targaryenrealnessdarling

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Ah thank you sm! ♥️ I think I enjoyed writing this one just that bit too much 😂😂 Ty for reading!

What Grows in the Greenhouse

Summary: Ettore pushes her just that little bit too hard | Word Count: 2.3k~ | warnings: smut, dubcon, oral (f recieving), analingus, cum eating, degradation, sex pollen, just fucking filth

A/N: I was in a mood, please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs sex pollen writing challenge! Had fun with this 😈 also two birds one stone, fulfilled this request.

Even here in the greenhouse, she could still hear the faint hum of the ship’s systems beneath the sound of clipping leaves and weeding. She was knelt in the dirt, gloves on, trowel in hand, doing the only thing that ever gave her some peace in this place. It was dirty work but quiet, safe. Unlike everything else on this floating coffin.

She knelt up on her knees, leaning over a rosebush, the thorns prickling her forearms as she reached for some soil she had yet to spread. Her eyes caught a glaring flash of orange from a cluster of flowers behind the tended ones. They'd been here since she started doing this little duty, untended and messy, with stems twisting in green and yellow, and their fleshy petals bursting in bright orange like a mouth with a dangerous red centre. It smelled sweet, almost chemical like.

Fuck knows what they were, she'd have to read up on them.

She almost let her curiosity get the better of her, before his voice made her heart fall out her arse.

“What are you doing?”

She needn't even see his face to realise there was a smirk on it. Annoyance bubbled in her gut at the mere sound of him, traipsing across her freshly tended to garden with a confidence that didn't seem earned.

“Working,” she answered without moving, “should try it sometime.”

He laughed, leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, like her annoyance tickled something inside of him. She glanced up, eyes narrowed. His chest was damp as if he'd just been to shower. She willed herself not to notice it.

“Have you come here just to annoy me?”

“Not specifically you,” he muttered through a grin, “but you're the only entertainment here so.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her flowers, “then go entertain yourself somewhere else.”

He scoffed, “entertain, huh?”

She ripped a weed out the soil just a fraction too hard, “yeah instead of— starting fights and tugging your tiny dick outside the communal showers.”

“Oh, so you do watch me?” He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pulling off her gloves and bracing herself for the smug expression on his face. “You are such a colossal twat.”

“Rich coming from you,” he spat back, pushing himself off the workbench, making her heart race just slightly. “You walk around here like you're not just another piece of crap like the rest of us, like your shit doesn't stink.”

“At least I actually do something useful around here,” she countered, throwing her gloves on the ground, “unlike you, stalking around like a feral mutt.”

His jaw tensed, but his smile stayed. It was unsettling, watching the way his eyes took her in, searching for the weak point. “You must be so fucking lonely. Touching yourself on your side of the wall, pretending you don't want someone to hear.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she shoved him, palms flat on his chest, and even though it barely moved him, the touch shocked him.

As if acting on pure instinct, he shoved her back, not quite knowing his own strength. She seemed to trip over her feet, hurtling arse first into the bed of bright orange flowers. It cushioned her fall just slightly, enough not to hurt. But it was the pollen that the flowers coughed out that disoriented her, sweet, cloying, hitting her nose all at once.

She blinked, and the air seemed to shimmer.

Heat curled in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. She felt her skin flush bright and needy, pupils widened and her heart racing against its natural rhythm. When she dragged in a breath, it only made it worse. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, painfully almost, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache that formed heavy, to no avail.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ettore furrowed his brows, watching her chest rise and fall from a new burst of aggression.

Her eyes raised to him when he spoke as if only just aware he was still there. A haze covered her vision. She could hear the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. And nothing else seemed to matter. Her lips parted.

Ettore took half a step back, “you good?”

Her eyes crackled with a near feral gleam as she scrambled to her feet, covered in soil and sticky pollen, and grabbed his shirt to crash her lips to his. It was sloppy, desperate, panting. And Ettore mumbled into her mouth, the strength of her grip surprising him and taking him off balance as his back met the workbench again.

“What the fuck?” he spoke against her lips when he could get air in, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't. Her nerve ends were sparking and he was right here, warm and solid, exactly what her instincts were screaming for.

She moaned softly, pushing her hips to his, her other hand rubbing the growing hardness there recklessly. Her nails clawed under his shirt, leaving red little trials across his pale skin.

“Jesus—wait—” he muttered, grabbing her wrists. He was so used to being the one in control, he didn't like it one bit that he and his body was at the mercy of someone else, someone he hadn't expected to be so strong against him. He was half annoyed at himself for freezing up for so long.

But her lips found his throat, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, and his grip faltered. She was grinding against him now, dry fucking him like a mindless animal. Like she didn't care about anything else. She moved like she needed a primal closeness, like she needed to smell his natural sweat, feel the tackiness of his body against hers, but annoyingly all he smelt of was the dull powdery musk of the prison soap.

He could have pushed her off if he really wanted to. But maybe some part of him didn't. He swore under his breath, “you're high as fuck.”

Her voice was raw and needy, “I need—”, it came out more sob than a sentence, desperate. And fuck if it didn't make his cock twitch.

He pushed her back against with a cursed, ‘fuck’, her body landing once again amongst the orange flowers and another puff of shimmering pollen released around her, clinging to her skin like springy glitter. Her legs tried to catch around his waist, squirming for contact she didn't have yet, dragging him into the dirt with her as he fought to rid her of any clothing below her waist.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he murmured, crowding her body with his, already pushing his sweatpants down to line himself up with her heat, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her slit.

She twisted beneath him, bucking her hips desperately, her fingers clawing at him with impatience, “shut up— please, just—”

He laughed, low and rough, enjoying the appearance of her like this, a way he'd never seen her before. The laugh died quickly when she grabbed his cock, hard enough to draw out a low hiss of part pain and pleasure.

“Easy,” he growled as she guided him to where she needed him most, her body feverish with the need to be fucked. Her glassy eyes met his, and without waiting Ettore pushed in with one brutal thrust, grabbing her face and swallowing the broken cry she let out with his lips. She clenched around him instantly, her nails creating welts in his back in a way that made his vision swim.

There was no gentleness. Ettore fucked her into the dirt, hips snapping forward and grinding her into the crushed petals beneath. Each thrust pushed out of her lungs and drove the pollen further into her bloodstream. The madness building without an idea of where it would end.

The dirt that had been on his fingers had smeared on her face as he grabbed her jaw, making her lips part, the moans falling out of them with abandon. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled out just enough to hear her whimper, before slamming back inside, deep, painful, as if he wanted to carve himself into her.

She gasped, weak and overstimulated, so close to that delicious high the pollen craved. And her stomach flipped as Ettore grabbed her thighs and lifted, forcing them up until her knees were nearly to her chest.

“Stay like that,” he ordered, positioning higher over her, “don't move.”

He folded her in half, pushing her body further, pinning her open and helpless. The position let him sink in even deeper, the angle making her cry out as he bottomed out with a brutal snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her face twist with pleasure she couldn’t fight, “you feel that? You like this, don’t you? Getting ruined in the fucking dirt.”

She could barely speak now, just gasping, nodding, babbling nonsense between moans and whines. Her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wanted it. Needed it. Her body arched under his, sweat glistening, completely at his mercy. The slick sound of him driving into her echoed in the humid space, mixing with her breathless, broken cries.

He wrapped one hand around her throat, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers, “you gonna cum, just from me fucking you like this?” he muttered, eyes burning into hers, “like a bitch in heat?”

Her answer was a sob, her legs trembling in his grip as her walls spasmed around him, the orgasm ripping through her with force. She clenched so tight he could barely move, but he didn’t stop, he just kept going, chasing his own release with ruthless rhythm.

But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging a long, wet moan from her throat as he slipped free.

“No,” she whimpered, hips bucking up instinctively, trying to follow him, “don’t—please—”

He slapped her thigh, sharp enough to sting, “shut up,” he hissed.

She froze, panting, eyes wide as he knelt over her, fist around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast. She was spread out beneath him, ruined, legs still trembling, her sex soaked and twitching, glistening with slick and dirt and shame.

“Look at you,” Ettore muttered, his voice smug and cruel, “laid out like a fucking cum rag.”

With a final stroke, he came, hot, thick ropes spilling across her inner thighs and glistening slit, painting her skin in filthy, dripping streaks. Some of it landed just above her clit, sticky and warm, sliding down into the mess already coating her folds. She gasped, moaning at the sensation.

He rubbed the head of his cock along her sex, smearing his cum into her swollen lips, not bothering to be gentle. “Look at this pussy,” he sneered.

It was a sight he wanted to look at forever. Something stirred in his body, need. And it was slow at first, like a fever burning up. A wave of warmth that made his skin itch, made his pupils dilate. The scent in the air, the crushed petals, the sweat, the sex, it got thicker. He blinked, licked his lips, and his eyes dropped back to her.

She shifted slightly, letting her legs fall open further, exposing the full, glistening mess between them, like she wanted to show him, like the burning need still thrummed in her own blood. His cum still pooled on her folds, sliding down slowly.

That was it.

A groan tore out of his throat. Like an animal wounded. And he lunged forward.

She gasped when his hands gripped her thighs, rough and unrelenting, forcing them apart again. His mouth descended before she could even speak. No teasing. No warning. Just his tongue, hot and wet and starving, lapping at her like he was trying to devour her whole.

“Oh fuck—Ettore—!” she cried out, body jolting as his mouth sealed over her cunt.

He moaned against her, tongue thrusting between her folds, licking up the mix of cum and slick like it was the only thing that could satisfy this sudden, burning hunger. He licked deeper, rough and messy, tongue dragging through his own spend like it meant nothing, like he liked it. Every groan he let out vibrated through her, sending new shocks of pleasure down her spine.

He pulled her higher, pulling her body up so all her weight was on her shoulders and her legs over his. She was barely coherent now, sobbing and gasping, hips twitching as he tongue-fucked her, nosing up to her clit only to suck it harshly, then retreat to taste her deeper.

He dipped his head again, dragging his tongue back over her pussy, slow and indulgent, savouring the mess he’d made. But then, lower. Past her folds, past the soaked seam of her slit, down to the soft, untouched skin beneath.

Her breath hitched sharply.

Ettore smirked against her, licking a slow circle around her rim, deliberately filthy. Her body jolted, spine arching as she cried out, too far gone to stop him, too lost in the heat to care.

She screamed out as his hands spread her open, greedy and rough, holding her in place as he circled her tight hole, then pushed in, fucking her with his tongue with reckless abandon.

He licked deeper again, faster now, rutting into her with his tongue like he couldn’t stop. Her thighs were trembling violently, her voice reduced to moans that bordered on sobs. And still he held her open, still he feasted on her like it belonged to him.

She felt his cock against her body, had done since he'd abandoned fucking her altogether to fuck her with his tongue instead. Her mind was clouded with sex and lust, and she understood the same claws had sank into him too, when he began to spring to life again, pressed hard against her backside and grinding.

That's when she was unsure if she would leave the greenhouse whole. Whether clarity would come rushing in any moment now. But for now, lost in the yellowy cloud of pleasure and weightlessness, she could not find it in herself to care.

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

What Grows in the Greenhouse

Summary: Ettore pushes her just that little bit too hard | Word Count: 2.3k~ | warnings: smut, dubcon, oral (f recieving), analingus, cum eating, degradation, sex pollen, just fucking filth

A/N: I was in a mood, please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs sex pollen writing challenge! Had fun with this 😈 also two birds one stone, fulfilled this request.

Even here in the greenhouse, she could still hear the faint hum of the ship’s systems beneath the sound of clipping leaves and weeding. She was knelt in the dirt, gloves on, trowel in hand, doing the only thing that ever gave her some peace in this place. It was dirty work but quiet, safe. Unlike everything else on this floating coffin.

She knelt up on her knees, leaning over a rosebush, the thorns prickling her forearms as she reached for some soil she had yet to spread. Her eyes caught a glaring flash of orange from a cluster of flowers behind the tended ones. They'd been here since she started doing this little duty, untended and messy, with stems twisting in green and yellow, and their fleshy petals bursting in bright orange like a mouth with a dangerous red centre. It smelled sweet, almost chemical like.

Fuck knows what they were, she'd have to read up on them.

She almost let her curiosity get the better of her, before his voice made her heart fall out her arse.

“What are you doing?”

She needn't even see his face to realise there was a smirk on it. Annoyance bubbled in her gut at the mere sound of him, traipsing across her freshly tended to garden with a confidence that didn't seem earned.

“Working,” she answered without moving, “should try it sometime.”

He laughed, leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, like her annoyance tickled something inside of him. She glanced up, eyes narrowed. His chest was damp as if he'd just been to shower. She willed herself not to notice it.

“Have you come here just to annoy me?”

“Not specifically you,” he muttered through a grin, “but you're the only entertainment here so.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her flowers, “then go entertain yourself somewhere else.”

He scoffed, “entertain, huh?”

She ripped a weed out the soil just a fraction too hard, “yeah instead of— starting fights and tugging your tiny dick outside the communal showers.”

“Oh, so you do watch me?” He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pulling off her gloves and bracing herself for the smug expression on his face. “You are such a colossal twat.”

“Rich coming from you,” he spat back, pushing himself off the workbench, making her heart race just slightly. “You walk around here like you're not just another piece of crap like the rest of us, like your shit doesn't stink.”

“At least I actually do something useful around here,” she countered, throwing her gloves on the ground, “unlike you, stalking around like a feral mutt.”

His jaw tensed, but his smile stayed. It was unsettling, watching the way his eyes took her in, searching for the weak point. “You must be so fucking lonely. Touching yourself on your side of the wall, pretending you don't want someone to hear.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she shoved him, palms flat on his chest, and even though it barely moved him, the touch shocked him.

As if acting on pure instinct, he shoved her back, not quite knowing his own strength. She seemed to trip over her feet, hurtling arse first into the bed of bright orange flowers. It cushioned her fall just slightly, enough not to hurt. But it was the pollen that the flowers coughed out that disoriented her, sweet, cloying, hitting her nose all at once.

She blinked, and the air seemed to shimmer.

Heat curled in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. She felt her skin flush bright and needy, pupils widened and her heart racing against its natural rhythm. When she dragged in a breath, it only made it worse. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, painfully almost, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache that formed heavy, to no avail.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ettore furrowed his brows, watching her chest rise and fall from a new burst of aggression.

Her eyes raised to him when he spoke as if only just aware he was still there. A haze covered her vision. She could hear the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. And nothing else seemed to matter. Her lips parted.

Ettore took half a step back, “you good?”

Her eyes crackled with a near feral gleam as she scrambled to her feet, covered in soil and sticky pollen, and grabbed his shirt to crash her lips to his. It was sloppy, desperate, panting. And Ettore mumbled into her mouth, the strength of her grip surprising him and taking him off balance as his back met the workbench again.

“What the fuck?” he spoke against her lips when he could get air in, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't. Her nerve ends were sparking and he was right here, warm and solid, exactly what her instincts were screaming for.

She moaned softly, pushing her hips to his, her other hand rubbing the growing hardness there recklessly. Her nails clawed under his shirt, leaving red little trials across his pale skin.

“Jesus—wait—” he muttered, grabbing her wrists. He was so used to being the one in control, he didn't like it one bit that he and his body was at the mercy of someone else, someone he hadn't expected to be so strong against him. He was half annoyed at himself for freezing up for so long.

But her lips found his throat, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, and his grip faltered. She was grinding against him now, dry fucking him like a mindless animal. Like she didn't care about anything else. She moved like she needed a primal closeness, like she needed to smell his natural sweat, feel the tackiness of his body against hers, but annoyingly all he smelt of was the dull powdery musk of the prison soap.

He could have pushed her off if he really wanted to. But maybe some part of him didn't. He swore under his breath, “you're high as fuck.”

Her voice was raw and needy, “I need—”, it came out more sob than a sentence, desperate. And fuck if it didn't make his cock twitch.

He pushed her back against with a cursed, ‘fuck’, her body landing once again amongst the orange flowers and another puff of shimmering pollen released around her, clinging to her skin like springy glitter. Her legs tried to catch around his waist, squirming for contact she didn't have yet, dragging him into the dirt with her as he fought to rid her of any clothing below her waist.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he murmured, crowding her body with his, already pushing his sweatpants down to line himself up with her heat, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her slit.

She twisted beneath him, bucking her hips desperately, her fingers clawing at him with impatience, “shut up— please, just—”

He laughed, low and rough, enjoying the appearance of her like this, a way he'd never seen her before. The laugh died quickly when she grabbed his cock, hard enough to draw out a low hiss of part pain and pleasure.

“Easy,” he growled as she guided him to where she needed him most, her body feverish with the need to be fucked. Her glassy eyes met his, and without waiting Ettore pushed in with one brutal thrust, grabbing her face and swallowing the broken cry she let out with his lips. She clenched around him instantly, her nails creating welts in his back in a way that made his vision swim.

There was no gentleness. Ettore fucked her into the dirt, hips snapping forward and grinding her into the crushed petals beneath. Each thrust pushed out of her lungs and drove the pollen further into her bloodstream. The madness building without an idea of where it would end.

The dirt that had been on his fingers had smeared on her face as he grabbed her jaw, making her lips part, the moans falling out of them with abandon. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled out just enough to hear her whimper, before slamming back inside, deep, painful, as if he wanted to carve himself into her.

She gasped, weak and overstimulated, so close to that delicious high the pollen craved. And her stomach flipped as Ettore grabbed her thighs and lifted, forcing them up until her knees were nearly to her chest.

“Stay like that,” he ordered, positioning higher over her, “don't move.”

He folded her in half, pushing her body further, pinning her open and helpless. The position let him sink in even deeper, the angle making her cry out as he bottomed out with a brutal snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her face twist with pleasure she couldn’t fight, “you feel that? You like this, don’t you? Getting ruined in the fucking dirt.”

She could barely speak now, just gasping, nodding, babbling nonsense between moans and whines. Her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wanted it. Needed it. Her body arched under his, sweat glistening, completely at his mercy. The slick sound of him driving into her echoed in the humid space, mixing with her breathless, broken cries.

He wrapped one hand around her throat, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers, “you gonna cum, just from me fucking you like this?” he muttered, eyes burning into hers, “like a bitch in heat?”

Her answer was a sob, her legs trembling in his grip as her walls spasmed around him, the orgasm ripping through her with force. She clenched so tight he could barely move, but he didn’t stop, he just kept going, chasing his own release with ruthless rhythm.

But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging a long, wet moan from her throat as he slipped free.

“No,” she whimpered, hips bucking up instinctively, trying to follow him, “don’t—please—”

He slapped her thigh, sharp enough to sting, “shut up,” he hissed.

She froze, panting, eyes wide as he knelt over her, fist around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast. She was spread out beneath him, ruined, legs still trembling, her sex soaked and twitching, glistening with slick and dirt and shame.

“Look at you,” Ettore muttered, his voice smug and cruel, “laid out like a fucking cum rag.”

With a final stroke, he came, hot, thick ropes spilling across her inner thighs and glistening slit, painting her skin in filthy, dripping streaks. Some of it landed just above her clit, sticky and warm, sliding down into the mess already coating her folds. She gasped, moaning at the sensation.

He rubbed the head of his cock along her sex, smearing his cum into her swollen lips, not bothering to be gentle. “Look at this pussy,” he sneered.

It was a sight he wanted to look at forever. Something stirred in his body, need. And it was slow at first, like a fever burning up. A wave of warmth that made his skin itch, made his pupils dilate. The scent in the air, the crushed petals, the sweat, the sex, it got thicker. He blinked, licked his lips, and his eyes dropped back to her.

She shifted slightly, letting her legs fall open further, exposing the full, glistening mess between them, like she wanted to show him, like the burning need still thrummed in her own blood. His cum still pooled on her folds, sliding down slowly.

That was it.

A groan tore out of his throat. Like an animal wounded. And he lunged forward.

She gasped when his hands gripped her thighs, rough and unrelenting, forcing them apart again. His mouth descended before she could even speak. No teasing. No warning. Just his tongue, hot and wet and starving, lapping at her like he was trying to devour her whole.

“Oh fuck—Ettore—!” she cried out, body jolting as his mouth sealed over her cunt.

He moaned against her, tongue thrusting between her folds, licking up the mix of cum and slick like it was the only thing that could satisfy this sudden, burning hunger. He licked deeper, rough and messy, tongue dragging through his own spend like it meant nothing, like he liked it. Every groan he let out vibrated through her, sending new shocks of pleasure down her spine.

He pulled her higher, pulling her body up so all her weight was on her shoulders and her legs over his. She was barely coherent now, sobbing and gasping, hips twitching as he tongue-fucked her, nosing up to her clit only to suck it harshly, then retreat to taste her deeper.

He dipped his head again, dragging his tongue back over her pussy, slow and indulgent, savouring the mess he’d made. But then, lower. Past her folds, past the soaked seam of her slit, down to the soft, untouched skin beneath.

Her breath hitched sharply.

Ettore smirked against her, licking a slow circle around her rim, deliberately filthy. Her body jolted, spine arching as she cried out, too far gone to stop him, too lost in the heat to care.

She screamed out as his hands spread her open, greedy and rough, holding her in place as he circled her tight hole, then pushed in, fucking her with his tongue with reckless abandon.

He licked deeper again, faster now, rutting into her with his tongue like he couldn’t stop. Her thighs were trembling violently, her voice reduced to moans that bordered on sobs. And still he held her open, still he feasted on her like it belonged to him.

She felt his cock against her body, had done since he'd abandoned fucking her altogether to fuck her with his tongue instead. Her mind was clouded with sex and lust, and she understood the same claws had sank into him too, when he began to spring to life again, pressed hard against her backside and grinding.

That's when she was unsure if she would leave the greenhouse whole. Whether clarity would come rushing in any moment now. But for now, lost in the yellowy cloud of pleasure and weightlessness, she could not find it in herself to care.

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

What Grows in the Greenhouse

Summary: Ettore pushes her just that little bit too hard | Word Count: 2.3k~ | warnings: smut, dubcon, oral (f recieving), analingus, cum eating, degradation, sex pollen, just fucking filth

A/N: I was in a mood, please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs sex pollen writing challenge! Had fun with this 😈 also two birds one stone, fulfilled this request.

Even here in the greenhouse, she could still hear the faint hum of the ship’s systems beneath the sound of clipping leaves and weeding. She was knelt in the dirt, gloves on, trowel in hand, doing the only thing that ever gave her some peace in this place. It was dirty work but quiet, safe. Unlike everything else on this floating coffin.

She knelt up on her knees, leaning over a rosebush, the thorns prickling her forearms as she reached for some soil she had yet to spread. Her eyes caught a glaring flash of orange from a cluster of flowers behind the tended ones. They'd been here since she started doing this little duty, untended and messy, with stems twisting in green and yellow, and their fleshy petals bursting in bright orange like a mouth with a dangerous red centre. It smelled sweet, almost chemical like.

Fuck knows what they were, she'd have to read up on them.

She almost let her curiosity get the better of her, before his voice made her heart fall out her arse.

“What are you doing?”

She needn't even see his face to realise there was a smirk on it. Annoyance bubbled in her gut at the mere sound of him, traipsing across her freshly tended to garden with a confidence that didn't seem earned.

“Working,” she answered without moving, “should try it sometime.”

He laughed, leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, like her annoyance tickled something inside of him. She glanced up, eyes narrowed. His chest was damp as if he'd just been to shower. She willed herself not to notice it.

“Have you come here just to annoy me?”

“Not specifically you,” he muttered through a grin, “but you're the only entertainment here so.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her flowers, “then go entertain yourself somewhere else.”

He scoffed, “entertain, huh?”

She ripped a weed out the soil just a fraction too hard, “yeah instead of— starting fights and tugging your tiny dick outside the communal showers.”

“Oh, so you do watch me?” He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pulling off her gloves and bracing herself for the smug expression on his face. “You are such a colossal twat.”

“Rich coming from you,” he spat back, pushing himself off the workbench, making her heart race just slightly. “You walk around here like you're not just another piece of crap like the rest of us, like your shit doesn't stink.”

“At least I actually do something useful around here,” she countered, throwing her gloves on the ground, “unlike you, stalking around like a feral mutt.”

His jaw tensed, but his smile stayed. It was unsettling, watching the way his eyes took her in, searching for the weak point. “You must be so fucking lonely. Touching yourself on your side of the wall, pretending you don't want someone to hear.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she shoved him, palms flat on his chest, and even though it barely moved him, the touch shocked him.

As if acting on pure instinct, he shoved her back, not quite knowing his own strength. She seemed to trip over her feet, hurtling arse first into the bed of bright orange flowers. It cushioned her fall just slightly, enough not to hurt. But it was the pollen that the flowers coughed out that disoriented her, sweet, cloying, hitting her nose all at once.

She blinked, and the air seemed to shimmer.

Heat curled in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. She felt her skin flush bright and needy, pupils widened and her heart racing against its natural rhythm. When she dragged in a breath, it only made it worse. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, painfully almost, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache that formed heavy, to no avail.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ettore furrowed his brows, watching her chest rise and fall from a new burst of aggression.

Her eyes raised to him when he spoke as if only just aware he was still there. A haze covered her vision. She could hear the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. And nothing else seemed to matter. Her lips parted.

Ettore took half a step back, “you good?”

Her eyes crackled with a near feral gleam as she scrambled to her feet, covered in soil and sticky pollen, and grabbed his shirt to crash her lips to his. It was sloppy, desperate, panting. And Ettore mumbled into her mouth, the strength of her grip surprising him and taking him off balance as his back met the workbench again.

“What the fuck?” he spoke against her lips when he could get air in, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't. Her nerve ends were sparking and he was right here, warm and solid, exactly what her instincts were screaming for.

She moaned softly, pushing her hips to his, her other hand rubbing the growing hardness there recklessly. Her nails clawed under his shirt, leaving red little trials across his pale skin.

“Jesus—wait—” he muttered, grabbing her wrists. He was so used to being the one in control, he didn't like it one bit that he and his body was at the mercy of someone else, someone he hadn't expected to be so strong against him. He was half annoyed at himself for freezing up for so long.

But her lips found his throat, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, and his grip faltered. She was grinding against him now, dry fucking him like a mindless animal. Like she didn't care about anything else. She moved like she needed a primal closeness, like she needed to smell his natural sweat, feel the tackiness of his body against hers, but annoyingly all he smelt of was the dull powdery musk of the prison soap.

He could have pushed her off if he really wanted to. But maybe some part of him didn't. He swore under his breath, “you're high as fuck.”

Her voice was raw and needy, “I need—”, it came out more sob than a sentence, desperate. And fuck if it didn't make his cock twitch.

He pushed her back against with a cursed, ‘fuck’, her body landing once again amongst the orange flowers and another puff of shimmering pollen released around her, clinging to her skin like springy glitter. Her legs tried to catch around his waist, squirming for contact she didn't have yet, dragging him into the dirt with her as he fought to rid her of any clothing below her waist.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he murmured, crowding her body with his, already pushing his sweatpants down to line himself up with her heat, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her slit.

She twisted beneath him, bucking her hips desperately, her fingers clawing at him with impatience, “shut up— please, just—”

He laughed, low and rough, enjoying the appearance of her like this, a way he'd never seen her before. The laugh died quickly when she grabbed his cock, hard enough to draw out a low hiss of part pain and pleasure.

“Easy,” he growled as she guided him to where she needed him most, her body feverish with the need to be fucked. Her glassy eyes met his, and without waiting Ettore pushed in with one brutal thrust, grabbing her face and swallowing the broken cry she let out with his lips. She clenched around him instantly, her nails creating welts in his back in a way that made his vision swim.

There was no gentleness. Ettore fucked her into the dirt, hips snapping forward and grinding her into the crushed petals beneath. Each thrust pushed out of her lungs and drove the pollen further into her bloodstream. The madness building without an idea of where it would end.

The dirt that had been on his fingers had smeared on her face as he grabbed her jaw, making her lips part, the moans falling out of them with abandon. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled out just enough to hear her whimper, before slamming back inside, deep, painful, as if he wanted to carve himself into her.

She gasped, weak and overstimulated, so close to that delicious high the pollen craved. And her stomach flipped as Ettore grabbed her thighs and lifted, forcing them up until her knees were nearly to her chest.

“Stay like that,” he ordered, positioning higher over her, “don't move.”

He folded her in half, pushing her body further, pinning her open and helpless. The position let him sink in even deeper, the angle making her cry out as he bottomed out with a brutal snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her face twist with pleasure she couldn’t fight, “you feel that? You like this, don’t you? Getting ruined in the fucking dirt.”

She could barely speak now, just gasping, nodding, babbling nonsense between moans and whines. Her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wanted it. Needed it. Her body arched under his, sweat glistening, completely at his mercy. The slick sound of him driving into her echoed in the humid space, mixing with her breathless, broken cries.

He wrapped one hand around her throat, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers, “you gonna cum, just from me fucking you like this?” he muttered, eyes burning into hers, “like a bitch in heat?”

Her answer was a sob, her legs trembling in his grip as her walls spasmed around him, the orgasm ripping through her with force. She clenched so tight he could barely move, but he didn’t stop, he just kept going, chasing his own release with ruthless rhythm.

But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging a long, wet moan from her throat as he slipped free.

“No,” she whimpered, hips bucking up instinctively, trying to follow him, “don’t—please—”

He slapped her thigh, sharp enough to sting, “shut up,” he hissed.

She froze, panting, eyes wide as he knelt over her, fist around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast. She was spread out beneath him, ruined, legs still trembling, her sex soaked and twitching, glistening with slick and dirt and shame.

“Look at you,” Ettore muttered, his voice smug and cruel, “laid out like a fucking cum rag.”

With a final stroke, he came, hot, thick ropes spilling across her inner thighs and glistening slit, painting her skin in filthy, dripping streaks. Some of it landed just above her clit, sticky and warm, sliding down into the mess already coating her folds. She gasped, moaning at the sensation.

He rubbed the head of his cock along her sex, smearing his cum into her swollen lips, not bothering to be gentle. “Look at this pussy,” he sneered.

It was a sight he wanted to look at forever. Something stirred in his body, need. And it was slow at first, like a fever burning up. A wave of warmth that made his skin itch, made his pupils dilate. The scent in the air, the crushed petals, the sweat, the sex, it got thicker. He blinked, licked his lips, and his eyes dropped back to her.

She shifted slightly, letting her legs fall open further, exposing the full, glistening mess between them, like she wanted to show him, like the burning need still thrummed in her own blood. His cum still pooled on her folds, sliding down slowly.

That was it.

A groan tore out of his throat. Like an animal wounded. And he lunged forward.

She gasped when his hands gripped her thighs, rough and unrelenting, forcing them apart again. His mouth descended before she could even speak. No teasing. No warning. Just his tongue, hot and wet and starving, lapping at her like he was trying to devour her whole.

“Oh fuck—Ettore—!” she cried out, body jolting as his mouth sealed over her cunt.

He moaned against her, tongue thrusting between her folds, licking up the mix of cum and slick like it was the only thing that could satisfy this sudden, burning hunger. He licked deeper, rough and messy, tongue dragging through his own spend like it meant nothing, like he liked it. Every groan he let out vibrated through her, sending new shocks of pleasure down her spine.

He pulled her higher, pulling her body up so all her weight was on her shoulders and her legs over his. She was barely coherent now, sobbing and gasping, hips twitching as he tongue-fucked her, nosing up to her clit only to suck it harshly, then retreat to taste her deeper.

He dipped his head again, dragging his tongue back over her pussy, slow and indulgent, savouring the mess he’d made. But then, lower. Past her folds, past the soaked seam of her slit, down to the soft, untouched skin beneath.

Her breath hitched sharply.

Ettore smirked against her, licking a slow circle around her rim, deliberately filthy. Her body jolted, spine arching as she cried out, too far gone to stop him, too lost in the heat to care.

She screamed out as his hands spread her open, greedy and rough, holding her in place as he circled her tight hole, then pushed in, fucking her with his tongue with reckless abandon.

He licked deeper again, faster now, rutting into her with his tongue like he couldn’t stop. Her thighs were trembling violently, her voice reduced to moans that bordered on sobs. And still he held her open, still he feasted on her like it belonged to him.

She felt his cock against her body, had done since he'd abandoned fucking her altogether to fuck her with his tongue instead. Her mind was clouded with sex and lust, and she understood the same claws had sank into him too, when he began to spring to life again, pressed hard against her backside and grinding.

That's when she was unsure if she would leave the greenhouse whole. Whether clarity would come rushing in any moment now. But for now, lost in the yellowy cloud of pleasure and weightlessness, she could not find it in herself to care.

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

What Grows in the Greenhouse

Summary: Ettore pushes her just that little bit too hard | Word Count: 2.3k~ | warnings: smut, dubcon, oral (f recieving), analingus, cum eating, degradation, sex pollen, just fucking filth

A/N: I was in a mood, please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs sex pollen writing challenge! Had fun with this 😈 also two birds one stone, fulfilled this request.

Even here in the greenhouse, she could still hear the faint hum of the ship’s systems beneath the sound of clipping leaves and weeding. She was knelt in the dirt, gloves on, trowel in hand, doing the only thing that ever gave her some peace in this place. It was dirty work but quiet, safe. Unlike everything else on this floating coffin.

She knelt up on her knees, leaning over a rosebush, the thorns prickling her forearms as she reached for some soil she had yet to spread. Her eyes caught a glaring flash of orange from a cluster of flowers behind the tended ones. They'd been here since she started doing this little duty, untended and messy, with stems twisting in green and yellow, and their fleshy petals bursting in bright orange like a mouth with a dangerous red centre. It smelled sweet, almost chemical like.

Fuck knows what they were, she'd have to read up on them.

She almost let her curiosity get the better of her, before his voice made her heart fall out her arse.

“What are you doing?”

She needn't even see his face to realise there was a smirk on it. Annoyance bubbled in her gut at the mere sound of him, traipsing across her freshly tended to garden with a confidence that didn't seem earned.

“Working,” she answered without moving, “should try it sometime.”

He laughed, leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, like her annoyance tickled something inside of him. She glanced up, eyes narrowed. His chest was damp as if he'd just been to shower. She willed herself not to notice it.

“Have you come here just to annoy me?”

“Not specifically you,” he muttered through a grin, “but you're the only entertainment here so.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her flowers, “then go entertain yourself somewhere else.”

He scoffed, “entertain, huh?”

She ripped a weed out the soil just a fraction too hard, “yeah instead of— starting fights and tugging your tiny dick outside the communal showers.”

“Oh, so you do watch me?” He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pulling off her gloves and bracing herself for the smug expression on his face. “You are such a colossal twat.”

“Rich coming from you,” he spat back, pushing himself off the workbench, making her heart race just slightly. “You walk around here like you're not just another piece of crap like the rest of us, like your shit doesn't stink.”

“At least I actually do something useful around here,” she countered, throwing her gloves on the ground, “unlike you, stalking around like a feral mutt.”

His jaw tensed, but his smile stayed. It was unsettling, watching the way his eyes took her in, searching for the weak point. “You must be so fucking lonely. Touching yourself on your side of the wall, pretending you don't want someone to hear.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she shoved him, palms flat on his chest, and even though it barely moved him, the touch shocked him.

As if acting on pure instinct, he shoved her back, not quite knowing his own strength. She seemed to trip over her feet, hurtling arse first into the bed of bright orange flowers. It cushioned her fall just slightly, enough not to hurt. But it was the pollen that the flowers coughed out that disoriented her, sweet, cloying, hitting her nose all at once.

She blinked, and the air seemed to shimmer.

Heat curled in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. She felt her skin flush bright and needy, pupils widened and her heart racing against its natural rhythm. When she dragged in a breath, it only made it worse. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, painfully almost, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache that formed heavy, to no avail.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ettore furrowed his brows, watching her chest rise and fall from a new burst of aggression.

Her eyes raised to him when he spoke as if only just aware he was still there. A haze covered her vision. She could hear the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. And nothing else seemed to matter. Her lips parted.

Ettore took half a step back, “you good?”

Her eyes crackled with a near feral gleam as she scrambled to her feet, covered in soil and sticky pollen, and grabbed his shirt to crash her lips to his. It was sloppy, desperate, panting. And Ettore mumbled into her mouth, the strength of her grip surprising him and taking him off balance as his back met the workbench again.

“What the fuck?” he spoke against her lips when he could get air in, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't. Her nerve ends were sparking and he was right here, warm and solid, exactly what her instincts were screaming for.

She moaned softly, pushing her hips to his, her other hand rubbing the growing hardness there recklessly. Her nails clawed under his shirt, leaving red little trials across his pale skin.

“Jesus—wait—” he muttered, grabbing her wrists. He was so used to being the one in control, he didn't like it one bit that he and his body was at the mercy of someone else, someone he hadn't expected to be so strong against him. He was half annoyed at himself for freezing up for so long.

But her lips found his throat, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, and his grip faltered. She was grinding against him now, dry fucking him like a mindless animal. Like she didn't care about anything else. She moved like she needed a primal closeness, like she needed to smell his natural sweat, feel the tackiness of his body against hers, but annoyingly all he smelt of was the dull powdery musk of the prison soap.

He could have pushed her off if he really wanted to. But maybe some part of him didn't. He swore under his breath, “you're high as fuck.”

Her voice was raw and needy, “I need—”, it came out more sob than a sentence, desperate. And fuck if it didn't make his cock twitch.

He pushed her back against with a cursed, ‘fuck’, her body landing once again amongst the orange flowers and another puff of shimmering pollen released around her, clinging to her skin like springy glitter. Her legs tried to catch around his waist, squirming for contact she didn't have yet, dragging him into the dirt with her as he fought to rid her of any clothing below her waist.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he murmured, crowding her body with his, already pushing his sweatpants down to line himself up with her heat, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her slit.

She twisted beneath him, bucking her hips desperately, her fingers clawing at him with impatience, “shut up— please, just—”

He laughed, low and rough, enjoying the appearance of her like this, a way he'd never seen her before. The laugh died quickly when she grabbed his cock, hard enough to draw out a low hiss of part pain and pleasure.

“Easy,” he growled as she guided him to where she needed him most, her body feverish with the need to be fucked. Her glassy eyes met his, and without waiting Ettore pushed in with one brutal thrust, grabbing her face and swallowing the broken cry she let out with his lips. She clenched around him instantly, her nails creating welts in his back in a way that made his vision swim.

There was no gentleness. Ettore fucked her into the dirt, hips snapping forward and grinding her into the crushed petals beneath. Each thrust pushed out of her lungs and drove the pollen further into her bloodstream. The madness building without an idea of where it would end.

The dirt that had been on his fingers had smeared on her face as he grabbed her jaw, making her lips part, the moans falling out of them with abandon. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled out just enough to hear her whimper, before slamming back inside, deep, painful, as if he wanted to carve himself into her.

She gasped, weak and overstimulated, so close to that delicious high the pollen craved. And her stomach flipped as Ettore grabbed her thighs and lifted, forcing them up until her knees were nearly to her chest.

“Stay like that,” he ordered, positioning higher over her, “don't move.”

He folded her in half, pushing her body further, pinning her open and helpless. The position let him sink in even deeper, the angle making her cry out as he bottomed out with a brutal snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her face twist with pleasure she couldn’t fight, “you feel that? You like this, don’t you? Getting ruined in the fucking dirt.”

She could barely speak now, just gasping, nodding, babbling nonsense between moans and whines. Her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wanted it. Needed it. Her body arched under his, sweat glistening, completely at his mercy. The slick sound of him driving into her echoed in the humid space, mixing with her breathless, broken cries.

He wrapped one hand around her throat, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers, “you gonna cum, just from me fucking you like this?” he muttered, eyes burning into hers, “like a bitch in heat?”

Her answer was a sob, her legs trembling in his grip as her walls spasmed around him, the orgasm ripping through her with force. She clenched so tight he could barely move, but he didn’t stop, he just kept going, chasing his own release with ruthless rhythm.

But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging a long, wet moan from her throat as he slipped free.

“No,” she whimpered, hips bucking up instinctively, trying to follow him, “don’t—please—”

He slapped her thigh, sharp enough to sting, “shut up,” he hissed.

She froze, panting, eyes wide as he knelt over her, fist around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast. She was spread out beneath him, ruined, legs still trembling, her sex soaked and twitching, glistening with slick and dirt and shame.

“Look at you,” Ettore muttered, his voice smug and cruel, “laid out like a fucking cum rag.”

With a final stroke, he came, hot, thick ropes spilling across her inner thighs and glistening slit, painting her skin in filthy, dripping streaks. Some of it landed just above her clit, sticky and warm, sliding down into the mess already coating her folds. She gasped, moaning at the sensation.

He rubbed the head of his cock along her sex, smearing his cum into her swollen lips, not bothering to be gentle. “Look at this pussy,” he sneered.

It was a sight he wanted to look at forever. Something stirred in his body, need. And it was slow at first, like a fever burning up. A wave of warmth that made his skin itch, made his pupils dilate. The scent in the air, the crushed petals, the sweat, the sex, it got thicker. He blinked, licked his lips, and his eyes dropped back to her.

She shifted slightly, letting her legs fall open further, exposing the full, glistening mess between them, like she wanted to show him, like the burning need still thrummed in her own blood. His cum still pooled on her folds, sliding down slowly.

That was it.

A groan tore out of his throat. Like an animal wounded. And he lunged forward.

She gasped when his hands gripped her thighs, rough and unrelenting, forcing them apart again. His mouth descended before she could even speak. No teasing. No warning. Just his tongue, hot and wet and starving, lapping at her like he was trying to devour her whole.

“Oh fuck—Ettore—!” she cried out, body jolting as his mouth sealed over her cunt.

He moaned against her, tongue thrusting between her folds, licking up the mix of cum and slick like it was the only thing that could satisfy this sudden, burning hunger. He licked deeper, rough and messy, tongue dragging through his own spend like it meant nothing, like he liked it. Every groan he let out vibrated through her, sending new shocks of pleasure down her spine.

He pulled her higher, pulling her body up so all her weight was on her shoulders and her legs over his. She was barely coherent now, sobbing and gasping, hips twitching as he tongue-fucked her, nosing up to her clit only to suck it harshly, then retreat to taste her deeper.

He dipped his head again, dragging his tongue back over her pussy, slow and indulgent, savouring the mess he’d made. But then, lower. Past her folds, past the soaked seam of her slit, down to the soft, untouched skin beneath.

Her breath hitched sharply.

Ettore smirked against her, licking a slow circle around her rim, deliberately filthy. Her body jolted, spine arching as she cried out, too far gone to stop him, too lost in the heat to care.

She screamed out as his hands spread her open, greedy and rough, holding her in place as he circled her tight hole, then pushed in, fucking her with his tongue with reckless abandon.

He licked deeper again, faster now, rutting into her with his tongue like he couldn’t stop. Her thighs were trembling violently, her voice reduced to moans that bordered on sobs. And still he held her open, still he feasted on her like it belonged to him.

She felt his cock against her body, had done since he'd abandoned fucking her altogether to fuck her with his tongue instead. Her mind was clouded with sex and lust, and she understood the same claws had sank into him too, when he began to spring to life again, pressed hard against her backside and grinding.

That's when she was unsure if she would leave the greenhouse whole. Whether clarity would come rushing in any moment now. But for now, lost in the yellowy cloud of pleasure and weightlessness, she could not find it in herself to care.

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Can you write an Ettore x Reader where Reader is the one who forces him/herself on Ettore?

Fulfilled this with two birds and one stone here! 🥰🥰 Hope you enjoy!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

What Grows in the Greenhouse

Summary: Ettore pushes her just that little bit too hard | Word Count: 2.3k~ | warnings: smut, dubcon, oral (f recieving), analingus, cum eating, degradation, sex pollen, just fucking filth

A/N: I was in a mood, please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs sex pollen writing challenge! Had fun with this 😈 also two birds one stone, fulfilled this request.

Even here in the greenhouse, she could still hear the faint hum of the ship’s systems beneath the sound of clipping leaves and weeding. She was knelt in the dirt, gloves on, trowel in hand, doing the only thing that ever gave her some peace in this place. It was dirty work but quiet, safe. Unlike everything else on this floating coffin.

She knelt up on her knees, leaning over a rosebush, the thorns prickling her forearms as she reached for some soil she had yet to spread. Her eyes caught a glaring flash of orange from a cluster of flowers behind the tended ones. They'd been here since she started doing this little duty, untended and messy, with stems twisting in green and yellow, and their fleshy petals bursting in bright orange like a mouth with a dangerous red centre. It smelled sweet, almost chemical like.

Fuck knows what they were, she'd have to read up on them.

She almost let her curiosity get the better of her, before his voice made her heart fall out her arse.

“What are you doing?”

She needn't even see his face to realise there was a smirk on it. Annoyance bubbled in her gut at the mere sound of him, traipsing across her freshly tended to garden with a confidence that didn't seem earned.

“Working,” she answered without moving, “should try it sometime.”

He laughed, leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, like her annoyance tickled something inside of him. She glanced up, eyes narrowed. His chest was damp as if he'd just been to shower. She willed herself not to notice it.

“Have you come here just to annoy me?”

“Not specifically you,” he muttered through a grin, “but you're the only entertainment here so.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her flowers, “then go entertain yourself somewhere else.”

He scoffed, “entertain, huh?”

She ripped a weed out the soil just a fraction too hard, “yeah instead of— starting fights and tugging your tiny dick outside the communal showers.”

“Oh, so you do watch me?” He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pulling off her gloves and bracing herself for the smug expression on his face. “You are such a colossal twat.”

“Rich coming from you,” he spat back, pushing himself off the workbench, making her heart race just slightly. “You walk around here like you're not just another piece of crap like the rest of us, like your shit doesn't stink.”

“At least I actually do something useful around here,” she countered, throwing her gloves on the ground, “unlike you, stalking around like a feral mutt.”

His jaw tensed, but his smile stayed. It was unsettling, watching the way his eyes took her in, searching for the weak point. “You must be so fucking lonely. Touching yourself on your side of the wall, pretending you don't want someone to hear.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she shoved him, palms flat on his chest, and even though it barely moved him, the touch shocked him.

As if acting on pure instinct, he shoved her back, not quite knowing his own strength. She seemed to trip over her feet, hurtling arse first into the bed of bright orange flowers. It cushioned her fall just slightly, enough not to hurt. But it was the pollen that the flowers coughed out that disoriented her, sweet, cloying, hitting her nose all at once.

She blinked, and the air seemed to shimmer.

Heat curled in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. She felt her skin flush bright and needy, pupils widened and her heart racing against its natural rhythm. When she dragged in a breath, it only made it worse. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, painfully almost, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache that formed heavy, to no avail.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ettore furrowed his brows, watching her chest rise and fall from a new burst of aggression.

Her eyes raised to him when he spoke as if only just aware he was still there. A haze covered her vision. She could hear the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. And nothing else seemed to matter. Her lips parted.

Ettore took half a step back, “you good?”

Her eyes crackled with a near feral gleam as she scrambled to her feet, covered in soil and sticky pollen, and grabbed his shirt to crash her lips to his. It was sloppy, desperate, panting. And Ettore mumbled into her mouth, the strength of her grip surprising him and taking him off balance as his back met the workbench again.

“What the fuck?” he spoke against her lips when he could get air in, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't. Her nerve ends were sparking and he was right here, warm and solid, exactly what her instincts were screaming for.

She moaned softly, pushing her hips to his, her other hand rubbing the growing hardness there recklessly. Her nails clawed under his shirt, leaving red little trials across his pale skin.

“Jesus—wait—” he muttered, grabbing her wrists. He was so used to being the one in control, he didn't like it one bit that he and his body was at the mercy of someone else, someone he hadn't expected to be so strong against him. He was half annoyed at himself for freezing up for so long.

But her lips found his throat, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, and his grip faltered. She was grinding against him now, dry fucking him like a mindless animal. Like she didn't care about anything else. She moved like she needed a primal closeness, like she needed to smell his natural sweat, feel the tackiness of his body against hers, but annoyingly all he smelt of was the dull powdery musk of the prison soap.

He could have pushed her off if he really wanted to. But maybe some part of him didn't. He swore under his breath, “you're high as fuck.”

Her voice was raw and needy, “I need—”, it came out more sob than a sentence, desperate. And fuck if it didn't make his cock twitch.

He pushed her back against with a cursed, ‘fuck’, her body landing once again amongst the orange flowers and another puff of shimmering pollen released around her, clinging to her skin like springy glitter. Her legs tried to catch around his waist, squirming for contact she didn't have yet, dragging him into the dirt with her as he fought to rid her of any clothing below her waist.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he murmured, crowding her body with his, already pushing his sweatpants down to line himself up with her heat, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her slit.

She twisted beneath him, bucking her hips desperately, her fingers clawing at him with impatience, “shut up— please, just—”

He laughed, low and rough, enjoying the appearance of her like this, a way he'd never seen her before. The laugh died quickly when she grabbed his cock, hard enough to draw out a low hiss of part pain and pleasure.

“Easy,” he growled as she guided him to where she needed him most, her body feverish with the need to be fucked. Her glassy eyes met his, and without waiting Ettore pushed in with one brutal thrust, grabbing her face and swallowing the broken cry she let out with his lips. She clenched around him instantly, her nails creating welts in his back in a way that made his vision swim.

There was no gentleness. Ettore fucked her into the dirt, hips snapping forward and grinding her into the crushed petals beneath. Each thrust pushed out of her lungs and drove the pollen further into her bloodstream. The madness building without an idea of where it would end.

The dirt that had been on his fingers had smeared on her face as he grabbed her jaw, making her lips part, the moans falling out of them with abandon. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled out just enough to hear her whimper, before slamming back inside, deep, painful, as if he wanted to carve himself into her.

She gasped, weak and overstimulated, so close to that delicious high the pollen craved. And her stomach flipped as Ettore grabbed her thighs and lifted, forcing them up until her knees were nearly to her chest.

“Stay like that,” he ordered, positioning higher over her, “don't move.”

He folded her in half, pushing her body further, pinning her open and helpless. The position let him sink in even deeper, the angle making her cry out as he bottomed out with a brutal snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her face twist with pleasure she couldn’t fight, “you feel that? You like this, don’t you? Getting ruined in the fucking dirt.”

She could barely speak now, just gasping, nodding, babbling nonsense between moans and whines. Her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wanted it. Needed it. Her body arched under his, sweat glistening, completely at his mercy. The slick sound of him driving into her echoed in the humid space, mixing with her breathless, broken cries.

He wrapped one hand around her throat, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers, “you gonna cum, just from me fucking you like this?” he muttered, eyes burning into hers, “like a bitch in heat?”

Her answer was a sob, her legs trembling in his grip as her walls spasmed around him, the orgasm ripping through her with force. She clenched so tight he could barely move, but he didn’t stop, he just kept going, chasing his own release with ruthless rhythm.

But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging a long, wet moan from her throat as he slipped free.

“No,” she whimpered, hips bucking up instinctively, trying to follow him, “don’t—please—”

He slapped her thigh, sharp enough to sting, “shut up,” he hissed.

She froze, panting, eyes wide as he knelt over her, fist around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast. She was spread out beneath him, ruined, legs still trembling, her sex soaked and twitching, glistening with slick and dirt and shame.

“Look at you,” Ettore muttered, his voice smug and cruel, “laid out like a fucking cum rag.”

With a final stroke, he came, hot, thick ropes spilling across her inner thighs and glistening slit, painting her skin in filthy, dripping streaks. Some of it landed just above her clit, sticky and warm, sliding down into the mess already coating her folds. She gasped, moaning at the sensation.

He rubbed the head of his cock along her sex, smearing his cum into her swollen lips, not bothering to be gentle. “Look at this pussy,” he sneered.

It was a sight he wanted to look at forever. Something stirred in his body, need. And it was slow at first, like a fever burning up. A wave of warmth that made his skin itch, made his pupils dilate. The scent in the air, the crushed petals, the sweat, the sex, it got thicker. He blinked, licked his lips, and his eyes dropped back to her.

She shifted slightly, letting her legs fall open further, exposing the full, glistening mess between them, like she wanted to show him, like the burning need still thrummed in her own blood. His cum still pooled on her folds, sliding down slowly.

That was it.

A groan tore out of his throat. Like an animal wounded. And he lunged forward.

She gasped when his hands gripped her thighs, rough and unrelenting, forcing them apart again. His mouth descended before she could even speak. No teasing. No warning. Just his tongue, hot and wet and starving, lapping at her like he was trying to devour her whole.

“Oh fuck—Ettore—!” she cried out, body jolting as his mouth sealed over her cunt.

He moaned against her, tongue thrusting between her folds, licking up the mix of cum and slick like it was the only thing that could satisfy this sudden, burning hunger. He licked deeper, rough and messy, tongue dragging through his own spend like it meant nothing, like he liked it. Every groan he let out vibrated through her, sending new shocks of pleasure down her spine.

He pulled her higher, pulling her body up so all her weight was on her shoulders and her legs over his. She was barely coherent now, sobbing and gasping, hips twitching as he tongue-fucked her, nosing up to her clit only to suck it harshly, then retreat to taste her deeper.

He dipped his head again, dragging his tongue back over her pussy, slow and indulgent, savouring the mess he’d made. But then, lower. Past her folds, past the soaked seam of her slit, down to the soft, untouched skin beneath.

Her breath hitched sharply.

Ettore smirked against her, licking a slow circle around her rim, deliberately filthy. Her body jolted, spine arching as she cried out, too far gone to stop him, too lost in the heat to care.

She screamed out as his hands spread her open, greedy and rough, holding her in place as he circled her tight hole, then pushed in, fucking her with his tongue with reckless abandon.

He licked deeper again, faster now, rutting into her with his tongue like he couldn’t stop. Her thighs were trembling violently, her voice reduced to moans that bordered on sobs. And still he held her open, still he feasted on her like it belonged to him.

She felt his cock against her body, had done since he'd abandoned fucking her altogether to fuck her with his tongue instead. Her mind was clouded with sex and lust, and she understood the same claws had sank into him too, when he began to spring to life again, pressed hard against her backside and grinding.

That's when she was unsure if she would leave the greenhouse whole. Whether clarity would come rushing in any moment now. But for now, lost in the yellowy cloud of pleasure and weightlessness, she could not find it in herself to care.

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

♡♡♡ send this to ten other bloggers that you think are wonderful. keep the game going, make someone smile!!! ♡♡♡

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Welcome to ewanmitchellcrumbs' Big Fucking Stupid Sex Pollen Writing Challenge!

What the hell are you doing, Ange?

Well, in light of myself and other writers being on the receiving end of some bafflingly hateful harassment today, I plucked out my favourite quote from some of the anonymous "critique" I received and have decided to put a positive spin on it.

Okay, so what gives?

As all of the characters from my last chapter update of Fire on the Mountain "act as though they've ingested sex pollen", I am inviting people to write their own sex pollen fics.

Sick! How do I participate?

Write a fic, of any length, for any fandom, using any pairing. The only stipulation is that your characters must have ingested sex pollen and be so horny for each other that it beggars belief. Tag me in your creations and I will reblog, and eventually compile them into a masterlist.

Are you affiliated with any other events?

I am, actually! Proudly affiliated with Table Sex Gate 2k24, organised by @queen--kenobi

Old hag writers of Tumblr - we create, because you send hate!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Fanfics are a big part of what inspires me to draw fanart, but I have just seen a post saying that some writers might not like fanart based on their fics to be posted and honestly, I'd never considered that, so if you're a fanfic writer:

to me fanart and fanfic have always seemed more or less like a symbiotic relationship and I personally would love it if someone wrote a fic based on art that I drew, so I'd never really considered that someone might not like it

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's been such a long time since I've had dark Aemond in my life and I'm caught between fuck yeah and

I loved how uncomfortable this made me feel, and how complex Aemond is despite the absolute piece of shit he isssss 😡😡😡she's in such an impossible position and she just thought she'd have to fuck him and leave it at that but he's so fucked up for doing what he did 😭😭 girlie needs to pop that pillow on his face for sure

A Single Tear

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!niece!reader Warnings: DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT (I am being serious when I tell you to mind the tags): dubious consent, anal sex, smut. Mentions of death. Forced marriage. Targcest/incest. Physical assault. Word count: ~4k

Summary: The Dance has ended, and Aemond and his niece are all that remains of the Targaryen lineage, until Viserys and Aegon come of age. Forced to marry, to ensure the continuation of their blood line, there may be peace in the realm but Aemond finds ways to continue to wage war within the marital bed.

Author's note: Chapter two of Tear Down My Reason, but also based on this request. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She averted her gaze, nausea roiling in her empty stomach as the carving knife rended its way through the roast swan, the sickening sound of cracking flesh and splintering bone making her screw her eyes shut momentarily, as though that would be enough to chase away the sight and sound. Though she had not been there to see it, her mind drifted to the thought of the blade of Blackfyre being brought down upon Cregan’s neck by the man that now sat beside her, putting an end to the life of her husband of less than a year.

Her appetite was non-existent. Watching the highborn lords of Westeros – what remained of them – stuffing their faces around the feasting table served only to disgust her further. Seeing such revelry when just months earlier the entire realm had been plagued by famine seemed like a cruel joke; a famine started by a war that had ended in her now deceased uncle feeding what remained of her mother to his dragon, while her younger brother was forced to watch. To think of it caused a hollow in her chest, to know that her mother had died screaming in agony. The pain spread, aching and suffocating, making the confines of her white lace bodice feel too tight, too restrictive, she could not breathe. Lucerys, Jacaerys, Joffrey, Daemon, her mother, Baela and Rhaena, they were all gone, and she was alone in the world, save for her two youngest brothers, both still too young to understand the fate that had befallen them all. She was left at the mercy of the uncle who had stolen her virtue prior to the war beginning, and the grasping, scheming woman that was his mother.

The realm feasted atop the ruins of House Targaryen. The entire farce of a wedding seemed as though they were trussing up what little remained of its corpse and parading it forth for the benefit of prying, morbidly curious eyes. In a sick sense, she supposed that having starved them, burned their lands and demanded their fealty, the least they were owed was a show. She chanced a glance at Aemond – her uncle who she had married only an hour earlier – and took a small amount of comfort in the fact that he appeared as unhappy as she was. His single eye remained fixed upon the table, the food on his plate untouched as his hands sat curled into fists upon either side of it. The war had lasted only two years, and yet it seemed to have aged him a decade. Hard lines were set into his brow, permanent dark circles sat vibrant as bruises on the pale skin beneath both of his eye sockets, and his jaw was set so tightly that she wondered how he had not yet worn his teeth away to dust.

Her breath caught in her throat as the toastmaster stood, announcing it was time for the king and queen’s first dance together.

Surely not.

A feast had been frivolous enough, but to make a further spectacle of them in this way was like rubbing salt in the wound. She had not even danced at her wedding to Cregan – they had had a simple ceremony, just the two of them, beneath the heart tree in the Godswood of Winterfell. When the Northern lord had draped his cloak around her shoulders, the fur of it had sat heavily upon her frame, and she had never felt safer, more protected. When Aemond had placed his upon her earlier that day it was done with all the care of someone discarding their undershirt over the back of a chair when readying themselves for bed.

She did not move, her fingernails dug crescent moons into the wooden tabletop as her eyes darted around the room in panic. She could not dance with Aemond. She would not.

“Come,” Aemond’s voice whispered smooth as silk next to her, “we must present a united front to those we rule over.”

He did not wait for her response, simply stood, pushing his chair out behind him, before extending his hand to her. Her eyes lifted to meet his piercing stare, and she swallowed thickly, seeing the subtle flare of his nostrils she knew that his patience was wearing thin, and it would be unwise to refuse him. She fought the urge to recoil as his larger hand enveloped hers. There was no warmth to the gesture, he may as well have been holding the pommel of dagger, in fact she knew he would derive greater pleasure in that simple act than he ever would from touching her.

They moved slowly to the centre of the room, and it was eerily silent, though the atmosphere had not been one that could be described as lively even before that point. The scrape of cutlery against plates had seemed louder than any of the dinner conversation, drowned out only by the soft melody played by the musicians in the corner. Aemond kept a hold of her hand, placing his free one upon her waist, and did not look at her as they began to awkwardly sway. His seeing eye remained fixed upon the farthest point on the wall, the brown leather of his eyepatch prominent against the sharp lines of his face, partially obscuring the ragged scar that bisected the left side of his face. She kept her gaze fixed upon the silver dragon head clasp of his tunic, attempting to find some enjoyment in the gentle drumming of the tabor accompanied by the subtle plucking of the lute.

If keeping up this farce was what she had to do to keep Viserys and Aegon safe then she would do it, there was little else she could. She had remained in Winterfell when Cregan had marched south with his Winter Wolves, and when they had suffered a crushing defeat, those that remained had been given the choice of being sent to the Wall for their treachery, or being put to the sword. Northerners were proud people and, as such, all had chosen death, her husband included. It had been Aemond who had relieved Cregan’s shoulders of his head, something she was sure he had delighted in. She had felt terror stricken when Alicent Hightower had sent for her, commanding that she return to King’s Landing. She had been convinced she was to meet the same fate as the rest of her family; Lucerys, snatched out of the sky by the jaws of Vhagar. Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Corlys and Baela all lost in battle. Daemon, swallowed up by the God’s Eye along with Caraxes. Rhaenyra, burned alive and then devoured by Sunfyre. Joffrey, thrown from the back of Syrax. Rhaena, drowned in an attempt to flee to Pentos. What gruesome death would await her, she had wondered.

The former queen had surprised her when, instead of sentencing her to die, she had offered her a marriage proposal to her only remaining child. Alicent had always been a vibrant beauty, but as she had stared at her, she had been struck by the same look of loss that she often saw in her own eyes, reflected back at her. There were grey streaks at the temples of her auburn curls, and her large, dark gaze was haunted. She wondered if Alicent regretted not accepting her mother’s proposal to betroth Jacaerys to Helaena all those years ago. What bloodshed could have been avoided had they simply set aside their resentments and mended the rift within their family?

“You would wed your favourite son, your only son, to one of Rhaenyra’s plain featured bastards?” The words were bitter and dripping with resentment as they left her mouth.

She fought the urge to smile triumphantly as she saw Alicent wince involuntarily, reminded of her own cruel words. The dowager queen placed her hands upon the surface of the writing desk she stood behind, bracing herself as she drew in a steadying breath, before meeting her unwavering stare once more. “Targaryen blood runs through your veins. You must pass that on, for the good of your House, for the good of the realm. We will wed you to Aemond, and when the time is right, Aegon will marry Jaehaera. It is what your mother would have wanted.”

Anger flashed through her as quick as a lightning strike, and her hands curled into fists at her sides at the mention of her mother. Her eyes widened, her skin heated with rage as she took a perfunctory step forward, biting out her words. “My mother would not have wanted to die, she would not have wanted her children to die, she would not have wanted any of this!”

What little remained of Alicent’s restraint snapped, as she slammed her palm upon her tabletop, her loose curls falling over her shoulders to frame her face as she had leaned forward, angry tears gathering upon her lash line as she had shouted back her own rebuke. “No, but she wanted to behead my grandson, to have the other torn apart! You speak of loss as if your own family have not contributed to mine!”

She took a step back, away from the older woman, swallowing thickly as she watched the rage drain from her, replaced by sad and bitter resignation. Alicent spoke again once she had composed herself, this time her voice was calm, though the remnants of her outburst caused it to tremble slightly. “Your mother may not have wanted this precisely, but she would not have wanted to see House Targaryen crumble into ruin either. She fought bravely to ensure that her children inherited the throne, as did I. You would be queen. You cannot say she would not have wanted that.”

Her shoulders sagged. She knew that Alicent had the right of it. Rhaenyra would sooner have slit her daughter’s throat than allow her to marry Aemond, however, if it meant securing the dynasty that their family had torn itself apart to rule then she would have begrudgingly accepted. And she had no choice but to do the same.

She and Aemond stood in their shared marital chambers, the wedding feast mercifully at an end. The room was larger, more opulent than the simple guest bedchamber she had occupied the last time she had visited The Keep – when Aemond had stolen her maidenhead with the promise of marriage, and then cruelly retracted it. What bitter irony that she now had the husband she had once so desperately pined for, and could not bear the sight of him. Her eyes moved about the room, taking in the large four poster bed with its heavy crimson velvet canopy, the rich, mahogany tables and chairs, and the plush couches set before a grand, roaring fireplace. It was every inch befitting of a king and queen, and yet none of it made up for the loss she had suffered at the hands of the man that now stood before her,  his eye fixed dully upon the flames that leapt within the hearth, casting long shadows against his face. He had taken so much from her; her virtue, her brother, her grandmother, her husband. She wanted to hurt him, to wound him as gravely as he had hurt her. They would be expected to produce heirs, but she had no intention of making it enjoyable for him. She wanted him to be reminded of just how much she hated him each time he slid inside of her.

“War has made you weak it seems, Uncle,” she taunted, cocking her head as she laced her fingers in front of her, “it did not take you this long to take what you wanted the last time we were together.”

Aemond turned his head slowly to face her, something feline in the movement of it, his eye appraising her without any emotion. “I do not want what I have already had,” he told her cooly, “there is no rush when I have already wetted my cock with your maidenhead.”

He smirked then and the prideful look upon his face enraged her. She wanted to throw herself at him, to claw out the eye that her younger brother had left untouched, but she knew she was the weaker of the two, he would best her if she attempted to challenge him physically.. Instead, she allowed her fury to embolden her words as she flashed a cruel smile of her own, all sharp white teeth – she would not let him forget that blood of the dragon coursed through her veins too. “I suppose virtue is of little interest to you, considering the months you spent warming your bed with that withered old witch. I wonder how many men she had between her thighs before–”

She gasped as he lunged for her, cutting her off mid-sentence as his hand closed around her throat, squeezing tightly and restricting her airway. He forced her backwards, white hot fury blazed in the brilliant blue of his iris as the back of her skull made harsh impact with the stone of the wall behind her, making her yelp with pain as the dull thud reverberated through her body, the pain almost ringing in her ears. Not satisfied with the hurt he had inflicted upon her already, he dug his fingertips further into the delicate flesh at her throat, hard enough to bruise and shook her roughly, so hard that she felt her teeth chatter together. Her hands flew up to his wrists, clawing at him as she desperately tried to pry him off of her, but he did not budge. “You will not speak of her,” he hissed, more beast than man, “do you understand? If you utter so much as a word about her again, I will cut off your fucking head the same as I did your traitor husband.”

Terror overwhelmed her. Aemond’s absence from her life had caused her to forget how cold and calculating he could be. War had made a murderer of him, and icy tendrils of fear crept along her spine as she realised that if she continued to push then he would just as easily murder her too. As her vision began to swim, growing dark at the edges, he loosened his grip, leaning in close to whisper to her. “Slicing my sword through that northern cunt’s neck almost felt better than pushing inside of you for the first time. But perhaps it is time I reacquaint myself with the sensation.”

Just as quickly as he had crowded into her space, he stepped back, and she gulped down huge lungfuls of air, the sudden rush of blood to her head making her feel faint as she was able to breathe again. With trembling hands she touched her fingertips to the doubtless bruised flesh of her throat, and her chest heaved, her eyes wild with fright, but Aemond ignored her, turning towards the bed instead, as he began to unbuckle his tunic.

“Disrobe,” he commanded flatly, not looking at her, “let us get this over with.”

She could run, she supposed, but would she make it to the door before he did? And if she did, who was there to save her? She resided in a nest of vipers, any person she could run to within the castle would promptly return her to her uncle, turned husband, and the retaliation for her disobedience would be far worse than whatever he inflicted if she were to simply just lay there and endure it.

Kicking off her slippers, she divested herself of the necessary garments, removing only her stockings, smallclothes and the outer layer of her wedding gown, leaving herself in her white cotton shift. He would have her body, but he would not look upon more than was necessary.

As she laid upon the bed, she was surprised to see that he had stripped entirely naked as he advanced towards her. He had not undressed when they had first lain together, only unfastening his trousers enough to free his erection. She did not mean to stare, but the sight of him fascinated her. Where Cregan had been broad and solid, muscular but not defined, and covered with a light dusting of hair, Aemond was the polar opposite. He was long, lithe, a weapon personified as every muscle was visible beneath the pale skin pulled taut across his torso. He was hard already, and she shivered at the idea that any potential harm he may inflict upon her aroused him. Now rid of his eyepatch, the sapphire that occupied the empty socket glittered malevolently in the glow cast by the fireplace, the scar that covered that side of his face pulling the features down into a mask of near sorrow.

She trembled as he knelt before her on the bed, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he grasped the hem of her shift, rucking the fabric up and around her hips. Dexterous fingers grasped her knees, prising them apart, baring her to him.

“No, there is no need,” she whispered, her heart drumming a panicked rhythm in her chest, attempting to squirm away from him as he lowered himself upon the bed, settling his face between her thighs.

His palm landed upon the soft meat of her inner thigh with a sharp slap, the sound echoing off of the vaulted ceiling with a loud crack, making her yelp. She stilled, and he held her firmly by her hips, preventing any further movements. “This will make it easier,” he told her, before leaning in to drag the flat of his tongue against her sensitive flesh.

She whimpered at the sensation, her hands balling into fists atop the thick quilt of the bedcovers.

Easier for you, she thought, as she twitched beneath his ministrations. He had no desire for her to feel pleasure, he simply did not want it to hurt when he forced himself inside of her. In spite of herself, she began to pant softly, her hips started to roll greedily of their own accord against his face as he lapped greedily at her, squeezing her hips appreciatively as she began to respond to him. The pleasurable ache grew more insistent, gradually building towards an edge she did not want to give him the satisfaction of pushing her from.

I hate you, she thought, biting her lip to hold back a moan.

His hand moved from her hip as he pulled his face away, his chin glistening with arousal, and he dragged his fingers through her sticky wetness. She squealed as he trailed them lower, spreading her slick around the puckered ring of muscle that lay further below.

“What are you doing?!” she cried, lifting her head to stare at him, wide eyed with horror.

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his throat. “It is customary for a husband to take his bride’s maidenhead upon their wedding night,” he explained as he worked a finger inside of her. The stretch took her breath away, the foreign sensation felt wrong, but the hold he still had upon her hip was too strong for her to buck away from it. “As you are aware, I unburdened you of that long ago. But this part of you–” he pumped his finger for emphasis, “remains untouched, I am sure, so I shall stake my claim there tonight instead.”

Dread gnawed at her insides, her heartbeat erratic as she pleaded, her voice shaky, bordering on a whine. “Aemond, no, please…”

“Let this be a reminder to you of what happens when you speak out of turn, talus,” he uttered, removing his finger from her to lean across and grasp a vial from the bedside table. He uncorked it with his teeth and spit the stopper towards the floor, before coating his fingers in the viscous yellow liquid inside, and spreading a generous coating over his manhood.

He pushed his finger back inside of her, quickly joining it with a second, and she screwed her eyes shut, humiliation washing over her in a wave of warmth as she turned her head away. The only surviving daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and this is what she had been reduced to, a mere toy for the whims of her cruel uncle.

She tensed as she felt him pull his fingers from her once more, this time replacing them with the blunt head of his cock.

“No,” she whimpered pitifully.

“Yes,” he breathed insistently, pressing forward.

She felt as though she was being split in two. As much as he had done to prepare her, it hurt – much more than when he had stolen her virtue, though that she had given willingly. This was a test of endurance, and she felt she might crumble under the intensity of it. It was unnatural to be stretched so, and Aemond grunted once he finally bottomed out within her.

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly, “you need to relax, you are making this more painful than it has to be.”

She would have scoffed at the irony, if he had not been defling her. As he began to thrust, she allowed her eyes to open, her vision watery as she stared up the blood red canopy. The silver curtain of Aemond’s hair moved in her peripheral vision as he grunted and panted, using her body for his own pleasure.

The pain subsided, and she was unsure of whether it was because she had become accustomed to the feeling of being fucked somewhere so forbidden, or if she had simply grown numb to it. As her body slackened beneath his, Aemond’s movements grew quicker and more intense.

“Yes, better,” he muttered, moaning softly.

It sickened her the way that her body responded to his – her untouched cunny clenched around nothing, her pearl practically throbbed with the need to be touched. She attempted to ignore it, not wanting him to know that there was any part of her that liked this. This was not about her pleasure, he would not grant her relief if she drew his attention to her desire, he would simply use it to humiliate her further.

As his hips began to stutter, his movements becoming more erratic, he pulled free of her, stroking himself to completion as thick ropes of pearly spend landed warm against her belly accompanied by his groan of satisfaction. Finally finished, he collapsed beside her, panting heavily.

They did not utter a word to each other, simply laid there in silence as her mind raced with all the ways she would get him back. Perhaps she would place a pillow over his face as he slept, then claim he had simply stopped breathing during the night. They were supposed to produce an heir, and nothing that had transpired this evening would result in that, which meant she would have to endure this all over again. The idea made her stomach turn, and the sensation of his now cold seed splattered against her bare skin felt unbearable. She needed to wash it off, to be rid of the evidence of her defilement. Aemond’s breaths had evened out, so she assumed he had fallen asleep. As she rose up on her elbows, preparing to climb out of the bed and clean herself off, she looked over at him, her throat constricting at the sight that lay beside her.

Aemond lay flat on his back, silver hair fanned out across his pillow. One hand lay over his heart while the other stretched out towards the edge of the mattress. His eye was unblinking as it stared up at the canopy, but it was not that that drew her attention – instead, it was the single tear that tracked its way slowly down his unscarred cheek, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

<< Previous chapter | Series masterlist | Next chapter >>

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

beep bop BOOP

the cat’s paw has spoken and over the next week it’s asking you to reblog some of your old fics with commentary. whether it’s something you liked about it, cut content, behind-the-scenes, or something else—any commentary goes!

This is really cute idea ♥️ might take me longer than a week but this will be fun!

Look out 👀

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

1. Your ask button always makes me cackle and I imagine the sweetest looking person I can think of, saying it out loud 😅

2. I love this ask game, I had to limit myself or I’d ask them all! So I’m asking 1 & 8 just cause I’m curious for your opinion but also 18 & 19 in regards to consequences and a perfect score because those fics are the most perfect examples of how you went in extremely different directions and they’re both some of my faves so I’m curious how you saw their life going after the end of a perfect score or if you considered a different direction for consequences

just a little smile to brighten your day there kaela 😂 thank you for the ask m'loveee ♥️

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Oooo this is a good'un. Honestly if anyone sticks around after reading Consequences, they can fuck with me 😂 it can't get any worse than that lol. For something a bit more low-key, maybe The Blood is Rare 🤤

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

I've been listening to this one writing Forged in Flames 👀

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

For Consequences, to be honest I'm not sure. Definitely a twist with the sister or something or how her presence haunts Aemond. Something fucky with Harrenhal and how it affects his intimacy with Alys. That'd be fun! Or God's Eye and how that plays out with his emotions.

A Perfect Score, oh something cuteeeee. I did consider writing more after the epilogue but I feel like the whole get preggo thing is overdone. Maybe they go on holiday or something 🥰

19. If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?

Consequences, when I first finished it I did consider an alternate ending, but after mulling on it for ages I decided not to because I felt I didn't just want to do fan-service and happy ending stuff 😂 I wanted angstttt. But if I did a spin off, it'd be something with Helaena, cos I teased in the story that she knew 👀

A Perfect Score. Something domestic, like Aemond pursues university afterwards and her helping him navigate all that. Seeing as his life has just been skating up until that point. That'd be cute as ♥️

Writers Ask Game

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Aw Leah 😭😭😭 crying I love uuu

No Pain, No Gain 🔥 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (PersonalTrainer!Aemond) Consequences  💀 🔥 NSFW 18+, Minors DNI (Dark!Aemond) A Perfect Score 🔥 💀 💚 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Modern!Aemond/FigureSkating!AU) A Stranger 🔥 💚 💀 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI A Duet of Fire and Fate 🔥 💀 💚 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Forged in Flames 🔥 💀 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

Her Voice 💚 A Mother for a Son 💀

That’s it Princess 🔥 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI How could you be so blind?(Aemond x blind!reader)  💚 ‘just kill me and be done with it’ 💀 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI If looks could kill 💀 💚 Form of Gratitude 🔥 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Undisclosed Desires 💀 🔥 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Bound to Apologise 🔥 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Subby!Aemond) The Beast of The Endness 💀 Breaking the Rules  🔥 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Modern!Aemond) When One Possesses A Thing 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI The Green Prince 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Bluebeard!Aemond x Wife!reader) Pearl of The Realm 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (HOTD BigBang) Perzys Ānogār 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Nūmioītsos 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Tell Me You Like It 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Modern!Aemond) Form of Affection 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Playing With Fire 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Modern!Aemond, APS!Aemond) The Blood is Rare 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Aemond x Strong!niece) These Tender Hearts Beat as One 🔥💚 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Aemond x widowed!reader) Blood of My Blood 🔥💀 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI (Aemond x Strong!niece) Beneath a Dragon’s Gaze 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Unabashed 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Rage Becomes Her 🔥 💀 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI In the Wake of Silence 💀 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Loyal as a Hound 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Fire and Frost 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Shimmer 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI For King and Kin 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Flower Faced 🔥 💀 NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI Shut Me Up 🔥NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

15 & 18, writer's choice for fic 😘

Thank you for this! <33

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

Definitely A Perfect Score! It's an AU I had no bloody clue about but getting into the outfits/the moves/the music and the tension between them was some I unexpectedly really enjoyed!

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

If I wrote a sequel to Between the Pages I'd definitely make it get fucky 😂 all psychological and stuff 👀

Writers Ask Game

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

2, 23, 26 for the writer ask game! 💜

Thank you for this Mel! <3 ilyyy

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

I fear they say more about me 😅 oops ig

Smut (24)

Choking (12)

Oral Sex (11)

Dubious Consent (10)

Angst (9)

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

this is a toughie! I always feel like I've written all I can but then something out the blue comes up! I'd like to do a spin on Ettore one day but I won't say what just in case it comes to fruition 😘

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

Definitely one that has no dialogue! I almost did this with Between the Pages and it was a lot of fun actually!

Writers Ask Game

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Aemond Sketches

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

3, 5 (It’s Who We Have and A Duet…), 8 and 17. Indulge me babe pleaseee 😘

ah thank you sm Justine! ❤️

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

definitely angst, cos I just love that shit, eat it up all day every day 😂 and I don't think I have quite curbed my bad habit of feeling I need to explain every single scene in chronological and linear order, cos that's how I think in my head 😅

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about It's Who We Have/A Duet of Fire and Fate? Answer it now!

It's Who We Have - because Billy W is kind of a lesser known EM character, this fic didn't get quite as much as attention as say Consequences (probably because of the theme too), but I wish someone would ask about Billy's state of mind. In the fic, he has a friend group with a few being people of colour and I'd like to think it added a good amount of tension to the overall story! Like how can Billy suddenly be so aggressively on the right wing when he's been mates with these people for years? Idk I just thought that was interesting.

A Duet of Fire and Fate - maybe what the fuck is wrong with Aemond idk 😂 I like writing him in this fic because he's just so emotionally messy

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

I feel like I would be amiss if I didn't mention my latest longer fic Flower Faced inspired by Francesca by Hozier. I just love how that song made the words come out of me

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

I struggled with this one because I don't really think about AUs unless I am writing them, and when someone else thinks of one I'm like 'oh that's a good idea I would never have thought of!'. I do really love how creative other writers can be in writing canon-divergent :)

Writers Ask Game