the-monstermash

[the-monstermash]

Damn this was so well written!!

Mine, Utterly [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After making Prince Loki a little jealous, he lays down the law on the eve of an important occasion. (w/c 2.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Minors DNI. Dirty talk, language.

Your hands hit the mattress and grasped at the silken sheets, as if that would save you.

“My Prince,” you gasped, breaths scorching against your lungs as he ripped the chiffon around your thighs.

All you’d done was smile at the guard. Okay, maybe flirt a little…just enough to rouse the jealousy Loki had suggested with a mischievous shine in his eyes before taking his place on the Royal banqueting dais.

A palm landed on your exposed ass cheek. Crying out, you shot a glance over your shoulder. Prince Loki stood, storms in his darkened eyes, the leather belt that had been slung across his chest now dangling from a fist. "You dare to make a god jealous?"

Your stomach dropped. What if it was a test; what if he was joking? But for all his antics, the Prince wasn’t known for his humour when it came to matters of the heart—or the flesh. He didn’t share, and as that thought sank in, the knuckles on the fist whitened. You inhaled sharply, grip tightening on the sheets.

Something struck your ass again, but this time it gripped. Loki’s back was pressed to yours. The emeralds studded into the intricately constructed doublet pinched through the thin fabric of your bodice as he whispered, “Perhaps I wasn’t clear that when you are mine, you are mine; utterly.”

His knuckles trailed down your bicep, those fingers that had been wet with your cum too many times to count in palace corridors and dark corners dancing across your skin. Those digits had fastened around your wrist and torn you away from the feasting hall, his obligations forgotten, and whisked you in an explosion of green light to the candlelit expanse of your own bedroom.

Now, Loki’s cock pressed through the layers of leather and velvet covering it right into the swell of your ass. It was a familiar feeling—but he’d always resisted. Only his fingers, his tongue, his words—that was the only relief he gave you over past months since your arrival at court. Never his pleasure—never his cock.

Norns, how you wanted to fuck him; wanted to ride him until his own name scattered on the wind like ash, feel him slam into your cunt until his brilliant mind was a blur of lines like wine spilled on parchment. You wondered how your name sounded on his lips when he came: staggered, gasping, choking for mercy.

His nose drew a line up your neck, inhaling at the pulse point like a hound. “You are mine, aren’t you?” he murmured.

In answer, your hand slid up his temple and knotted into Loki’s hair. A growl built in his throat, swelling your confidence in time with the heat throbbing between your legs. “No more, and no less, than you are mine, Loki Odinson.”

His teeth sank into your shoulder, just enough to make you squirm against his cock. He spun you around, tipping your over the edge of the mattress while he towered in a silhouette of black and forest green pulsating in amber flickers.

His fingers made quick work of the laces at his groin and then, his legendary, iron cock was in his hand. It was even more perfect that you’d dreamed. A well of saliva rose indelicately beneath your tongue. Loki stroked it, back and forth, as you watched: hypnotised.

“Tonight, I will show you what it is to be mine,” he said, low and thicker than molasses on a winter’s eve. “After that, I’m afraid you will be ruined for all others…” A devilish smirk lit at the corners of his mouth. Your heart pounded as you sat up on the bed, trying frantically to untangle the dress sprawled around your hips. Loki’s knees hit the mattress.

"Allow me," he said, before ripping the dress from your body in one, swift movement.

Your eyes widened as it fluttered to the floor. Only the corset remained. "My Prince…I," you said, attempting to keep the game fluid; but Loki pressed a finger to your lips with a hush. It was still warm from the friction of his cock.

"We have talked long enough, you and I. I would very much like to fuck you…" His eyebrows rose. "I will, fuck you. I will have you; utterly."

As the final syllable melted, so did his clothes. The emerald encrusted doublet was first, then the sigils of his station, then the boots and—oh, gods—the leather trousers.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him: carved like marble, the tremor of his muscle beneath taut skin as he rested back on his heels, thighs spread, enough to make you howl. Loki’s chin dipped to his chest, unbound hair falling around his milky shoulders like hot tar over battlements. His cheekbones flashed in pulsing candlelight as he said with a touch of malice, "I will not be kept waiting. Not anymore," but his eyes glinted.

You crawled the space between you and hoisted onto his lap. With your arms around his neck, your bare cunt pressed against the throb of his flesh, you couldn’t imagine it ever not being thus. And then, you kissed him; one sliding into the next like spring into summer, like night into day.

Loki’s kisses were a medley of ravenous restraint; morphing like his magic between complete desperation and tenderness. His hands cupped your ass, scooting you further up his lap. The tip of his cock rubbed against your slit.

"I want to consume you," he whispered, lips wet from your kisses. "And you will never be anothers."

"Never." A ragged moan ripped the air as you sank onto his length. Loki’s groan of pleasure was everything you’d dreamt of—a primal flash beneath the regal façade you wanted to tear at with your bare hands. His chin tipped back, nailing you with his dilated stare as his hips pushed up.

"Loki," you gasped, clutching at his back muscle. He was huge. The Prince bottomed out, teeth clenching. 

"You’ve no idea how much I craved this little cunt," he panted as your hands fisted in his hair. "How many times I’ve wanted to pin you against the wall and fuck you until all thoughts of other men were shaken from your mind forever."

The squelch of your pussy jammed with his cock punctuated every word. "How you’ve teased me, played with me; ruined me—all for the want of the Valhalla I knew would be between your legs."

Loki’s head fell back with broken cry of anguish as you clench around the root of his cock, dragging up before slamming down onto the meat of his thighs.

“Fuck, kvinne…now I find myself tricked…” he said, breathless. The god’s head rose, strands of sex damp hair plastered across his brow. "I want you more than ever."

His eyes narrowed, and then his lips collided to yours, tongue demanding entry with the sureness of a tide on the shore. His nails dug into the curve of your waist, guiding your hips. Every gyration made new sparks burst to life, sizzling from your clit to the deepest parts of your body and mind that had never been so alive.

“I will never be sated,” Loki growled, thrusting faster, “Never…never.” With a rumble, he flipped you onto your back. Loki’s lips worked down the hard sinews of your neck, sucking against supple skin, palming your breasts upward. He was possessed. Loki’s name was a chant in your throat, the absence of his cock inside you becoming unbearable.

"Fuck me," you whined, and Loki looked up from where he’d been distracted with your nipple between his teeth.

“Ruined for all others,” confirmed Loki, smirking. He crawled over your body, settling his legs on either side and drawing the leaking head of himself through your sopping folds. “Beg for it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Beg…my pretty, pretty whore.” Loki’s lips grazed across your cheek like wind through barley; a short, trembling sigh flooding your ear.

“Maybe you’re my whore, Odinson. Did you consider that?”

His thick cock twitched against your heat as he stared down at you with your perfectly styled hair mussed, your thighs spread, your lips bitten and stinging, before he whispered, “I consider everything.” Dark curls hung down either side of his jaw, framing the angle of his jawline as he licked his lips and settled into a cage around your head. The muscles of his forearms twitched with the effort of not fucking you into the mattress. The words bubbled in your throat, spilling forth before you could second guess them. “Well, if you’re my whore, then satisfy me.”

“Tell me you’re mine.” Those words shaped his tongue like summer storms. “And you will have everything you desire; always.”

You scraped hair back from his face, the beat of his heat thumping through his skin. His hips dragged against your clit, making your knees tighten around his ribs. “I’m yours,” you whispered, “Utterly.” Loki’s cock squeezed inside, and his face twisted in relief absolute. One of his hands flew to the ornate headboard; whacks of ancient wood against stone sounding with every thrust. His pubic hair dragged against your swollen clit, moans mingling with the fragrance of sweat and sex that clung to your bodies and rose like steam.

The god knew your body like you thought only you did, and every grip of his hands, shift of his hips, work of his mouth—you couldn’t catch your breath. His lust was the chop of waves, drowning you on the undertow of his strength, and scent and the hair brushing your lips as he fucked you. You never had a chance. Need scorched up your skin as climax broke. It flooded through your body, Loki’s name a rattle in your throat as his exhales of pleasure pounded in your ear. He hissed as fingernails dragged down the wide expanse of his back, the slide of his cock primal and wet, balls smacking against cum-slick skin.

The prince’s thrusts slowed, rocking you through the final threads of orgasm stringing you together. You gaped at him, heavy eyed and open mouthed as his torso rose between your legs, his palms splayed on your thighs, his abdomen flexing with every glacial, devastating thrust.

Loki’s head fell back, his black curls a sheet down the faint flush of pale skin.

The veins in his neck hardened, jaw clenched to the ceiling as deep lines settled on his brow. Your breath hitched.

Every glide of his cock was met by the gluttonous squelch of your cum. Loki rocked on his heels, guiding himself over the edge inside your perfect cunt.

“Gods,” he choked to the murals above the bed. And then, he came.

His face screwed up as the wave hit was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Loki’s groan trembled through your skin, beneath your flesh and vibrating your bones. His fingers tightened, and you knew that tomorrow your gown would hide the evidence of obsession marked in blue and purple shadows of devotion.

Devotion, you thought lazily as he gasped out the syllabled of your name and collapsed on your chest; meeting your lips with open mouthed enthusiasm.

Somewhere, a bell tolled. Loki sighed, slipping himself out of you with a mutter of irritation. He clicked his fingers, and the elaborate garb assembled on him like a blossom of ink. His lip curled. “The next time I see you, it will be in white.”

“Mmm…” “And yet they will have no clue what a fantastically depraved wretch for me that my intended is.” “I think they might know that already if the maids who caught you pleasuring me in the kitchens last week weren’t mute—and besides, perhaps they’ll just think my intended is a bad influence.”

“Gods, I hope so,” Loki murmured against your skin before biting your cheek softly, melting into a kiss. “Until tomorrow, then.” Loki drew away, his eyes serious but a small smile playing at his lips. “When you’re my wife, you shall never be rid of me.” “Gods, I hope so,” you echoed, and in the space of a heartbeat, Loki vanished.

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[the-monstermash]

Repost to add these icons

Black Vampires

[the-monstermash]

the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage. 

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks. 

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine. 

“We’ll start with the basics.” 

-- 

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go. 

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.” 

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him. 

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you. 

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace. 

-- 

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.” 

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days. 

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches. 

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?” 

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?” 

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit. 

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.” 

“Lily?” 

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.” 

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.  

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.” 

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?” 

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?” 

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.” 

“...He seems to be pretty busy.” 

“He is.” 

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?” 

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound. 

“It shows, you know,” He says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.” 

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm. 

“Just good?” He plies. 

“The best. A real pro.” 

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little. 

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?” 

“She’s killing it.” 

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it. 

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.” 

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds. 

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.” 

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.” 

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.” 

--  

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him. 

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw. 

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap. 

-- 

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch. 

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies. 

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud. 

It spurs you to lunge a little too far. 

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side. 

“What hurts?” 

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left. 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.” 

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand. 

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?” 

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort. 

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns. 

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.” 

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Of course.” 

-- 

“How’s the ankle?” 

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again. 

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks. 

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Good enough to walk on?” 

Hardly. 

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again? 

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up. 

-- 

I invited Art. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all. 

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days. 

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely. 

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room. 

“Almost ready in here?” He asks. 

“All set!” 

-- 

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile. 

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds. 

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests. 

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself. 

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves. 

“Wanted to come say hi.” 

“Well. Hi.” 

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet. 

“Thanks for the invite.” 

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours. 

“He isn’t taking care of you.” 

“My ankle is fine.” 

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down. 

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—” 

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh. 

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip. 

“Condom?” He asks. 

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.” 

“Sssh.” 

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip. 

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—” 

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Art—” 

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?” 

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm. 

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties. 

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from your still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room. 

--  

“Can I see you?” 

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him. 

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies. 

“Where?” 

“I’ll send an address.” 

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk. 

“...You regret it?” He asks. 

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do. 

--  

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck. 

“Is this Lily?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.” 

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.” 

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully. 

“Art?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer. 

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.” 

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.” 

-- 

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up. 

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

--

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS pt.5

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Smut, Explicit Language, P in V, 

Word Count: 1,547

> A/N: I FINALLY finished this series, my first ever series! So sorry for the delay, I had some major emergencies that took all my time and energy for a while!

Walking towards the light in the Godswood had set your nerves on fire. You were panting, shaky, and even fighting some dizziness. Your mother whispered reassurances to you, which helped urge you to the opening.

The weirwood tree was stunning, its branches stretching out at least seven feet, the leaves a bright shade of red. It didn’t hold your attention for long, as your eyes fell upon Aemond, who was already looking at you. He glanced at your mother, his eye widening in panic for a second, and looked to you in question. A small smile was enough to ease his worry, and he straightened himself up and turned to Aegon, who was rested against the Weirwood tree and reading from an old book.

“Who comes before…the Old Gods this night?” He slurred, clearly disinterested. Your mother announced your name and title, and what your intentions were that night.

“Who comes to claim her?” Your mother turned to Aemond, who had stepped forward taken you from your mothers reluctant embrace.

“Aemond Targaryen, Prince of the seven kingdoms. Who gives her?”

Your mother recited her title, though the ringing in your ears made it hard to make out. You’d fallen silent, and Aemond turned back to Aegon, who was struggling to catch up to the line we were currently reciting.

“Do you take him?” Aegon smiled, seeming proud of himself.

“I take this man.” You said proudly, and Aemond leaned in to kiss your lips. “That is not tradition.: You whispered smugly.

“I could not help myself, Lady Wife.”

“Well, now that that’s done.” Aegon stumbled his was from the Godswood, in search of fun and debauchery, to be sure.

Your mother stood a few steps from you and Aemond, staring as if to appraise the two of you, deciding if she approved the match. Finally, the corners of her mouth tightened in a resigned smile, she sighed and reached out to pet your head.

“My sweet girl.” She leaned in to place a simple kiss on your temple. “My son.” She raised her head at Aemond, who bowed his head respectfully. “I hope you are ready for what comes tomorrow. For now, enjoy this night together.” And with that, she turned to leave.

There was a contented silence between the two of you, and it wasn’t long before Aemond was leading you out of the Godswood.

“People will notice us here if we remain. We should go back to our chambers for the night. I’ll prepare for our family’s ire, I’m sure there will be hell to pay tomorrow.”

“They will approve, won’t they?”

“It doesn’t matter. The wedding was witnessed, and performed by the king himself. Who could refute it?” He ran his fingers through your loose hair, brushing it from your shoulder. “I’ll escort you to your chambers to not raise suspicion.”

You nodded and followed arm in arm to his chambers. There was a difference in the way he held you now, something that wasn’t there before. A possessiveness. Servants’ gazes lingered in the halls, as if they could see the union between you like some universal aura. The halls were pretty abandoned, only lingering maids and servants coming to snuff candles and feed fires for their masters.

When you came upon your chamber door, you both stood there in silence for a few seconds, though it felt like much longer. There was only one other maid in the hall, and your eyes followed her until she retreated before addressing Aemond.

“I can’t believe we did that.” Your eyes were alight with mirth, your lips turning up with a half-hidden smile. “It will be a scandal tomorrow. It’s like people already know.”

“There is nothing that could keep me from taking you as my wife.” He leaned in, planting a soft kiss to your lips. He tried to retreat, but you followed him with your mouth, lengthening the kiss until he fully straightened so you could not reach him. “You’ll need rest for tomorrow.”

“Stay with me.” His eyes looked over your head, looking at your chamber door.

“I do not think it wise, we are in enough trouble as it is.”

“It is our wedding night…” His gaze shot down to yours. “Should we not…consummate?” His eyes drifted close at the mere thought, a shiver running down your spine as if the words left a chill in the air. “You mentioned earlier…that if we consummated it they’d have to recognize the union.”

“So I did.” He smirked and reached around you for the knob of your chambers, opening it and herding you inside quickly. He closed the door and locked it, moving to take his coat off. “I know you are naive in the ways of husband and wife, so I will do my best to teach you.”

“It will hurt.” You offered your limited knowledge. “All the women say it hurts.”

“I’ll make it pleasurable for you. I want my wife to enjoy her wedding night.”

“With my husband here to hold me, I can’t imagine not enjoying it.” He began stripping himself, and you did the same, pulling the strings of your gown until it fell, pooling at your feet.

You had just stepped out of it when he reached for you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you close. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he guided you towards the bed, tossing you onto your back and kneeling over you.

“Forgive the lack of ceremony, wife. I’ve waited a long time for this night. You’ll have to excuse my eagerness.”

“A lack of eagerness would be most disrespectful, I think.” Your giggle was silenced by his lips on yours, your body melting into the bed with each touch.

When his hands made their way to your hip bones, you jerked in anticipation. You felt alive, in a way you had never experienced before, like white hot coals, you were still, but with one small touch you came alive.

His calloused hands massaged into your hip bones, soothing you enough to finally breathe again, a relief you didn’t know you’d been deprived of. When one of his hands made its way towards your chaste flower, you gripped his forearm in a bid for control.

“Breathe, my love. Allow me to have you, to take you. You must give yourself to me, wholly.” His words were breathy, and with your nod, he removed your hand from his arm and placed it by your head, where you grasped at the pillows in an attempt to ground yourself.

His touch returned, and as his fingers massaged and prodded the most forbidden parts of you, your ardent sighs floated through the still night, the only accompaniment were the crackling of the fire. You weren’t sure just what he was doing, only that you enjoyed it tremendously. Was this what it always felt like? How could all those women bitch about their duties, when it felt like this? His finger slid down your canyon, following the slick down to the hole, where he dipped only the tip of his index in, sinking until your sighs cut to gasps and your hands indented the pillow.

It was a slight, stinging pain, not unbearable but enough to surface you from your sea of pleasure. His fingertip sank into your tight hole, until you felt the rest of his knuckles rest against you. He resumed his massaging motions, gliding in and out against the fading resistance. When he seemed satisfied with his work, he removed his fingers and pushed himself up your body, resting a hand by your head and grasping himself with the other.

His fist stroked his hard cock, rubbing it against you to collect your slick. As he rested the tip against your entrance, he looked to you for approval. A jerky nod was all he needed to push himself into you.

The pain was minute, only a slight burn quickly overshadowed by the all-consuming flames of pleasure he had doused you in. Your moans called to him as he set his pace, groaning with the wet sounds of your bodies meeting over and over again.

“I won’t last, wife. Not this night.” His voice pleaded for something, though you weren’t sure what. A tightening in your gut made your legs squeeze his waist. “Let go for me, wife. Have your pleasures, and feel my seed fill your womb.” His pace increased as the knot tightened within you.

You called out his name as the knot snapped, your legs trembled and your eyes clamped shut. He moaned out, continuing his thrusts until he finished, stilling inside you and groaning as his seed filled you to the brim.

The two of you were silent for a long while, he laid beside you and pulled you to his chest as you tried to catch your breath. He rubbed your back in circles and kissed your forehead.

“Did you enjoy yourself, wife?"

"Very much so. I can understand the passion of whores, if every night is spent in such bliss.” You smiled at his chortled response.

“I love you, my dear sweet wife." 

“And I, you." He sighed in content as you both drifted to sleep, enjoying the serenity you were sure to relish come tomorrow.

@mamawiggers1980 @dahlias-and-marigolds @staarflowerr @aemondwhoresworld @uhnanix

[the-monstermash]

Everyone, I am SO sorry I've abandoned my fic recently! I've been going through a lot of personal stuff, and for a while I was possibly going to foster my baby cousin. Luckily, it all worked itself out, and I'm in a space to work on my final chapter!

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS pt. 4

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, Mentions of Sex, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Time-Appropriate Sexism, 

Word Count: 3,226

> A/N: I did a crazy amount of time jumping, and also I had to cut the last part into two more parts SO SORRY

Aemond had taken much longer than a week, and things had certainly not been peaceful in the house ever since. The girls had lost their mind upon learning that not only had you finally accepted Aemond, but you were to marry. Of course, you’d explained the past betrothal and the reason behind his insistence, and they’d swooned at the idea of a prince searching for his long lost love, to which you reminded them you had never met when this first proposal happened.

That didn’t deter them one bit, and when he sent word of when he’d come to get you, they’d passed the letter around to read it and gushed.

According to witnesses, Sylvi broke a goblet upon hearing the news, and locked herself in her room to avoid others ever since. She was not the type to cause a scene, but she would not play nice to keep the peace, either.

When that day finally did arrive, the girls had  insisted on trying to  make you look presentable. Brushing the knots from your hair, applying a light rouge and smelling oils. They’d each given you something of theirs. Necklaces, trinkets, things to remember them by.

“As if I could ever forget you girls.” You’d said when Maria insisted on you having her favorite hair pin. “Thank you so much.” She pulled you into a deep hug, squeezing as if to commit the feel to memory.

“You know you’ll never see us again, when you marry?” Zora’s flat voice made the girls shoot her annoyed looks. “It won’t do for a princess to visit a whorehouse, and we can’t exactly go to the castle at leisure.”

“My situation is unlike other Ladies, I’m sure they would make an exception for me. I’ll come back, even if I have to sneak away.” They smiled, but they didn’t reach their eyes. There was something very final about this goodbye, even with the promises made.

“Sylvi made sure to be busy today, didn’t she?” Maria joked with a dry chuckle, likely an attempt to change the subject. “She’s probably in some back alley, crying herself to death.”

“Have compassion, she’s losing her two favorite people in one day.” Lauryn’s sarcastic jab at you made you sigh and look away.

“I’m sure I won’t be missed in that regard. Besides, it’s probably for the best that we leave things as they were. Before all this.” You gestured to your packed bags.

Sounds of hoofs on the cobblestone brought everyone’s attention outside, where a carriage was pulling up to the entrance. The girls crowded the entryway, looking on to see if someone would step out of the carriage. When only a footman appeared in front of you, you had to swallow down the disappointment you felt at Aemond not being present to take you to the castle.

“My Lady, the Prince sends his deepest apologies that he could not be here himself to retrieve you. Urgent matters have kept him at the castle, but be assured, he is there awaiting your arrival. If I could grab your things.” The girls began lugging out your trunk. You’d not accumulated much over the years, and what you had, you couldn’t use in the keep. Most of what you were bringing were gifts from the other girls.

You’d thanked the footman for loading your luggage for you, and turned to say your final goodbyes to everyone before he helped you into the carriage.

“It won’t be long, ma’am.” He’d reassured you, and you’d nodded and smiled before settling into the seat as he closed the door and set off.

The ride hadn’t been long, though it had felt like an eternity. When you stopped to let the gates open, you’d considered jumping out and making a run for it, but you knew that was just jitters.

The carriage pulled in to the gates, and made its’ final stop, the footman stepping down and opening the door to let you out.

You immediately began searching for Aemond, but to your dismay he wasn’t there, only who you’d assumed to be Dowager Queen Alicent, and Queen Helaena. You walked to greet them, bowing as well as you’d remembered.

“It’s a shame your parents couldn’t be here with you. Aemond sent for them days ago, so they should arrive within the next few days.” Alicent’s voice was stressed, as if she carried the weight of the seven kingdoms on her shoulders, and you could tell she was not happy to be the one sent to greet you. “I’ll have a maid show you to your chambers, I’m sure you’ll want to prepare yourself for dinner.” You spoke before she could turn away.

“I had hoped to see Aemond.”

“Yes, well the prince is kept very busy around here, his brother, the king, keeps him close. Especially with the war coming, as you know Aemond is invaluable in our efforts.”

Something in her words told you she meant to say you’re here to keep Aemond happy. You nodded, showing the disappointment clearly on your face.

“He’ll find you before dinner, I’m sure.” She turned to walk away, stopping to order a maid, which you followed to your chambers.

The chambers were grand, as expected, but you were not overwhelmed by them. You were more concerned with your betrothed and his presence. Or absence, moreso. You’d been left to your devices, choosing to sit on a settee and twiddle your fingers, sigh, and huff in frustration. In reality, it had only been about half an hour before your door opened, revealing the one person you had been waiting to see.

“Aemond!” You jumped up from your seat, meeting him halfway and pulling him into a tight embrace. “You did not come to retrieve me this morning. You did not even greet me.”

“My apologies, my lady wife. The King has kept me very busy, I would’ve  put off your retrieval again so I could get you myself, but I could not wait to have you here.” He kissed your scalp, inhaling the scent curiously. “You smell nice, I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you.” He pulled away to hold your hands in his before leaning in for a kiss, which you happily reciprocated.

Aemond’s hands met your waist, pulling you against him and wrapping his arms around you to hold you close to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hands tangling with his snowy hair, and pulling him to deepen the kiss. Your lips moved in sync with one another, a display of passion and desire so strong it could stop the world. Your tongue reached out to meet his, rough and unlike his smooth lips, and you would’ve heard him groan if not for the sound of your heart thumping in your ears.

He pulled away to catch his breath, resting his forehead against yours and panting.

“I’ve missed you, too.” You smiled up at him, pulling away to sit on the soft bed. You patted the spot beside you, and he quickly joined at your side.

“The wedding is in two weeks, I’ve made the necessary arrangements, I hope you find it to your liking.”

“I don’t care what the wedding looks like, only the groom.” His lips turned up at that. “Your mother said my parents will be here soon, I can’t wait to see them again. Will there be many other guests?”

“Likely our allied houses, but they shouldn’t arrive for at least a week’s time. I’ve tried my best to clear my schedule after the wedding, but it seems the war is coming faster than any of us had anticipated. I had even thought to steal my bride away on Vhagar, even for a short while.”

“I understand, Aemond. You’re needed here.” Your words were meant to be reassuring, but the lilt in your voice betrayed you. “I had only hoped we’d have more time to know each other, and…to make up for the lost time.”

“We’ll do plenty of making up, don’t you worry.” His sly smirk sent a shiver down your spine, both of fear and desire. “My mother had requested to have you checked to see if you were still pure, but I assured her of your innocence. She did not believe me, of course, but she had dropped the matter. I think she is just happy for me.” He leaned in to place a soft kiss on your jawline, his large hand going to the nape of your neck, to massage the tight muscle, earning a grown from you. “I like that noise.” His kisses traveled down to your collarbone, and his hands began massaging your waist.

You were nervous to explore Aemond more than you already had. To explore anyone, really. You’d never even thought about what would happen on your wedding night, because you’d never considered you’d have a wedding night. Years of rejecting any sense of affection had left you uneducated in the personal ways of lovemaking. Of course you’d heard things, and even seen things, but that was just sex. You and Aemond were meant to make love, and sire heirs. How different was that from what you’d seen in the whorehouse? Did he expect you to have much experience because of where you’d been? He knew you were a virgin, but perhaps he thought they’d taught you things.

Your thoughts were beginning to blur as you felt him begin to push you back on the bed. You pulled away from him in a panic and stood, pacing away from the bed.

“Are you alright?” He was breathless and obviously a little taken aback by your sudden retreat, combing through his hair and rubbing his lips together.

“Yes! Yes, I am fine. I just think…” You scanned your brain for some reason that wouldn’t seem like rejection, finding none. “I am afraid, Aemond.”

“Of me.” He nodded in understanding.

“No! Gods, no. Of…well, yes, of you. But, not of you, of…you know…you.” You gestured towards his groin, unable to force the words out of your mouth. It was embarrassing to have lived among whores and not even be able to say the word sex, and even more embarrassing to have to explain your situation to Aemond, of all people, who you had met in a whorehouse. His chuckle only served to further your mortification. “Well, do not laugh! I am a lady, after all. I should not know of these things, or how to speak of them.”

“I mean no offense, my lady. Only that I had not expected such bashful demeanor from you. Especially after our night in your rooms.”

“That was just kissing. And I was…swept away, in your passionate words and gestures. This would be different, it would mean…well, I could get pregnant.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Now, or in two weeks' time, when we consummate our marriage. Either way, I’m happy to wait, lady wife. But you must not be so alluring in these coming weeks. You can hardly expect a man to resist you.” He stood from your bed, and stepped over to the settee in front of the fireplace. “Perhaps we should avoid the bed as well.”

“I was not being alluring, I was simply being myself. A woman should do that in front of her betrothed, so he knows she is a match.”

“Yourself is the most alluring thing you could be in my presence.” That struck you speechless, and you elected to just walk over to where he was sitting, too awkward to sit with him normally. “Perhaps a tour of the keep.” He sighed, standing up to guide you out of the room.

The next two days had passed rather dully, with Aemond holding you at an arm's length, and preferring to meet you in public. You’d been on walks, dined together, and made a few last minute wedding decisions for the upcoming nuptials.

You were sitting in the garden with Aemond when you heard the gates to the red keep begin opening. You could only assume it was your parents, as no other guests were set to arrive any day soon. You quickly rushed to welcome them, leaving the flowers you had been weaving on the ground along with Aemond, who rose to follow you.

Reuniting with your parents had been a dream, they had taken you into their arms and sobbed, as had you. Your mother had a few choice words about your disappearance, but understood the reasoning of a scared young girl. Besides, things had seemed to work themself out in the end.

You’d stayed with your parents all the way up until after dinner, when they both  showed signs of fatigue, at which point Aemond had elected to walk you to your chambers, taking deliberate slow steps to prolong the moment alone.

“Are you happy with your reunification?”

“Oh, Aemond, I don’t know how I could ever thank you. They’re just as I remember them, but so much more. I can tell how my leaving hurt them, and I don’t think we can ever get that time back. But now, thanks to you, they know I am well and safe. I am truly in your debt.”

“Consider it a wedding gift.” He had shrugged as you reached your doors. The guards immediately opened the door for you, and you stepped in slowly before turning back to him. “Might I come in? Just for a moment, there’s something I wanted to discuss about our wedding.”

He came in at your nod, the doors closing behind the two of you. You had began undoing your hair from the tight wound updo. Aemond had watched in silence for a while, until you reminded him of his needed discussion.

“I had been giving thought to our wedding night.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What of it?”

“Will you not find it difficult to bear a bedding ceremony?”

“Are those not outdated?”

“They’re tradition. My mother has been rather insistent on it.”

“But it is not your mother’s wedding, it is your wedding. Do you want a bedding ceremony?” As your hair was finally let down, you began brushing out the knots. Aemond had hummed in response to your question, causing you to sigh. “I do not wish to be subjected to the eyes of strangers on what is supposed to be our night together. I want to be alone with you, we so rarely are anymore.”

“That is because I find it hard to be near you and not want you.” You rolled your eyes. “My mother will put up a fight over the ceremony, she wants to know that you are still a maiden. If it’s not a bedding ceremony, it could be the maesters. I do not know which one you’d find more unpleasant.”

“I will not do either, Aemond. I have lived a very difficult life off the premise of my own autonomy, and I will not turn my back to it now. Your mother will have to see reason. Or perhaps you should tell her you’ve already had me.” He looked stunned at this.

“Why would you say that?”

“If she thinks you’ve already…defiled me, there’ll be no question of my maidenhood, and no way to know if I’ve only had you, or others, so checking will be fruitless.” I set my brush down and turned towards him from my vanity chair.

“You would have me dishonor your already sullied name?” He seemed offended even at the thought, his voice shaking.

“As you said, my name is already sullied, what difference will it make? They think I’m a whore, Aemond!” I stood from my vanity and walked to stand before him. “They wish to make a mockery of me with these invasions. They don’t want to reassure themselves, they want to confirm what they already believe. I am not good enough for them, and they want a reason to reject this union.” His jaw ticked and his head shook slightly at the thought.

“I won’t let them reject it.”

“And how would you stop them?” I asked sarcastically.

“We simply do the ceremony! It is a woman’s expectation to be pure for her husband, and you are marrying a prince. It’s sound reasoning to expect this.”

“Well, perhaps that is another reason I ran away in the first place!” I turned from him, but he grabbed my arm and forced me to turn back around.

“I do not want to fight with you about this.” He sighed. “If you truly will not have it, we’ll just have to figure something else out.”

“They won’t let us marry, Aemond, I told you this. It was a fool’s dream to think you would have your way in this.”

“I’ll marry you now. Tonight. We’ll sneak to the Godswood and get married in the old way. They’ll have to recognize it, especially if we consummate.”

“You really want to fuck me, don’t you?” The joke was ill-timed, and a sad attempt to break the tension.

“I want to marry you. And I shall. Let’s go.”

“Right now?”

“They’ll not expect it. By the time anyone notices we’ve left, it’ll be too late.”

“But who will marry us? Do the old ways not call for the head of your house to consent?”

“Aegon?” He snorted. “That piss-soaked sack is probably deep in his cups tonight. It will be nothing to convince him. I’ll get him, and meet you in the Godswood. Wait a bit after I leave, and pretend as though you’re on a walk to clear your head. I’ll be there under the heart tree, waiting.”

You did as Aemond bid, sitting in the settee for a short while, finishing brushing through your hair and electing to wear it down. Finally, you decided to head towards the Godswood.

The walk there was relatively short, so you paused outside the entrance to the Godswood and took a few deep breaths.

“It is quite cold tonight for King’s Landing, no?” The voice of your mother made you turn around quickly, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Mother! What are you doing out here?” The panic in your voice obviously raised suspicion.

“What are you doing out here? Unchaperoned, standing outside the Godswood?”

“I needed some air. Aemond and I had a fight, I needed to clear my head.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, so saying it only made you feel half as bad.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. His mother wants to force a bedding ceremony, but I don’t want one. Aemond says if I don’t do it, she’ll likely want a maester to confirm my maidenhood.”

“She questions your integrity?” She was obviously irked. “And what did Aemond say?” Her eyebrow quirked, and you could tell she already knew the answer, glancing into the Godswood before sighing.

“Mother…” You whispered.

“It’s not my place to tell you what you cannot do. If your Father knew…” She shook her head. “You are a woman grown now, and I can’t stop you if this is what you truly want to do.”

“It is. And I’m going to marry him anyways, this is just…a way for us to do it on our terms.”

“And will you forbid your mother from witnessing the union of her daughter?” You smiled, shaking your head and pulling her into a deep embrace.

@mamawiggers1980 @dahlias-and-marigolds @staarflowerr @aemondwhoresworld @uhnanix

[the-monstermash]

I'm having SO much trouble with this last chapter UGHHHH!!!!! I keep writing and deleting and starting over, there are just so many ways to tie everything up.

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I absolutely adores unbroken betrothals part 2. Can't wait for part 3. It's a beautiful series

Thank you so much! Y'all have no idea how much it means to have my work validated in these ways, it is so fulfilling and I'm so thankful. That said, part 3 is up now!

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS pt. 3

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language

Word Count: 2, 031

> A/N: Catch the corny tie-in at the end of the chapter. I think maybe one more chapter will wrap up this story.

You were in a bout of disbelief. You'd not left your room in days, taking your meals and guests in the rooms. Sylvi was obviously angry with you, because she’d said nothing about you not cooking. She likely had already hired a new cook to replace you, no doubt planning to kick you out the moment you stepped outside again. Where would you go? Back to the Riverlands was always an option, but you were afraid of what you might find if you returned.

How could you not be? Your entire life you had thought of your parents as betrayers. You'd thought they'd wished to sell you off to some disgusting man, to rid themselves of the burden of you. In reality, what choice had they truly had? To reject the king would be dishonorable, not to mention impossible. They would’ve had to respond immediately, to agree in your stead.

How could you ever think so lowly of them? They'd given you so much love in your youth, how would they ever do something so cruel if they'd had the choice not to? Were they heartbroken at the loss of a daughter? Did they think you dead? Or did they accept that you just didn't want to be with them anymore, and you'd left for a better life. Were they still looking for you? You didn't know which was worse.

And then there was Aemond.

Why had he cared so much? You were of no great house, and your marriage would be of no benefit to him. Your running away should've been to his relief, not his anger. Then, for him to track you down, and push his intentions on you. What was the purpose?

The knock on the door did not make you rise from the bed as it would've a week ago, and you did not call to the visitor like you would've a week ago. Instead, you waited for whoever it was to either let themselves in, or go away. You'd be happy with either one.

The creak of the solid door told you they'd chosen the former.

"Are you awake?" Lauryn's voice pulled a sigh from you. 

She'd come with more questions, or to gossip about what was happening outside of your room.

"If I was not before, your presence has brought me a sense of invigoration." You smiled sadly, patting the bed for her to enter.

She stepped inside the room, but did not cross the distance. Her absence in the door frame was filled with another. A much taller, blonder, guest, that put much more dread in you than she had.

"Lauryn, what is this?" You sat up, crossing your arms and pulling the blankets up to cover your nightclothes. He stepped into the center of the room, hands behind his back, looking around to take in the sight.

"He's demanded to see you." We can not deny him, is what she said with her eyes. You nodded at her and she quickly fled the room, closing the door behind her.

The silence was not comfortable, nor was it unwelcome. You knew if he spoke, it would be about the betrothal, and that would make you think of your family, and you would be back to worrying for your dear family and how they were fairing. You felt so vulnerable, wrapped up in your blankets and nightclothes before him, all alone.

"My prince, you wanted to see me?" You propped your knees to your chest, sure you looked like a big pile of sheets with a head on top to him.

"I wanted to see you were well." He finally took his eyes off your meager decorations, and looked at you. "Have you had any more spells?" You shook your head.

"I'm quite well."

"And have you thought any more of my words?" You sighed, exasperated, but relenting to the fact that he simply would not let this go.

"Of course I have. It's all I've thought about, holed up in this room. That, and where I'll go once Sylvi casts me from my home. Because of you." You wanted to yell, but you just did not have the energy.

"Me?"

"If you'd just accepted my answer, she would have gotten past it. But you pursued, and chased, and you would not relent."

"I'd relented the first time you rejected me, how many rejections did you expect I would take?"

"Relenting would've been leaving me be, not seeking me out here when you knew I was content."

"I did not come here for you, you happened to be here." You rolled your eyes.

"I *happened* to be in a kitchen, hidden away from everyone where *you* found me in search of 'wine’? There was wine everywhere up front, it is a whore house! You knew I was here, and you found me, because you could not accept the rejection. You sought me out, you said so yourself." He blanched at you repeating his words to him. Perhaps he thought you did not remember your last conversation.

"So I sought you out. What is the crime in it? You were my betrothed, and I would not have you running about the world any longer. I demand to know why you rejected me so long ago, and why you reject me now. I am more than suitable for you, and you should have been proud to serv-"

"I did not know it was you!" You silenced him with your yell. "I did not run away from marrying you, I ran away...because I thought my parents were to send me off to some gray man I did not know, and force me to wed him, and I would spend my whole life with some old Lord who did not love me, and I would never live! I was a child, and I was afraid, Aemond."

He was silent for a moment, before sighing and coming to sit at the edge of your bed.

"And why do you refuse me now?"

"I guess I thought if I married you, then I might as well have married the first man. It would've saved me a lot of trouble, and made my family proud, at the very least." He nodded at that and looked away. "Why do you want me so badly?"

He tilted his head, thinking for a second before shrugging his shoulders. You scoffed at that and stretched your legs to leave room for your crossed arms, not believing that he was just pointlessly pursuing you.

"I've had enough rejection for one lifetime. I'll not have any more." It was a simple answer, and given the past you knew of him, you supposed it made sense. He'd been refused a dragon, friends, a father, a crown. You could see how when you, a simple girl from nowhere, rejected him, it might have confounded him, and tipped him over the edge. He seemed deep in thought, or perhaps deep in memory, and before your eyes you saw him regress into the young boy he'd been, when all he knew was hurt and rejection.

In a way, you pitied Aemond. He had led a sad life, but he'd also led a privileged life. and that privileged life often made people overlook the hurt he'd faced as a child. He was a prince, and that made him revered and respected in many aspects, but he was also a scared, hurt little boy, with no respect from his peers and no one to truly turn to.

"I suppose I can understand that." He turned to you, his lips turning up in acknowledgement before he gently laid his head in your lap.

It surprised you, though it shouldn't have. He was desperate for appreciation and affection. That was why he was here, after all, begging you to reconsider marriage to him.

You had reconsidered it over these past few days. You'd thought it over in a hundred different ways, and truthfully, without the added angst of your parental situation, you really had no reason to say no to his proposal. He was a perfectly respectable husband, and with his doting nature, you'd thought he'd treat you quite well. You could see yourself content with him, if not happy.

"I suppose marriage wouldn't be so bad if my husband were agreeable." You gently found yourself petting his hair, making him close his eye.

"Hm." Was his simple answer, a hum of content, yet it prompted you to elaborate.

"He would have to be kind, of course. And perhaps handsome, though not superficial. I would like him to be strong, and brave. Though, not to the point of recklessness. Perhaps a Stark." You looked down at him with a playful smile, and he responded with a chortle. "You're right, I do hate the cold." You scratched at his scalp.

"You'll make an exceptional wife, and I'll make you happy." He turned onto his back so he was looking up at you, his soft eyes gazing up at you.

He truly was beautiful. His features were in total opposition, his long, soft hair, sharp jaw, and sweet eyes all combined to make a statuesque deity laid before you. His hair was almost pearlescent in the way the fire flickered across him, changing the hues in a second, and blending in oranges and reds and magnificent  yellows.

You could not think of a way to tell him you were conceding, and he'd finally won. You just smiled down at him and nodded.

"I need to see my parents." Your voice broke at the mere idea, and he nodded immediately, sitting up and turning to hold your face.

"I'll see it's done. We'll call them to King's Landing."

"Thank you, Aemond.”

He tilted himself just slightly, enough for you to understand what he was asking for. You leaned in enough to meet your lips to his in a soft and gentle kiss. You rest your hand on his jaw, and the other on his chest. He pushed himself against you more to deepen the kiss, pushing you back onto your hands.

His kiss was desperate, and held an air of pure satisfaction. It was not overly rushed, but deep and passionate. You could feel him pour his soul into it, like a beautiful piece of poetry. Every suckle was a sonnet, every sigh a sestina. He pulled your body to his, and it was a haiku, consisting of syllables only spoken in physical language. And you hung onto every single word.

You pulled away for air, but he didn't let you get far, holding his hand to the back of your head, your forehead pressed against his. Your bodies still moved in sync, rising and falling with breath, slowly calming yourselves back down.

"We'll marry as soon as your parents arrive. The very same day."

"Shouldn't you ask the king? I’m sure your family won’t relish  the thought of a prince marrying a common cook. You could marry at a much higher advantage for the war."

"There is nothing common about you. And besides, my father already approved the marriage all those years ago. My brother won't deny me." You nodded.

"I'll see you again? Before the wedding? Promise you'll come see me." He raised his eyebrow at that, clearly confused about something you'd said.

"You're coming to the castle with me, are you not, my Lady?" The title made you chew your lip, you had not heard it in a very long time. “I’ll not have my wife sleep in a brothel any longer, I’ve suffered it long enough.”

“This brothel is my home, and you’ve had no trouble turning in a night or two if I remember correctly. Besides, I wouldn’t want to offend your family by assuming I was welcome. You should confirm the betrothal first with the king.” He sighed and turned away, but came up with no argument.

“I’ll be back for you, in a week’s time-at most. Say your goodbyes, pack your things. Prepare to be a princess of the seven kingdoms.” He stood and leaned for one last kiss.

“I’ll be waiting, my prince.”

And with one more lasting stroke of your cheek, he left to unbreak the betrothal you’d abandoned so long ago.

@mamawiggers1980 @dahlias-and-marigolds @starrflowerr @aemondwhoresworld

[the-monstermash]

I had planned to post tonight Tumblr is not letting me post part 3 for some reason, so we'll try again tomorrow!! So sorry to everyone but I'll try to have it up tomorrow evening!!

[the-monstermash]

Blessed by the Gods

fancast!Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Summary: You, the only daughter of Amos Bracken, had just been offered away in marriage to a man much older than you, and in the hopes of having some peace and quiet for you to express your anguish towards the Gods that allowed this, you go to a place you found a couple months ago - a beautiful clearing with flowers scattered around and a weirwood tree in the middle. You knew it was risky, as you'd seen him there before, but in a moment of distraction Benjicot Blackwood found you and now you must suffer the consequences.

Warnings: 18+, enemies to lovers, a little fluf (veeery little), kinda dom x sub, swearing, hunting (it's basicaly it but I don't know if there's another term for it, when you read you'll know), smut, porn with (very) little plot, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, praising kink.

Authors note: Heyy, so this is my very first time posting something I wrote (I do write a lot but mostly I get stuck and end up not finishing it) because I'm OBCESSED with Kieran Burton since I saw him in the goddamn teaser, plus I've been reading plenty of fanfics of him and two of them particularly inspired me for this (I'm sorry, I don't remember the names or the authors to tag them). Last but not least, English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

You should hate him. You should’ve never been in that place, for you knew it was Blackwood territory, and should’ve heard him getting closer before. But you didn’t. You knew he went there frequently and if he saw you in the golden dress you wore in that particular place, he would definitely tell you to go back to your lands, but not without some provocation first. But that weirwood tree was so beautiful even if hidden in the middle of the woods, the flowers that bloom around it were so unique that you had to go there and admire them in a way to flee from the confinements of Stone Hedge. Or you told yourself that this was the reason you went there.

You found it the first time by accident. You had got lost in the woods, no track of a clearing nearby for you to situate yourself, when you saw the red leaves and decided to get near, for you knew that the weirwood roots extended long through the floor – making itself exclusive for a few yards in its radium – and you would be able to see the sky without the treetops being on your way. When you got there, though, the place was so gorgeous you could not leave right away.

After that, you tried to memorize as much of the path you could and return to that same place for moments of peace. That was until one day you heard footsteps – of one person it seemed – and you hushed to hide away. Moments later, hidden behind some bushes, you saw when no other than Benjicot Blackwood appeared through another end of the clearing where, you didn’t notice before, had a small trail that probably led straight to Raventree Hall.

Bloody Ben. Lord Blackwood. Lord of the house you were supposed to hate, and yet you found him so extremely gorgeous. You’d saw him only a few times. On Riverrun where your families sometimes were called by their Paramount Lord or near the stream that divided their lands, often arguing with your cousin in the company of a few others of his House and a few times you ended up being the victim, getting back home after slapping him across his face with his obscene remarks or just leaving after outsmarting the man – for the second you took much pride in.

On some of the times you’d been on the clearing you ended up having to hide when hearing his footsteps and waiting for him to leave before you could move. He’d mostly sit in one of the roots of the old tree and do whatever he felt like doing at the moment. You’d seen him reading, cleaning his sword, crafting some arrows and doing nothing at all, but he always stayed for about two hours before finally leaving.

Today however, probably because you were stressed with the news of your arranged marriage, you didn’t hear him getting close. When he saw your dress, the colour of your house shining through the rays of sunshine, a smirk crept in his face with the ideas he had in mind.

He knew it was wrong, hideous, the idea of wanting anything that came with the red stallion in a golden shield, your House’s coat of arms. He knew that from any woman he could want, you should not be a possibility. But with your hair that finished around your hips and a face that looked like a gift from the Gods, allied with your wits and challenging manner, he could not lie to himself that more than once he woke up in the middle of the night hot and bothered after a much-detailed dream about you – and eventually would handle his hardness with the thought of defiling you and making you his.

What he didn’t know, and you tried to deny it as much as you could, was that you also had conflicting thoughts about him. Since the first time you’d saw him in Riverrun, his face showing a mischievous glow with a smirk on his lips as your family entered the room, you fought with your own body as your heart raced and your cheeks burned in his presence. You hated the way he mocked your cousin and told you the lousiest of things, his lascivious expression making you hot and bothered as well, and you hated that every time you saw him, you knew that at the end of the day you would toss and turn for hours trying to erase his face from your mind.

You told yourself it was just because he was the only one who didn't walk on eggshells when talking to you – or anyone for that matter – and because you liked the challenge, but deep down you knew that your feelings for him were far from hatred, and the idea of trying to find out the true meaning of them scared you.

“Gods, have I done anything to anger you so that I’m faded to marry Forrester Frey? I would do anything, please!” You asked to the faced weirwood tree, knowing you’d have no answer but desperate enough to look like a crazy woman who talks to a tree by yourself. What you did not know was that someone did hear you.

Benjicot took his blade from his waist, taking extra care to not be heard, and when he got close enough to you, he acted quickly, one arm holding your body – your arms entrapped – and the one with the blade stopping on your neck.

“My, my, look what we have in here, a lost Bracken broodmare, far away from home” Her breath got caught up on her throat with the feeling of the cold blade on her skin and her heart jumped on her chest with his body pressed against her back and his voice so close to her ear “Good thing that I found you before any other predator did, huh?”

“Let me go, please!!” You pleaded, pure panic spilling from your voice, and Benji almost moaned – he had no idea that having you pressed against his body in panic would arouse him that much “Oh no, my darling, I could not do such a thing. You just committed a crime, you see, for you are far away from your father’s lands and what fair lord would I be if I do not punish criminals like you?”

“Please, I’ll vanish from your sight in less than a minute and no one will know about this, okay? Just please, let me go!!” Your eyes were burning with unshed tears with the thought of the possible punishment he had in mind, and you didn’t stay still, moving your body in an attempt to free yourself from him even if useless, as he was taller and way stronger.

“No, no, no, my darling, I could not possibly do that, your Bracken lord can play blind on your actions, but I am a serious ruler and punish all criminals as their crimes demand” He tightened his grip on your body, his fingers pressing harder against the clothed skin of your waist, and as he continually pressed on you, a warm feeling cursed through you until it reached in between your thighs “But what punishment would be enough? Thieves, who take things that don't belong to them, have their hands cut off. Murderers, who take lives that do not belong to them, pay with their own lives. Now you, who committed invasion of lands that don’t belong to you, what could I possibly do to punish you correctly?”

Once again you pleaded, ‘please’ sounding like a repeated prayer on your lips as he inhaled the sweet smell of your hair “I could not invade your father’s lands, or I would be committing a crime of my own” He stated as if he did not listen to your pleads and when he spoke again, his voice was huskier and low like a whisper “But I could invade your territory myself”

You hated yourself for how your body reacted to his words, your thighs squeezing together when you felt the heat on your lower belly grow, and hated even more that a side of you wanted him to go ahead with his threat full of mischievous intentions. Him, on the other hand, was more than pleased to hold you that way, his front fully in contact against your behind and his groin pressed against your back.

“Please, Benjicot, lord Blackwood, please” You repeated and started struggling even more when you felt his hard cock pressed against your back, trying to move away “Please, please! What, my lady, do you want me to do?” He mocked, repeating what you said in a higher pitch, as his hand with the knife left your throat and went to your hip “You want me to be gentle?”

Another wave of heat made you close your eyes for a second, a hard sigh leaving your lips and you didn’t answer. He laughed when he heard you “This is supposed to be a punishment, but I’ll make an exception if you behave” He said, his breath hot against your ear as the hand on your hip went further down and grabbed the skirt of your dress, pulling it up.

Your neck now free from the threat of his blade, an idea came to your mind. You were not sure if it would work, but it was your only hope, so you took it. Bending your head forward to gain some impulse, you took a deep breath – bracing yourself for the upcoming pain – and shook your head back with all your strength, hitting his head on the side.

Benjicot, surprised with what had just happened and with his head pulsating, faltered his grip on you long enough for you to get rid of his arm around you and start running, your head spinning and your vision still blurry from the blow. You felt and heard when the skirt of your dress ripped, before the other man’s hand lost its grip on the fabric, but you didn’t turn around to check the damage.

With your vision still recovering and the pulsing pain in your head, you headed to the woods, still not sure if you followed the right path, only caring about getting as far of him as possible. Benjicot, on the other hand, quickly recovered from the dizziness, the pain easily subsiding, and he growled before following you, euphoric and feeling his blood rush through his body straight to his cock with the expectation of hunting you down.

You ran as fast as you could, your breathing burning in your lungs and your legs aching, and tried to dodge the trees and bushes in your way. Even with all your efforts, you heard his steps and breathing not that far away, and fear crept inside you, being the one thing that prevented you from collapsing in that moment.

He knew those woods like his own chambers – losing track of how many times he went there to hunt, explore, have a moment of peace or take out his anger on the trees – and he had the advantage of being taller than you, his muscles trained for endurance in the battlefields, so even if you ran with all your strength, it would still be easy enough for him to reach you.

“Bracken!! Do not think you can run away from your punishment, you’re still on my lands” Your step became unsteady when his voice seemed closer than you imagined and after tripping over a tree root, you couldn't keep your balance, ending up falling with your body and arms protecting you from ending face first into the grass.

As you were turning to place your hands on the ground and help you stand, you heard a twig cracking right behind you and soon enough his voice made you turn your head “Poor mare, doesn’t know her way home, but don’t worry, I’ll show you when I finish your punishment if you want”

You tried to turn yourself so you could stand back up, but before you could do anything, he caught your ankle and pulled you closer, turning you to face him “No, no my darling, you’re not escaping me again, now come here, the quicker it starts, the quicker it finishes, if you want... or you could just enjoy it”

“No, no, no!!” You repeated like a prayer and when he positioned himself between your legs, you started to punch and scratch at his chest, face and arms “Calm down, I think I was mistaken, for you are not a mare but a kitten, but no need to show your claws. I know I said that I would be gentle if you behaved and you didn’t, but I do have a soft spot for beautiful girls like you”

Quickly enough, as if your efforts meant nothing, Benjicot grabbed both your wrists and held them above your head, leaning his body closer to yours – his groin pressing against the middle of your thighs and his mouth just a few inches away, his breath hitting your face.

“You know what surprised me about your behaviour just now?” He asked, looking at your eyes, before he kissed your jaw and a hand went to your ankle “Because every time I see you, be in the Tully’s assize or the boundary, you are always looking at me so needy that makes me want to fuck you right there”

He left open-mouthed kisses through your neck as you felt the hairs on your nape stand and his hand began to move up your leg through the fabric of your dress “So why now are you pretending you do not want this?” He moved his hips forward, his hardness pressing against your clothed folds, and you didn’t have the strength to hold a moan.

“Be-because I don’t! You Blackwoods are just so ugly that I’m surprised to see something like that in the middle of a crowd” You spat, trying to regain some of your pride, but he chuckled, lifting his head with a smirk.

“Act all you can, kitten, but that moan just annulled everything you said, you know” His hand now was in your inner thigh and as he stopped talking, his calloused fingers went straight to your folds. You bit the inside of your cheeks to hold your voice and furrowed your brows, but he still looked almost amused at your efforts.

“Fuck you” You twisted in his grip but could not move enough to escape his touch and he took the chance to move his index finger through your folds, watching as you closed your eyes and your hips grounded into his touch “Oh, my lady, deny it as much as you want, but your body will remain true to its desires”

His smirk grew wider, his tongue sliding through his teeth, as his thumb found your clit and he watched in pleasure as you clenched your jaw and your legs opened wider for him. He circled your bundle of nerves with his thumb while his middle finger slid down your folds, reaching your entrance, and didn’t waste the opportunity to shove his finger inside you to the point where only his last knuckle was visible outside.

You moaned loudly, having been caught off guard, and your walls tightened around his finger “Fuck, you’re so tight, it’ll feel delicious around my cock” Benjicot started moving his finger, almost completely withdrawing before plunging it back inside, while still rubbing his thumb through your clit, and soon enough you were a mess, your thoughts fogged with the pleasure his hand was giving you.

You didn’t even notice when his hand let go of your wrists, too caught up on the feeling of his finger inside you and his pace growing faster by the second, as you fought against the undeniable pleasure you were feeling, and when he curled up his digit inside you, the thin string of pride you hung yourself by collapsed, giving in to the urge of your feelings and enjoy as he claimed you.

“M-more, please” You whispered, completely giving in to the ache of your heart. That was why you could not stray your eyes from him at every assize, that was why you would walk too close to the boundary and why you would come all the way from Stone Hedge to that specific clearing with that specific weirwood tree.

Your heart wanted him and there was no denying it, not anymore, not when his middle finger curled inside you so deliciously that made you see stars through your eyelids and not when you caught a glimpse of him and he looked at you like a starved man “Say again, kitten? I didn’t hear you” He teased, thinking you had yet again tried to deny your wishes.

“More, please, Benjicot” You said before you moaned again, your eyes fully opening now with your brows furrowed in pleasure, and for a second he wished he had a portrait painted of you like this. He pushed another finger inside, his pace now relentless with his cock throbbing through his breeches, and with his free hand he grasped the front of your dress, tearing the fabric to expose your full breasts.

“Stopped putting up a fight now, kitten? But this is not a treat, this is a punishment” He said as he curled both his fingers inside you once again before completely withdrawing from your wet cunt. He lifted the fingers that were on you seconds ago and looked at them, making a disapproving sound with his tongue “Just look at that, look at the mess you made on my fingers, huh?”

He tapped at your lower lip with his wet fingers, the smell of yourself arousing you even more “Now be a good girl and open up” And you did as he said. You closed your lips around his fingers as you felt them press at your tongue and moaned as you tasted yourself “Clean them”

You ignored the smug smirk on his lips, knowing he was enjoying bossing you around more than anything, and hollowed your cheeks sucking on his calloused digits. Now it was his turn to let out a pleased groan and when you looked at his eyes his pupils were blown, his irises darker, what almost made you moan on his fingers again.

“I’ve heard you back there by the weirwood tree, your cunt of a father wants to sell you to that old Frey?” Benjicot retreated his fingers from your mouth and ran them down your chin, your saliva running through your skin as he slowly traced a way through your neck and collarbones until he reached one of your breasts, both his digits circling your already pointy nipple as he watched your velvety skin under his touch, his smirk had gone away from his face “That old dog deserves not even a piece of you”

You felt your heart skip a beat with his words, trying not to conclude anything for he had not confirmed yet “But soon enough he won’t be a problem, don’t worry kitten” He twisted your nipple between his index and thumb, trying to calm down his anger with the thought of Forrester Frey being anywhere near you, before you asked “How?”

“Because after I finish with your punishment, no man will take you as their wife” He pinched your nipple and you moaned again, the threat mixed with his ministrations and the dark expression in his face being almost too much.

The Blackwood lord moved his other hand to the laces of his breeches, undoing them while still stimulating your breast, and your breath hitched on your throat as you looked down, fixed on his slender fingers dealing with the strings, seeing as it became loose around his hips before he had to let go of your breast to get rid of the fabric that covered his lower part.

As he took off his breeches he came back to his position between your legs, your thighs on top of his, and his smirk placed itself back on his face as he watched your eyes widen with the sight of his bare hard cock.

“You’re- this is-, you are so big” You let out, shock and want on your face as he pushed your dress up, revealing your glistening cunt to him “I know, kitten, but do not worry, it will fit” You lifted your gaze from his hips to his eyes, finding him already staring back at you, and all you could think was that you wanted him more than anything in the world.

He placed both hands on your hips, bringing you closer, and grabbed him in his hand to slide through your folds, collecting as much of your juices as he could. He wanted you, desperately, he wanted to completely fill you with his length and fuck you mercilessly until all he heard was your screams of pleasure, he wanted to ruin you to any other man and to have only you for the rest of his fucking life.

And so, with the promise of punishing you in his head, he shoved his cock all the way inside you in one thrust, leaving you gasping, your mouth opened and your eyes closed, the stretch and pain of your first time almost bringing you to tears. He had never experienced something like this before – as his previous experiences had been with whores – and didn’t even dare to move, your cunt gripping him so tightly he thought that if he moved at that moment he would cum on the spot.

As he noticed your eyes closed, he pinched your nipple “Open your eyes, kitten, I want to look at your beautiful eyes” You sighed before opening them and when you did, he noticed the tears you tried not to spill. That made something snap inside him, breaking all the will he had to hurt and punish you, and he bended down to meet your face, his breath on your face and his eyes on your lips.

“As soon as I saw you there, next to the weirwood tree, all I wanted to do was to hurt you, make you regret stepping on Blackwood territory on that golden dress of yours, but it’s rather difficult to focus with that pretty face” One of his forearms was keeping him steady as his free hand came to your breasts, the feeling of your soft skin on his calloused fingers almost making him moan “Go on, tell me how you hate me, fight me, tell me how you are disgusted by me, so I can focus on punishing you”

A moan. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but all you could do was moan and it went straight to his cock, throbbing inside your warm and tight walls, still not moving. As he glanced up, he met your teary eyes and opened mouth in an erotic portrait, he growled as he let go of the rest of his resistance and crashed his lips against yours in a desperate kiss. As your mouth was already agape when he did it, his tongue easily slipped inside and found yours, and you reached for the back of his head, your fingers curling on his black hair.

As he kissed you hungrily, he started moving, his cock almost leaving you entirely before pushing himself back inside, and the sensation of being full of him was so good that you could not control your moans. As he felt the vibrations coming from your mouth, Benjicot squeezed your breast hard and you were sure that would leave a mark – but you couldn’t care less.

As his pace grew a little faster, the pure pleasure replacing the pain of the stretch each time his hips met yours, he let go of your lips, glaring at your face with the squirms and sighs you let out. Even if his dreams were vivid, nothing would compare to having you like this – a mess of fabric, hair and red bruised lips – at the moment, the feeling of your walls always so tight around him and your soft skin on his hand made him grunt.

Your eyes went to his on that exact moment and you could swear that your walls squeezed around him at the sound. He placed his face on the crook of your neck as he started biting and placing kisses to the skin as a way to mark you, and started going down through your collarbone to the front of your chest before placing his lips to the nipple that wasn’t being stimulated.

The wet noises of skin slapping against skin and the feeling of both your nipples being teased made your eyes roll back in pleasure and now you didn’t even try to muffle your sounds anymore “Such a noisy kitten, taking me so well” He praised, lifting his head from your chest, and held your hips with both his hands, so strong that you now worried that you’d get bruises all over your body “You should be mine and not that Frey cunt”

With his firm grip on your hips, he pressed deeper into you, your back arching from the ground and trying to keep up with his movements “Please... Benji” Two of the only three words that you could pronounce at the moment – the third one being more – too caught up with pleasure to form a coherent phrase, and Benji laughed at that, full of pride for making the so beautiful and correct daughter of Amos Bracken look like a common whore “Do you want to be mine, kitten? Mine to fuck and use as I please?”

His words aroused you even more, his hoarse voice sending waves of heat straight to your cunt, and you tried to nod your head in affirmation, because that seemed like the only thing you could do at the moment “Use your words, kitten, I know you can do it” He moved one of his hands so he could brush past your clit and that made you gasp.

“Y-yes please, I want you, I want you Benji” As she nearly screamed, the man felt satisfied, his hunger for you only getting bigger with the way you moved your hips in time with his, your face making the most erotic expressions as your moans and repeated words sounded like an exclusive prayer for him.

“I’m going to fuck a baby in you, fill you with my seed so much you’ll be leaking for days, so your bloody father won’t have an excuse but to marry you to me” He grunted in between his words, moving faster and deeper as he assaulted your clit, and you started feeling a knot form inside of you, the pleasure becoming almost too much “Please, please” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, but only wanting this to never end.

“Yeah? Do you want to be my wife? To have your Bracken womb filled with Blackwood children? Your cunt to be used by a Blackwood cock? Is that what you want?” He leaned in, one of his hand still giving you pleasure, his head once again going to the crook of your neck as he grasped at your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he moved you so you could wrap your leg around his waist, and he heard you when you weakly repeated “Yesyesyes”

“So I’ll make sure you get until the last drop of my seed to, soon enough, you be swelling with my babe” He whispered into your ear as he pressed further to your clit and his pace soon enough was so fast you thought he would break you. Your moans got louder as you wrapped both your legs around his waist, the knot on your lower abdomen about to snap, and he looked at you before whispering “Go on, cum for me, kitten”

And that’s when it happened. The knot snapped within you as you flooded with pleasure, your whole body spasming as your walls grew impossibly tighter around him, milking him, and with just a few more thrusts he shoved himself as deep as he could inside you before he shot his load straight to your core, coating your womb. As he started coming down from his high, he captured your lips in a sloppy kiss and let most of his weight on top of you, which you didn’t care as his warmth and his skin on yours was all you wanted at the moment.

You let out a dissatisfied grunt as he removed his softening cock from your cunt, some of his seed spilling from you, and lied to your side, pulling you to his embrace “Did you really mean it? Marrying me?”

“Yes” You said, the warmth spreading across your face “Well, you filled me with your seed and the possibility of me getting pregnant is almost certain now. Marrying you is the right thing to do” You tried to be cautious with your words, but for the love of the Gods, he had just fucked you in the middle of the woods, caution was one thing you had abandoned long ago “Okay, I admit that since I first saw you in the assize I haven’t been able to remove you from my thoughts and I dreaded the day that the news of your possible engagement would come.”

You took a breath before finishing “We have nothing to do with each other, our families fucking hate one another, but every time I got inside Riverrun fortress, I hoped you’d be there” You said, absently moving your fingers through the skin of his chest, but did not dare to meet his gaze, for you were now as embarrassed as you could be.

“I am glad to hear that, for I have almost the exact same feelings as you. I ached for being able to get closer to you at the assize and to kiss you when I saw you standing next to the boundary. I almost went to Kermit Tully to ask him to propose a betrothal between us” He answered, his hand on the back of your head caressing through your hair. You lifted your head from his chest, his words making your heart flutter, and he leaned his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss, both your and his feelings pouring down into each other.

“But I must stop you from going straight to my father, for he would kill you before you would be able to ask to see him” One of your hands went to his cheek as you parted to breathe, only now noticing you left nail marks there, and stroke his skin.

“Oh, I do know that, for I would never take you back to Stone Hedge with your dress like this” He laughed when he saw your eyes widen at his words, remembering now of the tore skirt and bust of your dress, and quickly added “I’ll give you my cloak and we’ll go to Raventree Hall for you to change, after that we’ll go straight to Riverrun and ask Lord Tully to bless our union, for your father would never go against an order of his Lord Paramount”

“That sounds like a solid plan, not that bad for a Blackwood” You teased and he smirked “And you were not that bad for a Bracken” You gasped in false shock at his words, lightly slapping his shoulder, and he laughed “It will surely be good to have you as my wife, a good way to keep things interesting”

“I hope so, you Blackwoods are not usually that fun though” You bit your lower lip as you’d seen him arch his brows “Well, it depends on what fun you’re talking about, because at least in one kind of ‘fun’ I exceed expectations and you just proved it right”

"Shut up!" You exclaimed and he turned you again before kissing you.

“Don’t need to ask twice, my lady” He said and you kissed him again.

It could have not been the way you expected it to go, but one thing you could say: the Gods did grant you a way to free yourself from a marriage with someone twice your age, still uniting two people together, in hopes of a prosperous – and maybe more peaceful – future ahead.

So that's it! As I wrote it mainly for the smut part (oh god, what a good first impression) the plot part may be a little off, I'm sorry. Please, feel free to leave a note if you guys liked it and maybe soon I post another, a series this time.

[the-monstermash]

Unbroken betrothals is soooo good. I was wondering if you would do a part 2.

Part 2 up now! It's a little long, I wanted to make it two parts, but I couldn't find a good spot to break the story up so enjoy the long post!

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS pt. 2

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language

Word Count: 3,754

A/N: I’ve been contemplating cutting this into two parts all day, but fuck it we die like men

The next moons were spent silently. Perhaps the entire situation had blown over, with Aemond taking the refusal as it was, and moving on to the next, or perhaps staying with Sylvi. Maybe that was for the best, as it would keep all the other girls housed.

The brothel had been closed for the day, the recent event had been enough for many businesses to close their doors. A war had been declared with the murder or Jehaerys, and with the dragons looming in the sky, it promised to be bloody. Of course, special allowances were made for soldiers and high-born, a back alley entrance just as suiting as a grand one when desperation calls.

Today was particularly slow, many lords stuck in meetings and soldiers in training yards. The girls took to mostly laying around, sipping wine and eating cheeses while they joked and told old stories.

"Where would you be, if not here in this brothel? If you'd taken a different path, made a different decision, what would you be doing right now?" Someone had asked, and after a contemplative silence, finally people began to speak up.

"In another brothel, perhaps." Earned many laughs.

"I'd be married to some disgusting old man, I'm sure of it. Fucked full of halfwit babes and barely surviving." You'd spoken up. "I heard my parent arguing in the night about a proposal they'd received from King's Landing. I knew it must've been some old Lord, looking to perverse himself on a young girl. That was the night I'd left."

"You ran to King's Landing to escape a life in King's Landing?" Maria questioned flatly.

"It was the last place I thought they'd look. And if they did look, they'd never find me, hidden in a whore house." The girls laughed and shared their own answers before moving on to a new topic.

The conversation was cut briefly to a halt when the door was heard slamming shut. All heads turned in time to see the curtain move and reveal none other than Prince Aemond himself. His eye scanned the room silently, lingering a moment more when he found me. I turned away and sighed, looking to the ground. Another girl jumped up and quickly ran to fetch Sylvi.

"Your highness, we did not expect your patronage this evening." Lauryn spoke up, laid on her side on one of the sofas we all surrounded. Mischief twinkled in her eyes as she met your gaze for a second before looking back to him. "Have you come for Sylvi? Or have you come for something...fresh." The other girls giggled. "New, perhaps? I would be more than happy to make a suggestion."

"Girls, do not tease our prince. It's very rude." A girl sighed and shook her head. "Will you please show Prince Aemond to Sylvi's rooms?"

The room fell silent as everyone looked to me. To refuse in front of him could be seen as disrespectful, and in a time of such uncertainty with the royal family, it would not do to test his standing. Especially with the almost forgotten history between you, that you would much rather pretend doesn't exist. If you were the one to guide him to Sylvi's room, however, it would not bode well with her.

"I think Lina had gone to fetch her, she should be here any moment." Maria spoke up, sensing your discomfort.

"I require her now, I do not have much time." Aemond finally spoke, hands clipped behind his back, and eyes unwavering. "Take me to her."

You sighed and moved to stand, dusting your hands off on your thighs and giving the girls a lasting glare that had them avoiding eye contact.

"Your highness." You mumbled as you passed him and headed towards the hallway. You did not hear him follow you, but you felt his presence, and gaze, burning into your back. You were quick to make your way to Sylvi's room, knocking and announcing your visitor.

"Surely she is here, I do not remember her mentioning any errands." You turned at her knob, to find it locked, a sure sign that she was out at the moment.

You were alone with him much to your chagrin, and his pleasure, you were sure. It had almost seemed like a setup, if not for the impossibility that Sylvi would ever agree to it. You had to admit, it was all rather flattering, the feeling of his eyes trailing your body in desire, but you could not entertain him.

"She is not in, your grace. I can leave a message for you, or I can see to her whereabouts, if the matter is urgent." You turned around to him, but did not look him in the eye, not wanting him to see anything more in your gaze than there was.

He was silent, looking at the door as if expecting Sylvi to manifest at any moment. Your eyes began darting about the hallway, looking for an out so you could get away from him and go about your business, particularly somewhere with witnesses.

"Your highness." You murmured the words to remind him of where you were, standing in a hallway in complete silence with no task at hand, and no end in sight. He still did not respond, only not he stared at your face, his eyes soft, but unnerving all the same.

"If you'll excuse me." you moved to pass him, but he grabbed your arm and placed himself in front of the exit, blocking you from leaving. 

The action stirred something in you, though you weren't sure if it was fear or desire. Aemond was handsome, you had to admit, but knowing who he was and what desiring him would mean for you was enough to swallow and pull away from him.

"I require refreshment."

"I'll have wine brought to you, would you like a room?"

"I'll take it in the kitchen, thank you."

A chill ran down your back at the thought of him, gracing your kitchen once again with his daunting presence, looming over your home and your peace. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, moving to pass him again, this time he allowed and followed you. When we passed the girls again, Maria watched with a hawk's eye, and sensing the tension, rose to follow us to the kitchen, the savior she is. You fetched the wine for him, and some bread and cheeses, dressing a small tray for him to enjoy and setting it at the table. 

He drank and pecked at the food, slowly savoring each bite, his eyes flickering to Maria every now and then, before returning in your direction. You could tell her presence bothered him, even if he did not say it. He could've ordered her out of the room, if he'd wished to. In truth, he could've ordered you to sleep with him if he'd wished to, but he didn't. Instead, he ate, and looked at the two of you, one with longing, and the other distaste.

"I was sad to hear about your nephew, Prince Aemond." Maria addressed him politely, likely attempting to lighten the tension in the room. She did not take on her same even, monotonous tone that she used with the girls. Instead, she purposefully lightened her voice and spoke with grace and propriety.

"Yes, as was I."

"They were there looking for me. I feel an immense guilt for it, knowing if they'd found me first, he would still be here."

The admission was surprising to the both of you. How did one respond to such a personal statement. Maria was better versed with loss, having mourned her mother and been separated from her siblings when her father sold her to Sylvi. But still, she did not respond, only looking at him with a pitying look before chewing her cheek and looking away. He looked sad, and that look did not suit him. You wanted to comfort him, to reach out and pet his snowy hair, but instead you refrained.

"I attended his funeral march. He was a beautiful boy, and he looked very sweet."

He reached out to grab my hand, and pressed a light kiss on the back of it, rendering me speechless.

"What will we have for dinner tonight?" Maria broke the silence, addressing only you.

"Likely bread and broth, we are low on meat with the war. I'm sure Sylvi will want to save it for working nights." You took your hand lightly from the prince to turn more fully towards Maria.

"Are you not well rationed for the war?" Aemond spoke up, if you could call it that. His voice was low, as seemed to be the standard for him.

"With the soldiers coming in, all the meat is sent to the castle, and what little we get is three times what it's worth. Those who can afford it are hoarding it away."

"I can have pigs sent from the castle."  He spoke with finality, as if there was no discussion about it.

"I'm sure Sylvi is managing it. She likely is out now, fetching more food for us." Maria answered for me, but he waited for me to answer, acting as if he hadn't heard Maria speak. "Times are hard us smallfolk."

"We are well, my prince. Sylvi takes care of us." You agreed, and turned away from him, busying yourself with small meaningless tasks that were obviously a ruse to get out of the conversation with him. He moved to speak, but was interrupted by one of the girls bursting into the kitchen

"Sylvi has returned, your highness. You wished to see her?"

"I'll find her myself, thank you." He stood to leave, and left us in silence.

Aemond did return on the morrow, with men in tow with meat and fresh ingredients. They loaded up the kitchen to your specifications, Aemond overseeing the entire thing, standing as close as you would allow and stealing glances to watch for your reaction.

"We've not had food so fresh for many moons, my prince, I cannot thank you enough." You curtseyed to him, imagining all the possible meals for the girls. A few girls lingered in the kitchen as well, clearly pleased with the food, but especially with the men who delivered it, who they ogled and catcalled openly. The men were obviously intrigued by the girls, many not having the chance to visit in a while. The tensions were clearly rising in the small kitchen, and it was quickly overwhelming your space.

"Please, put the flour bags on the floor, so I can scoop it out without lifting." You attempted to break the heat in the room, Aemond's eye shooting to you at the sound of your voice.

Aemond seemed to sense your anxiety, because he spoke up and dismissed the men, with confirmation that you could manage the rest. The men quickly left, and the girls followed in pursuit. 

"I truly cannot express my gratitude." You turned away from him to begin putting away the last few boxes of food.

"If the whores are well fed, they work better for the men. It keeps morale high." He explained, stepping with you around the kitchen. "And it made you happy, so I am happy to do it."

That rendered you silent, and you resigned to swallow and nod.

"I'm sure you know by now that I spoke to Sylvi about you." You winced at the prospect of the turn this would take, now that you were all alone with him and no Maria to mediate. "She said you do not..." He let the sentence die. "Are you a maiden?"

You shot around to look at him, surprised by his boldness. He was a prince, however, and the blood of the dragon. Boldness was his very being, so it should only have surprised you that it took so long for him to make his intentions more public. Turning back to the food, you gave a timid nod, knowing that he would not let the question go unanswered.

"And you are resigned to cook for the rest of your life? For whores?" You scoffed, turning back to your tasks and refusing to meet his eyes again.

"These girls are my family. Sylvi..." Your heart stuttered just at her name. The though of her knowing you were there, alone with the man who'd announced his desire to her so plainly. "Sylvi gave me a home when I needed one, she took me in when I was lost in a foreign place. I owe her my life, and she only asks that I earn my own way. I am lucky that I can provide food, and not what so many have to sacrifice."

"My family have forsaken me in many ways as well."

"Your family put you in a castle, on a dragon, feared by any man you come across. It is not the same, my prince." He was silent at that. "And my family did not forsake me, I left them."

"Why would you do that? Did they mistreat you?"

"Not particularly, no. I just didn't find happiness in the Riverlands, and I didn't want to spend my life there."

"You're from the Riverlands." He nodded, as if committing the information to memory. "Sylvi doesn't have to know." His unrelenting bargaining was quickly running sour with you.

"So that's what this is about? You've brought food to win my favor?" You turned around to find him much closer than you had anticipated, looming over you and trapping you against the table. You pressed your hands to the edge to brace yourself, and his eyes flickered to the motion before looking into your eyes.

"I do not like the thought of you unsatisfied. Hungry with no way to satiate your needs." The double meaning was not lost on you, and the words admittedly did something to your body that you did *not* expect.

"I have always managed."

"I can give you more. And I'll ask you for so little." He ducked his head down towards your face now, his voice lowering into a husky drawl that made your mouth fall open.

The desire was there, you could not deny. But there was too much hanging in the balance, too much at stake. Your home, your pride, the only semblance of family you'd ever had. And this was one of the few things you had left that was truly yours. You had your maidenhood, and you had control over who would have it. What good could it possible do to throw it all away just to fill the whims of some spoiled prince? No matter how handsome that prince may be.

"You ask for everything." You closed your eyes and turned your face away from him, unable to breath in his scent any longer. "And I cannot give you what you want at the risk of all I have-" His lips were on yours before you could turn away from him, and his hands were on your hips, pulling you to him.

You tried your best to pull away, whimpering into his mouth and pushing against him. Your hands found his chest and you pushed your upper body away, which only served to push your hips further into his, against the hardness he now sported and gladly rubbed against you. When he seemed satisfied with your kiss, he pulled away, moving to kiss at your jaw and neck.

"Stop." You were breathless and still pulling from him, but he was not hearing. "My prince, someone could hear!" He finally relented, ceasing his kisses but still holding you to him.

"I'm not here as your prince. Call me Aemond."

"I cannot, your highness. You must leave now, please." Your pleas went ignored. "You will ruin everything!"

"I will give you anything. Name it and it's yours, I swear." You sighed, shaking your head.

"I don't understand why you can't choose another. There are women here in excess. Exotic, talented beauties that will do anything you ask for."

"Have you not been listening to me? I am not some cunt-drunken fool, I want you." His declaration struck you dumb, and you jerked back at his admission.

This was somehow worse than if it'd just been some lust-driven obsession, the thought of him imagining a life with you or all people. You, the lover of a prince. Would you move to the castle? Become a mistress? A wife? Impossible, the crown would never allow it. Sylvi would have your head for it. If the thought of you fucking him had her so bristled, the thought of him loving you would raise her hackles. It was what finally gave you the strength to squeeze past him, still awestruck by what he'd just said, and in desperate need of distance.

"And what would that be like? I'd be a mistress to you? Would we have little half blood babies, with half a claim to the iron throne, and I spend my life worrying for their safety?"

"I would bring you to the Keep, and plead my case to my brother. I am his blood, he would not deny me a wife of my choosing." You scoff in disbelief and put your hand over your chest, sitting against the table again for support.

"You've lost your mind." You shook your head.

"Let me ask my brother. If he says yes, will you come with me?" His voice was desperate and low. A certain vulnerability hid in his eye, and he pressed himself to you once more, though this time in search of comfort instead of relief.

In truth, it would be a better life then you could ever have here. You would dine on food you did not prepare, and drink wine from foreign countries and wear dresses of the finest material, instead of the itchy rags you tolerated now. And more importantly, Aemond seamed sure in his love for you. It was quick, to be sure, and without much to sustain, but you could always relish in the idea of a man's devotions. Especially someone as powerful as Aemond. Not all marriages were born of love. Most were convenient, and you could always grow to love, if you both nurtured the relationship and allowed it to grow.

But wasn't that the very thing you'd ran away from? To dishonor your family as you'd done, and then turn around and do the very thing they'd asked of you? How could you justify it? Marrying a prince would certainly put you back on their radar. If they found you again, what could you say for yourself? That it was different, because it wasn't their decision? It would break their heart, and likely yours as well.

"It would not matter, I'm afraid. I cannot marry you for my own reasons, and there's simply nothing that can change the circumstances." Distancing yourself from him was hard, and seeing the downtrodden look quickly pass his face was harder.

He collected himself, cleared his throat and returned to the same look he'd first given you. Looking down his nose, hands clasped behind his back, eye staring through you.

"You are a foolish girl." His statement shot a look of surprise to your face. "You do not know what is best for you. You ran from the Riverlands at the idea of a proposal that would have given you stability and a title, because you were too stubborn to accept a marriage you did not choose, and you do the same now."

"How dare you? You know nothing of my situation-"

"I know well enough about you to know that you are incapable of making beneficial decisions. I've allowed your adventures and you've lived your life, it is time for you to grow up and be my wife as you were meant to be."

Oh.

The silence was disastrous. You could only look at him with wide eyes, though you could not see him. You were back to that night, the last time you'd seen your family. Listening from outside their rooms as they spoke so gleefully about your proposal, and how they could not accept it fast enough. How honored they were to be considered, and how well suited you were for this man.

Could it have been Aemond's proposal? Surely you would've known. Your mother would not have waited to share this news with you. A prince asking for your hand? It would've been a triumphant win for your family. You were no great prize, the daughter of a decently wealthy house in Saltpans. A prince would raise your station farther than you could every dream, not that it was ever something you worried about. More importantly, though, Aemond was not some old Lord wanting to steal a girl away from her joys. Aemond could have made you...happy. Or at least, content.

"You sent the proposal? All those years ago?" You questioned him, but the answer seemed plain to you.

"My father sent it. I was unaware of the plans until the message returned with news of your disappearance. A girl who would spurn the chance to marry a prince, it was unspeakable. Humiliating. But I could not fault you. You were confused, and scared. You did not know me, so I sought you out. Then to find you here, pretending you do not know me. I gave you another chance, why do you not want me?"

"I didn't...I didn't know." You felt as if you could not speak, your whole life had been laid out based off this very important event. To know you'd gotten it wrong was earth shattering.

"What didn't you know?"

The room melted in the corner of your eyes, distorting your view. You held your stomach to quell the nausea riding, and went to step away from Aemond, only to trip and fall down, sitting on your calves.

Aemond knelt immediately to hold you up, calling to someone for aid. Black patched clouded your vision, but you squeezed your eyes, hoping to eradicate them.

"What's happened?" Sylvi's urgent voice snapped you back to consciousness, at least enough to push away from Aemond. "Aemond, what have you done to the poor girl?"

"I am okay, I just...want to lie down. I need to leave here, I need my rooms."

"Some water for the poor girl." Sylvi ordered someone, and you were helped up and ushered away to your room, where the girls doted on you, whilst questioning what caused such an episode.

@mamawiggers1980 @dahlias-and-marigolds @staarflowerr

[the-monstermash]

I'm planning to post a part 2 to my Aemond fic today, just have some last minute editing to do. Thanks everyone SO much for the notes and reblogs. I'll try my best to add everyone to the tag list that requested, but if I miss you just send me a message!

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language

Word Count: 2,187

> **A/N:** AHHHHHH this is my first character fic, and only the second one I've ever been brave enough to post! I also had to post this on mobile because my browser was being wild so sorry for any formatting issues!

The sound of senseless fucking had never seemed to bother you. Easy to filter out, truthfully, and not as traveling as one would think it to be. No, there are many things worse, like for instance the smell. One never takes into account the smell of sex, much less the smell of alcohol fueled, desperate, old haggard men driving the last of their life-force into some disinterested cunny eager to make a coin. Eager to spend a coin, as well.

That's where you came in. Whores work up quite an appetite, one you are all too happy to satisfy, no pun intended. You'd been with Sylvi for years, after you'd run from your family in the dead of night, afraid of the life they'd planned for you.

"Everybody must eat," Sylvi sighed the night she met you, disinterested. "If you will not fuck, you will feed. We earn our keep around these parts, you'll do well to learn quickly."

That was the start of a very standoffish, albeit maternal, relationship. Sylvi had never truly cared for your company, but she cared for you, and that was more than many could say, and more than you could say of any kin. She had taken you in, given you shelter among her girls, and had asked very little of you, knowing your past. She'd seen you into young womanhood, and taught you all you wished to know about life. She was not coddling, nor cruel. She was just what you needed, and it seemed many shared the sentiment.

You were in a daydream as you went about your nightly tasks. The brothel would be closing in a few hours, the girls would need food, and you had really set into it, working quick and messily, spinning and turning about in an attempt to do too many things at once.

Just as you'd turned from the broth and made way to the oven, a wall had manifested itself and blocked your passage. No, not really a wall. Moreso a tree, in it's slender and sharp way. The branches had reached out to hold you, wrapping around your waist and breaking you from your reverie. Suddenly before you was a bare chest, pale in color and smooth like silk. He was taught with muscle, cut like marble. The kind of statue kings pay fortunes for, just to place in their hallway and walk past every morning.

"Sir, no one is meant in the kitchens." You had spoken before you'd had the chance to understand what you were saying, turning from him and back towards your oven to retrieve the loaves. "You'll need to return back to the brothel, Sylvi will not have men in her kitchen."

"'Twas Sylvi that sent me. I've come for wine." The voice was quiet, but in a way that made the ears strain to hear him, instead of drown him out.

Wine? Why would he not stop at the many*tables he'd have to pass to get here?You'd thought. This man must have ill intentions.

Slowly grabbing your bread knife, you turned your head to the side to face the intruder.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

"My Prince! " The sound of metal rang through the room as you dropped the blade unto the table to turn fully towards him. "My sincerest apologies, my prince! Please forgive me, I had no idea!" You did your best curtsy, and prayed to the Seven that he wouldn't find me impertinent, and would be in a forgiving mood. What you'd just done could be viewed as treason, an attempt on the prince's life.

In the state he was in, which you had noticed, you surmised he just might be in a forgiving mood. He was nude from head to toe, his brow beaded from heat and, hopefully, exertion. The hook of his nose looked sharper as his purple eye followed it to look down at you. He was beautiful, almost overly so. It could only have been Prince Aemond, the eye patch gave him away, even though you'd never seen him before, you'd be a fool not to know the stories of the one-eyed prince. And you'd known him to be a rather fond client of Sylvi's, as she boasted often to the other girls at dinner.

His presence there in your safe haven was unnerving, and once again the sounds of debauchery were drowned out, but now it was as if he'd sucked the noise from the room. He was too tall for the room, it was not made for him. What would a kitchen made for a God even look like? The very notion to build such a thing seemed almost blasphemous to you. He was looking at you like you didn't even exist, almost through you. His stare was too deep for that of a stranger, but perhaps he had to look so intensely because his lack of an eye.

He finally cleared his throat, as if it would've pained him to repeat himself.

"The wine, yes. We are a humble establishment, so you will have to be forgiving with our selection. I'll have our best sent to you at once!" And with that, he let out a low hum and left you to your duties.

You'd quickly managed a carafe and two goblets, and sent it through with a boy, with strict instructions to deliver it to the prince. You'd have delivered it yourself, but as you did not know where he was, and did not have the time searching the brothel for him, you'd relented to send it through a lord's boy, and hope he was competent enough to manage it.

As the sounds died out from the front of the house, you'd began shuffling out with bowls of broth and loaves for the girl. They took it gratefully, each dropping two coins in your hands and sitting to eat, sharing small talk and whatever gossip they had learned from their clients.

"Ser Lannister had quite a bit to share tonight. He speaks of war. Do you know what war means?" Lauryn spoke excitedly.

"Rapers." Another girl, Cate called from farther away, monotone. "Foreign men coming into the city in siege, taking over the villages."

"It means more clients, Cate." Sylvi's voice quickly silenced the small talk, as she walked to the table and sat, ready to be served her complimentary meal. Her place at the table, as always, was already set, and she reached for her wine immediately. "War means the king calls for more men. They leave their wives, and with no one to warm their bed, they come to us."

"Precisely." Lauryn agreed readily. "If war comes, I welcome it. I don't give a shit who sits the throne, as long as the crown prospers enough to put gold in my pocket." She lifted her goblet, a smirk on her face at her own clever musing.

"I'll drink to that." Another girl called from the back, which caused an rupture of quiet laughter through the room.

As you passed to fill an empty cup, Sylvi grabbed you arm, and pulled you in close enough to whisper.

"I require a moment with you." At your confirming nod, she raised from her seat and left to her room. You were quick to follow, leaving the carafe with the girls, who took it readily and saluted your departure.

Once in her lavish rooms, Sylvi sat at her vanity and peered at you through the mirror, an air of drama filled the room and caused you to rock on your toes in an attempt to soothe yourself.

"I see you've met the Prince."

Oh. You'd thought surely this would be a serious conversation, but as you had spoken so few words to the man, you could not see how possibly she could have taken issue with your conversation. Unless the prince had told her about your grabbing the knife, in which you were in deep shit.

"Yes, ma'am." You sat in an armchair and folded your hands in your lap. "He came to ask for wine, and I had some sent with a squire, I believe."

"He seemed to take a liking to you." She brushed off your words just as she now did her hair, her lips pressed into a tight line that betrayed her nonchalant tone. "He asked for you, the next time he graced us with his patronage."

Your throat tightened and your stomach lurched. This can't be. Your conversations were short, and you had nearly insulted him, and then only half obeyed his order by sending someone in your stead with the wine. Perhaps he hoped for a moment alone so he could punish you for your insolence. Perhaps he was just playing at a joke, and Sylvi had taken it for more than he had meant it. Though he did not seem to you a joking type, and Sylvi seemed sure in her words.

Would she sell you to the prince? It hardly seemed as though you would be in a position to refuse, should he insist on a private meeting with you. But perhaps Sylvi had a sway with the prince that others did not.

"I...don't understand, ma'am. I do not-"

"Of course, I told him you were not that type of girl." She reassured. "He listens to me, you know. I'm one of the only he bears his heart to." Her voice took on a dreamier tone. "I'm the only woman he's known."

"I had no idea." I spoke distantly, still reeling at the idea of being asked for personally, and by a man of such high standing.

"What did you say to him? When he came to the kitchens. I sent him for wine, and he comes back without wine, and with a sudden interest in you" She turns around now, her eyes appraising and scrutinizing.

"I did not say anything, ma'am. I had mistaken him for a mere lord at first, I told him to leave. And then he ordered the wine, and I told him it would be done! I promise, there was nothing untoward, and no advances."

You spoke at a mile a minute to plead your case. It was clear this woman had an attachment to the prince, and you would not give the impression that you were there to threaten it. Sylvi was a kind woman, but a burn so scalding might just scorch her heart enough to cast you out.

"I swear it to you, ma'am. I've no interest in the prince, and he none in me. If anything, he only wishes to punish me privately for the way I behaved before I knew he was the prince." She nodded at your words.

"Nonetheless, I let him know you were not available. He did not take the refusal well, but such is his way. Dragons are not used to the word 'no'." She readjusted and smiled at you. "It's nothing to worry at, my dear. Just go about your duties, and do not speak to the prince again. He'll forget you in time." You nodded and stood to leave.

"Thank you. You've done such a kindness for me, and I owe you my life. I would never make such a slight against you, please know that." Her dismissing nod and small tired smile was enough for you to turn and take your leave.

The women had filled their bellies of wine and broth, and some began to make way to their beds, others staying around to gossip. You approached the lingering girls, grabbing a loaf from the table and sitting on a chair to eat.

"So, will you?" Lauryn, who still remained, asked you, as if the incomplete question was all you needed to know. When you only responded with a questioning look, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Will you fuck him? Everyone here heard the prince and Sylvi's clash. He wanted you. He begged for you!" The other girls began giggling and wiggling their eyebrows at you. "It drove her mad! He doesn't want her anymore."

"Not wanting Sylvi is one thing, but wanting you is another." Another girl, Maria, a Dornish delicacy, played with her hair as she spoke with a natural coolness. "If you don't want to, of course you shouldn't, but you should consider it. A prince would pay handsomely, perhaps even enough for you to move on."

"I would not do that to Sylvi, I would not do it at all. I wouldn't even know how, I'm not versed in the...fetishes of men."

"She told him such, but he would not hear it. He asked for an exception to be made, perhaps a private arrangement. If anything, it seemed to appeal to him more, knowing you were still untouched." Lauryn jumped back in, eager to return back to her teasing.

"I would only lay with a man I chose. I did not have the option before I left home, but I do now, and I will choose myself who I bed." And with that, you stood to leave, retiring to your room for the night.

[the-monstermash]

Credit to the creator for the targaryen-dynasty dividers!

THIN, MINIMALISTIC HOUSE SYMBOLS DIVIDERS.

TARGARYEN.

STARK.

BARATHEON.

LANNISTER.

BOLTON.

MORMONT.

ARRYN.

GREYJOY.

MARTELL.

TYRELL.

Please like or reblog if you use.

[the-monstermash]

hot artists don't gatekeep

I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard

Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.

Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.

Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.

Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.

SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.

SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.

Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.

Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.

Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.

Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.

Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.