, beaten face. A split eyebrow, a bloodstain on the white of his left eye, a broken bottom lip — your fingertips traced the map of his skin, guilt engulfing you.

“I’m so sorry, Marcus. Had I known this was how it all would unfold—” your throat clamped, your lungs exhaling all air within them in a painful wail.

“I would have done nothing different, my lady. Nothing,” he emphasized, his fingers cupping your chin to tilt your head up. “I made my choice and made my peace with it too. None of this is your fault.”

Tears sprung again to your eyes as Marcus leaned forward to press a heartfelt kiss to your forehead, his soothing touch lingering for a few seconds before he kissed the tip of your nose, then your cheeks — leaving a love trail on your skin down to your trembling lips. His mouth ghosted over yours before he pecked your bottom lip asking for permission.

Sinking your fingers in the nape of his neck, you kissed him as if your life depended on it — perhaps because it did. You sought his tongue, his sweet taste soon flooding your senses. He tasted of longing, of love, of missed opportunities, of goodbye.

But not of regret. Never of regret.

“Tomorrow I’ll die, however I won’t be giving my life for Rome but for you. There’s no better death than that. Rome has taken enough from me, won’t take my last dying breath too,” Marcus muttered, his lips pressed against your ear. “My last breath is only yours.”

Bowing your head down, you buried your tear-ridden face in the filthy tunic covering his chest.

How badly you wished it wasn’t true. But it would be, because you both had been the artisans of your own fortune.

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floatyflowers · 2 months ago

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Dark Platonic Adoptive Mother Elizabeth I x Reader Part 2

Part One

Many considered you lucky to be the ward of the Queen of England, as you received the best education, gifts, and also lands, ensuring a bright future for you.

All you did in return was be her daughter, it gave her comfort that she has you as a daughter, even if she could easily get married and have an offspring.

But Elizabeth refused the idea of marriage, perhaps she prefers the idea of ending the line of the same man who ordered the execution of her mother.

Elizabeth made sure you never go see your parents, she even forbade you from leaving the palace.

You, on the other hand, took the chance to see your parents once the queen took off to war, especially when you hear how ill biological mother became in the last few years.

When Elizabeth returned back and found out what you did, many were removed from their positions.

And you were brought back to her by force.

"What made you think it's fine to disobey my orders in my absence!"

Her enraged voice filled her chambers as her handmaidens looked at each other, knowing what is going to happen.

"I went to see my mother, she was dying and-"

"She is not your mother, I am."

You bite down on your tongue at the Queen's words, choosing to stay silent.

However, your eyes begin filling with tears.

"You have betrayed your duty towards me, towards England!"

Her words finally made you snap, losing all of your calmness and risking your imprisonment.

"I have had enough, I played your perfect daughter all those years, but you are not my mother."

Silence befalls the room as everyone stares at you for daring to speak back to their queen.

You thought she was going to slap you for uttering such hurtful words, but instead she approaches you, grabbing your cheeks.

"It seems like I have spoiled you, you are not to leave your chambers until I decide so,"

The following week, you received the news of your family's execution for treason.

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #platonic yandere #elizabeth i #daughter reader #possessive #yandere historical characters

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lalunanymph · 3 months ago

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MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: mentions of food, mentions of murder, talks of death, allergic reactions, mentions of giving birth, mentions of injuries, mentions of assault, sick!reader, reader is in cerena's body, isekai-ed reader, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 4: THE THRONE ROOM

Satoru’s fingers were icy cold, burning into your skin.

He didn't utter a single word when you jerked your head back, the furious glint in your eye looking so pathetic that he almost dared to pity you.

You hang your head forward, crying softly, unaware of anything but the rushing scenery that fades from foliage to stone walls. Once inside the castle’s fortress, Satoru cuts through your bindings, dismounting from his horse and extending a hand to give you assistance.

But, stubborn as you are, you slip off the horse and land on your shaky feet, ignoring his outstretched hand and walk ahead, your head held high and glare unyielding.

Satoru catches up to you easily, and you can hear the frustration in his voice when he utters, “We need to see my Father.”

You falter.

Of course. After the stunt you pulled, it was only natural that the King himself wanted some answers.

Nodding, you clasped your wasp-bitten hands together, trying to smooth your skirt which bore tatters from your tumble with Satoru on the snowy ground, and the hellish chase you endured through the prickly forest foliage.

He led you towards the throne room, pushing open the heavy duty double doors for you.

Immediately, the courtroom fell into a hush; nobles who were conversing amongst themselves stopped to appraise you with horrified looks. The guards gaped at your state of being, and even the court jester ceased his juggling antics, the plastic balls in midair plummeting to the floor with dull thuds.

The second he clasped his gaze onto you, King Satoshi stood up, a look of horror inscribed upon his features as he took in your wounded hands, the tears on your dresses and across your face.

“Cerena.”

Satoru moved to stand in front of you, bowing deeply to his father. “Princess Cerena has been rescued and retrieved. She was found in the middle of the Northern Forest, Your Majesty.”

Perturbed by this discovery, Satoshi moves from the dais, approaching you with caution. You dropped your gaze, unable to look him in the eye.

“What happened to her?” He demanded, as if dealing with an errant child. He turned to Satoru who shot him a grimace. “I thought I told you not to hurt her? Why does she look bedraggled… like she was hunted down?”

Striking up his loathsome glare, Satoru slid his frigid blue gaze to you and spoke the truth.

“Princess Cerena assaulted me, Father. She climbed up a tree and hacked through a wasp nest to drop it at my feet where I was stung. Then, she tried to run away and cause a scene. I had to do what needed to be done.”

Satoshi’s brows shot up into his white hair, his horrified expression clamoring for your attention in your periphery.

“Gods above, Cerena—you tried to assault the Prince?”

The nobles around you gasped, their hands fluttering to their gaping mouths; hiding their shocked expressions behind colorful fan plumes.

He turned back to you, anger thundering in his teal eyes.

“Child, what do you have to say for yourself? You have caused a grievous error to my son and you need to be punished duly. It is high treason for anyone to lay a hand on the Prince of Northern Haleway.”

The injustice and horror of it all coalesced inside of you, and you felt faint from the numerous eyes around. Their accusations grated your ears, sounding like demonic whispers which made you faint with alarm, the corners of the room growing fuzzier as your knees were close to buckling.

“I only ran away because Satoru was conspiring with his lover to end my life!”

Whatever the court thought you would say, it was never this.

Frenzied murmurs run amuck in the courtroom, like fire catching on dry leaves, crackling around you like a roof about to topple down. King Satoshi’s face paled, and beside you, standing stiff as a rock, your fiancé gritted his teeth.

“That is absurd,” Gojo rushed to defend himself, sparing you a pertinent glare. “I do not have a lover and I have never conspired with said woman to bring any harm to the Princess’ life. Her accusations are those of a mad woman, Father.”

You flinched and slapped a hand to your mouth, the shakes in your body growing harder to ignore.

“Liar! You conspired to end my life! Why do you think I would run if not for such a treasonous act?”

Peeling your lachrymose eyes to the King, you hiccuped, “Please, Your Majesty. Speak to the maid named Miri and she will validate what I have to say.”

It was a slim prayer, that of a desperate woman, but you had to try. You had to shine reason into the King’s eyes that his heir was a cruel, calculating and cold man who unfairly wanted to end your life.

Satoshi pursed his lips, looking between his son and his fiancée who can barely stand without her knees shaking.

In the passing tenseness where no words were spoken, the lightheadedness suddenly stole your breath away and your legs buckled. You would have collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for Satoru’s quick reflexes in catching you, holding you upright as he shot you a seething glare.

“For goodness sake, woman. Stand up straight. You are embarrassing yourself.”

But, you cannot hear his condescension or his warning. Your heart was palpitating rapidly, almost like it wanted to claw out of your chest. The room started to spin, and you realized in a frenzy that you couldn’t breathe properly without feeling like your throat was closing in.

Desperation washed over you and you tried to speak, to tell them something was gravely wrong.

A flicker of concern flitted across Satoru’s expression and he tried to hold you upright, but your body would not cooperate.

Losing all bearings and control of your composure, you crumpled right in his arms, as high-pitched screams echoing in the courtroom.

“... guards!”

“... infirmary… hurry!”

Satoru lifted you up into his arms, the sheen of his pure white hair shining under the fleeting lights of the passing sconces. Weakly, you tried to call out his name, but he shushed you, his voice dipping in and out of your consciousness.

“... save your strength… determine what's the issue…”

A hard bed met your back and hands were all over you, expertly probing, pressing and checking your vital signs.

The physician, an elderly man with wiry salt and pepper curls, pursed his lips, shifting his gaze to the King and the prince waiting anxiously by the sidelines for your diagnosis.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness. It appears the princess is suffering from an allergy attack. I have the right combination of herbs to aid her, though she might need to be sedated for the time being.”

Satoru bristled at the physician's words.

“Sedated? Why? She was merely stung…”

He trailed off, the unease in his tone catching the older man's attention.

“Stung, you say, Your Highness? What was she stung by?” As he spoke, he gestured to his assistants to prepare the herbal remedy, applying warm compresses onto the sore portions of your swollen hands.

Satoru felt his father's eyes boring into the side of his head and replied uneasily:

“She was stung by wasps.”

The physician scrutinized him, noticing the same reddened lesions all over his face and neck which were identical to the ones on your hands.

Satoru glanced at your unconscious form, guilt glimmering in his cerulean eyes when he took in your ashy pallor and your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“She got attacked while trying to escape from me.”

The physician’s expression turned grave, though he does not openly rebuke the young prince. Rather, he turned his full attention to the afflicted princess and made it his mission for tonight to cleanse her body free of the wasps’ poison.

“My men will be working tirelessly to resuscitate the Princess’ health, Your Majesty, Your Highness. We shall provide you with a report once it is done.”

There was nothing Satoru could do but let himself be led out of the infirmary, the curtains drawn around your feverish and malaised figure to keep your body away from prying eyes.

However, the idea of a whole group of men taking their turns to rub down your body with salve and paste made his stomach churned, and he quickly snapped his fingers to catch a young maid’s attention.

She straightened, rushing forward and bowing immediately.

“Stay with the Princess until the cleansing process is over and report to me instantly once it is done, do you understand?”

Bowing again, the brunette scurried towards the drawn curtains and parted it, letting herself into the circle to keep watch over the unconscious Princess.

A large palm squeezed his shoulder and Satoru turned to find his father’s solemn reflection echoed upon his countenance.

“Whatever happens to Cerena tonight, we must prepare for the worse, son.”

Satoshi moved them out of earshot, leaning forward to depart his grave strategy.

“If she should pass on, we would need to secure your engagement with another princess.” Satoru did not expect his father to bring up such an outrageous suggestion at such a delicate time. The abhorrence deepened the lines of shock on his handsome face and he took a step back.

“No—”

Frustrated by his son’s refusal, Satoshi growled. “Satoru, this is what is best for Northern Haleway—”

“Father. With all due respect, you severely underestimate Cerena’s will to live,” Satoru darted his gaze to the cordoned area of the infirmary, failing to hide the shake in his clenched fists. “She will live and she will make it out alive. I swear upon my own words, I will look after her and nurse her back to health. You do not need to make such a rash decision so soon.”

Struck mute by his son’s passionate insistence, Satoshi pursed his lips.

Eventually, after a few moments of staring down his only heir, the King relented, exhaling an exhausted sigh.

“Alright. I shall put aside the immediate plan for now,” he added gruffly, “Let us hope she makes a speedy recovery.”

Satoru nodded silently and left his father’s side, moving to lean against the threshold of the infirmary. With his strong arms folded across his chest, his gaze remained fixed on the drawn curtains that concealed his betrothed from the world.

The distinguished figure of his son, accentuated by the dark embroidered jacket and matching riding pants that highlighted the stark contrast of his pure white hair, stirred a bittersweet longing in Satoshi. It brought back memories of his own burdensome youth—the long nights spent in that very position, waiting for his Queen to deliver him an heir.

With a quiet sigh, he turned away from the infirmary, pausing to give his son one last, curious glance.

This is strange, indeed. I thought Satoru despised Princess Cerena…?

MTT fun fact: swan hunting is a popular sport in Northern Haleway

dawn says: king dadjo is sus,,,,,,

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

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feyhunter78 · 5 months ago

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When the Night Turns

Description: The night before your husband leaves for battle, he tells you of his aspirations for the throne. You in turn confess your fears.

“I spoke with Cole, told him it is time for someone better to sit on the Iron Throne, and that will be me. Obviously.” Aemond says, his head resting on your thigh, his silver hair splayed out against the light blue fabric of your nightshift.

You say nothing, only continue combing your fingers through his hair. To speak in agreement with him would be treason, to speak against him would be your undoing.

“That this is where my reign begins.” He continues, the one arm around your waist tightening as he looks up at you, expectant.

You know what he desires, but you cannot give it to him, not here where Aegon is still King, where you do not have a dragon or an army of your own to keep you safe from accusations of treachery. Not when it is so clear that Aemond had no qualms about directing his anger at those closest to him, you cannot count on him or his dragon.

So, you choose the safe route. “Here, My Prince? I am no strategist, but I cannot say I believe my chambers to be the most effective place for anyone to begin their reign.”

Aemond hums in response, his good eye closed, his sapphire one glinting in the low candlelight.

You bite the inside of your cheek, stomach churning as you digest Aemond’s words. Of course, you believe him better suited for the throne but…

“I can sense the wheels in your mind turning issa prumia, speak, let your king ease your mind.” His voice still has that low, smooth tone to it, a gentleness to his words that you remember from when he said his vows, in the Great Sept. He promised that you were his, and he was yours, that none shall tear you asunder.

You smooth your thumb across his forehead, admiring the shadows his eyelashes cast upon his cheeks. “I wish you would take more care with your words. Your brother is the rightful king; it is what this war is all about, and I do not wish to see another conflict spring up when all of your focus should be on defeating the false queen.”

“And her craven of a husband.” Aemond says, unable to let any mention of his uncle go unsaid.

You nod, though he cannot see, and caress the curve of his cheek, fear flicking in your chest. “Yes, and that butcher.”

You shiver at the memory of the screams, of the rage and grief that echoed through the Keep after Jaehaerys’ death.

Aemond’s grip tightens on you once more, there is no need to speak, the consequences of Blood and Cheese’s actions weigh heavily on him, and you. They had been tasked with killing Aemond, but could not find him, Daemon did not know you and Aemond kept separate chambers, did not know your husband spent half his nights in your bed the other half in his own.

If they had not come upon Helaena first, if they had gone a few rooms down and found your chambers it may have ended differently, Aemond would have been able to stop them…

“I will not mourn when the Stranger comes for Daemon Targaryen.” You cannot keep the venom from your voice, even as flames of fear begin to climb once more within you.

Your hand must have stilled because Aemond brings it to his lips, his gaze meeting yours.

His amethyst eye is alight, a smug smile on his lips. “I will defeat them, I will win this war, and the realm shall have a king worthy of the throne. Rhaenyra and Daemon’s heads shall adorn the gates, and I shall decorate the Great Hall with their dragons’ skulls.”

You pull your hand away, your throat tight as the smoke from the flames of fear in your chest rise up and choke you.

Aemond follows, sitting up and taking your face in his hands, his eye inspecting every inch, his expression changed, softer, more attentive. “I am sorry, I should not speak of such things to you, they are far too gruesome for your ears.”

“I am afraid, Aemond.” You whisper, your hands coming to grasp his wrists, clinging to him. You know Vhagar is strong, that Aemond is smart, but you cannot help but be afraid, afraid that his pride will be his undoing.

“Do not be. Have faith in me, in Vhagar, in Cole. We are blessed, guided by the Seven.” He says, his long, lithe fingers threading into your hair, massaging the nape of your neck.

“I do, but I do not fear for you at Rook’s Rest, I fear that you will—” You cut yourself off, you cannot tell him you fear his pride will drive him to act foolishly, you are not the Dowager Queen, you cannot speak your mind so freely. “You are right. I will have faith.”

Aemond’s grip on you tightens, his gaze hardening. “Speak, y/n.”

You cast your eyes downwards, your voice soft. “I fear that you will be blinded by your ambition, that your pride will doom you.”

Aemond releases you with a sigh, and slips from your bed, his back to you as he gathers his things. “I expected such words from my mother. Perhaps you have spent too much time with one another.”

You follow after him, the stone floor cold against your bare feet. “I do not wish to lose you.”

He turns on his heel, eye patch in hand. “So, you think to insult me? To all but imply you do not believe I will be able to accomplish our goals, to win this war, and rule the realm?”

You take his hands in yours and press them to your heart, hoping he can feel how fervently it beats, how it beats for him, as it has since the day you met. “You asked me to speak, My King, to let you ease my mind. I did as you asked because I could not bear it if I did not speak, and you were lost to me because of the very thing I wished to warn you of.”

Your use of My King has softened him, if only a little, and he inclines his head towards you. “You think me prideful, issa prumia?”

“I think you a great man, with the largest dragon in the realm, but you are also a man who comes from hurt, whose family has been hurt.” You say carefully, as you keep a tight grip on his hands. “Your pain is real, and deserves recompense, but not at the risk of your life.”

Aemond’s eye flickers to the burning hearth, and you know you have reached him.

“Promise me, swear to me that if Daemon comes, however foolish it may be, no matter that you think he will not, promise me that you will use the aid of others to defeat him. Let that butcher gloat and preen, let him act as if he is the conqueror reborn, for we know he is a fool. And fools always reveal their weaknesses in time.”

Aemond slips his hands from yours and there is an ache in your chest, but he soothes it quickly, when he presses his lips to yours softly, his hand coming to cradle your cheek, the other settling on your waist. “My little wife, how clever you are.”

You lean into his touch, your own hands anchoring themselves in his tunic. “I must be, for how can I be the wife of King Aemond the first, if I am not?”

He smiles at your words, and pulls you flush against him. “I will have the servants move your things to my chambers, I want to return from battle to find my wife safe in my bed.”

Your heart leaps, when you first married you had hoped that you and Aemond would share chambers as your mother and father did, but he had shown little interest in the idea. In truth, it had served you and him well on that bloody night, but those routes in had been sealed, and his chambers were checked for other secret doors. It had been declared safe and for more than one reason now you could not be happier.

“You will find no argument from me, though I will need prior notice if you wish me to wear anything particular for your return.” Your voice takes on a jesting tone, though your words are true, and the way Aemond’s lips drift downwards, ghosting over the skin of your neck, tells you he hears them well.

“I have no preference, provided it is easily replaced.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering closed as Aemond’s lips find your pulse point. “Easily replaced?”

“How fond are you of this nightshift?” He asks in lieu of answering your question.

“I think it is pretty, but it is not my best one, I did not know you would be visiting me, so I did not have time to prepa—” The sound of fabric ripping accompanied by the clatter of a dagger against the stone floor and the cool air on your skin silences you.

Aemond hums appreciatively, his eye drinking in your form as he walks you backwards towards your bed. “This is why it must be easily replaceable; I cannot attest to the patience I will have when I return.”

HOTD Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara, @simpinonyouz, @lorarri

#meg’s writing #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #it’s 1 AM for me but the Aemond TikToks got me obsessed #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #wife!reader

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yandere-wishes · 4 months ago

Text

༄｡° Ice on Ice ༄｡°

𐙚 Yandere!Capitano Drabble

𐙚 Warnings: Stockholm syndrome, gore, manipulation

𝄞 Song: Kill V. Maim by Grimes

⋆˙❅ He's molded you into his perfect darling. His perfect weapon ❅⋆˙

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚‧͙̩̩͙

It's always snowing in Snezhnaya .

Even in the dead of summer.

Capintano glides across the castle like a shadow. Shying away from the moonlight gleaming through the towering windows.

Ice slithers up his arm, forging into the hilt of his glacial sword.

He can smell your bloodlust in the air, good, you've already commenced the integration.

The lower levels of Zapolyarny castle speak only of terrors.

It's where the faithless come to die.

Traitors to Her Majesty.

It was where he'd kept you upon your initiation, where he burned you down and fabricated you anew.

His pretty little deadly thing.

So eager to please.

So loyal

The salty tang of blood permeating the air has his heart racing, furious war drum hammering in his chest. He follows the embers of your rage, standing by the threshold watching as you dig your knife deeper into the traitor's shoulder. Capitano basks in your raw fury. Your anger sweet on his tongue.

"Darling"

His voice is low, a whisper among the screams. Snowflake on ice and yet you still jump to attention. Run up to him with a sweet smile that doesn't quite suit the crimson specks adorning your cheeks.

His eyes glide across your taut body, spine straight, fingers up in salute. Your pyro delusion glowing gently at your waist. Ready to engrave his commands upon your bones.

"Master, the prisoner has confessed to carrying out treason against the crown. But he's yet to disclose the whereabouts of his fellow rebels."

"He will."

Capitano hands you his coat, relishing the delicate way you clench the heavy thing. Cradling it in your chest as if it's more precious than all the constatations above Tyvat. He pulls his helmet up, ever so slightly, enough to press his frigid lips against your cheek and lick the specks of blood. You freeze, fingers grasping the fuzzy pelt.

"Come watch, my darling"

He stalks towards the bloodied man, twirling his sword, letting the tiny ice splinters impale the traitor at random. The man cries, voice hoarse and weak. The slim glaciers replacing blood with frost.

You trail after him, lovesick and devotion in every step, his coat hanging from your shoulders.

Heavy burden upon frail shoulders, such a perplexing thing you are...

Capitano can't help but smile in satisfaction. He's molded you into perfection, sculpted you from the purest ice. He studies your work rigorously. Pain painted across the vile canvas. The traitor's right eye is missing, the socket scorched, torrid flesh pealing from his arms. His shirt ripped, rude stab wounds still fresh, still dripping ruby.

He's trained you well.

Trained you to make nation topple and archons bow. To bend the stars and flames with your fealty.

Maim and kill.

Because this world is too cruel for righteous little boys and naive little girls.

Kill and maim or else it will be done to you.

You pull the informer's hair back as Capitano lands a metal-clad punch to his face, blood sprays unceremoniously, spoiling Capintao's black-silver armor, followed by the familiar clatter of a tooth hitting the thinly iced floor.

Capintano steps back, braces himself for a moment then thrusts his sword into the rebel's thigh. Marring the sturdy hoar a rotten red. Frost blisters skin ripping the soft tissue underneath.

Ice chips bone

Meat falls to the cold ground.

The man screams, crying out locations and names in jetted tongue. His eyes slowly grow darker.

The blood continues to pool.

You clap your hands cheerfully. Letting the man's head fall forward "Well done master."

For a fleeting second, as you skip towards your master, you catch the traitor's picture in the odd light. You gulp, the creature staring back wears your face, your body, your skin. You see yourself in the dead stranger. Stubborn face and blank eyes. You blink and it's gone, a trick of the dark, one you're too eager to forget. Those days have passed, left to decay in snow-covered tombs. You are someone else now, more importantly, you are Capitano's lover, his most devoted soldier. No longer a gullible thing chasing after empty ideals.

Capitano towers over you. A stone pillar etched of ivory paragons. His iron fingers wrap around your smaller wrist as he pulls you forward. Your fingers lace through his ebony main, while your other hand pulls up the helmet, desperate for his kiss. Biting his lips and letting the blood from his armor stain your uniform. He pushes pain and loyalty down your throat with metallic spiced kisses. Replaces the pearls of your spine with molten lava and brimstone. His touches are frostbite running rampant across your body. Peeling away skin and inscribing mortality and ethereal strength into the soft tissue of your organs. Leaving your lungs corked with icy doctrines.

He has sculpted his style of blade work into your blood. Your veins pump explosions through your body.

Capitano's lips trace the expansion of your neck, savoring your essence between harsh kisses and harsher lovebites. You feel like a sword in his hands, meticulously forged with the finest steel. He has killed many apostates with you. Used you to serve the Tsaritsa without fail

Weapon of war, built from the corpse of a little lost girl.

The frenzy in your eyes, the cosmic thumb of your heart, the way your fingers claw, and the silver of skin of his neck.

Deadly deadly deadly.

He plays the role of the virtuous knight.

Only he's come to learn that many mistake virtue for pacifism.

No.

Love and loyalty are delicate threads entwined with massacre and pain.

You must kill to protect loyalty.

You must kill to protect love.

And how better to express both than in love letters penned with fresh scarlet and decay?

"Get rid of the body, we have much work to do." He raises his sword up to the thin ray of moonlight. For a second your reflection flashes across his icy sword, broken and damaged and perfect in every way. He gives you a final kiss on your templet. Before retrieving his coat and turning away. Disappearing in the dark.

You sigh, breath observable in the chill. Your fingers ignite, warmer and warmer. Preparing for another cremation.

Capitano smiles, ridged, grotesque. As a putrid sickly saccharine scent wafts through the castle's dungeon.

He's raised the perfect lover.

Devoted to a fault and stronger than any weapon.

He's looking forward to unleashing you upon the rebel's nest.

Looking forward to the dance of savage carnage.

It's summertime in Snezhnaya

Although you couldn't tell from the snowy blizzard outside...

When is Varka coming out? I want to be caged between the two of them so badly 😭😭

Also, guys, what if Capintano is Rustam or Arundolyn?? 🤔 I feel like I'm onto something

°🪼° @choueries @animelover6000 @viannasthings

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