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marthawrites · 1 month

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Could you write smut for Aemond targaryen with the prompts 17,40,44,47,53 and 54 maybe with a targaryen reader? Just something gentle, sweet and soft <3 btw I’m talking abt this prompt list

I absolutely can! Apologies for making you wait since January for this. I hope you're still around to see (and, fingers crossed) enjoy it!

"Vok" (Perfect)

Aemond Targaryen x sister reader

Word count: 2.6k+

About: You and Aemond pledged to each other long ago. Tonight, beneath the blanket of darkness, you revel in each other's adoration.

Includes: SMUT. Featuring brother x sister incest, Aemond is soft but only to his little sister, dirty talk, female masturbation, guided masturbation, praise, unprotected vaginal sex, and a splash of breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! It's been a hot minute since I've wrote Aemond - the posters and trailers have me going (affectionately) insane! Triple warning: this fic is brother x sister targcest. If you do not like that KEEP ON SCROLLING. This is my first time writing this dynamic. Reader is implied to have silver hair, pale skin, and purple eyes. Everything else is up to you! As always, I hope you enjoy this fic! ❤️

To the realm, Aemond Targaryen was the cruel prince. Aloof, stoic, unforgiving.

To the realm, he was an ambitious and willful young man who rode Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world–the same dragon who helped Queen Visenya conquer Westeros.

To the realm, he was the second son of King Viserys. And, as such, would play the game of nobility by putting duty above love–marrying outside of his Targaryen lineage to seed dragons further into the world.

To you, his little sister and second daughter of King Viserys, he was your protector.

Your secret.

A poorly kept secret in some corners of the castle; nosy servants and their obnoxious fucking tendencies. But, with Aemond’s less than idle threats about cutting the tongue out of anyone’s throat who would speak about it, it ended up being a well-kept secret.

The second son and second daughter of the Dragon King; who better to love, and cherish, and pledge to, than each other?

Aemond would sooner die than see you marry off to some lowly lord of a “great” House. You were the blood of Old Valyria. Everyone–no matter their feats–was lowly in comparison to you. And you, his sweet sister, deserved only the best.

Barely a year separated your ages. Neither of you remembered a life without the other.

Long before you gave your maidenhead to your brother you gave him your heart. And your heart he held.

The night was late. These dark hours were some of the only unadulterated times you had together. Aemond kissed you slowly, passionately, gently stroking along your cheeks with his thumbs as he did. You were tangled in his bed together. You, stripped down to only your shift, and him, stripped down to only his sleep trousers. One of your shift’s thin straps kept sliding down your shoulder, and each time it did Aemond’s warm mouth kissed over the smooth lovely skin. You panted soft sounds–each feminine simper jolting right to his cock–as he lavished you in affection.

“You’re kissing me silly, lēkia (brother). My head feels full of bees and I’m hot. So, so hot,” you whispered against his kiss-swollen mouth. “Will you not feel for yourself?” He hadn’t yet made a move to touch you where you really, truly, wanted him; something that had you whining and pouting. While his hands alternated between stroking your face and groping your body–waist, hips, thighs–yours were buried in his hair. It was all down and free. The silken sheet of it spilled over his shoulders, spilled over you, and you relished the feel of it inside your hands. Against your bare skin. “Please?”

“Please what, hāedar? (little sister)” He asked, voice mellow with just the right amount of rumble from his chest.

“Please touch me,” you answered, back naturally arching to press your soft body against the hard planes of his own.

Another low sound came from him. He pressed a warm, wide palm up the perfect curve of your back until he squeezed into the nape of your hair. “Such a pretty word from a pretty mouth. Have my kisses made you ache with need, byka zaldrīzes (little dragon)?”

“Yes.” The single word, its single syllable, rolled off your tongue before your brain even fully registered his question. You stared at him desperately. One eye was so beautiful; so ancient in its color and proclamation, just like your own. The other reflected faceted edges of the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. You didn’t know which was more enchanting.

“How long can you go, hm? Without me touching you?”

“W-what?”

He laughed. A rumble beneath his pale, taut chest. “How long before you succumb to madness by me not touching your perfect cunny?”

“Aemond…,” you whined. Pitiful. “Not much longer! Please, lēkia, I need you, please.”

A serpent’s grin curved his mouth and darkened his eye as he shifted positions with you. Now, he sat upright with his back against his headboard and pulled you to sit in front of him.

You nestled between his legs, your back flush with his chest, and his stiff cock rested against the small of your back. A blush bloomed beneath your cheeks. You knew lust ran as wild in his veins as it did in yours.

“Tell me, sweet sister…,” he started, whispering by your ear. Both his hands cupped and squeezed over your breasts. Their softness melted against his palms and he groaned at the sensation. Perfect. You were so fucking perfect. “Have you touched yourself to peak before?”

A stammer replaced the little mewl in your throat. “H-how do you mean?”

He laughed again, pinching your nipples. “Mm… are you sure?”

Lust and need and fire roared in your blood to the point of almost drowning everything else out. “I d-don’t understand,” you admitted. But, it was a lie. You knew what he meant. You could only hope he’d go easy on you so you wouldn't have to admit, prove, or say you knew what he spoke of.

“Why are you playing shy with me, hāedar? I think you know exactly what I mean. There is no shame in it,” he spoke sly, hands pushing the hem of your shift up until he held the material in a fist upon your abdomen. With his other hand he tugged your smallclothes down your bare legs, tossing them off. The flats of all his fingers ghosted over your exposed cunt. Testing you. Feeling you. He hissed an inward breath. “Fuck–”, he growled. “‘Tis a good thing I was born a prince. Gods know if I had this wet little cunt between my thighs I wouldn’t get anything done. Ever. For how often I’d fuck myself silly on my own fingers.”

Aemond’s vulgarity sent a coil of tension wringing in your belly. Slick arousal pooled hotter beneath his touch. Your clit throbbed–the little pearl silently screaming for attention. “Yes,” you breathed, shuddering.

“Yes, what?”

Your older brother wasn’t going easy on you. “Yes. I… I know what you speak of. And.. yes, I do. Sometimes…,” you admitted with a wave of embarrassment.

Somehow he grew harder against the small of your back. He throbbed. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What! Aemond, no. Please, please, please no. Don’t make me show you.” Mortification replaced your previous embarrassment. Yet, your spine quivered with another rush of liquid arousal.

“I would love nothing more than to see how you bring yourself pleasure. Do you think of me when you do, byka zaldrīzes?”

You nodded. Dizziness warbled your brain.

“Such a sweet perfect thing,” he cooed. He'd felt that nervous energy tense you. He also saw the exquisite thrum of your pulsepoint beneath your neck, too. Two sides of the same coin: carnal desire. When he spoke again it dripped with wicked passion. “Don’t be nervous, I'll guide you through it.”

It had been quite some time since you last brought yourself to climax all on your own. Aemond was always more than eager to give you pleasure. Tonight, however, something was different. Idly you wondered what it could be. Before you thought about it too much, Aemond guided your dominant hand to that delicate space between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation of your own touch. Torture never felt so divine. Your little bud sang as you circled it, rubbed over it. You sighed sweetly. “How did you make me so wet?”

It took controlled effort to not spill himself across your back at that very moment. “Spread your legs for me, princess. Let me see and hear what you’re doing.”

You obeyed. With your legs spread wider, now, it was all the easier to resume your previous motions. Flicking and rubbing over your bud felt divine–excited little sounds already spilled from your mouth. You ached inside, too, wanting–needing–to be stretched around something. The memory of Aemond's long fingers pumping into you while his thumb claimed your clit had your face hot. You couldn't reach those same spots he could. You bit your bottom lip, whimpering.

Aemond watched from above with a hungry lecherous eye. Beneath your shift he could see your breasts, slope of belly… and then further below, your creamy thighs spilled wide open. Fuck–he was so hard his back hurt. Your girlish sounds sent his desire blazing. “Your little clit is so achy, isn’t it? I know how much you like it played with,” he said by your ear. “Do you ever go inside?”

You nodded, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder. You stayed on your pearl, still, legs tensing with bliss as it warmed and tingled your blood.

“Show me,” he growled again. “Be a good girl. And afterward? Don’t worry, I'll take care of you. Promise.”

Without hesitation you pushed two of your fingers into your warmth. Your body squeezed around the intrusion, inner walls flexing, trying to pull them in deeper. A gasped moan left your parted lips. “I-I’ve never done this before.” You’ve never shown anyone this before is what you meant. Aemond knew what you meant.

“I know. Shh… it’s okay, I'll guide you through it.” He gently touched the top of your hand and relished your little tendons flexing with the effort of your self pleasure. He pushed–coaxing your fingers deeper, silently urging you along. More.

Soon the wet sounds of your hand against pink swollen flesh mingled with your moans. Lewd. Dirty. You tried to stay quiet. You really did. But it felt too good, and Aemond’s hand on yours guiding you along had your toes curling. Of course he would help you. Of course he wouldn’t let you do it all on your own. “Aem..!,” you whimpered, hips rocking with your movements. “‘M close.”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice heavy.

As soon as your fingers found that little patch of hidden nerves along your walls, you weren’t able to hold on much longer. The bliss, all at once, became too much. Tension snapped in your belly as colors flashed behind your closed eyelids. Your legs trembled at the tip of your peak, and as you crested downwards Aemond held you tighter against him.

“Vok (perfect),” he said as he watched you. How perfect you were with your silver hair framing your face. How perfect you looked when ecstasy became too much. How fucking perfect your eyes were as they opened and locked on his, bright and glassy with excitement.

You carefully pulled your fingers free and began to turn around to face him. Before you could, however, he held you tighter against him. Confusion furrowed your brow and whatever you were about to say was cut off by his impatience.

“I’m greedy, byka zaldrīzes. Go on, one more time. I know you can do it. Show me again how you peak.”

Without arguing you again settled back against him. You planted your feet along the outside of his legs, spilling your thighs open wider than they were before. You angled your hips to the perfect position and this time a third finger joined your previous two. This time you fucked yourself without shame–not that you held on to it long in the first place.

Aemond all but snarled behind you, absolutely ravenous at the sight of three of your little fingers pumping and curling up into your body. He moved a hand downward, too, and the pads of those fingers worked over your clit in time with your pumps.

“Gods! Aem–!” You quivered against him. The addition of his lascivious attention had your hips squirming. Wanton moans, no longer trying to stay quiet, had your mind blanking. Nothing existed outside of you and Aemond. Nowhere existed outside of the spaces in which your bodies touched. Climax found you faster this time. Your second orgasm had you crumbling against him. Sweat sheened your brow. Your face bloomed. Sated. You were wholly sated.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Such a good girl. Giving me exactly what I wanted,” he kissed you, stealing your lips in a kiss that had you floating all over again. You could have fallen asleep right there in his arms and been the happiest thing in the realm. Breaking away, he added, “now I’ve a promise to make up to you, hm?”

Honestly, you’d forgotten about it. But, now that he mentioned it, your belly did a silly little flop.

With great care, Aemond moved from behind you and stood. Offering a hand to you, he said, “take your clothes off and lay on your back.”

And with that, you both finally shed the last pieces of your clothing.

Laying like he said, you leaned back on your elbows to prop yourself up to still see your brother. Spilled messy hair, tall lean body littered with nicked scars, sapphire eye on full display…hard cock blushed angry red with need. They say Targaryen’s are closer to Gods than men, and with the hearth’s orange light reflecting on his ivory form, you believed him to be a God.

Aemond thought the same about you as you laid there bathed in the moonlight and hearthlight.

“Spread your legs for your lēkia, I want to see you.”

As soon as you did–proudly showing off the slick mess of two climaxes, Aemond pumped along his rigid length. Despite butterflies twirling in your belly, your smile up at him was purely feline.

To Aemond’s credit, his voice only broke slightly when he said, “get on your hands and knees.”

You did. You dipped your spine as low as it could comfortably go, propping your ass up for him. As much as he loved fucking you with your legs wrapped around his waist, you knew he loved this position, too. “Māzigon va, lēkia (come on, brother),” you purred. “Keep to your promise.”

In an instant one of his hands squeezed harshly into the fat of your hip while the other spread the meat of your ass apart. He planted one foot firmly on the bed, and the other stayed rooted on the ground. The position gave him more leverage, and power, and control as he loomed above you. With a flex of his entire abdomen he pushed forward; the hot stretch of your body around him had both of you gasping. “I plan on leaving a babe in your belly tonight, hāedar. That way mother will have no other choice than to wed us,” he groaned, pulling backwards only to snap his hips against the smooth underside of your cheeks once again. And again.

You fisted the sheets as Aemond fucked you. You moaned your delight at his words, nodding. “Yes, please,” you panted. “Faster,” you begged.

His thrusts were precise and brutal. The slap of your smacking skin was utterly depraved and you hated–no, loved–how it made you impossibly wetter. Aemond did too. “Already squeezing around me? Fuck–I’m not going to last much longer,” he said, strained.

You began to push back against him, meeting his thrusts halfway with a frenzied need to make him release. “Fill me. Fill me up, Aem,” you still begged, breathing heavily.

He rutted against you with the same need–a primal haze taking over as his stones began to tighten. His fingers dented firmly into your flesh as he continued plunging in and out of you. Instinct to spill his seed built by the moment and soon he became sloppy. He grunted and growled, and with a final shove–cock buried as deep as it could be inside your walls–he spent against your body’s end. Pulse after mighty pulse emptied his spend into you. Stray strands of hair stuck to a sheen of sweat upon his forehead.

You joined him in peak; left boneless and exhausted after three orgasms. Even at the top of your bliss, and his, he never eased until you were both done.

Aemond pulled his softening length out from you and urged you to fall forward upon his bed. You followed his motion and happily laid there. Naked, glowing, and full. You reached a hand out to pull him to you. “Avy jorrāelan (i love you).”

Aemond easily settled next to you, scooping you into him. “Avy jorrāelan tolī (i love you too),” he said between slow, satisfied kisses.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @targaryen-dynasty @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @rafeism @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @connorsui

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond request #aemond imagine

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cambion-companion · 8 days

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Echoes of Orpheus

I wanted to write. It's been a while! Exploring the idea that after Tav dies, Raphael isn't okay with just letting their immortal soul slip away.

Raphael x Tav!reader (gn)

The Hero of Baldur's Gate they had named you, dragging you time and again back into the spotlight of a fame you never wanted.

Survival.

That was all you had wanted. The will to escape the worm inside your head had evolved and taken on life of its own until you were teaming up with angels, devils, druids and warlocks to take down an Elder Brain.

With glory and infamy alike you had lived.

Just like every mortal, your body grew weak around the soul it harbored and eventually passed on.

Like a gossamer thread, your soul was freed from its mortal coil, slipping into the next world gratefully. You felt light and young, strong again.

Echoes and shadows surrounded you, an inexorable pull drawing you down into unknown space and time.

Stars whirled around your vision, hues of azure and lilac danced and merged to create a midnight sky. Up ahead, you saw a white light and knew that was your destination.

But something was wrong.

The gravitational pull guiding you to safe harbor lessened, another sensation arose. You heard your name whispered behind your ear, turning your head to see only a vast abyss that drew fear into your heart.

A familiar smell, a purple light replacing the white-golden rays up ahead. You willed yourself toward it, apprehension and excitement roiling through your being.

So close now. You reached out and a large hand wrapped around your wrist, dragging you forward with a great heave.

"Raphael." Your first words uttered since your death. In his ironclad grip you felt almost alive again, awakening the tethers to your mortal life. To him.

He wore the crown of Karsus, the source of that purple glow. The silver metal twisted perfectly amongst his sharp horns, his eyes familiar and blazing hellfire-gold.

"Not even a word of farewell?" Raphael did not relinquish his grasp on you. "I taught you better manners than that."

You did not know what to say, shock holding your tongue as you fought to understand how he could interrupt the natural course of your spirit. "The crown." You whispered.

Raphael nodded. "I understand death has not dulled your wit." He intoned dryly, then tugged you a bit further into his plane. "Nor will it succeed in taking you from me. We still have work to do, you and I."

"You have no right to my soul, I made no deal with you."

"Therein you are most grievously in error." Raphael smiles, dangerous and sharp, the touch of his hand becoming more heavy and real with each passing moment you stayed in his presence. "I am your past. I am your present. And I am your future, little mouse. No mortal frailty will alter that law."

Another tug, the draw to him inescapable as it had been in your previous life. Your palm found the front of his chest, pressing until you could feel the fabric of his velvet tunic.

Raphael tucked a finger beneath your chin and raised your gaze to his once more, his tone softening to that familiar sultry purr. "I will give you life anew, more than any god could offer. You were mine since the moment I laid eyes on you, little mouse."

The old nickname sparked a flame within you, defiance and desire. "I will not be trapped in one of your gilded cages, or placed on a pedestal to be drooled over by your incubus."

"There you are." Raphael squeezed your chin before releasing you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Already coming back to yourself, it seems. And no, dear...you will be put to use, not shelved with my other prizes." He held out a hand. "Now come. Worlds anew wait for us to conquer."

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael fanfic #raphael baldur's gate 3 #it's been a whiiiile #raphael #raphael the cambion #bg3 fan #bg3 fanfiction

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mentalpolaroids · 6 months

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Wolf's Home

(Part I)

Geralt of Rivia x female!Reader

Summary: Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and reunites not only with his family of witchers, but also with the person that makes him feel at home the most

a/n: this is sort of rewrite of S02E02. Sorry for the use of (y/n) but couldn't really think of a name for the reader. Also, this is my first try at writing for The Witcher so be nice to me please!!

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She woke up that morning expecting to face another routine-repeating day, possibly with an occasional healing of one of the witchers coming back to Kaer Morhen from a hunt, or coming up with a new excuse as to why she didn’t want to eat whatever crap Lambert cooked for them. His turn on food duty was always a dreadful one.

Her days were never too adventurous, not since Vasemir had insisted on a more permanent stay at the keep two years ago, when she was dragged through the Blue Mountains by a silver haired witcher, both injured, after fighting and killing a monster together. An encounter she still couldn’t really understand to this day, how they happened to be in the same place, at the same time, looking for the same creature, but she knew better than to question Destiny.

Even with her own wounds to take care of, she still healed Geralt of Rivia first, who fell under her natural charm like a trap. He wondered if it was a spell, the way he so easily was put at ease in her presence. She was a mage after all. But as the days passed, he concluded that there was no spell besides the one used to close the gash on his abdomen. That woman was simply a caretaker by heart, one that somehow remained open and pure even knowing of the existence of nasty beings out there in the Continent. Everyone else in the Fortress seemed to be as mesmerized, and so, she was welcomed with open arms to stay, and heal, and fight with the witchers.

The ropes were starting to burn the palm of her hands from all the knots she had conquered in the last hour, but she definitely didn’t mind because it was at least keeping her hands warm as she stood outside, light snow falling over the already white ground.

One of the few advantages of the icy weather was that they could hear when someone was approaching, the crunch of the footsteps over the snow being hard to disguise. She heard those in the distance, but it was of a horse. (y/n) dropped the rope and grabbed her sword, preparing herself for the sight of the intruder before making her own known. But, the sight wasn’t at all what she expected. She didn’t know what to expect at all, but it sure wasn’t a familiar brown horse carrying Geralt of Rivia accompanied by a blonde girl, who (y/n) quickly convinced herself must’ve been a princess, if not for her looks, for her posture. She looked like she didn’t belong there, nor next to someone with the nickname The Butcher of Blaviken.

The girl got down from Roach and looked around curiously. Her dress blended with the snow, from afar, (y/n) wondered if she was even real. Her gaze didn’t last long on the girl when Geralt got down from his horse too, the mere sight of his face barely visible under his dark cloak sent a shiver of excitement to her stomach. He had always had that effect on her, but it seemed the longer she went without seeing him, the stronger the sensation got after meeting again.

The witcher and the princess shared words (y/n) couldn’t really hear from where she was still in the hiding, and as they started to walk towards the main entrance of the Fortress, the mage put down her sword and walked towards them.

“You sure we’re safe here?” the princess asked Geralt, who walked in front of her. (y/n) was not close enough to hear the question, not yet to be noticed.

“Safer than out there.”

Her voice seemed to echo in the silence of their footsteps coming to a stop, both turning their heads to their right, finally acknowledging her. Geralt’s lips curved into a brief smile, his yellow eyes softening when they locked with hers. (y/n) smiled back, the shiver in her stomach was now climbing to her chest and for a moment she forgot he could probably feel her heart beating faster. Good thing she didn’t mind him knowing how she felt around him.

Three steps away from coming face to face with the witcher, she slowed her pace, planning to walk past them.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my dearest friend in all the Continent.”

“It’s great to see you.”

“Oh I’m afraid I was speaking to my best girl here.” (y/n) approached Roach, caressing the horse over her nose and planting a light kiss on her short fur, “But it’s great to see you too, Wolf.” she walked towards him again, for a second forgetting it wasn’t just the two of them there. The way Geralt followed every step of hers, his gaze warm even in the middle of a Winter day. (y/n) opened her arms to him, “Welcome home.”

The man embraced her tightly against him and it felt like getting drowned in memories of his days with her. He had forgotten how much he cherished her affection, and holding her reminded him how nice it was to let his guard down for a brief moment. It all felt like he had never left.

“I missed you.” he murmured, unrecognizably self-conscious. He surely didn’t enjoy showing this vulnerable side of him, especially in front of someone else.

“I’m sure you did.” (y/n) let go of him, casting him a warm, welcoming smile, before looking to the girl standing behind him, now more curious about the pair’s dynamic than the Fortress, “And who’s this poor thing having to deal with your company?”

“This is Ciri.”

“Ciri.” (y/n) tried the name on her lips. She walked towards her with the same welcoming smile, but a different fondness in her eyes, “It’s nice to meet you, Ciri.” she said as she extended her hand to the girl, “I’m (y/n).”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” she spoke softly, clearly wary of meeting a new face, but the shadow of a smiling curve on her lips showed potential trust as she accepted the handshake. After all, the woman was obviously someone dear to Geralt, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” (y/n) smirked, hoping the cold outside cooled the warmth spreading across her face. She turned to Geralt, who watched the two girls interact, but the words were directed to Ciri, “I’m sure I have a lot to hear about you, too.” It was a warning to the witcher: an endless night of chatting was to come, questions needed to be answered, stories to be told and his whereabouts to be known.

As if reading Ciri’s mind, (y/n) squeezed her shoulder and tilted her head towards the entrance, “Don’t worry, you are safe here.”

“Keep up.” Geralt told the girl, and both followed (y/n).

They both pushed the heavy wooden doors and walked into the main room of the Fortress that was occupied with chatty men and the smell of burning wood and ale. (y/n)’s words echoing through the wide space caught their attention.

“Look what the snow dragged in, boys.”

All eyes turned to the mage and the murmur came to a stop when everybody noticed the figure standing behind her. Her attention turned to Geralt as well, in time to see him remove the hood of his cloak and finally getting a decent view of the face she missed so much. She also checked on Ciri, who looked uneasier than before, standing in the middle of a room full of men. (y/n) winked at her, hoping to reassure her everything was alright. Geralt noticed, and he too turned to the girl and nodded at her before moving to stand beside (y/n) as Lambert stood from his seat and walked towards them.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“We thought you got lost.” Coën followed Lambert, “Or killed.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. Geralt smiled tenderly.

“Not yet. Sorry.”

The mage elbowed his side. She had always hated when he implied the possibility of his death at any moment, considering what he was and he did, in reality it wasn’t a massive impossibility. Still, even a simple joke triggered a non-existent grief that resided in her chest everytime she had to see the witcher leave and go long periods of time without hearing a single word from or about him. In his presence, (y/n) pretended he would stay forever, and if he didn’t stay, he would come back. Everytime.

Geralt caressed her back and brought her in for the embrace Lambert had already initiated. He then went on greeting and hugging the other witchers and, more than ever, Kaer Morhen felt like a real home. The family was back together.

“I guess I’m back to being second favorite now that you’re back.” Lambert complained to Geralt, referring to (y/n).

“Who said you were even a favorite in the first place?”

Geralt laughed.

“I hope you’ve all been treating her right.”

“We do, but she’s a mean one. Lucky for her, we don’t dislike her cooking.”

The banter was interrupted by Vasemir, who entered the room already smiling at the sight of the silver haired witcher.

“Wolf. You’re home.” the elder joined the commotion, “Finally.”

Ciri, still feeling out of place, placed herself visibly between Geralt and (y/n).

“Yeah. I had to make a few stops.” the witcher replied, referring to the princess next to him.

“He’s home!”

Once again, the commotion grew around Geralt as they kept celebrating his return. Ciri smiled shyly watching the content interactions.

“Come on,” (y/n) extended her hand for the princess to take, “I’m going to introduce you to everybody.”

When everybody settled enough for the mage to be able to order everyone to be nice to Ciri, the men were somewhat curious about the unexpected guest. The girl seemed less vigilant as she was offered a seat and cup and conversation started flowing as if both her and Geralt had always been there.

(y/n) stood next to him, a sigh leaving her nostrils as she crossed her arms and discreetly nudged the man’s broad figure.

“Yeah, I know. I have a lot to tell.”

“Yeah. You do.”

Geralt looked down at her to meet her eyes and, with a soft motion of his hand, uncrossed her arms. He smiled, in a way she knew he was promising to stay for a while. She couldn’t tell what he thought her eyes were saying, but whatever it was, he felt the need to hold her hand, hidden behind his cloak, caressing the cold skin of her knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m home.” his hoarse voice, along with the softness of his touch and stare, nearly warmed her up on the spot.

In the back of her mind, there was a voice telling her he would eventually leave again, but for once, she shut it down.

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Part II soon!

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fic #the witcher netflix

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lilliankoo · 7 months

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“wanna play you like a game”series Information.

pairing: villian? antagonist! tribe leader jk x princess! y/n.

trope: “he’s mean to everyone but worships the ground you walk on” will absolutely do anything for you, strangers to lovers.

synopsis: he looks like an angel but is a devil- well that’s what your kingdom thinks. he is also the blessed leader of “lav”; even a leaf cannot move without his permission but here he was in-front of you on his knees. while the whole village bow to him- he only bows to you. there are two paths presented to you- marry him & return his love or refuse his condition & watch him conquer your father’s kingdom. power is an evil yet tempting apple-and now its in your hands- are you going to take a bite; taste the sweet poison or will you use it to tempt others? its an evil world with evil options.. do you think you can handle him?

rating: 18+

EPISODES LIST

episode 0: the satin ribbon.

episode 1: kiss the ground.

episode 2: the silver sword.

episode 3: no man can defeat him.

word count: tbd

warnings: tbd, different for every chapter but overall; smut, age gap (jk is 27 and y/n is 23), blood, rituals!!! (not too bad but still) threats, power dynamics, use of power, tribes, tribe rituals (i made them up :p), lions, horses, weapons, lovesick puppy heart eyed insanely in love jk, possessive jk, slightly controlling jk (not too bad), him spoiling his princess aka you, SMUT SMUT LOTS OF IT, will add more as series progress.

series playlist: serial killer- lana del rey, house of balloons- the weeknd, we’ve only just began- carpenters, do not touch- misamo, help me- hako yamazaki, psycho-jun, and i love her- kurt cobain, blue banisters- lana del rey, get free- lana del rey.

author’s note: HELP MEEEE LMAOO not me releasing a new series while my baby titanic! is barely done (2/7chapters- no i haven’t forgotten abt it i just need some motivation to finish it) okay yes i will try to upload the next chapter of titanic DONT WORRY AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR UNDERSTANDING. also thank you to AI for the pictures- u are scary but i love u. Anyways, so many ideas in my head rn and im slowly slowly executing them 😘 i need time. lmao ok lets goooo.

disclaimer: in no way, shape or form i intend to copy or plagiarize, this is just for fun, i do not own the pics, this does not describe jungkook hes just a "cast/actor" and so does everyone else in the fic.

taglist: let me know if u would like to be tagged.

#jungkook fic #jungkook recs #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungguk #jk fic

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blueberryarchive · 10 days

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The One Were Jungkook;

more slasher!jk

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨; slasher, 80s, psychological horror

𝙩𝙬; non-con, somnophilia, horror, violence, blood

(thank you to @hoseokshobagi for helping me with this big mess, I love u, shut up)

NY, 1985

The little ol' Brew House wasn't like the bar you went to with Jimin. It was so small that you could feel the sweat running down your back, the ghost of a hand or a glance behind you with every step. There was a sour smell of old, dried beer on the rustic green furniture and freshly disinfected vomit in the corner where Jungkook motioned for you to sit.

"Sit down, don't move."

You climbed onto the cracked brown leather stool, your bare thighs sticking to it like Velcro. A band was playing Iron Man on the other side and it was so uncoordinated that it matched the people sitting there: middle-aged men in blue-collar jobs, women in black leather skirts and foreign students with little money, underworld poets and their upper class girlfriends living the fantasy of muses sitting one their boyfriend's thighs while they discussed Bob Dylan and Williams Burroughs. A green and brown amalgam of sweaty skin drinking warm beer and watered down whiskey.

You couldn't help but compare both places.

Sweaty Joe's was a bar just two corners from the university, it was bathed in colored lights and posters as old as the owners of the place themselves. Red leather sofas were distributed in the corners and those, for years, have belonged to the Maroon Knights players.

This is where you met Jimin, it was your first week and you and Bobby Joe decided to have a beer, you two were new, smiled candidly at each gentleman who offered you another drink. You had never done that in the small town where you came from.

Jimin was celebrating his first winter tournament, his crimson cheekbones and his elegant smile conquered your heart, he let you sleep in his room in the trailer where he lived with his four brothers. His hands never took yours without first asking you, never looked away. You fell asleep so quickly in that bed while the little snores of the quaterback kept you stable, safe.

At dawn, you couldn't even see his face, you spent a week avoiding the hallways where he frequented until you did what your mother did to apologize to people: you baked some cookies. Unfortunately, he was on a diet but he still accepted them, his younger brother would eat them all with pleasure, you offered him a kiss and he let himself go.

That afternoon you lost your virginity behind his secong-hand orange Pontiac, white cotton panties crumpled and drooled between your teeth as Jimin held your calves. You cried so much that he forgot to moan, but your boyfriend wiped away each tear with his wet tongue and his thumbs until his cum fell thickly onto your skirt and his uniform.

The second time was different. What you don't know is that you cooking for him lit a spark, a simple breeze in a dry forest and you were the summer sun. You were going to be his wife, he promised you, with drooping eyelids and your pelvis on top of a pillow, his hands guiding your ass until they collided with his waist.

“I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to buy you a house and a huge ring. Fuck—you’re going to have to stop me at some point because I’m going to get you pregnant every time you smile at me, love. Doesn't Ms. Park have a ring to it?" He growled grabbing your hair to pull you closer to his sweaty chest.

“What is that pretty head of yours thinking about, huh?” Jungkook snapped his fingers at you, placing a long mug of beer in front of you. The second cigarette of the afternoon dangled between his fingers as he waited for you to take a drink, his eyes darting from your chest to your hair. “I saw you look at the ring on your finger.”

“My boyfriend gave it to me a month ago.” You said fixing the thin silver ring, a promise desperate to be fulfilled.

“How very” The boy laughed, choking on the smoke, you held the beer and took a long drink.

You realized that men when they exist in a cloud of promises and anonymity are more fuckable, because now seeing the metalhead in front of you, you just wanted to hit him.

“I don't understand why you keep yapping when you're not here to hear me speak.”

“I didn't want us to move on to fucking so quickly, but if you can't wait, then we'll make a little something in the alley.” Seeing your face blush he laughed again. “I'm kidding, doll. Don’t be so rigid.”

With a whistle, Jeon effortlessly caught the eye of a man nearby. His muscles were noticeably defined, and he sported a pair of square glasses that added a touch of charm. Dressed in a casual plaid shirt, his hair styled like a military man. Spotting Jeon, his face lit up with recognition, and he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Kim, I thought you weren't coming to the meeting.” Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the man's slight tensing as his friend spoke, but without skipping a beat, his hand gently landed on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"You literally said-"

"No, I didn't. Gosh, give me a break."

Hoseok looked in your direction with a hint of distrust, the creases on his face sharpening with each step you took. You walked closer, his eyes traced your body from head to toe, his initial skepticism fading away the moment he reached your side. Your little shorts and Wham! t-shirt hugged your curves tightly, clinging to your tits like a sculpture of marble.

"What's this?" Hoseok pointed at you and moved his fingers up and down.

"Come, I want to introduce you to my friend. We met in…" Jungkook's smile widened as he tilted his hand. “Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have to make a place for her in the club, wouldn't you gladly have one of the sweetest pieces of meat of the whole faculty on the team, eh?”

Jungkook looked in your direction again, he knew that the way he spoke caused tremendous disgust in you and he enjoyed it. “This is Hoseok, the president of the archery club. Greet him before he hates you for some reason.”

"Shut up." Hoseok's voice cut through the air as he extended his arm to shake yours, his calloused hand brushing against your skin. His sharp eyes studied your hands intently, examining every detail. "You got weird fingers."

"Is that how you give compliments to pretty girls?"

Hoseok let out a sigh, nonchalantly plucking the cigarette from Jungkook's mouth. With a subtle gesture, he motioned for his friend to approach while bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“If you want to fuck one of the cheerleaders, find another way, I'm not going to put her in the club, dude.” His failed attempt at whispering, which was clearly intentional, didn't escape your ears.

“Do you think I have to fuck one of you to be part of your Disney Heroe theatre team?”

Hoseok's eyebrow arched, while leaning back against the bar stool. With a confident yet subtle sway, he adjusted his posture, his pelvis shifting ever so slightly, but still managing to catch your eye. A mischievous grin formed on one side of his lips, knowing full well of the effect he had on you. “And why the hell are you looking for me if you don't need me, Barbie?"

"I'm here to let you know that I'll be waiting for you in the green area on Monday at 3, expecting you to hand me a bow and arrow," You declared, a sweet smile playing on your lips like a precious jewel shimmering beneath a cloak of innocence as you deftly snatched the cigarette from between his parted lips. "And I hope you show up with a smile that could outshine the sun and a more decent cologne."

Hoseok scoffed with raised eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by your little rebel talk as you took a drag from his stolen cigarette.

"You do realize you'll be the only woman in the group, right? The guys ain't going to like you, they tend to be very…"

"Terrified of women," Jeon chimed in, leaning against your shoulder.

"Exclusive," Hoseok added.

"They'll probably do a jerk-off circle if they see me in a skirt." You quipped, a sly smile playing on your lips.

The three of you looked at the cubicle where the a few memebers sat, all upper class kids who couldn't get into anything in their lives without Mommy opening the door for them first.

“Whatever, you're not even that hot, they'll live.”

You smiled, turning around on your stool to continue drinking your beer. “See you on Monday, four eyes.”

“Bye, Hobi-Bobby.” Jungkook rested his arm on the bar, his eyes positioned on your profile.

“Do you want to fuck now? I love women who know how to silence men, i'm already hard.”

"Why are you so fucking disgusting?"

"You're the one sitting next to me, you can go now." And he waited. You stayed there, speechless and waiting, too.

"Kim?"

"Who?"

“The dickhead called you Kim.”

“I don't know who that is, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You nodded. You weren't too sure now. “Are you sure you're the one I talked to that night?”

"I promise you." Jungkook dragged his stool closer to your ear, the smell of nicotine and shaving cream was pleasant, manly. "Are those sugar tits as sweet as that voice of yours?"

“What time did I call you?” You ignored his nutty breath.

“Are you questioning me now?”

"Yeah."

His jaw tensed, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“I'm going to give you some advice, doll. If you want things to go well today, don't question me.”

You felt a rush cover your back, the beer felt colder on your fingers and you were more aware of his proximity. You were in his territory, you didn't know anyone there, you were screwed.

“Can you answer me just one thing and that's it?”

Jungkook moved closer and nodded, his pupils stabbing at your lips waiting for you to say something out of line so he would have an excuse to destroy you with.

“Why do people think you are weird?”

His sigh collided with your neck, a smile woven little by little; you could see stars in his eyes when he moved back. The raw desire to show you why.

He leaned close to your ear and whispered slowly, the urge to laugh drowned out by his words. Both his hands hiding his lips like a child. You swallowed as you finished listening, a long drink to finish the remaining beer.

He pulled out a new cigarette before your eyes met his again.

“So, in your room or mine?” He mumbled before lightning the tip.

“I'm- I think I'm going home.”

"Isn't your home in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, you silly little bun'?"

The man in front of you pouted, nodding with a dejected face when he saw you stand up, the large mug of beer hitting your trembling anatomy. You wanted to vomit, to shed your own skin to pieces, to vanish, to crawl along the road back home like a mass of nerves and to sleep in your bed until you forgot what this psychopath had just hummed in your ear in the middle of the crowd.

But what did you expect? Wasn't this what you were looking for?

That's why curiosity ends up being the cruelest animal feeling. It takes you to the cheese on top of the trap, it makes you look at the sun and go blind, it makes you run through the grass until you fall at the bottom of nowhere. Voices like Jungkook's end up taking you to a seedy bar, at the mercy of God if he is even allowed in these parts.

“Come on, I'll take the bike down for you, then.”

You grabbed your backpack and walked in front of Jeon, stares like needles digging into your shorts.

Outside, his arms stretched out to take the bicycle, as light as a feather.

“I would've take you to college but-”

“I think this is where our journey ends, Jungkook.” Your voice was firm, elegant. You knew when to say goodbye.

He remained silent, one last smile as a gift. "If you say so." His hands opened dramatically to show you the road.

You raised your leg until you sat down and accelerated down the street, the sun hiding on the horizon. You didn't know if it was the wind hitting your cheeks and eyes, but you felt the cold stream go down to your neck. You wanted the road to get shorter in front of you and suddenly you were crying like a lost child, the sharp exhale stinging your lungs, you took all the alleys you recognized and the ones you didn't and you looked around at the desolate sides of New York.

Hiding from the sun your skin grew cold and the sobs turned to murmurs praying that you would return alive to the arms of Steph or Bobby Joe.

But oh, how angelic you looked with the halo of Jungkook's car headlights on your back. A honk chilled your blood until you couldn't do anything but grip the handlebars until your knuckles turned white.

“I changed my mind, I'll take you.” His breathing was jagged, he was sweating deeply, swallowing hard to hide the psychosis.

“It won't be long now and my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

“Don't worry, just load the bike and I'll drop you off at his house.”

'No' was not an answer and you knew that, no one ever said no to her and if they did no woman managed to keep her tongue to say it.

"Roger that. Thank you, Jungkook, you are a gentleman.”

“Of course, get off the bike now.” "She muttered as she snatched the iron from your hands and threw it behind her vehicle.

The trip was lethargic, the music faltered in the car with each curve until you reached a neighborhood of white houses and yellowish lights, the crickets chirped in the safe silence of a suburb. You thought about getting out when the car stopped and screaming until your lungs vomited.

But of course when you arrived the garage door was open, the car slid across the smooth concrete without a sound.

“Do you mind if I look for a few things before I take you home?” His voice sounded so carefree that you almost believed you were going back to your dorm room. You shook your head as he went down to close the garage door, the darkness consuming your hope.

Your heart began to beat blood so fast that your hands began to try to open your door, Jungkook tilted his head at the noise until he saw your reflection in the side mirror.

"Why you do that? God, you’re so stupid.” Jungkook took your hair in his hands and without much effort dragged you out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor. His hand covered your mouth, his calloused and sweaty fingers undoing the button on your Levi's until they stuck to your ankles.

“It's only once, you have to reward me for the beer you had.” His voice burned in your ear along with the beating of your heart, a light hum of your soul trying to get away from your dirty body.

“Mm-” You groaned as you felt the fabric of his jeans mold between your ass. Moving was in vain, fighting a mere fantasy.

“Just a quickie and then I'll drop you off, don't be so rigid.”

Your body was puppeteered to the living room with dim lights, curved and modern furniture that someone paid great attention to match with the upholstery and the carpet that decorated the floor.

And your body was thrown to the edge of the pink couch, the metal underneath the cloth digging into your stomach, your ass in the air as you felt cold hands remove your underwear. Why weren't you moving? Why did you let this happen to you? What was your mom doing right now? You thought of her chubby body moving around her room while organizing her dresses.

Warm spit fell onto your pussy and you closed your eyes, the last tear creating a shadow on the corrugated carpet as Jungkook slid his cock around the entrance to wet the entire area. The phone rang five, six, ten times next to you. Beep.

Hello, you are calling the sweet home of Bee, Dr. Kim and Taehyung. We are on vacation in Florida, but when we arrive we will take your message. Bye bye!

Who were the animated voices humming on the phone and why was Jungkook's voice there? You looked at the stranger loosening his grip on the sudden crackling laughter coming from the small speaker on the phone.

"Fuck." The now stranger mumbled, holding your neck with his forearm.

"You got the wrong kid, callgirl." And your eyes opened like a full moon, you looked at the closed windows of the room. “Taehyung, you have ten to hide.”

"Shit." Taehyung whimpered behind you pushing your body to the ground, instinctively you grabbed his leg causing his body to fall to the ground next to yours.

If you were going to die today, you wouldn't do it alone.

"Five, six…"

“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking whore?! I will die if he finds me.” His reddened face dragged trying to take your sudden weight and strength off of him. It was useless. Black Sabbath began to play above the house, reverberating, like thousands of wasps between the walls. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please. Let me go."

Taehyung's head reached the kitchen when a worn military boot stopped his movements. The muddy sole of the boot collided with Taehyung's head, making it bounce again and again and again against the wood of the kitchen. It was a hollow, wet sound, more forceful with each blow.

You leaned your body back until you collided with the sofa, your nails anchored in the carpet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, ple-” Taehyung tried to speak until the boot took the last hit and his jaw hung from his mouth like a toy. His eyes looked back with mercy. Run, he shouted to you with his bleeding eyes, run until you die but run. A broomstick passed through his mouth until his body bounced once more.

So still.

Drool was falling from the corners from having your mouth open for so long. Why didn't you run? Is it that the boot you were looking for so long? Was the cruelty of being curious true?

An excessively tall figure passed through the kitchen frame, avoiding Taehyung's lifeless body. Black was the first thing you saw, the dirty jeans, the leather jacket tied around his waist, the Motley Crue tank top pressing against his chest and shoulders. Sweat dripped from his mullet to his tattoos.

His face, soft and covered in red. His oval nose and thin lips, eyes like a dead deer. Metal surrounding the room like the choir of fallen angels.

It was him, it was Jungkook.

“Poor little thing.” He licked his lips as he held your chin so you were looking at him. “Look at you, so afraid of that fucking-” he growled under his breath, getting down to your level.

"Please do not kill me." You cried, the air was thick, like sulfur around him.

“I didn't promise you that in the call, baby. Did you forget already?"

His hands were delicate under your armpits until he lifted you up and took your body to the furniture sitting you on top of his wide thighs. Your body looking at the turned off television, the curved reflection showed the difference in size. You were a doll on top of that beast.

“Put your foot up.” He ordered as he grabbed your knee to help you put on your Levi's with the softness of a creature in feather hands. "Stop crying."

“I can't, I'm too scared, I want to go home.”

"Pity." Jungkook sighed, taking your underwear from his jeans, wet with some chemical. His tattooed fingers took the flimsy cotton to your nose. Bitter at first and then it burned in your lungs. “Don't try to fight it, it'll be worse for you, baby. Atta girl, just let go, inhale.” His voice was serious, unharmed, like an anesthetic just like the clorophorm. There was no harm in closing your eyes if you were in the great hands of a beast, a mammoth.

"I like you girls manageable, stupid." Was the last thing you heard, a smile grazing your neck.

Your body rose without permission, abrupt. The pain was immeasurable.

“Jimin, she's up!” You heard a small voice in the corner of a familiar room, the sheets rough and thick.

The silhouette of Jimin's younger brother ran to the kitchen. The other two brothers approached the door, their blond heads peeking out. Jimin pushed them until he reached you.

“Hyung-”

“Shut the door, JP. I’m sick of you, just eat your fucking breakfast and get out of the house.” Jimin shouted, looking at his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

The slow footsteps receded and Jimin turned his attention to you.

“Love, no, don't cry. I'm here.”

His name fell from your lips desperately as you squeezed his face, consuming every detail so your body knew it was real and wouldn't squirm like a worm.

“Breathe with me, come on.”

You closed your eyes hugging your boyfriend's neck.

“Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you in the twins' room.” You shook your head frantically without breaking away. “It's just to get the mud off your body, then we'll go back to bed.”

"Mud?"

“Minjun found you outside this morning, do you know where you were last night, who did this to you?”

You grabbed the sheets and uncovered your body, bruises covering your legs and stomach. The dried mud covering the sheets of Jimin's bed. A scream choked in your throat.

“Its okay, I can change the sheets. Don’t worry about that. Let's go champ, up.” Jimin patted your injured thigh so you would chain your legs around his abdomen. With a grunt, Jimin lifted you up and carried you to a makeshift tub of hot water.

The little beds were together on one side of the small room, a metal tub emanating sweet steam covering the walls of the room in a thin web of drops.

“Raise your arms.” Jimin kissed your neck gently, the nausea returning little by little but you just let your body melt in the arms of the only person who mattered. His eyes shone with the concern of a father, he undressed you as quickly as possible so that the bruises didn't have time to hurt. Reaching your shorts, he knelt in front of you and stared at your tired face.

“I shouldn't have gone to the bar last night.” He wavered his speech for a second as he slowly lowered the zipper.

“Shh.” Your hand fell into his messy hair, he was still wearing his pajamas, what time did Jungkook throw you in front of Jimin's trailer?

The silence became strange, different. You didn't understand Jimin's sudden furrowed eyebrows when he took off your Levi's.

“Minnie?”

“Motherf-” Jimin stood up and hit the wall hard. His body turned around until he was looking at the jeans on the floor again. “That's it, I'm calling Yoongi.”

"What? Yoongi, what for? Minnie, don't leave, please."

"Don't move!"

Your boyfriend disappeared from the room before you asked him what was happening. You sighed with a heavy heart as you walked in pain to the shots on the floor: a wide, slimy stain extended from front to back. The pants fell to the floor and you went to the mirror on the wall.

Your trembling finger curved until you felt the hole between your legs, the whitish and salty cum thread stretched from your entrance to your shocked face.

You don't remember Taehyung penetrating you. Was Jungkook such an animal that he came inside while you were passed out? How could he?

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed silently, the pain was unbearable around your waist and legs, pussy still numb and you could only remember the patterns on the carpet.

Cruel curiosity.

#❗slasher! jk thoughts #bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts dark fic

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lucybronzey · 8 months

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you're enough - lucy bronze

pairing: Lucy Bronze x fem!reader warnings: none word count: 1,544 author's note: Please note that my dyslexia still affects my writing and there can be lots of grammar/vocabulary/phrasing mistakes. Feedback is always welcome! Please do not translate, copy/paste or take credit/ownership of any of my stories! summary: In the aftermath of losing the Women's World Cup 2023 final, Lucy Bronze finds solace in the unwavering support of her girlfriend Y/N, who stands by her side with love and understanding. With the comforting presence of Y/N and her brother Jorge's family, Lucy realises that her victories and losses are shared experiences. Being hand in hand, Lucy and Y/N find strength in each other's love, as they face the world together with an unbreakable spirit.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as fans filled the stands, their cheers echoing off the walls. The Women's World Cup 2023 final England versus Spain was about to begin and the air was charged with excitement and nervous energy. Among the sea of supporters, you stood with her brother Jorge and his family, all donning Lucy Bronze shirts. Your heart raced as they waited for the match to kick off.

You glanced at your girlfriend, Lucy Bronze, who stood on the pitch with her teammates, wearing a determined expression despite the pressure of the championship match. Lucy's fiery determination and passion were what had first drawn you to her and it was that same fire that made you believe that Lucy and her team could conquer anything, even in the face of a challenging Spanish opponent.

As the game progressed, the tension in the stadium grew with every play, every shot, and every save. The score remained locked in a 1-0 to Spain's side and the clock ticked down to the final minutes of the match, with added 13 extra minutes on the display. Your heart ached for Lucy and her teammates as they fought valiantly on the field, their determination evident in every sprint and slide tackle.

When the Spanish team was given the penalty, the England fans, including you, were shouting in disappointment. But Mary Earps managed to save that and the crowd roared in happiness. With just seconds left on the clock, the opposing team managed to keep their only goal which was kicked in the first half of the game. The English side of the stadium has been in an eerie silence since then. The final whistle blew and the scoreboard displayed the heartbreaking result: Lucy and her team had lost the Women's World Cup.

Your heart sank, your own disappointment mirrored in the tear-filled eyes of Lucy as she sat down on the pitch, Keira Walsh making sure she was okay. You exchanged a worried glance with Jorge, but he gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, reminding you of the unwavering support they had for Lucy.

It was time for the ending ceremony. You could see from your seat that Lucy was madly disappointed as she wanted to bring the trophy home. As she stepped on the stage, she could not even shake hands with FIFA's president, understandably you thought so. Lucy's upset glance could be illuminated in the upcoming team's silver medal picture as well. You could feel she was very keen on leaving the pitch and just going to the locker room, getting her stuff and taking the route back to the hotel.

After the ceremony, she took the last chance to take everything in at once, sobbing whilst seated at the team's seating area, being comforted by her Barcelona teammate, Batlle. Obviously, you had no idea what they were discussing but it did not matter. All that mattered at this point was Lucy's well-being and herself. Whilst Lucia was having a conversation with Ona, you were having a little play with one of Jorge's children. You were extremely grateful for having a good relationship with Jorge, his wife and children and they were madly happy that Lucy had found someone like you.

After some minutes, Lucia gave a hug to Ona and made her way to the locker room. The locker room was filled with a palpable mix of frustration and sadness. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor echoed as players moved about, changing out of their uniforms. Lucy slumped onto a bench, her head bowed and her teammates exchanged sombre looks as they passed by. There was no music played as usual. No one was in the mood for it.

You told Jorge that you were going to check Lucy and meet them afterwards in the hotel. You made your way to the players' tunnel, waiting for Lucy to emerge from the locker room. Your heart ached to see Lucy so dejected whilst sitting in her booth and you knew that your girlfriend would be taking the loss hard. When Lucy finally appeared, you rushed forward and enveloped her in a tight hug.

After the hug, you took a deep breath and approached Lucy steadily, crouching down in front of her. You gently lifted Lucy's chin, meeting her gaze with a soft smile. "Hey," you said, your voice warm and comforting.

Lucy managed a faint smile in return, though her eyes still held a hint of lingering disappointment and the colour red from crying. "Hey," she replied softly.

"I know it's tough," you said, brushing a strand of hair away from Lucy's face. "But remember, you've achieved so much to get here. And I'm incredibly proud of you, no matter the outcome."

Lucy's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "I wish I could've brought home the trophy for you, for us, for the nation, for the country."

You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Lucy's forehead. "You've already won my heart, Lucy. And that's more valuable than any trophy. Your heart is more golden and sparkly than the stupid trophy and medal."

Lucy's eyes glistened with gratitude as she reached out and held your hand. Both of your fingers intertwined, creating a reassuring connection that spoke volumes without words. "Thank you," she whispered. Lucy's teammates rallied around her, offering words of encouragement and support, reminding her that they were a team in both victory and defeat. As the players began to disperse, Lucy stood up and you wrapped your arms around her in a tight embrace.

"We're all here for you, Lucy," you said softly. "No matter what."

Lucy held onto you tightly, her heart warming at the depth of their connection. "I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too, always and forever," you replied, squeezing her gently.

Together, you left the locker room, walking hand in hand, ready to face the world outside. The night air was cool against your skin as you both stepped into the quiet embrace of the evening. The stadium lights cast a soft glow and Lucy looked up at you, her expression filled with gratitude.

As they walked side by side, the bustling energy of the stadium faded into the distance, replaced by the tranquillity of the night. The gentle breeze rustled through the trees next to the stadium, carrying with it a sense of renewal. You could feel the weight of the disappointment lifting from Lucy's shoulders, replaced by a growing sense of peace.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Lucy said, her voice soft but filled with sincerity.

You smiled sincerely, giving Lucy's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"You don't have to do anything, Lucy. I'm here because I love you and I'll be by your side no matter what."

Lucy's lips curved into a genuine smile, her heart warmed by your unwavering support. "I'm so lucky."

You continued your leisurely walk to the place where the bus was waiting for you all. The stadium lights twinkled in the distance, creating a picturesque backdrop for your quiet moment together. The world around both of you seemed to fade into the background as you focused on each other.

"You know," you said, breaking the silence, "this journey, win or lose, will not bring any drawbacks or anything negative. It's shown me just how strong and resilient you are."

Lucy's gaze held a mixture of emotions—gratitude, determination, and a touch of vulnerability. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "And after all of this defeat and everything else, I wouldn't be who I am today without you. You've taught me about dedication, passion and the importance of enjoying the presence."

Lucy's grip on your hand tightened, a gesture of reassurance and affection. "We're a team, aren't we?"

You nodded, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "Yes, we are. No matter what life throws our way, we'll face it together."

As you entered the bus, you both took a seat next to each other. Lucia turned to you, her eyes reflecting a sense of wonder and appreciation. "You always know how to make me feel better."

Your smile was filled with genuine affection. "Because I love you, Lucia Roberta. Your victories are my victories, and your losses are my losses. We're in this journey together."

Lucy leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. In that moment, under the gentle embrace of the night and dimmed bus lights, you both felt a profound connection—a bond that transcended the wins and losses, a love that was unbreakable and everlasting.

As the bus started to drive towards the hotel, you had your hands still intertwined, you held Lucy's head on your shoulder, knowing that their journey was far from over. With each challenge you and Lucy faced, you both would continue to find strength in each other's presence and the love between you both would guide you through every twist and turn.

And so, as the night unfolded around the two of you, Lucy and you couldn't wait to get to the hotel, cherishing the moments and the boundless love that had carried both of you through the highs and lows of life, united in unbreakable spirit.

#mine #read #masterlist #lucy bronze #lb #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze oneshot #woso #woso x reader #fc barcelona #fc barcelona femeni #fc barca #women's world cup #wwc #wwc 2023 #lionesses #england #england wnt

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jacevelaryonswife · 11 months

Text

Golden and Silver, my new colors | Part Seven

As a second son Aemond had to fight from an early age to conquer what he wanted, so the search for the forgiveness of his beautiful wife couldn’t be different.

∴pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader

∴warnings and a note: fluffy and suggestive content; english is not my first language. 2,5k of words

golden and silver masterlist

It's funny how the course of things varies with time. Months ago you anxiously wished for your husband's love and haste, weeks ago you hated him with all your fury and a few days ago you accepted that your heart could forgive him. Aemond wasn’t only doing his duty as a husband, he was being everything you longed for him to be: kind, attentive and interested. Your husband was perfectly fulfilling the oath that wouldn’t be negligent again, from small gestures as gentle caresses on your back and hands as in quiet conversations throughout the days.

How are you feeling? Would you like something? How were the classes with the septã? What have you been reading? Did something happen?

And gradually you began to match him with the same questions.

How was the training? How is the food? How are you feeling?

He was genuinely fine with you.

As a second son Aemond had to fight from an early age to conquer what he wanted, so the search for the forgiveness of his beautiful wife couldn’t be different. He learned the most difficult way the consequences of an absent paternity and devalued motherhood, so why affect his own family in this? You deserved more than was emotionally offered. Therefore, in that mild late afternoon he decided to fulfill a previous promise and took you to your first love and conquest: Vhagar. In addition to stimulating the creation of the affective bond between you, Aemond thought it would be a good way to knock down some bricks of your barrier to allow your passage.

You wore a light golden dress for the occasion, which exhibited the growing prominence of your belly. Your hair was mostly loose with the exception of a simple hairstyle and some jewelry adorned your ears and neck. All the way there was a conscious heat in your stomach about what was about to happen, almost comforting — although anxious. Your husband was very incisive in questioning the Grand Maester Orwyle if the flight would not harm your health and pregnancy, being assured that a light flight wouldn’t harm your condition. It was a big step for your relationship and for him, you knew, but seeing him perform it warmed your heart. Although you didn’t share the same enthusiasm as your husband on the subject in question, you responded in a cordial and polite way — too cordial to go unnoticed.

"Are you nervous?" He asked.

You took a deep breath, looking at him before facing the ground. “A little bit.”

Aemond wasn’t common to physical touches, but he chose to lower the arm you squeezed to your waist and caress the swollen side of your belly. "There's nothing to fear while you're by my side, she feels what I feel."

"And what do you feel?" You asked softly, but expectantly.

Maybe that was the first time your beautiful husband displayed a genuine, restrained, but genuine and kind smile. "Good things," he said, making you reciprocate the soft stretching of lips.

"It's good to know."

Even there is a long distance, the great centenary figure became visible and intimidating. The tales used to be pleonastic most of the time, but you found that there was no exaggeration about the description of the colossal and aggressively imposing being. Another perception was the mild behavior of your husband, a great contrast to the usual stiffness of his closed jaw and intense eyes. He looked almost ethereal with his elegant posture and perfectly combed hair. Even though it was a sin, you thought it looked visually divine.

A meek roar drove away your daydreams and made you realize that you had arrived at your destination. Staying a few steps behind, you saw again a part of your husband's armor fall when you approached his mount and... caressed her?

“Uēpa riña, skorkydoso glaesā?” He said. Old girl, how are you? Unfortunately you weren’t knowledgeable of High Valyrian to understand what that meant. “Jaelan ao naejot rhaenagon mēre issaros.” I want you to meet one person. He took your hand and put it on the rough and rigid skin. “Bisa iksis ñuha ābrazȳrys.” That’s my lady wife.

It was the first time touching those beings... it was... unbelievable.

"What did you say?" You asked softly, delighted with the big animal in front of you — under your touch.

"I just introduced my beautiful wife," he said, taking your hand from his and landing on the small bud in your belly. "... when our baby is born I want a dragon egg in his or her crib." A trace of seriousness filled his tone and softened feature, visible in the intensity that your good eye looked at you.

His past was never an option to be approached because it was too painful and intimate, but you weren’t oblivious to what had happened, not when the evidence was quite clear.

“I appreciate it, but I wouldn't mind if he or she was as brave as the father and claimed his or her own,” you said, putting your hand on the left side of his face.

Another feeling flourished in his expressive look, which you didn’t know how to unravel, but kept your eyes attentively on his for the following moments. Even not knowing the feelings of others, you both thought that would be a good time for a passionate and kind kiss, it was enough for one of you to lean over and...

Vhagar's guttural roar announced that she was still there, making you laugh. "So, how do I get on that thing?"

"Don't call her a thing, it's impolite," he corrected you with humor.

Whatever it is...

"I believe it's more rude to you than to her," you replied as you took his hand to be carefully guided through the body of the big animal. The construction of nervousness was accentuated when you arrived in the saddle used by your husband. For the seven!

A satisfied and somewhat presumptuous smile was sketched by Aemond when he positioned himself in front of you. “Hold on tight, the sprint is turbulent,” he instructed.

"Where should I hold it?" You asked confused — afraid to touch him.

"In me, hold tight on my body."

Seven heavens...

You held his hips initially, but... but it seemed appropriate to lean to wrap him in an intimate hug and rest your head on his back. He always smelled good, there was no way to resist. And then, Vhagar started to take off the momentum and you've never felt so nauseous in your life with those movements. With eyes closed to focus on not vomiting you didn’t capture the transition between solid and volatile, opening your eyes when you were close to the clouds.

You were flying. You were flying!!

“Gods be good!” You laughed excited and incredulous.

"It's a beautiful view, isn't it?"

“Yes! It's.”

Your husband smiled satisfied. “That's just the beginning,”

After the start, the rest of the flight was smooth, but it still made your stomach float a few times. Aemond was perfectly fine flying with his beautiful wife in the largest dragon in the world. His dragon's blood naturally inflamed his veins, but at that moment your firm touch ardently ignited each contemplated part and fed a primitive and inappropriate carnal desire. Seven hells...

In addition to the running activity, Aemond planned to show you something else, which partially occupied his mind in place of inappropriate thoughts. But still...

No, stop!

Although the most beautiful fields were described in The Reach, the one-eyed prince had made a recent discovery in Riverlands (which was also not behind in soil fertility and native beauty) of a beautiful field of yellow flowers, and even better for being close to Kingslanding since wearing you out wasn’t an option.

Wearing you out...

May the Father have mercy on me.

“Can I quickly let go of my arms?” You asked.

“Take the test quickly with one arm and hold me tight with the other,” he instructed.

Oh! That exuded freedom! And it was as tasty as dornese meadwine!

It's been so long since you've left Red Keep, and even longer since something so fresh and soft ran through your body. It was so good. All the recent moments spent with Aemond were good and compensating.

At first, after your explosion on the night of the princess's ball, you thought it would be the end, but life likes to surprise us, doesn't it? Even your parents were surprising not to mention that you had danced with Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir. While the Queen... well, you didn't talk again as before.

They were promising weeks in general, however, you were afraid of facilitating his work in your mission to fix things, after all you were neglected for four months. But well... it's been a month since things changed, so... No! Stop ruining the day!

Unfortunately that feeling lasted longer than you wanted, making you distract you from the reduction of speed and the beginning of the fallow. Until you realized the beautiful yellow flowers arranged as far as the horizon allowed. You couldn't believe it. You had never seen such beauty before — besides your chic dresses and set of diamonds earrings.

Aemond went down first, taking your hand to guide you carefully to the ground.

“Aemond... it's beautiful, it's so beautiful, I can't believe it!” Your emotional eyes were bathed in the orange rays of the sunset. You were radiant and more beautiful than ever.

“Yes It's. It's a beautiful view."

Again, Aemond wasn’t common to physical affection, but he didn’t restrained himself by wrapping you in a hug from behind and touching your belly, smiling when you returned the comfort. "I really appreciate this and everything you're doing these days."

"That's all for you. For both of you. For my beautiful wife and my future family,” he said, breathing his addictive smell.

Your steps were slow and delicate so as not to damage the flowers, following the prince's side as he passed his hand on each vibrant petal. You've never felt so alive before; so full of color and calm down. The velvety texture of the flowers and the refreshing breeze were sweet additions to your happiness. And then, the words started to come out before you could control it.

"You know... before... the day I fainted I had talked to Princess Rhaenyra about pregnancy," you began, "not that I thought it was easy. It started when I thought I would be alone throughout the process. She said things got easy with support, with the right people. And I just... I didn't want to be alone; I don't want to be alone while I go through this, it's confusing, I feel tired and my mood varies so much and I just... I don't want to be alone. I don't want to do this alone."

How he hated himself for hearing that.

Aemond stopped in front of you and held your face, determined to solve all the doubts you might have about him.

“Listen to me. It took me a long time to realize what I had done. My relationship with my father was never good, not when he always favored his first daughter... not when nothing happened when I lost my eye, not when my mother begged for justice," he could not let you believe that he would be alone, "and unfortunately I let the result of that splash on you, because I underestimated you and was not ready for our union, but you made and I regret letting things get where they are, I really regret it, so I assure you with everything I have that I won't leave you alone again."

That was the first time he confessed such intimacy to someone. And he doesn't regret at all releasing such a burden from his chest — neither do you.

"I'm sorry for what happened," you said, copying the position of his hands, "you were just a boy, you didn't deserve it," your thumb traced the perimeter of your scar, "you’re a man dedicated to your studies and training, well-behaved and intelligent, much more than the King could see. And... I know it's not appropriate for the moment, but you're a very handsome man too," you whispered the last part, making you gasp. He wouldn't expect to hear that in a sincere tone.

"Do you see all these qualities in me?" His voice was small.

“Yes, I do.”

Fuck the appropriate.

He leaned with determination to capture your lips in a kiss never before shared between you, full of love and wish, without fear or estrangement, just a soft contact between mouths. He sucked all the air out of your lungs with the initiative and execution, making you hold his jaw while moving your lips slowly (a little clumsy) and intensely.

He circled your waist when he deepened the kiss, approaching your body with tenderness and care.

“Aemond...” you broke a kiss with an enchanted sigh and bright smile, floating around him like a cloud. You have never shared such a passionate kiss before and never in such a beautiful place.

“My beautiful wife,” he closed his eye and leaned his head against your own.

✩。:*•. ──── ❁ ❁ ────. •*:。 ✩

"Have you ever thought of names?" He asked on your way to your shared cameras.

"I thought of some. For a son I thought of Aelor or Aemon, for a daughter I would like Daella or Aelora," you replied, being very comfortable with your head rested against his arm.

“Hm,” he buzzed attentively as he analyzed the options. “No Aegon?”

“I believe this family has enough Aegons,” you were quick to say.

Aemond laughed silently and opened the door for you, watching your body rest against the mattress.

God, you couldn't imagine how much worse your tiredness would be as your belly got bigger and rounder. Your grunt caught the attention of the prince, who directed a watchful eye in his direction.

"Is everything okay?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm just tired," you closed your eyes when your back sank into the pillow, "and I need a good shower."

“I'll arrange it. Do you need anything else?"

"... no, I don't."

He walked to the edge of the bed and sat next to you, touching your belly lightly. It was highly inappropriate for the moment, but it wasn’t something he wanted to keep hiding from you.

"I... I know we didn't have fruitful nights of... you know, intimacy. But I have to say…I need to confess and take it off my shoulders," he began, holding your thigh with his other hand and sending a heat wave to your femininity, "I can't stop thinking about us... in intimate situations."

Seven hells... he wanted to say... copulating?

"I can't stop thinking about having you," he added, "when you're rested on another day, I... would you like to join me in bed?"

Gods be good! Your whole body formed with revelation, a hitherto unknown need bloomed in your shells and your interior squeezed subtly.

"Husband... I..." you didn't expect this, but the warm feeling of his hand on your thigh along with the intense look he watched you fed his courage to say: "do you want to show me the fire of the dragon?"

He took a deep breath and felt his member squirm. "Yes, I want to.”

——————————————————

Well, we are in the final stretch of the story (I still don't know how many chapters are left) and I would like to thank in advance each of you who has been following the course of the story!

taglist: @immyowndefender @arcielee @malfoytargaryen @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fan-goddess @dark-night-sky-99 @siriusdumblittlepuppy @let-love-bleeds-red @sassysaxsolo @cicaspair418 @yentroucnagol @mefools @risefallrise @auratiqs @glitterandgoldfinds @bellaisasleep @plzletmedaydream @padfooteyes @bellameshipper @zillahvathek @schniiipsel @little-duck @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @kaemond-zafiro @the-hufflebird-girl @panagiasikelia @whatsonthemirror @namgification @minttea07 @crazymusicgirl104 @sahvlren @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @glame

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #prince aemond #aemond x wife reader #golden and silver masterlist #golden and silver #golden and silver my new colors

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dabis-azure-songbird · 1 year

Text

Conqueror (Lilia x Fem!Reader)

Here’s the Fanfiction finally for all who liked my Lilia preview~ Warning: NSFW, Possibly dubcon

:readmore:

A very familiar yet distant feeling rises in him as a coil settles low in his stomach. It reminds him of his urges to conquer during his time as a war general. Ruby eyes glitter in the shadows as they watch you and suddenly his uniform is fitting him snugly in more ways than just one. You're sitting and nodding off in the candlelight as the green lightning and rain continue outside.

"Fa- Lilia..." Silver whispers.

Lilia holds a finger up to his lips and nods.

"Off to bed with you. I've got them. They'll be alright."

Lilia isn't sure whether his heart is filled with glee that Silver trusts him, or disappointed at his son's naivety. Silver nods before he heads off to his own bed for the night after all the studying the two of you had done. Lilia glances down at your slumped form before he's scooping you into his arms effortlessly and has your face buried into his neck. You stir slightly and the little nuzzle you give him almost makes him shudder. He debates taking you back to Ramshackle and Grim and the ghosts but finds his feet already carrying you to his chambers. You feel so fragile and dainty in his arms and he lowers you down, with caution, into his own bed. He hears you sigh and settle down into the softness and it brings a smile to his lips, fangs bared on full display.

"Lilia..."

Oho. Interesting.

"Mmm?"

"You're so nice."

The fae snickers softly at your slumbering confession, a soft and eerie viridescent gently glowing and filling the room. His magic.

"Am I, dearie? Even if I want to shatter you in ways you never dreamed of? Am I a monster to you then?"

His cerise orbs are glowing deeply now as he runs his fingers through the length of your hair and presses his palm to your cheek. A mistake on his part. He catches a whiff of your scent and moves your hair off your neck in the caress.

He feels so thirsty, so suddenly. A forsaken bloodlust filling him. One little bite can't hurt you. Despite your fragility, he knows you to be strong. Especially in the case of handling overblotted students. He looms over you, long hair cascading over his shoulder. Your skin is so silky beneath his lips.

And the soft shudder and noise you release send heat shooting through him. His hands rapidly grab your wrists, painted claws digging in as his fangs follow suit on your neck.

This was what shook you awake and you gurgle as you try to squirm. The burn in your neck soon shoots pleasure through your entire body.

"L-Lili..." you choke.

He slurps lewdly and groans softly as he wraps his arms under your back and lifts you against his body. You awkwardly dip as he holds you in a macabre vampire's dance. Your hands find solace on his broad shoulders, unable to see anything as he's able to see everything.

Suddenly, he pulls his mouth away with heavy pants before he lets you rest again, this time with his body on top of yours.

"If you keep that up, I really am going to lose control and conquer you, khee hee...."

"Lilia..."

A rough grind of his arousal against your damp heat has you moaning out.

"Y-You ARE Lilia...but your hair...your body...Mmph!"

"Enough, mortal. I will have nothing but submission from you now."

"S-submission?"

A smirk stretches itself across his face. "Yes, submission, my dear. I'm going to destroy you in one of the most beautiful ways known to man. I'm going to conquer your body and that heart of yours."

A gasp escapes your lungs and as soon as the thought to escape his room crosses your mind, he's pulled you back to him and cups your chin and throat in his hand.

"Oho, trying to escape me, are you? I'm afraid you're a little too slow for that. I'll not hurt you or force you...but, you've got to give this a chance. Though, it is quite fun seeing you try to flee from me. Perhaps, you want me to chase you? Force you into submission for me, hm?"

His breath against your ear causes you to shudder and you shift back against him softly.

"...I see. You've thought of this already, have you? Very well."

Your head tips back softly as the width of his hand grips and rolls a breast fervently.

"My magic may be getting weaker, but I very much assure you that such skills as this are not, little human. You're such a sweet, delicate, innocent, creature. Hunting you and having you fall into my hands was quite fun."

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch...You don't have me yet."

"Khee hee...yet."

His lips envelop yours softly as he tilts your chin to the side, deep and drastically passionate for how rough he was when he pulled you back against him. His other hand slips down to rub at the heat through your pants.

"Oh, so sweet...Your blood...smell...taste... Shall we see where else I can taste you? ...Here?"

"N-no-"

A flash of lightning alights his smirking face in the dark as his hands force you back onto the bed.

"Your mouth says no, but I assure you that your body much smells like an affirmation."

His hand trails the length of a leg sensually before he's pulling at the slacks and bottoms beneath them. Glowing ruby narrows and you can hear the struggle in his voice...to hold himself back.

"Your smell..." He can feel the drool pooling in his mouth before he grips an ankle and yanks you toward his awaiting jaws.

"Lili- Don't..."

It's too late. Far too late. Your delectable flesh is already in his mouth and your taste is permeating his mouth. He moans darkly, hugging your thighs to enclose his head.

A flick here and a flick there and your body squirms beneath his administration. Little gasps are wracking your chest and soft pants leave your mouth as he swirls his tongue and places heated kisses into the heat of your skin. Your hand soon slips into the length of his hair, timidly and almost ghostly.

"Does that feel good, sweetie? ...Mmm..." He grazes his nose against your silky button before he turns to more animalistic nature.

"Because you're absolutely fucking delicious and I don't plan to stop until you squirt all over my face like the obedient sweetheart you are."

You cry out and squirm as he delves his tongue as deeply as he can and rolls his thumb against your button, the rest of his fingers and palm splayed over your abdomen to hold you down.

Your mind is abuzz with his magic filling the room and the power he has over you. It's beginning to go blank the more your body grows taut.

"Lil-"

"Hnhnhn~ There it is, pretty one."

Your back arches as he forces his hand into your abdomen and shoves his tongue as far as it will reach before curling. And with a cry, your body unfurls.

“Lili-“

Lightning fast a hand pinned your wrists above your head as his lips crashed into yours.

“I’ll not be gentle. I’ve craved you long, sweetie. Yield to me.”

You squirmed, trying to keep your legs forced closed, but his hand pushed a thigh open widely. His lips found yours again, tongue domineering and slipping against yours as the hand on your wrists traded for a delicate grasp on your throat.

His hips ground to yours and there was no hiding evidence of your arousal and previous orgasm for him. Your hands gripped his wrists as your tongues continued dancing. His other hand yanked you closer by a plush hip and your leg slid around his waist. Your scent was getting him high.

Crimson burned as you felt the length of himself coat and slide in your slick.

“Haaa…Khee hee…I always wondered whether you’d like me to hold you down and force you to take my cock and seed and fuck you dumb like my personal whore.”

You moaned out as his hips surged, splitting your velvet wide for his barrel. His hand tightened expertly in your wind pipe, just enough to quiet and make you strain a little.

“Shh, darling…After such a long wait, don’t ruin our fun.”

His tongue traced the shape of your ear go by early before he smirked mischievously. You gazed at him in confusion before he divulged his true plans.

His eyes glimmered as he pressed you into a deep mating press and your body took all he gave. You had to. A strangled groan under his hands as you gazed upon him with watery little eyes. Lilia reveled in it. Oh, he was so going to turn you brainless for him.

“That’s a good darling. Now, bite down.”

He offered a glove and shoved it into your mouth. Then his relentless assault to your weeping core began. Your muffled moans rang in his sensitive ears as he continued to hold your trembling thighs wide for him.

“Haa…you’ve got such an amazing body, sweetie. I can’t wait to fill it all up.”

His hips rolled roughly into yours and your mind went hazy as he used his hips to hold you, sliding hands all over your torso. You felt sensitive and jerked as his thumbs slid over delicate nipples and the base of him slammed against your sweet bud. Your juices coated him dreamily and dropped down your backside and his heavy sack in tandem.

The smell of your romp wafted through the room sultrily and you were as drunk on it as he was.

“Oo…Lil…”

A smirk and he peeled an eye open at you from where he was focused and deeply tuned into you.

“Not until you come on me first. Only then will I give it to you.”

“Jussss…a lil’ more, babe…”

Lilia smirked wider at your slurring. “I supposed I can accept that command.”

Something in you snapped finally and you squirmed wildly, forcing his hands to hold you tighter as you bucked beneath him.

“M-mercy…please!”

Lilia chuckled and eased only slightly, still chasing his own high.

“You did so good, baby. You practically squirted on my cock and got me all wet. Are you ready, dear one?”

“Please.”

“Bear just a little longer for me.”

You nodded firmly and gripped the sheets, trying not to cry out as he sped to an inhumane pace that battered and bruised your oversensitive heat.

Then he pushed forward and warmth flooded you. Your hands flew to your abdomen, unable to hold it all. Lilia grit his teeth as he finally retreated and his seed all but exploded from your hole once he let you relax.

You blushed furiously and whined pitifully.

“I’ll be right back, sweet one. Let’s get you cleaned up and put to bed.”

You had no energy, so he settled for gently sponge bathing you both and sliding you into a button-up before getting under his covers.

“You’re by far my favorite conquering. The most fun, too.”

You smiled as you fell into slumber in his chest and the sweet mint grapefruit scent of his hair.

He kept you guarded in his arms. Always.

#twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #twst x reader #twstfilth #lilia x you #lilia x reader #lilia x yuu #lilia x y/n #lilia smut

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 10 months

Text

a sin you were made for │Daemon Targaryen x Daughter!Reader

See my Masterlist for more works!

Please note: this is a ONE-SHOT unrelated to my terms of endearment series.

Synopsis: Your stepmother Rhaenyra thinks it is time you get married. Your father disagrees.

Um, I’m really sorry about this one. It’s awful. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @randomdragonfires for being my unwilling victims during the writing. Some notes: you are Laena and Daemon’s firstborn daughter in this one, born before Baela and Rhaena. As such, this is POC reader, though I hope it can be - well, not enjoyed - by everyone. Plus, this is technically ‘smut’, but it’s arguably the worst thing I’ve ever written so if you ain’t into it I do NOT blame you.

Triggers: non-con, NON-CON, incest, age gap, breeding kink, forced breeding kink, major angst, Daemon’s a creep and a bad man, and a bad father, and overall bad.

“Do you love me, my girl?”

“Yes, Papa,” you say, lip quivering.

There is no man quite like Daemon Targaryen. He is vicious and unrelenting as he is warm and doting, a being of such utter extremes that one’s head may very well spin off its mount before truly comprehending the individual before them. Sometimes it is frightening to linger in his presence; he has a way about him that keeps you forever guessing, unsure of which side of the coin he has landed upon at any given moment. You see, his capriciousness does not spare you—not even you, his eldest, the apple of his eye. Today, you sense that it is one of those days.

He snorts, eyes cold.

“Your stepmother wants to arrange a match for you,” he muses, almost to himself. The calm of his tone unsettles you, unnerves you. “Some cunt from the Vale, methinks. Tell me”—he leans forward at this, fingers clasped together like a penitent’s, only you know he will never be sorry—“is that something you want?”

You swallow. “No, Papa.”

His brow quirks. “No? You don’t want a strapping young lad from the Snakewood to make you his wife? Fuck a few pug-nosed, brown-haired vipers into you? Hm?”

Your heart sinks. No, no, no… You hate it when he gets like this.

“No, Papa,” you try again. It comes out as a whisper.

“No.” He sits back, a darkly pleased tilt playing at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I told Rhaenyra. Alas, she’s quite determined. Thinks it’s unnatural for a young lady your age to take company with her father. Do you think she’s jealous?”

“I—I cannot say.”

Baela and Rhaena had bonded well enough with your stepmother, folding easily into something resembling family, but you… Long has she watched you with carefully assessing eyes, darting back and forth between you and her husband, suspicion written in the planes of her visage but never voiced. You wish she had. Perhaps he would never have stumbled into your rooms soused on wine after celebrating the announcement of little Viserys’s impending arrival; perhaps he would never have seen you there, asleep, so much like your lady mother (and oh, how you miss her laugh and the sound of her heartbeat thumping through her chest and the riotous spring of silver curls smelling of rich Myrish spices even now); perhaps he would never have conceived the notion to claim this fresh Targaryen maiden, because Targaryen maidens belong to Targaryen princes and he was a Prince in all but deed, and so you had belonged to him before you truly knew what it meant for bodies to conquer, to take all and leave nothing behind. Perhaps you would never have awakened to the leaden weight of man over you, foreign fingers pressing between your legs where they ought not to go, this part of you is for your husband one day, dearest, you are to save it for your marriage, but one look up at the glow of pale hair in silver moonlight and the face you had known and loved so well contorted wild and sinister—lust, it is called, you know this now—and you had quailed, for is it not a daughter’s duty to be good and obey her father? And so he had brought the parts of himself you knew not the name of and pried your own open, apart, asunder, hand shoved up against your mouth to quell the sounds sprung from your belly at the agony of it, too much, Father, it’s too much, and sh, you’ll take it, you’re mine to have and I’ll do as I like, and you had felt your brain rattle in your skull at the vigour of his driving thrusts slapping into you, worse than a strike across the face because he had told you all the while I love you, daughter of mine, Papa loves you, and that is all you had ever wanted to hear from him.

No, you cannot say how Rhaenyra feels. You are sure she has her own ideas as to what he spends evenings with you doing—but she will never make the move to ask. Thus, you will never be free.

Your father grunts. “Well,” he says. “I’ll have to put a stop to this nonsense. Can’t have my daughter married off to the Vale, not when I went to such lengths to escape my own incarceration to that bronze bitch.”

This again. You school your expression into something placid. “Of course, Papa.”

He stares at you. “You’re quiet tonight. What—no words of praise for your father? No gratitude?”

“Tha—thank you, Papa.”

“For?”

“Stopping my match to the—to the Vale.”

“And?”

“For keeping me with you.”

“That’s right.” He nods to himself, bringing the cup he has held loosely in his fist to his lips. A droplet of wine treks down his chin—you imagine it is blood. My blood, my life and body and soul and blood, it is all for him whether I like it or not. “I’ll be causing a lot of strife,” he says, “preventing this thing going ahead. Your stepmother will be positively wrathful.”

“Yes.”

What else can you say? If you stay silent, you risk incurring his ire; he does not like for you to behave like a mindless doll. I like a bit of fight in them, he had said once, drunken eyes roaming and drunken fingers fumbling around your throat. Meekness bores me. He is angry when he is bored.

Papa smiles, the action transforming the hard planes of his face into something softer, gentler. You know better than most how deceptive a thought that is. “I think I’ll need reminding. Of how much you love me.” He taunts you with the word, as though love is as meaningless as any other mundane feeling. But it’s not. It’s not. Love is what allows him to break you. “You can do that, can’t you, pet?”

“Yes, Papa.” Your knees knock beneath your skirts, heart racing. He will ask. Any moment, he will ask. “How do… what do you wish of me?”

There. A glint. In the eyes. The kind curve of his mouth turns razor sharp, a knife with which to ribbon your flesh into a thousand thousand pieces. “Take off your dress.”

When you were younger, you had possessed a gift. At times of strife, of extreme and undesired emotion, you could just… slip away inside your mind, if but for a small while. Whatever would happen next would seem as though it were occurring below, and you were above your body watching on, detached, the performance continuing in spite of the fact its main character had departed the stage. You had floated above, looking on as Vhagar bore your mother to blackened bone and ash; the taste of that ash coating your mouth, of burning flesh sometimes awakens you still, but the memory of it is dim, lost to that nether space where time is meaningless. You had floated above when your mother, mama mama please come back save me mama, your sweet, loving mother had been returned to the seas she missed all your life, and the scent of the saltwater sets your nose to streaming in rare bouts. You had floated above as your papa had destroyed you then built you anew for his own desires, pain and the hot lick of pleasure-shame distorting sleep into a hellscape.

Papa’s command leaves you damp between the legs. Sometimes, you think it is your maidenhead bleeding afresh, just like it did that night. You wonder if he will come away stained red again.

He does not like it when you are not readily available to him, so your gowns are easy to remove. A tug here, a shuffle there. The fabric slips to the floor with nary a sound, chased swiftly by your shift and your underthings. When he asks you to remove the dress, he asks for you to remove it all. You had learned that the hard way.

Your toes tingle with the desire to run as he stands, reminding you just how much more he is than you. Older, wiser, stronger, taller. His fingers trace the curve of your breast, pale upon brown, languid as only a man possessed with surety in his claim ever could. Up, up, up he moves, eyes following the path, scorching fire in his wake. Those fingers knot in your hair, crumpling curls between callouses, pressure forcing you down, down, down.

“You know what to do,” he says.

Papa is too big, or you are too small. Whatever the reason, it is why he sits upon your mattress after you tug off the belt, tug down the breeches, shoving the leather strap under the bed so that he does not catch sight of it and decide to use it on you again. He cannot force his cock between your lips when he is standing and you are kneeling. He is too—and you are too—

Hand on your nape. “Go on,” he murmurs.

It is graceless, but you know by now how to make it easier. You work your tongue in your mouth to draw forth the saliva, letting it spill past your lips and track slimy down your chin as you lean forward. Papa is half-hardened, curved like a dagger against his thigh. You start how he likes, by taking him in your grasp at the base and pressing your lips to the tip like you would kiss his cheek.

“Look up.” He grunts when you follow his wish. “Smile.” You do. “Gevie,” he praises. Beautiful.

You do not feel beautiful. You feel wretched.

He tastes caustic, bitterer than the ale you had once snuck from the cellars, but this is a flavour you are accustomed to. It hits your tongue wrong, and you chase that feeling of wrongness, that feeling that Papa seems to have done away with entirely. Knowing that this is against the laws of gods and men is, strangely, the one thing that makes you feel better. A reminder that it is not your fault, perhaps. That it is his.

His fingers tighten against your scalp, pulling, pulling. “Hen hynge sētetāks bībagon raqā, gaomo daor?” You love sucking the cock that made you, don’t you?

The reminder sours in your belly. For a moment, you wonder if you might gag up on him again. Last time, he had jerked you off him and, when he had cleaned himself up, held you close, soothing you with wine-soaked kisses as you cried. It is tempting to make yourself heave if only to have that version of your father back.

A light slap to the side of the face grounds you. “I didn’t say stop,” he says above you, stern and cold.

You push yourself further along him, breathing through your nose until you no longer can, until he has stuffed himself so far down that you feel lightheaded and sick. Salt-musk sticks to your palate and curdles your insides as you fight for air. He cares little, gripping your skull between his palms like he intends to crush it to pulp, taking command of your body to slide along a rhythm of his choosing. Wet, choking sounds fill the room along with his panting moans. All you can do is fist the covers on either side of him and try to recall what it had felt like to slip free of the shackles of reality, to ignore the strike of his sweat-soaked stones jostling against your chin and the winded groans of the man who is supposed to love you.

Not like this, you think. Not like this.

It is only when you splutter around him, the sting of bile making you retch, that he finally takes pity on you. “That’s a girl,” he croons, patting your back as you spit up on the stone beside his feet. “You did better this time.”

Better is not good. He had said that to you once.

Hoisting you up to the mattress with little fanfare, you lay winded on your belly as he rearranges you to his liking. Quickly enough, you are bent almost in half with your face pressed to the covers, knees close to touching your shoulders. In this position, there is no hiding—the cool night air caresses whisper-soft along the split between your legs, forcing you to bloom.

“Pretty cunt, such a pretty cunt,” Papa is muttering behind you, the head of his cock nudging through the grool that slips from the opening he has tilted high for his viewing. Sometimes, he teases, makes it feel nice, makes it just a little harder to feel so awful when he touches you like this. “Desperate fucking cunt, look at all this, you little whore—”

He departs; a firm pass of tongue up from where you are most sensitive, and you cannot help the sound you release as his mouth slurps greedily and messily, and oh, it feels nice, it feels better than a full tummy or a warm summer’s day or a soft fond hug, and maybe he wants to make this time special—

His tongue travels upward, circling the furl of your other hole, the place he has always threatened to stick his cock into whenever you have made him very, very unhappy.

“Papa!”

He laughs. “What”—he sits back, thumbs spreading your rear wide so that his spit dribbles sticky and warm down your back passage—“you don’t like that? I think you would. Sluts like you love getting fucked here.”

You shake your head, terrified. “I don’t—I don’t, Papa, I don’t—” I’m not a slut, you want to say, all that I am is what you’ve made me, but you also think that he’s made you into a slut anyway, and perhaps that is why he had wanted a daughter in the first place. His own personal slut.

“Alright, alright, calm down.” He is still chuckling when he prods himself through the mess of saliva and slick, notching himself at your cunt and beginning the slow push in, always slow because he likes the feeling of you fighting to keep him out. “Stop fighting,” he murmurs as you wiggle, an instinctual drive to get away, “sh, sh.”

Papa holds you down by the back of the neck as he sinks in, never rocking in-out to wet the way and ease the path, no, the panicked clenching and the slight grit of entry excites him, makes me feel like a man, your stepmother’s too fucking loose from all that cavorting about she’s done, do you know how that makes a man feel, my girl?, and you feel like he is shoving the air from your lungs with his own length as it tears its way through you. Fingers digging into the tendons is what keeps you still, battling to keep the tears at bay, for he only gets belligerent when you cry, ungrateful girl, after everything I’ve done for you, I could’ve just left you with your grandmother and grandfather but I took you with me, you owe me, and sometimes you think that maybe you would have been better off with strangers like your mother’s parents than you are with the one that remains to you.

“Papa—it hurts, please—”

“I know it does,” he says, damp kiss to the shoulder, “but you’re a good girl, aren’t you? Be grateful. Stop complaining.”

You hear the warning for what it is. Stop complaining. Your sisters wouldn’t. Maybe I should seek them out instead. Rhaena, kind little Rhaena, perhaps she’d be more grateful than you.

He growls when he hits home, an unkind knock that whites out your vision for a moment, deep and visceral.

It is the only part that is slow.

“Fuck, you’re tighter than Laena,” Papa is saying, grip turned to palm flattening your head to the mattress as he punches through you in short, sharp thrusts, stabbing and burning like a wound. “Tight little cunt just for Papa, no one else, no one but me—”

You bite into the sheets so hard that you think you may just slice straight through, grind your bones into dust and your flesh into ash like your mother’s, and would that not be a fitting end for yet another of Daemon Targaryen’s prized conquests? Like mother, like daughter.

He smacks you across the backside and you try to rear up, squealing, but you are stuck beneath his hand and on his cock and can go nowhere. There is something about it that he likes because he does it again, and again, and again. You are grateful that your skin does not redden like Rhaenyra’s, like your little half-brothers’, that most of the marks will bruise below your mother’s colouring for only you to feel and to know.

“Only thing you’re good for, getting fucked, letting Papa fuck you”—every time he says it, you cry, but you cannot help that, it hurts to hear him say it like it hurts to feel him in you—“don’t know how I’ll ever let this go—”

“Papa, Papa—”

His teeth sink into the meat where your neck and shoulder meet, painful like most of his touches are, and you yell at the sting of it, yell until his hand slams clammy over your mouth to hold you close and quiet and still. “Shut up, shut the fuck up, be good—”

Fingers worm below you, pinching at a nipple and rolling between rough pads, pleasant enough any other time but now it only hurts, only makes you choke on silent sobs like a fist has come around your throat to steal the life from you.

His hot breath rasps over the indentations he has left in your flesh. “I’m going to come in you, get you fat and full of me. Give you a little babe, ruin you for anyone else. What do you think?”

He doesn’t normally spend inside you. Your mind whirls, near-hysteric. Brother-son, sister-daughter, brother and son or sister and daughter. Little sibling tucked up in your own womb, put there by your father.

“See if she tries to rid me of you then,” he snarls, grabbing you by the hips to grind desperately into you, as though he is trying to worm his way into your flesh in some sickening reverse of birth. “Fucking bitch… You’re mine. I seeded you on your mother, I can do what I want with you. I made you for me, no one else.”

If he could, he’d beat Rhaenyra’s head in with a rock like he did his first wife and marry you. He’s said so on some nights; only when he drinks, though. If he were any other man, the talk of marriage might ease the bite of your misuse—but Papa collects wives like knights collect favours. When he tires of them, they die.

Papa’s thrusts turn quick and uneven, piercing, his growl a steady rumble where he joins with you. “Going to come,” he gasps, nails digging into your skin with the strength of his grip. “Going to come in you, my girl—”

“No, no—”

“Yes, give you a little Targaryen babe like you deserve—”

“No, please—”

It is too late. He blusters against your back like an angry bull, wordless noises of animal pleasure driving against your flesh, and warmth bursts inside you, coating you up with the same essence that had given you life. It feels nice, almost comforting, swilling there.

By the time he slips out and rolls you to your back, your tears have dried. You are able to give him the wan smile he wants, mechanically accepting his lips on yours like he is a lover and not the man who sired you. When he kisses you, it is easy to pretend that this is something that you want.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His breath tastes of the wine. “I’ll speak to Rhaenyra.”

“Okay, Papa.” You are resigned to it. There had never truly been any possibility of him letting you go, anyway.

You remain splayed out on the bed as he pulls up his breeches and seeks out the belt you hid, staring up at the canopy, your father’s seed leaking out and seeping through the covers, the sheets, the mattress. They are the only witnesses of your sin.

Papa stops at the door, violet eyes—your eyes—glowing in the night. Even from here, you can see the threat that looms in his expression. “If I find out you’ve been to Gerardys again… you won’t like what happens.”

“I know, Papa,” you say quietly.

For good measure, he locks the door, the key grating in the mechanism as it always does. And so, you are trapped in, unable to seek out moon tea as you had done the last time he spent in you. It is cold now. The hearth ought to have been lit. But the maids know better than to disturb Papa when he comes to visit his firstborn.

Wincing, you rise from the bed. It is like walking on sea legs. As you go in search of your nightgown, you see your reflection in the mirror.

Riotous silver curls rumpled and untidy. Deep circles beneath your eyes. Hollowed out cheekbones. Swathes and swathes of dark skin mottled in places, distorted and marred by your father’s touch. Thin knees, thin elbows, thin arms and legs. A doll left wasting away in the corner, forgotten and alone.

And there, right along your middle, a barely noticeable swell.

Your hand falls to that spot, the place where your brother-son or sister-daughter grows in secret, and your eyes fill with tears again. When he finds out, you will never escape. You will never be free.

The whisper carries eerie through the silence. “I know.”

Read it on AO3:

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madwomansapologist · 2 months

Text

meant to be | shan yu

Pinterest Board | More Shan Yu | AO3

synopsis: Shan Yu told you China would be your dowry. He's a honoured man, despite everything.

warnings: fluff. marriage cerimony (made my best to be historicaly correct). murder couple. age gap. kidnapping. yandere!shan yu (or as i prefer to word it: malewife!shan yu). smut. a lot of teasing. switch!reader. praise kink. dumbification. creampie. in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

The warm breeze ruffled your combed hair. You couldn't care less. There are more important things. Like the sunrise, so warm and invigorating. Or the distant mountains, protecting the city. The lights coming from the houses bellow you.

The world is still so beautiful. All of this seen from the palace, in the highest room, in safety. This view alone made the entire journey worth it.

Your mom pulled you away from the balcony, sitting you down on the bed and trying to rearrange your hair. A red veil was placed over your head, probably in an attempt to get you to sit down and stay still for once.

You weren't expecting for Shan Yu to be so... attached to traditions. They aren't even his. You thought once China was conquered, the only thing he would care about would be his coronation. Not a wedding.

"I just don't see the need of it," you said to Shan Yu. "We're travelling, living together, for so long. Don't you think a cerimony seems... a bit tardy?"

Shan Yu's gaze always revealed more than the words coming out of his mouth. And the certainty hidden in the golden eyes said more than he needed.

He held your hands, taking the last step that separated his body from yours. Shan Yu brushed your hair away from your face, stroking your bloody skin. "You are my greatest pride, Moon," Shan Yu smiled. "Nothing will ever stop me from showing this to the world."

With the world burning around you, Shan Yu knelt down. "Will you marry me?" He kissed your knuckles covered in the blood of your enemies. "Will you give me your heart?"

He did his best to be perfect. Just like in your dreams, Shan Yu explained to you.

Your family was picked up, the trip quicker due to the victory, and the engagement letter was delivered as soon as you were reunited. They feared for you, searched for the truth hidden in between your words, but after a while you made them understand. He's a good man, you swore. It doesn't seem like it, but he's good to me.

You assumed the dowry would be, well, China, but Shan Yu wasn't content. How he discovered that geese were signs of unwavering love you still don't know, but he did. So many flowers, symbols of luck and prosperity.

Shan Yu was clealy trying to make up for the first impression he made on your parents.

The wedding gifts arrived the same day. Silver, jewelry, exotic foods. The separate floor for your parents seemed more like a hideout of treasures than a place to sleep.

They accepted the gifts. You're not sure they could do anything more than that, but it still meant a lot for the both of you.

"You can change your mind, cub," your mom sat beside you. "I've told you before. Your father and I may look old, but we still have energy. One word, and we're ready to runnaway with you."

You let your head fall on her shoulder, enjoying her warmth. You missed her so much. "Thank you," you whispered. "But I am sure of this. I don't think I have ever been so sure of anything in my entire life."

The silence was quite comforting, but you were glad when she opened her mouth. "So you think we look old?"

Laughing, you looked at her. Throught the red veil, you could still see the face of the woman you love the most in the whole word. "You are beautiful," it was nothing but the truth. "Mom, do you still love me?"

She held you by your shoulders, so tight you could feel it on your bones. "Always," she said. "Are you ready?"

You were.

"Perfume," she remind you. Holding the doorknob, you looked back. She opened some drawers, and took a frask out of it. You let her spray it on you. "Lotus flowers. So you can give me pretty grandchildren."

"Mom!" You practically ran from the room, going down the stairs. "I prefer when you hated him!"

You bumped into your father, who held you carefully. Your mother reached you, leaning on him for support. “Now all you have to do is wait,” he informed you. Approaching, with a smirk on his face, he whispered. "Or run away."

They really are soulmates. "Go on," you told them. "I will wait."

They walked away, heading down the stairs to the ceremonial hall, and you took a deep breath. There was no reason to be nervous, but that didn't convince your mind. Admiring the paintings from past dynasties, sad to see how such beautiful works are hidden in an isolated buildings, you heard his steps.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" You asked, glaring at the painting.

Shan Yu offered you his arm. "Incomparable," he smiled, looking at you.

You breathed deep. After a last glance, you accept his touch. "You won't believe what my mom told me."

"Nothing worse than what your father told me, I assume."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The warm breeze caressed your skin, your fingers focused on removing the pendants from your hair. In your chambers, the party was far below in the palace. Shan Yu locked the door, and watched you undo each braid.

"You're happy," he said.

You looked at Shan Yu, and stretched your arm towards him. He got closer, stroking your skin, and stood before you. "And so are you."

"And now?" You allowed him to help you. "China. Our marriage. What comes next?"

Shan Yu stroked your loose hair. "Tomorrow we rule," he said. "Tonight we celebrate."

You stood up, your fingers undoing the knots in your clothes. “We did it all wrong,” you let the fabric fall down your body. You crawled onto the bed, looking at him.

Shan Yu admired you. He looked at you the same way you looked at each of the paintings in this palace. "We did?" He asked, voice hoarse, unable to care about anything other than you.

“I was supposed to be a virgin,” you said. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you slowly spread your legs. His gaze was no different from that of a wild animal. "The veil. The letters you wrote to my parents. The wedding night. I was supposed to be a virgin but you couldn't help yourself, could you?"

He took off his ceremonial attire, being reciprocal to your show. "I prefer it this way," he ignored your teasing. Shan Yu held your ankles, stroking the warm skin and pulling you as he placed one of his knees on the bed. "You're comfortable. Excited. Shameless."

Shan Yu was ready to dive into you, but you were faster. You pulled his arm, knocking him onto the bed. A surprised laugh escaped his lips as you sat on his lap.

“I thought you liked that,” you placed Shan Yu’s hands on your waist. "You seemed to enjoy all of our private lessons. I tried so hard to learn."

Shan Yu moved to lay you down onto the bed, but you stopped him by rubbing your sex against his hardening member beneath you. You forced him down, hands wandering through his chest.

"You little devilish thing," he groaned. "You never cease to amuse me, don't you?"

You scratched his arms, focused on the movements of your hips. "Oh, but that's why you fell in love with me," you whispered against his ear. "You never know what to expect."

He throbed against you. Smirking, you teased him more. "See?" Biting his earlobe, you felt his nails dig into your skin. "I bet I could do anything to you."

You stood up, admiring how the yellow eyes followed your movements. Rubbing your breasts against Shan Yu's torso, you kissed him.

Celebrate, he told you.

Still kissing him, you grabbed his cock and rubbed it against your clit. Before he could react, you let it slide inside you. With his cock deep within your pussy, you rode him.

Mesmerized, Shan Yu could only watch the way your body moved. How perfect you were. Made to break him in pieces and put him back together.

"You fuck me so good," you moaned, looking into his eyes. Walls clenching tighter around his cock, buried deep within you. "Hm, fuck... My emperor is so good for me."

Something imploded inside Shan Yu.

He grabbed your neck, throwing you onto the bed, still inside you. Shan Yu moved you effortlessly, as if you were as light as a feather. Your legs on his shoulder, his hand holding your neck as if you would've run away from him, his teeth deep into your skin.

"Say it again," Shan Yu growled.

"My emperor," you cried. "You make me feel so whole. F-fuck, you can do anything you want to me."

Shan Yu fucked you like a senseless animal. Like a brutal beast. Like something made for him to devour, to taste and savor until he got tired. A pretty doll for him to break and put together how many he wanted.

You never felt so desired.

You pulled him into a kiss, your lips barely able to behaving as they should've. Close to him, closer than anyone else has ever been, you felt as his thrusts find the right place to beat.

"Mine," was the only thing you were able to understand from his words. "I will never let you go," he squeezed your neck, getting a whimper from you. "You're mine."

Your mouth contorted into a smile. "I don't want to go," you pulled his hair. "I'm yours. Only yours."

And so Shan Yu filled you, teeth deep into your skin. He didn't stop. He continued moving hard, his thumb circling your clit, until you melted into his fingers.

"My emperor," you whispered against his mouth.

Shan Yu smiled, his teeth sinking into your lips. "My empress."

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#madwomansapologist #prisoner/bride au #shan yu scenario #shan yu fanfiction #shan yu fanfic #shan yu mulan #shan yu #shan yu x reader #shan yu fic #disney villain #mulan 1998 #disney mulan

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autumnshighlady · 3 months

Text

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 19)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Eris helps Nesta conquer her fear of fire

warnings: inner circle slander, MAJOR angst, Cassian hate

word count: 4.2k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: sorry for the short chapter (i mean it's still 4000+ words but its short for me lmao) but I'm already working on the next one but here's a Neris chapter! haven't updated this fic in too long, so I apologize. Enjoy and as always, tell me your thoughts and reactions!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18

read on ao3

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

NESTA POV

Nesta gently stroked Athariel’s silver scales as the dragon snaked its head around her, vying for attention. The beast made a low cooing noise at her touch, and Nesta chuckled to herself. She remembered the mix of awe and fear she had felt upon seeing the dragons for the first time. Ancient and mythical beasts beyond her wildest imagination, in the flesh before her very eyes. And yet at this moment, Athariel was acting more like a puppy than a dragon.

“Some fearsome beast you are.” Nesta murmured as Athariel continued to purr lowly. She reached forward to scratch behind the dragon’s right horn, and Athariel responded by closing her eyes and pushing her head further into Nesta’s hand. “Spoiled creature.”

The sweet autumn breeze funnelled into the cave and stroked Nesta’s cheek. It was an unusually cold day. Even the thick wool layers did little to keep out the biting chill that seeped into Nesta’s bones. She shivered slightly, pressing closer to the dragon for warmth.

Eris had left about ten minutes ago to fetch something for today’s training session. As usual, he refused to elaborate, only giving Nesta a playful wink that he knew would send her blood steaming when she asked what he was going to fetch. Every few days, Eris dragged her to the dragon cave to train her magic. Even after her demonstration to Beron, Eris insisted they continue the practice. “Killing my father is going to take a lot more finesse than your display, my dear.” He had explained. “My father is not an idiot. He knows how to defend himself, you do not.”

As much as she hated admitting that she liked spending time with Eris, it pained Nesta to be away from you. Since the announcement of your engagement, you had been constantly pulled away by servants, planners, dress fitters, and courtiers in preparation. It broke her heart, seeing the life slowly drain out of your eyes with each passing day. She saw how you snuck desperate glances at her as you were shuffled off for wedding business, pleading for help through the bond. There was nothing that could compare to the pain of the helplessness she felt. Eris had sternly told her to keep it together, that she had a part to play and couldn’t interfere with your engagement yet. His father would be watching your every move, and if Nesta became too involved then everything would go to hell.

The thought of the two upcoming weddings made Nesta’s stomach churn. While she definitely got the better of Beron’s sons, there were still so many things about Eris that she couldn’t figure out. The Prince always had an angle to play, never revealing his next move until he was certain things would work out in his favour. Nesta could understand why he was helping her. Objectively, their marriage was a strong match. She had been raised by her mother for this exact role – a doting wife who appeased the males of the court, but one with a viper’s tongue who was able to hold her own and get exactly what she wanted. Eris would benefit from it too, having a Cauldron-made female at his side whose powers dwarfed any of those in his court.

But his angle with you was something Nesta couldn’t figure out. Helping you was a huge risk for him, one that placed both you and the Prince in danger. Throwing you out of the Autumn Court and delivering you back to Rhysand would have been the smart move for Eris, as it would have eased the tension between Autumn and Night after Nesta had slipped through Rhysand’s grasp. Helping you was a risk that Nesta couldn’t understand why Eris was so willing to take. She had tried probing him about it a few times, but he had always brushed her off.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Eris strode back into the cave, a bundle of sticks and wood in his arms. He dumped them on the floor, the clattering noise echoing throughout the dragon’s den. Morgoth’s massive dark head appeared from the shadows, emitting a low rumbling noise that shook Nesta’s bones as he sniffed his master. Eris chuckled, saying something to the dragon in a language Nesta did not understand as he stroked its nose.

She frowned at the pile of wood on the floor. “You went out to collect sticks?”

Eris smirked. “Brilliant observation, Nesta Archeron. You never cease to amaze me.”

She shot him a withering glare. “Prick. What do sticks have to do with training my magic?”

“Because it’s hard to train fire-related magic when you’re utterly terrified of fire itself.”

Nesta froze, panic rising in her chest. Athariel nudged her now-still hand, as if sensing her anxiety. But she kept a straight face and said evenly, “I do not know what you mean.”

Eris scoffed, bending down and arranging the sticks. “Oh, please. You flinch every time the hearth is lit. You look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever I use my magic around you. Deny it all you want, but I see right through you, my dear.”

She blanched at his words. His tone was not accusing nor angry, but casual and nonchalant. He wasn’t trying to put her down, but simply pointed out an observation. Nesta’s throat closed up as she realised just how much Eris truly picked up on. Not once did Cassian ever seem to notice how she flinched from every fire he lit, or how her room was always freezing and damp because she refused to use the fireplace. He had been too focused on fucking her to ever truly see through the front she put up.

“You do not have to tell me why,” Eris said, a bit softer this time. “But fear will distract you, and we cannot afford to have you distracted at this time. I will not force you to face this fear if you truly feel that you cannot, but I believe you are able to. You have already overcome so much, Archeron. Let this be just another obstacle.”

His gentle encouragement surprised Nesta, despite having experienced it before. She always found herself comparing his words to Cassian and the Inner Circle’s. The Inner Circle always gave her the illusion of a choice, two bad options with one worse than the other, forcing her to choose the lesser of two evils and end up going with what worked best for their agenda. There was no choice in training with Cassian, it was presented as something she simply had to do.

Eris, on the other hand, always offered her a way out – another option even if it was one that made his life more difficult. He would explain the upsides and downsides to each path with logic, not manipulation. It was something Nesta grew to appreciate. He never backed her into a corner, or wanted her to submit.

She hated how the way she was treated in the Night Court followed her around like a ghost, haunting her every move. Guilt churned in her gut every time she instinctively snapped at Eris, anticipating that she would be forced into something. To his credit, he did not appear phased by her reactions and would wave off any apologies. It was something the Inner Circle had never understood about her. Nesta’s life had been taken out of her hands when she was snatched in the middle of the night and forced into the Cauldron. She did not choose to become fae, and now suddenly she had an immortal life ahead of her and no idea what to do with it. Yet her choices in the Night Court were never her own. Someone always decided what was best for her, rather than letting her figure out this transition at her own pace.

But Eris always gave her a choice. Nesta knew Eris wanted her to overcome her fear of fire for everyone’s sake, and she trusted him enough by now that she knew if she said no, he would drop the subject rather than push her buttons. So she took a breath, staring at the pile of sticks the Prince had assembled. “Ok,” She said. “I’ll do it.”

*********************

Half an hour later, Nesta’s breath was slightly less shaky. Her back was pressed against Athariel’s silver neck, the heated scales of the dragon adding extra warmth against the damp autumn chill. A small orange fire blazed a few feet in front of her, that haunting snapping noise echoing throughout the cave. It took every ounce of self control Nesta had to not panic, taking deep breaths to try and push down the bile in her throat.

Eris sat beside her, his arm ever so slightly grazing hers. He had spent the past thirty minutes monologuing about anything and everything, a welcome distraction to help Nesta focus on something else other than the crackling of the fire. He told all types of stories, ranging from tales of the ancient beings in Prythian to recounting the time Lucien accidentally killed Eris’s favourite fish by taking it out of the water to get fresh air. Nesta had not chimed in, but let out a snort at the latter story. She had seen Eris smile out of the corner of her eye. A true smile, not his usual arrogant smirk. It made her heart flutter, seeing the autumn Prince so relaxed.

As time passed, the less Nesta flinched at the noises from the fire. Her body began to relax, and she saw less of her father’s face across her mind and began to appreciate the beauty of the orange flames. They still unsettled her and if she could smite them out this second she would. But she no longer felt the urge to crawl out of her own skin.

“... And I ate every last bit of that so-called ‘birthday cake’ Lucien made,” Eris rambled on, following another story about him and his youngest brother. “It was ghastly. Every bite made me want to hurl my guts up, but my brother looked so young and proud of his creation that I couldn’t hurt his feelings. Although he has always been a slippery little bastard, so part of me wondered if he was just playing innocent and deliberately made me a disgusting cake on purpose to see if I loved him enough to pretend it was good.”

Nesta laughed, truly laughed at that. She turned her head to meet Eris’s gaze. He made no jibing remark about how rare a laugh like that was for her, like Cassian would have done. He simply smiled, the orange light of the fire casting artful shadows across his pale skin.

“Eris,” Nesta began hesitantly, the noise of the fire fading into the background. “Can I ask you something?”

The heir shrugged. “I am an open book, Nesta Archeron. Ask away.”

She snorted. “Ok, well we both know that’s not true.”

“If you want to know my deepest darkest secrets, my dear, all you have to do is ask.” Eris purred. Nesta’s blood heated at his velvety voice, and she pushed herself to focus.

“What happened to Lucien?” She asked. “I was never told much about him, even by (Y/N). All I know is that he was in the Spring Court with Feyre when she was there, and he was in that room in Hybern with the Cauldron. And that he’s Elain’s mate and is now bouncing between the mortal lands and the Night Court.”

Eris sighed. “It’s complicated, Nesta.”

“I’m just trying to understand his role in all of this.”

“Including if he would be a good mate to your sister, am I correct?”

Nesta swallowed her sadness. She had tried not to think about Elain these past few weeks. The memory of finding out Elain had been the one to pack up what little belongings she had in her apartment stung like a fresh wound. “No,” She corrected Eris. “Because I appear to be the only one from the Night Court who likes to think of him as his own person, not just Elain’s mate. Who Elain chooses to be with is no longer my concern.”

Eris nodded. “Very well. Lucien is the youngest of my brothers, and my father was especially cruel to him. What I am about to tell you cannot leave this cave, understood?”

Nesta nodded, curious.

“Lucien is not my father’s son. My mother had an affair with Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court. I figured it out quickly, but my mother always denied it. My father had suspicions but no proof, so he took every opportunity he could to punish Lucien. He hated that Lucien never cared about his royal status, and that he frequently made friends with individuals that my father deemed unworthy – (Y/N) included. One day, he met a lesser faerie named Jesminda. When my father found out about it, he had two of my brothers hold Lucien back as he executed Jesminda right in front of him.”

Nesta chose her words carefully. “Were you… were you there?”

Eris looked at her sharply. “Yes, I was. But I refused my fathers request to kill Jesminda, so he did it himself. It is the only thing I have ever refused him, even to this day. And I paid the price for it.”

“What did he do to you?”

“That matters not. Once I was released from the dungeons, my spies informed me that my father was planning on killing Lucien. I knew my brother was smart and would flee to the Spring Court, so I alerted Tamlin to the situation. Tamlin found Lucien at the border and killed two of my three brothers that had been sent after him to slaughter Lucien on our father’s orders.”

Nesta picked at a thread on her sleeve and asked dryly, “Let me guess, Malgorm was the one who escaped Tamlin’s claws?”

Eris snorted humourlessly. “Yes. Somehow, Malgorm always finds a way to escape death. It’s incredibly annoying.”

“Does Lucien know what you did for him?”

“No. He does not. And it does not matter if he did know, it would not change his hatred for me.”

A sadness overtook Eris’s eyes that pained Nesta. With a sick feeling in her gut, she knew looking at Eris was like looking in a mirror. Two eldest children with a cruel parent, twisted and moulded into their parent’s perfect creation. Nesta knew that Feyre would always see her as their mother’s favourite, but never knew just how much Nesta suffered underneath her. How Nesta would plead to the universe every night that their mother would turn her attention elsewhere because neglect was better than cruelty to her. Feyre did not know that her grandmother had beaten her, or that her mother had pulled Nesta’s hair until she cried and deprived her of meals to keep her thin. Nesta had never told her, not only for fear of showing weakness, but because she knew that Feyre had been so neglected she wouldn’t truly be able to understand that their mother’s attention was not something to be desired.

And Eris was the same. All the tales Nesta had heard of him portrayed the male as a worse version of Beron, a perfect eldest son and soldier for the High Lord to wield like a sword. But he had done so much to protect his younger brother, and just like Nesta, had never told him because he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully understand it. They were both disliked by their youngest sibling for being their parent’s prized pupils, oblivious to the whole story. Even though Eris had not answered her question, Nesta knew that what Beron had put him through was a thousand times worse than anything her mother had done. Deep down, she knew that Eris was just as broken as she was. Their main difference was Eris had centuries of practice in masking it, whereas Nesta did not.

“You’re not a bad male, Eris.” Nesta said softly, her gaze lost in the warm amber of his eyes.

“You hardly know me.” His voice was bitter, the aloof arrogant mask he wore threatening to slide up and hide the vulnerability Nesta had seen in his face moments ago. “I’ve done horrible things in the name of my father, Nesta. Things that would make you run back to the Night Court if you knew.”

“I don’t judge people for what they had to do to survive.” Nesta insisted, her voice even. “You may have your own secret agenda, Eris, but you’ve treated me better than most people have in a long, long time. Do not think I don’t appreciate that.”

Eris laughed, and the haunted look was shoved from his face. “My dear, how you have been treated is appalling, even to me. Let’s not have that be the standard, I beg you.”

“How do you know I didn’t deserve it?” Nesta said before she could stop herself. It simply slipped out, the guilt that had been shoved down her throat by the Inner Circle ever since she became fae entrapping her words once again. It was an exhausting uphill battle. Every day, she told herself that she was right to flee the Night Court, to try and make a life for herself outside Velaris. But every day those seeds of doubt wriggled their way into her thoughts, trapping her inside a web of self hatred that she had fought so hard to get out of.

“Seriously?” Eris said incredulously, eyebrows raised. He shifted so he was facing Nesta, and he took her still trembling hands in his own. “Tell me, what criminal, abhorrent offence have you committed to warrant being treated like shit and locked up?”

Nesta’s throat was dry. “I didn’t try and help my family like Feyre did when we were in poverty.”

Eris shook his head. “You are the eldest daughter, not the parent. It was not your responsibility to provide for your family.”

“I was mean to Feyre on several occasions.”

“You’re sisters, that’s supposed to happen. You should hear the vicious things my brothers and I say to each other.”

“I spent a ton of Rhys’s money on alcohol, drinking myself stupid every night.”

“Please, that male has more money than anyone I know, my dear. I assure you his bank account was not dented in the slightest.”

“I slept my way through the city after the war.”

“Everyone in that little Inner Circle has fucked more fae than anyone I know. Your number is nothing compared to theirs.” Eris said calmly. “All I’m hearing is that a newly turned fae female was traumatised after being dragged into a brutal war she did not ask for, and found unhealthy yet very normal ways of coping. So tell me again, what actual horrid thing have you done to deserve any of this?”

Tears filled Nesta’s eyes as she listed her sins, the crackling of the fire fading into the background. She knew Eris was right, his logical mind soothing her anxious one. Talking about it with Eris was different than talking about it with you. You had been just as angry as Nesta had, forced into the same situation as her and kept in the House of Wind against your will, the Inner Circle using the fact that they had saved both your lives as leverage to make you do what they wanted. You were someone who Nesta could rant to about it and get angry, letting that hatred she felt out to someone who knew exactly what she meant. But Eris was different. He rationalised her thoughts, providing a different kind of reassurance.

She couldn’t stop the tears that fell down her cheeks. Nesta bit her wobbling lip, trying to keep more from spilling out. Eris released one of her hands, bringing it up to her face and gently brushing the tears away. “They’ve done a number on you, haven’t they?” He murmured softly, cupping her cheek. “What are you thinking right now, Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta inhaled deeply, pressing her face slightly harder into Eris’s warm hand. The smell of smoke and forest engulfing her senses. “That I am scared,” She admitted. “For so many reasons. I am scared that Cassian will find me and steal me back to Velaris. That everything we’ve done has all been for nothing. I’m scared that your father will find us out somehow and kill us all. I’m scared for (Y/N) and her engagement to your awful brother. And I hate myself, Eris. I hate myself for who I’ve become not just because I am now fae, but because the person I was before the Cauldron would not have given in and trained with Cassian. I… I am afraid that with this new immortality ahead of me I will not recognize the girl I used to be, and not in a good way. I hate that I have let the words of people who barely know me cut this deeply, and I am ashamed of it.”

Eris continued to use his thumb to brush away the fresh tears on her cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You have had a difficult hand dealt to you, Nesta.” Eris said softly. “And they should have known better. Do not be ashamed. For anything. Just know you have (Y/N), just as you have me. We will not let the Night Court take you, I swear on my mother’s life. Your mate cares for you, and I… I care for you, too.”

Nesta opened her mouth to respond, but a strange sensation in her chest stopped her. It suddenly felt like she was falling through space, the stars overhead spinning around her as she plummeted towards a strange light. She gasped, and felt Eris tense up as well. In her mind, she saw her silver flames dancing towards orange ones. They intertwined, braiding together and forming a magical rope-like appearance. Nesta reached down in her mind, her heartbeat racing as she grabbed a hold of it. She peered down to where the flames had extended to, seeing a flaming silhouette on the other end, her silver flames surrounding it affectionately.

And so she reached forward, extending a mental hand into that flaming silhouette.

And Eris gasped.

Nesta’s eyes shot open, and she lurched back from the Autumn Prince’s touch. Eris’s face was ghostly pale, and he was panting as if he had just fought off a hundred soldiers at once. Athariel hissed behind her, not happy to be awoken by the sudden movement. Her mouth was dry. She had felt this feeling before, but with you. That flaming rope she had followed felt the same as the pull of the tattoo on her sternum.

The mating bond.

The flaming silhouette at the other end of the magical rope was Eris Vanserra. Nesta’s mind reeled, her body threatening to combust with the feeling inside her chest. She could only stare at the male before her in shock.

Estelle said fae can have more than one mate, but Cassian is not one of yours. Your words rang in Nesta’s head like a bell, making her feel dizzy. No, she thought. This isn’t possible. You were her mate, how could this happen? There was still that strange feeling in her chest from Cassian, which confused her even more. The feeling of one mating bond within her was overwhelming enough, but two? Nesta didn’t know if she could survive it.

“Eris…” His voice was like a prayer on her lips, sounding completely different than the previous hundred times she had said it. It was like a song, carrying over to the shaken autumn prince and snapping him out of his trance.

“Nesta.” Her blood sang at the sound of her name, silver flames sparking from her fingertips in response.

“Like calls to like…” She muttered, recalling Eris’s repetition of the phrase. And then it dawned on her. Eris had consistently told her that like calls to like, and she had thought he was talking about their similarities in magic.

Fury rose within her, drowning out everything else. “Did you know?” She hissed at Eris.

The male’s eyes were wide, and he stuttered. “I–”

“Did you fucking know?” Nesta growled. “Is this the only reason you agreed to help us? So you could use the bond to trap me. Is that what you wanted? To keep me prisoner here, just like your father did to your mother?”

Eris blanched, flinching like he had been struck. Nesta felt it, the blow of her words, as if she had been punched in the chest. “I swear, I did not know.” Eris pleaded. “Nesta, please, you have to trust me. I had no idea about this.”

Nesta rose to her feet, her entire body shaking. She climbed onto Athariel’s back, nudging the dragon forward with her heels. Athariel grumbled, but got to her feet and began to crawl out of the cave. Her hands shook as she held onto the dragon’s horns. She stared down at Eris, who appeared paralyzed in shock as he looked up at her. Nesta’s voice was cold as ice as she said, “I don’t believe you.”

And as Athariel spread her wings and took to the sky, Nesta had not noticed the fire had gone out completely.

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xoxoskai · 4 months

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Things that got overshadowed in RKverse.

Alternatively, things Rina Kent characters still haven't gotten over completely.

I was thinking about Rina glossing over the very traumatic experience that Cole went through at the end of Ruthless Empire, and it got me thinking. So, I wrote a little something to show that yes, love conquers all, but sometimes you still struggle with battles where you've been defeated too many times.

I won't exactly say these were things that were overshadowed as much as these things being experiences one doesn't simply get over in a couple of months. Experiences as traumatic as the ones some of these characters have faced might take years- if not, decades, to get over and I just wanted to bring them to light a little bit.

Silver can't look at dolls.

Ronan probably used to hide in his closet, trembling and shivering, and hated physical contact for a long, long time.

Cole sells his family's mansion and buys the rights to his mother's books so he can unpublish them.

The marks on Kim's wrists still give her phantom pains sometimes.

Jonathan and Aurora always make sure Alicia's grave has her favorite flowers.

Somedays, Teal feels so dirty that she spends hours in the bath trying to scrub herself clean of the demons of her past.

It takes Cole a long time to be able to enter a pool again and whenever he has a nightmare of his mother trying to kill Silver, he drains the pool out and leaves it dry for months.

At some point, Asher and Reina take their sons bungee jumping but after Asher nearly loses his mind when Gareth and Killian are getting geared up, the family decides to go home and indulge in other fun activities.

Sebastian develops claustrophobia after he loses Naomi for seven years.

Gwyneth makes it a point to hug both her parents as much as she can. She needs reassurance that it won't be the last time she gets the chance to hug them.

Kyle obsessively keeps track of his children after Mia's kidnapping. He has cameras installed everywhere near the twins' apartment and Nikolai's penthouse after they move to Brighton. He knows it's unhealthy, but he does it for his peace of mind.

Knox has days when he's away from Anatasia that he functions on autopilot to repress his demons.

Daniel still can't eat food on selective occasions. He prefers munching on peach flavored lollipops instead.

The first time Lia is teaching Annika different ballet stances, she has a breakdown and curls up on the floor and cries. Yan has to take Annika away and Adrian holds Lia and rocks her back and forth for a while.

It takes Sasha a while to not flinch at loud sounds/noises that are like a prelude to bombs blasting.

Anton has a hard time looking in the mirror because he stole someone's identity and hasn't made peace with it.

Jayden wakes up in cold sweat, scared that his father will finally catch up to him at some point. Once he's of an acceptable age, Daniel sits him down and tells him why his father will never show his face around them again.

It takes Astrid some time to get her driver's license. She mostly prefers to have someone else drive her around.

Xander has recurring dreams about waking up in a puddle of Kim's blood for years on end.

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Thank you for reading! It hurt my heart to write this, but it was still exhilarating in a way to shine some light on the not-so glamourous parts of some of our beloved characters.

#legacy of gods #royaleliteseries #rina kent #cole nash #silver queens #teal van doren #ronan astor #xander knight #kimberly reed

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middleearth-polls · 8 months

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Please see each moment quoted below the poll under the cut.

1. Sam finds Frodo in Cirith Ungol:

‘I can hardly believe it,’ said Frodo, clutching him. ‘There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam! Then I wasn’t dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?’ ‘It was indeed, Mr. Frodo. I’d given up hope, almost. I couldn’t find you.’ ‘Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,’ said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand.

2. Aragorn finds Boromir near Parth Galen

A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the lake he found Boromir. He was sitting with his back to a great tree, as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was broken near the hilt; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and at his feet. Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. ‘I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. I have paid.’ His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. ‘They have gone: the Halflings: the Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.’ He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again. ‘Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.’ ‘No!’ said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. ‘You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!’ Boromir smiled. ‘Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?’ said Aragorn. But Boromir did not speak again.

3. Pippin finds Merry in Minas Tirith:

Pippin’s face was anxious. ‘Well, you had better come with me as quick as you can,’ he said. ‘I wish I could carry you. You aren’t fit to walk any further. They shouldn’t have let you walk at all; but you must forgive them. So many dreadful things have happened in the City, Merry, that one poor hobbit coming in from the battle is easily overlooked.’ ‘It’s not always a misfortune being overlooked,’ said Merry. ‘I was overlooked just now by – no, no, I can’t speak of it. Help me, Pippin! It’s all going dark again, and my arm is so cold.’ ‘Lean on me, Merry lad!’ said Pippin. ‘Come now! Foot by foot. It’s not far.’ ‘Are you going to bury me?’ said Merry. ‘No, indeed!’ said Pippin, trying to sound cheerful, though his heart was wrung with fear and pity. ‘No, we are going to the Houses of Healing.’

4. Bilbo reunites with Thorin after the Battle of Five Armies

‘Farewell, good thief,’ [Thorin] said. ‘I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.’ Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. "‘Farewell, King under the Mountain!’ he said. ‘This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils - that has been more than any Baggins deserves.’ ‘No!’ said Thorin. ‘There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!’ Then Bilbo turned away, and he went by himself, and sat alone wrapped in a blanket, and, whether you believe it or not, he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse. He was a kindly little soul.

5. Beleg and Túrin reunite in the woodlands

As night drew down they were all gathered about him, and Ulrad brought a brand from the little fire that was lit in the cave-mouth. But at that moment Túrin returned. Coming silently, as was his custom, he stood in the shadows beyond the ring of men, and he saw the haggard face of Beleg in the light of the brand. Then he was stricken as with a shaft, and as if at the sudden melting of a frost tears long unshed filled his eyes. He sprang out and ran to the tree. ‘Beleg! Beleg!’ he cried. ‘How have you come hither? And why do you stand so?’ At once he cut the bonds from his friend, and Beleg fell forward into his arms.

6. Gollum finds Frodo and Sam asleep

Gollum looked at them. A strange expression passed over his lean hungry face. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired. A spasm of pain seemed to twist him, and he turned away, peering back up towards the pass, shaking his head, as if engaged in some interior debate. Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo’s knee – but almost the touch was a caress. For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.

7. Húrin and Morwen reunite at their son's grave

But suddenly her eyes looked into his, and then Húrin knew her; for though they were wild now and full of fear, a light still gleamed in them hard to endure: the elven-light that long ago had earned her her name, Eledhwen, proudest of mortal women in the days of old. ‘Eledhwen! Eledhwen!’ Húrin cried; and she rose and stumbled forward, and he caught her in his arms. ‘You come at last,’ she said. ‘I have waited too long.’ ‘It was a dark road. I have come as I could,’ he answered. ‘But you are late,’ she said, ‘too late. They are lost.’ ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you are not.’ ‘Almost,’ she said. ‘I am spent utterly. I shall go with the sun. They are lost.’ She clutched at his cloak. ‘Little time is left,’ she said. ‘If you know, tell me! How did she find him?’ But Húrin did not answer, and he sat beside the stone with Morwen in his arms; and they did not speak again. The sun went down, and Morwen sighed and clasped his hand and was still; and Húrin knew that she had died.

8. Isildur's son encourages Isildur to leave

Elendur, not yet harmed, sought Isildur. He was rallying the men on the east side where the assault was heaviest, for the Orcs still feared the Elendilmir that he bore on his brow and avoided him. Elendur touched him on the shoulder and he turned fiercely, thinking an Orc had crept behind. ‘My King,’ said Elendur, ‘Ciryon is dead and Aratan is dying. Your last counsellor must advise, nay command you, as you commanded Ohtar. Go! Take your burden, and at all costs bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!’ ‘King's son,’ said Isildur, ‘I knew that I must do so; but I feared the pain. Nor could I go without your leave. Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.’ Elendur kissed him. ‘Go! Go now!’ he said.

9. Lúthien finds Beren in Tol-in-Gaurhoth

Then side by side from stone to stone o'er Sirion they climbed. Alone unmoving they him found, who mourned by Felagund, and never turned to see what feet drew halting nigh. 'A! Beren, Beren!'came her cry, 'almost too late have I thee found? Alas! that here upon the ground the noblest of the noble race in vain thy anguish doth embrace! Alas! in tears that we should meet who once found meeting passing sweet!' Her voice such love and longing filled he raised his eyes, his mourning stilled, and felt his heart new-turned to flame for her that through peril to him came.

10. Eärendil is greeted by Eönwë and asks the Valar for help

Therefore he turned back at last towards the sea; but even as he took the shoreward road one stood upon the hill and called to him in a great voice, crying: ‘Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset, radiant in the morning!’ That voice was the voice of Eönwë, herald of Manwë, and he came from Valimar, and summoned Eärendil to come before the Powers of Arda. And Eärendil went into Valinor and to the halls of Valimar, and never again set foot upon the lands of Men. Then the Valar took counsel together, and they summoned Ulmo from the deeps of the sea; and Eärendil stood before their faces, and delivered the errand of the Two Kindreds. Pardon he asked for the Noldor and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.

11. Galadriel shows Gimli understanding and kindness

‘[...] If our folk had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadhrim, even Celeborn the Wise, would pass nigh and would not wish to look upon their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons? ‘Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.’ [Galadriel] looked upon Gimli, who sat glowering and sad, and she smiled. And the Dwarf, hearing the names given in his own ancient tongue, looked up and met her eyes; and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came into his face, and then he smiled in answer. He rose clumsily and bowed in dwarf-fashion, saying: ‘Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth!’

12. Merry, Pippin and Sam tell Frodo that they will stick to him

‘It all depends on what you want,’ put in Merry. ‘You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin – to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours – closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid – but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds.’ ‘And after all, sir,’ added Sam, ‘you did ought to take the Elves’ advice. Gildor said you should take them as was willing, and you can’t deny it.’ ‘I don’t deny it,’ said Frodo, looking at Sam, who was now grinning. ‘I don’t deny it, but I’ll never believe you are sleeping again, whether you snore or not. I shall kick you hard to make sure. ‘You are a set of deceitful scoundrels!’ he said, turning to the others. ‘But bless you!’ he laughed, getting up and waving his arms, ‘I give in. I will take Gildor’s advice. If the danger were not so dark, I should dance for joy. Even so, I cannot help feeling happy; happier than I have felt for a long time. I had dreaded this evening.’

Quote sources

J. R. R. Tolkien – The Lord of the Rings

J. R. R. Tolkien – The Hobbit

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Silmarillion

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Children of Húrin

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth

J. R. R . Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Lays of Beleriand

#LOTR #The Lord of the Rings #The Silmarillion #Middle-earth #Tolkien #tumblr polls #middleearth polls #I know this is an evil one #it took me a looong time to find comparable ones #(more or less)#category: pick something #category: quotes

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lorei-writes · 1 month

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Kiss(es) + Kanetsugu Naoe pls 🥺

Again, congratulations for 1k followers !!

Thank you! <3 I hope you like this >:)

»All the things we choose to share«

Kanetsugu x Reader Fluff 560 words Content Warnings: none

His

His. Sigh for a sigh, you let yourself fall back over the futon and into Kanetsugu’s care, greedy hands grasping at his yukata, pulling at his collar to draw him near and push your worries away. It is a touch for a touch, an unprompted shiver for an unexpected one… a kiss for a kiss, for his lips descent upon yours, soft despite the bluntness of the words they so often set off into the world. Voracious. Starved.

Irrelevant.

You need not talk.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, hold the spun starlight strands at bay as he hoovers over you, a growl surging in his throat. An animal threatened or an animal spurred, your love near whimpers into your flesh, stripped of any of his erudition. Your nails latch onto his shoulders, loosen his restraint and demote him from the rank of the sage – and it terrifies him, and it rouses the most primal of frights lurking deep in the murky waters at the very bottom of his heart. Kanetsugu pulls back at once, attempts to flee from your flame.

He must.

Before he loses himself, his control, he must.

But he cannot.

Yours. You chase after him, yukata dishevelled and your sash undone. You conquer what he has given up, advance at his uncertainty, flank the loathing he subjects himself to, take no hostage-doubts. You make it into his personal collapse, the long hours you have spent studying the Art of War now serving you well in the war against Kanetsugu’s constraints. Groan for a laugh, you have him fall back over the futon and into your care, tender hands pressing at his chest, ascending to the corners of his jaw to force him to meet your gaze. Breath stills in Kanetsugu’s lungs.

“Just one more?” you whisper.

“Just one —”

You do not give him the time to reply.

Waves of hair spill over your shoulder, shielding your love from any prying lanterns and their light. It is just you, just him, and your lips that deliver feather-light affection to his forehead, temples, the very tip of his nose… Long silver lashes fall over his cheeks in a mixture of abashment and surprise. Willing or not, Kanetsugu withholds his eyes from you, closes the wisteria window into his soul.

You are not merciful. It is not allowed.

Kanetsugu frowns.

Yours. The frustration pooling between his brows whets your appetite. The tips of his canines press into his lower lip, his hands straining in their grip over the sheets. You want to unleash his desires, to set him free… So you regroup and retreat to his jaw, scout its very edge, descent further to take over his neck. More teeth than lips, your affection marks its path across his alabaster skin, the cold marble of his flesh buzzing with newly ignited blood. Kanetsugu groans as you suck at his collarbone, thus desecrating the last of his reason.

It is all you have wanted.

It is all you want.

His. Kanetsugu grabs your hips and your world spins, the soft futon cushioning your fall. More beast than a strategist, he scrutinises you, instinct-driven hands taking hold of your face as he forces his mouth upon yours. He growls into you, traces every inch of you… Makes you his, again and again, in a thousand, a thousand and one, ways.

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#kanetsugu naoe #ikesen kanetsugu #ikemen sengoku kanetsugu #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #answered #Anonymous

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

The Silver Dragon (22/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 7312

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: To prevent Daemon from contesting their marriage, Aemond and Arianwyn proceed with the Bedding Ceremony.

Warnings: Adult content, minors DNI.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax

Author's Note: This is my first time writing smut, so be gentle with me!

The Bedding

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

Aemond had dreamed of saying those words to Arianwyn for nearly six years, though he had desired her kiss for even longer.

Her sparkling silver eyes fluttered closed as he brought his hands up to cup her face, careful not to aggravate the purple bruises forming along her soft jawline. She was the very image of the Maiden – pure, innocent, and celestially beautiful.

He thought that with all the fairy tales they had read together, he would know what true love’s kiss would feel like. It was the kiss shared between the hero and his lady love as they left danger far behind. The kiss that broke curses and conquered evil. The kiss that began a happy ending.

This was all that and more.

Arianwyn’s lips were deliciously soft and thrillingly cool, sending a shiver down Aemond’s spine. He felt, more than heard, a slight sound leave her as he pressed further into her, the tip of his nose digging into her flushed cheeks. Her mouth opened slightly, her arms lacing around his neck and into his hair as she pushed forward, kissing him back.

Aemond would have gladly spent the rest of his days beneath the weirwood tree with his mouth on hers, his hands on her face, and her fingers in his hair. But they were not the only ones present in the Godswood, he had to remind himself as he pulled away from her sweet lips.

She leaned toward him as he withdrew, enthralled by the heat he had poured into her with his kiss. The sounds of scattered applause from their sparse audience seemed distant as all she could hear was her ragged breath and pounding heart.

When the clapping faded, Aemond turned to Septon Eustace. “What do we do now?” he asked.

There was no feast prepared, no wedding gifts to receive or toasts to hear. All that remained…

“The bedding ceremony,” Maester Orwyle answered, though he could not bring himself to look at the new couple. He had practically raised them. The idea that it was now his duty to ensure a consummation was uncomfortable, to say the least. “If you should wish it, my Prince – and Princess.”

Suddenly consumed by timidness, Aemond looked anywhere but at his new wife. He cleared his throat before speaking. “It has been a trying day for all of us. I think it best – ”

“Yes,” Arianwyn interjected – her first act of disobedience against her husband. “We want… the ceremony.”

Aemond looked down at her. She was nervous, that much was clear from the way her chest heaved and her hands shook. “Aria,” he whispered, “We don’t have to… if you don’t want to, that is.”

What was he doing? Had he not imagined taking her to his bed for years? Why was he fighting this?

But the answer was simple: because he loved her, and he would never force anything on her that she did not want.

Arianwyn placed a hand on his chest, and he had to take a deep, steadying breath to keep himself from kissing her again. “We do have to, Aemond. If the marriage is consummated, it will make it harder for my father to fight against it.”

She did not say that her fingers were tingling with the desire to touch his warm skin nor that her lips ached for his. Not here, before so many others. Instead, she let silence hang over the Godswood as Aemond stared reverently at her.

“Whose rooms shall we go to?” she asked when he did not object.

“If you’ll forgive my intrusion,” Ser Criston said as he stepped forward, “I believe the Prince’s apartments in the Holdfast will be more secure come the morning.”

While he hated that their protection was a concern on their wedding night, Aemond had to agree.

“Well,” Brynna said with a clap. “As I am the only woman present, it seems as though you’re coming with me, Prince Aemond.”

The memory of his terrified expression at that moment would bring Arianwyn laughter for years to come. As would the stiff way he moved in response to the poking and prodding he received from the boisterous lady’s maid as she herded him out of the Godswood.

As the stifled chuckling from the assembled guards faded, Eustace yawned. “It would seem that my responsibilities have concluded,” he said. “If you will excuse me, I will now happily return to my bed, my Lady – ah, apologies! My Princess.”

The old Septon did not wait for a reply before he strode from the Godswood, leaving Arianwyn alone at the base of the Heart Tree, save for a dozen guards, Ser Criston Cole, and Grand Maester Orwyle – not quite the procession she imagined for her bedding ceremony.

She had always expected that Aegon would be the one leading her to her husband’s chambers, laughing through his usual drunken haze as he watched an assortment of equally intoxicated young lords tear her clothing from her body. Never once did she picture being led to her marriage bed by two men who had taken vows of celibacy and twelve knights, most of whom had been protecting her for the majority of her life.

Though as she considered the alternative, she decided that this was far more appealing.

Indeed, Ser Criston’s touch was gentle as he offered her his arm to lead her from the Godswood. “I hope you will forgive us if we do not behave in the… traditional manner,” he said, actively avoiding meeting her eyes.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Arianwyn replied, wrapping her arm around his, grateful for the stability he provided. “At least not from me. Though I do believe Aegon will be inconsolably jealous that you took his rightful place as my escort.”

Cole, Orwyle, and all the Runestone guards chuckled quietly at her words, the joyful sound echoing off the stone as they entered Maegor’s Holdfast.

“I doubt Prince Aegon would have ever had the chance,” Orwyle mused. “I am only aware of him mentioning it once, and Prince Aemond hit him so hard in return that I had to place several stitches in his brow.”

Another round of laughter went through the party, and none tried to stifle it this time. After all, the bedding ceremony was supposed to be a time of joy and excitement; why shouldn’t they laugh?

“As I understand it,” Arianwyn said, turning back to face the knights who had guarded her for so long, “You are meant to make lewd jokes and tell risqué tales of your own conquests, to prepare me for what I will face once we reach our destination. Or are you all as cloistered as these men of vows?”

She pushed into Ser Criston, his face flushing, and grinned mischievously at Orwyle, who only raised his brows suggestively.

“Our pickings have been slim as of late, my Lady,” the youngest of her guards, Ser Trevor Wren, replied.

Another man from Runestone, Ser Adrew Dutton, smacked the side of Trevor’s helmet. “She is not just our ‘Lady’ anymore, you dimwit. She is our Princess!”

The young knight, hardly older than Arianwyn, blushed beneath his helmet. “Apologies, my Princess,” he muttered.

Arianwyn smiled back at him. “Don’t apologize, Trevor. It will take me some time to get used to as well.”

“Thank you, my Princess,” he said with a smile in his deep brown eyes.

“I doubt Wren has any tales to tell, Princess,” Ser Colren Shett chuckled. “By the time he got to Dragonstone, what few fair women there were knew to avoid bronze armor all too well!”

Several of the knights joined his laughter, surprising Arianwyn. “I had no idea my sworn protectors were so notorious!” she giggled.

Ser Warren Crayne, the eldest among them and commander of her household guard, sighed heavily. “Only the least respectable among us, Princess. Give me time, and I’ll find worthy wives to settle them.”

The words did not sit right with Arianwyn, especially not on the night of her wedding. “Is that the purpose of a wife?” she asked. “To settle an unruly man?”

“Of course not!” he responded, stuttering as soon as he realized he had upset her. “Though, in my experience, it can certainly help. When a man loves a woman, he has not only reason to fight, but to survive and return home. A married man will therefore carry himself with more dignity and honor than a bachelor.”

“That was surprisingly romantic, Ser Warren,” Arianwyn sighed. Her desperate desire to return home to King’s Landing – to Aemond – had prevented her from doing anything to upset her father for the years she was confined to Dragonstone. Though she was often tempted to contradict him or spit insults back at her stepbrothers, she could never risk extending her confinement.

Remembering the long years they spent apart darkened her mood, and the procession again fell into silence as they walked through the empty stone halls. How would things have been different had they not been so cruelly separated?

A thousand different scenarios raced through her mind.

By now, they could have already been married in a ceremony that befitted their stations. They could already have a child, and perhaps another on the way. They would be living peacefully at Runestone, away from the chaos of court and the reach of her father’s influence.

Or they could have drifted away from each other. It was likely that they both would have been betrothed to a different stranger as part of their family’s diplomatic machinations. They would be hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles apart, once again relying on nothing but letters to sustain them.

The road that had led them here, to this night, had been long and not particularly kind to either of them. But so long as it ended with them together, Arianwyn could not bring herself to regret any of it.

A smile had just returned to her face when she realized they had come to a stop – at Aemond’s door. She could barely make out the runes he had carved into the wood, as they seemed worn down over the years, as though he had touched them every time he entered his apartments.

She tightened her grip on Ser Criston’s arm. “I believe you were supposed to have me completely undressed by now.”

Cole smirked, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “Prince Aemond shall simply have to do the honors himself.”

The thought of Aemond’s long, nimble fingers unlacing her dress sent Arianwyn’s stomach churning. Then, as she struggled to control her breathing, she looked into Ser Criston’s dark eyes. “Have you ever… loved a woman before?”

It was a silly question. He had been only a young man when he was chosen as a member of the Kingsguard and taken a vow of chastity. Which made his answer all the more surprising.

“Once,” he whispered, ducking his head in either sadness or shame. “It did not end well. At least, not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Arianwyn said. Ser Criston was a handsome man who had always been kind to her. She could not imagine that any woman would reject his love.

“It will not be that way for you, Aria,” he said as he lifted his head, looking down on Arianwyn with such a look of pride that she was taken aback. He had never used the diminutive form of her name before. He had always been resolute in maintaining that boundary between himself and the royal family. But he had been there all her life, and next to the King, he was the closest she could come to having a true, caring father.

“Aemond loves you,” he spoke as though preaching a sermon, delivering a message that Arianwyn needed to hear. “He loves you so very much. All he has thought about for the last six years was how to bring you home. I have not a single doubt that he will treat you with all the devotion and respect that you deserve.”

She knew he spoke the truth, and it brought a warmth to her heart she had not felt in many years. “Thank you, Ser,” she said, “for everything you have done for me. And for Aemond. I never had the chance to tell you, but he fought very well on Driftmark. From what you saw, I know that it may not have seemed so, but I think you would have been very proud of him, even then.”

“He put himself in danger to protect you when you could not defend yourself,” he tried to maintain his serious demeanor, but he could not help but beam as he replied. “That is all he ever need do to make me proud. But I thank you, nevertheless.”

Ser Warren cleared his throat, “I believe the Prince is waiting for his bride.”

Oh. Of course.

Arianwyn released Ser Criston’s arm. Her entire body was tingling with excitement and fear as he reached around her to remove the white cloak from her shoulders.

“There,” he said. “Now I have undressed you, and fulfilled my duty.”

But she was far too anxious to respond to his quip as he reached forward to open the door.

Aemond was not in his solar, though Brynna was. She sat on his plush couch before the roaring fire, the Prince’s leather jacket in her hands.

When the maid saw Arianwyn staring at the garment, she stood and handed it, neatly folded, to her mistress. “It was all I could get off him before he threatened me.”

“Oh, Brynna, I’m so sorry! You must know he would never – ”

“I know, darling,” Brynna laughed, kissing Arianwyn’s forehead. “But I also know better than to rile a man on his wedding night.”

Orwyle glanced around the room, “And where is the groom?”

Brynna stepped away from Arianwyn, taking both the Maester’s and Ser Criston’s arms as she led them out of the apartments. “He is in his bedchamber. Do not worry. I am sure the Princess can find her way. But, for now, we shall leave them be. You can ensure the consummation in the morning, Grand Maester…”

Her voice faded as the door shut, and she shooed most of the procession away. Though by the faint sounds of clanking armor, at least four guards were posted at the door.

Arianwyn was alone in her husband’s chambers.

Though she supposed they were now also her chambers – or rather, theirs.

Not quite ready to enter the bedchamber, Arianwyn hugged the leather jacket closer to her chest. It was still warm. Aemond was always so warm, even in the cold of winter. She had fond memories of pressing into his side while they read in the library, far from any hearths or stoves. Perhaps now, she would never have to feel so cold again.

She was turning over the leather absentmindedly when she saw a scrap of periwinkle silk. Hastily, she unfolded the jacket until she found what she was searching for and let the dark leather fall to the floor.

From a pocket sewn into the breast of the coat, she had pulled out a small square of heavily embroidered silk. The black, silver, and bronze thread had not frayed but had lost its stiffness over the years. Now, each of the Runes was as soft and pliable as the silk it was sewn to.

For all these years, Aemond had kept it. Arianwyn had only ever intended it as instructions for the lapidarist at Runestone, for both the color of the stone and the engravings on each facet. But Ser Gerold had delivered the cloth along with the jewel, and Aemond had saved it.

Not only that, but he kept it with him, close to his heart.

The thought had her feet carrying her to the bedchamber door before she knew she was moving. With the silk still in hand, she raised her fist to the dark wood and knocked twice.

There was a long moment of silence before she heard Aemond’s voice.

“Aria? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

His brow was furrowed when he emerged, though he was relieved to see Arianwyn was still fully clothed. He, too, was fully dressed save for his jacket, his white cotton shirt untucked and hanging loosely around his lean form. “Why did you knock?” he asked.

“I…” Arianwyn looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “I thought it the right thing to do when approaching one’s bedchamber.”

Aemond only smiled. “It is very courteous of you, but I think we are well past such formalities… wife.”

Her eyes met his, a giddy grin on her lips. “I don’t know which title feels stranger, ‘wife’ or ‘Princess.’”

Aemond took her hand and led her slowly into the bedchamber. “If you prefer, I will keep calling you simply ‘Aria.’”

“I would like that very much,” she replied, looking around the room.

It was different than she remembered, the decoration sparser. All that hung on the stone walls was a simple mirror directly beside the eastern window. Only candelabras and a few plain ceramic dishes were on the tables and drawers.

But there was no lack of books. Six massive shelves were placed against the walls, each bursting with hundreds of tomes. What could not fit on a shelf had been neatly stacked on the floor, with some piles reaching nearly as high as the torches bolted to the wall.

When she had thoroughly inspected every corner and had nothing else to distract her, Arianwyn looked back at her husband.

Aemond stood only inches from her, his breath nearly as heavy as hers. He clenched and unclenched his fists, at once desperate to touch her and terrified by how she would react. She had kissed him back in the Godswood, but did that mean she really wanted him?

Carefully, he stepped closer, until their chests were just touching. He brought one hand to the side of her face, lifting her chin towards him, and the other to her waist. When she did not flinch or recoil, he leaned down and kissed her.

As fast as he had kissed her, he pulled back, turning away from his wife.

Arianwyn was left breathless, her arms hanging on to the empty air where he had just been, her scrap of silk falling to the floor. Had she displeased him already?

“Aemond?” she asked, afraid to approach as she watched his chest heave with each breath.

He dropped his head. “I am so sorry, Aria.”

“I don’t understand.” She stood in shock as tears began to sting her eyes.

At last, he turned back, his violet eye shining wetly in the firelight. “I am sorry it had to be this way,” he whispered. “You deserve so much better. You deserved a wedding as grand as you are, with more than just your guards in attendance.”

He ran a hand down his chest, refusing to meet her gaze. “You deserve … to do this with a man you truly love.”

Her heart nearly cleaved in two. Didn’t he know? Had he not felt it in her kiss?

“Aemond,” she breathed, daring to bring herself closer to him. He stood unnaturally still, even as she brought her hand to his face, cradling his sharp jaw and tenderly running her thumb along the end of his scar. “I love you.”

His eye flashed to hers, wide with shock and brimming with hope.

“I love you so much,” she continued, tears finally spilling over, “that I don’t even have the words to express it. I love you, and I think I have for a very, very long time.”

Without reply, he kissed her again. Harder, deeper, and more earnestly than he had before. He poured all of his love into that kiss, along with all of the desperation with which he had longed for her.

When he had to pull back to catch his breath, one hand tangled in her hair while his other arm held her to his chest, he smiled ardently against her lips. “I have loved you from the moment I learned the meaning of the word,” he sighed.

It was Arianwyn who kissed him then. Her heart was full to bursting, and the only thing she could think to do was kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him.

But more was expected of them than that.

Reluctantly, Arianwyn pulled away, instantly missing his warmth. She had to press her hands on his chest to prevent him from catching her lips again. When he finally relented, a questioning look in his eye, she gave him a confident smile to mask her nerves.

“Tell me what to do,” she said.

Aemond sighed, stroking her cheek. “I told you, I will never command you.”

She put her hand over his, turning her head to place a kiss on his palm. “I am not asking for your command,” she replied, her voice teasingly soft. “I am asking what you want.”

Gods, she was the most tempting creature in the world. He wanted her so much it hurt. He wanted to press his lips to every inch of her skin, to kiss her so deeply that her taste would never leave his lips. He wanted to claim her, body and soul, until not even the gods could separate them. He wanted to hear her tell him that she loved him. Again, and again, and again.

But before that, he had one simple request.

“I want to see you,” he said, “all of you.”

Arianwyn smiled and turned around. She lifted her tangled curls over her shoulder, giving him access to the ties of her dress.

Just the sight of her bare neck was intoxicating, and Aemond could not resist nuzzling into her as he slowly began to unlace the silver ribbon. She leaned further and further into him with every tantalizingly gentle brush of his fingers. By the time the dress finally fell to the floor, her head was resting on his shoulder as she pushed her nose into his neck.

Though she still wore her silk chemise, Aemond thought he would lose himself at the sight of her peaked nipples and the swell of her breasts through the thin white fabric. He wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his hand against her belly while the other came up to cup one of her breasts.

Arianwyn sighed at the feeling, at the sheer intimacy of the contact, even through her chemise. No one had ever touched her like that before, and the sense of closeness was overwhelming. She whined when Aemond removed his hand to slip the thin straps of the garment off her shoulder, and the silk puddled on the floor beneath her.

Then Aemond stepped in front of her and, after a long moment staring hungrily at her naked form, dropped to his knees.

He wrapped his hands around her thigh, nimbly unbuckling her garter. Even as he rolled the stocking from her leg and moved to the other, he never looked anywhere but into her eyes, letting her see how fervently he desired her.

Once he had rid her of the last of her underclothes, he pressed a chaste kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath her navel. Arianwyn moaned helplessly as pleasure surged to her core, and she felt an unfamiliar but exquisite heat pooling between her legs.

Before the sound had finished leaving her lips, Aemond rose to capture her mouth with his own. He hooked his hands around her head and neck and kissed her passionately, possessively, unyieldingly. All Arianwyn could do was hang onto his neck and try to answer his passion with her own.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “Only the gods themselves could have crafted something so divine as you.”

She blushed at his praise, running her fingers through his silken hair and hooking her thumb into the strap of his eyepatch. “May I return the favor?”

Aemond dropped his eye and wrapped his hand around her wrist, “Are you sure you want to see?”

“I was there when it was lost,” she replied. “I did not run from you then, and I will not run from you now.”

He laughed, “You may not have run, but you did faint, as I recall.”

“That was only because of the blood!” she shrieked as he chuckled mischievously and began tickling her bare waist. “It’s not still bleeding, is it?”

The thought seemed to genuinely unsettle her, but Aemond shook his head and let his laughter fade. “Not for many years.”

“Then I want to see!” she said, returning her hand to the eyepatch. “Don’t I deserve to see my gift?”

“Of course you do,” he finally relented, dipping his head to make it easier for her to slip the leather off his head and expose the scar.

Though he was still fully clothed, no one had seen him without his patch for many years, and he felt entirely naked.

But true to her word, Arianwyn did not recoil or react at all to the gruesome sight.

To her, it was not gruesome. Tragic, yes, to mar such a beautiful face with something so brutal. But it was not gruesome.

It was beautiful.

The scar was deep, its color dark and tinged with red. It ran from close to his hairline, through his brow and eye, to the base of his cheek, but an inch above his jaw. Unfortunately, the cut had not been clean, so the mark was jagged and wavered across his skin. But the Driftmark Maester and Orwyle had done well to ensure that it healed properly.

His eye had not fared so well. The skin surrounding the sapphire was grey and wrinkled, so heavily scarred that it did not move when his other eye fluttered closed. As Arianwyn looked closer, she could see where a portion of his lower eyelid had been completely torn out, leaving a ‘v’ in the curve of the eye. The upper eyelid seemed to have been removed entirely, the delicate skin wounded beyond repair by Luke’s knife.

Still, the sapphire sparkled brilliantly, and nothing could ever detract from his ethereal beauty.

For Arianwyn, it was not only a reminder of one of the darkest days of her life, but a testament to Aemond’s unparalleled bravery and strength.

She ran a finger down his jaw, coaxing his good eye open. “It’s not quite the right color,” she whispered coyly, “but it is beautiful nonetheless.”

Aemond looked at her, brows pinched in disbelief. His eye was pleading, do not lie to me.

“I mean it,” she said, desperate for him to believe her. “You are gorgeous, Aemond. So painfully gorgeous that I cannot stand it.”

Arianwyn kissed him again, slipping her hands beneath his loose shirt and running her cool fingers up the hard muscles of his chest. If she still desired him after seeing his scar uncovered, her sweet words must be true, Aemond reasoned as he fiercely returned the kiss.

His hips instinctively rolled forward as he raised his arms to let her slide his shirt off. If he was not already achingly hard and straining against his trousers, the blissful chill of her touch on his skin would have brought him there instantly.

She had seen men bare-chested before – on the docks of Dragonstone, in the training yard, or in the streets of the city – but she had never seen any man as glorious as Aemond. He was thin, but every inch of him was taut with hardened muscle – the body of a warrior.

Curiously, she ran her fingers back down his chest, exploring each rise and crevice until she found herself gripping the waist of his pants. She hesitated with her hands over the laces.

“Go on,” Aemond encouraged, laying gentle kisses on her temple.

She tilted her head up to look into his eye – his eyes, as she began to untie his pants. She let herself stare longingly into not only his lovely purple iris, but into the scar-rimmed sapphire as well. Every part of him was beautiful, and she needed him to know it.

At last, his trousers slumped over his hips. Arianwyn froze, her hands hovering over him. She had absolutely no idea what to do next.

Fortunately, Aemond did. Though this was already infinitely better than his visit to the Street of Silk on his thirteenth birthday, he was grateful that the – admittedly traumatizing – night had left him with the knowledge he needed for this night. He bent down to remove his trousers himself, relieving his innocent wife of the responsibility and stood fully naked before her.

Her eyes were wide as she stared at the hard length of him. While she was innocent, as proper Ladies are expected to be, she understood the general concept of sex. What she did not understand was how he was supposed to fit that inside of her.

Tentatively, Arianwyn wrapped her fingers around his impressive length and ran a curious thumb across one of the large veins crossing the surface. Aemond sucked in a harsh breath, nearly doubling over as he closed his eye and buried his face in her hair.

At his visceral reaction, Arianwyn swiftly recoiled her hand and pulled away from him. “Did that hurt?” she asked with genuine concern.

Aemond only laughed, pulling her chin up to take her in another slow, passionate kiss. “No, my love,” he whispered as he pulled away. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Though he wanted her to take him in her hands again, an even more tantalizing prospect entered his mind. He bent down, wrapping his arms around her thighs and lifting her.

“Let me show you.”

He carried her to the bed, reaching down to throw aside the blankets and furs atop it. Arianwyn felt a thrill in her core when she realized how strong he was, that he could hold her aloft with only one arm.

Playfully, he tossed her onto the bed, lustily admiring how her breasts moved as she bounced on the mattress. He had grand plans for those, but for now, he was on a mission. He climbed onto the bed, straddling Arianwyn on his hands and knees.

Gods, it was so hard to keep himself from her mouth. He caught her in another kiss, savoring the heat of her swollen lips and the blissful feel of her tongue against his.

“You were going to show me something?” She asked as she pulled away to take a breath.

“Hmm,” he moaned as he moved his mouth to her collarbone. “Yes, I believe I was.”

Aemond leaned on his left side, still suckling at her skin as he traced his long fingers down her chest, between the mounds of her breasts and past her navel.

His touch was so light, so tauntingly slow. Arianwyn felt heat pool between her legs as her hips instinctively rose, begging his fingers lower and lower.

He happily complied. Pride surged in his chest as he felt the wetness of her folds. She was so eager for him as he was for her. His cock twitched as he imagined how it would feel sliding into her.

Not yet, he reminded himself.

Instead, he ran two fingers against her entrance as his thumb rose to her clit.

He knew he had found it when she let out a desperate whimper, her legs squirming and toes clenching as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

“That,” he said into her hot ear, “is what it feels like.”

She whined against his throat, “Do it again?”

“Gladly.”

He began to grind his thumb in slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves as he ran his fingers up and down her slick folds. The gasps and moans escaping her lips were sweeter than he had ever imagined, and he captured each and every one with a kiss.

Arianwyn was entirely lost in the bliss of his touch. The feel of his hand on her breast was nothing compared to this. It felt as though there was nothing in the world but Aemond, his fingers, and this feeling of inescapable pleasure.

But Aemond was only beginning. Once his fingers were thoroughly soaked in her juices, he began to press the tip of his index finger into her entrance.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her ear, “but this may hurt a little. Just try to relax, and I promise it will start to feel good.”

She had absolutely no clue what he meant. Not until the pressure began to eclipse her pleasure. This couldn’t be right. That can’t be how this was supposed to feel. Gods, if that was just his finger, what would it feel like when he put his cock in her?

Aemond’s heart clenched as he listened to her whines of pleasure fade swiftly into whimpers of pain. He froze his fingers and laid kisses to her temple, pressing harder on her clit to try and drown out the discomfort. “I know, I know it hurts,” he said, “but it will hurt more if I try to enter you before you are ready.”

“You said it would feel good,” she cried, “when will it start to feel good?”

“Soon, Aria,” he kissed her through his reassurance. “But you have to relax. Just focus on what feels good. Focus on this,” he stroked her clit once for emphasis. “If it hurts too much, tell me, and I will stop.”

She nodded into his neck, signaling him to begin again. He went slower this time, making sure to move only when she was ready. Though her eyes squeezed shut every time he pushed deeper in, she never asked him to stop or pull out.

When he was deep enough, Aemond curled his finger forward within her, searching for the pressure point he knew would be there.

“Aemond!” she shouted, digging her nails into the back of his neck. Whatever he had just done had her seeing stars.

He chuckled at her reaction, pushing against that spot again. At least Aegon had taught him something from all his bawdy tales.

“I told you,” he teased, kissing the sensitive skin behind her ears.

“Am I ready now?” she asked, her apprehension completely vanished.

How had she ever doubted him? He had always tried so hard to please her. That much was clear from the gifts he had given her over the years. He would not fail her now.

“Not quite, my love,” he whispered. “Give it time.”

Aemond kissed her again, gently, savoring every moment. But where his lips were slow, his hand was not. He began to pump his finger in and out of her, brushing that magical spot within her each time, and never neglecting her swollen clit.

Her tantalizing moans of pleasure returned, growing louder and louder until not even his kiss could keep her quiet. Finally, he pulled himself from her lips, reveling in the sight of her in the throes of pleasure and the sounds that escaped her.

When he was sure Arianwyn was feeling only pleasure and no pain, he slipped another finger inside her. Her walls clenched, and he could imagine how blissful she would feel around his cock. But he was determined to wait until she was ready, not wanting her first time to be as painful a memory as his.

He continued to finger her, applying pressure both inside and out as she raised her hips higher and higher, arching her back into his sheets. With every passing moment, she was sure it could not feel better. But with every passing moment, it did.

The pleasure grew and grew, until all she could see was the sparkling of Aemond’s sapphire eye, and her entire body pulsed with an overwhelming wave of bliss. Every muscle in her body relaxed as relief washed over her, and she laced her fingers through his silver hair to pull him in for a kiss.

“What was that?” she asked breathlessly.

He finally withdrew his soaked fingers and pulled her against his chest. “Release,” he whispered.

“Does it mean I’m ready?”

Aemond smiled against her lips, “Perhaps, but I would like to be sure.”

With that, he lowered his lips to kiss down the column of her throat, ever so gently across her cuts and bruises. He continued down her chest, between her breasts, and across the plane of her stomach until he reached her core.

What he had said was true. Only the gods could have crafted something so divine. He had planned to tease her until she was begging for his tongue, but he had not the patience for that. He needed to taste her.

And taste her he did, hungrily, greedily diving between her legs. Her cries resumed, her hands burying into his hair so deeply that she snapped the thin leather strap holding his hair from his face.

The long silver strands fell in a curtain around his shoulders, but he did not slow. Rather, his pace quickened as he plunged his tongue into her, valiantly reaching for the spot he knew would undo her as he suckled on her slick folds. He knew he could not reach it with only his tongue, but by the gods, he would try.

Arianwyn felt simply sublime. She could feel her heart beating in her core, her racing blood carrying heat throughout her entire body. Aemond was a fine warrior and scholar, and by all accounts, a truly gifted dragonrider, but as he ravenously drank the pleasure from her, she was sure that this was the reason the gods created him.

It was not long before she felt that great wave of pleasure, the ‘release’ as Aemond had called it, approaching again. With her hands still entangled in his hair, she clenched her fists and cried out, “Aemond!”

But then he pulled away, leaving Arianwyn feeling cold and empty, hanging over the edge of her release.

Aemond glanced up at her through a lidded eye and gave her a wicked grin. Then he dove back down, wrapping his lips around her clit, and sucked.

Arianwyn thought her vision would never return as the world went white and release swept through her once more, more intensely than before. She did not know how long she lay there, arms splayed and chest heaving as she recovered from the extraordinary feeling.

When the world reformed around her, it was Aemond’s grinning face she saw first as he lay on his side next to her, smiling blissfully and tracing shapes around her breasts with his pinky.

“Now, am I ready?” she asked.

Aemond hoped so, for he certainly was. He had never been so hard in all his life. “I believe you are, my love.”

He rolled on top of her, propping himself up on his elbows as he kissed her and ground his hips against hers, savoring the slick friction. All night, he had been so singularly focused on her pleasure that he had neglected his own, and he would gladly do so again.

Once Arianwyn was moaning against him and writhing her hips to try and draw him closer, deeper, he gave her one last kiss before he pulled away. He reached down to line himself up with her entrance but never looked away from her shining silver eyes.

“Say it again,” he breathed.

She cupped his face, fingers trembling against his skin. “Say what?”

“Say you love me.”

Her face softened, though her grip on his jaw was tight. “I love you, Aemond Targaryen.”

And he slid in, pushing past her maidenhead in one eager stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt in the tightness of her velvet folds.

She cried out once, pressing her forehead against his as her mind swam with equal pleasure and pain. The feeling was all-consuming. But as he stilled, she could whisper only one thing, over and over and over again:

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He loved her so much. His body cried for him to move, to fuck her with abandon and fill her with his seed. But he held himself still, knowing that he had gone too far too fast. Her eyes were still shut tight, and her whispering grew quieter.

“It’s alright,” he said as he burrowed into her neck, grounding himself in her smell of smoke and cold sea air. “Relax, Aria, just like before. I won’t do anything else until you tell me to.”

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding him close as she continued to whisper, slipping into High Valyrian. “Avy jorrāelan.”

They stayed like that for long moments, even after her whispering had faded into silence.

“Aria,” Aemond moaned against her throat as his self-restraint waned.

A curious whine was all she could muster as she adjusted to the sensation of him filling her.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered, caressing her face, “but I need to move.”

Indeed, he trembled with the effort it took to remain still. He did not want to hurt her or cause her any more discomfort than he already had, but he could only restrain himself for so long. He could – and had – practiced in the training yard for hours without needing even a moment to catch his breath.

But this?

He did not have the strength for this.

Still, he did not move until she nodded against him. Even then, he began slowly, rocking his hips ever so slightly to ease her into the feeling.

Much to his delight, she let her head fall to the bed and began to cry out again – with pleasure, not pain. “Avy jorrāelan.”

“Avy jorrāelan,” he whispered back, letting his thrusts go deeper, longer, faster. In mere moments, he was losing himself in the sensation of her tight walls surrounding him, more wonderful than he had ever let himself imagine.

Arianwyn, too, was lost in the feeling of his great length slamming into her over and over, faster and faster. She was sure that they were crafted by the gods specifically for each other, for this, for their joining perfectly as one.

As his pace heightened, Aemond again caught her lips in her own, claiming her just as much with his mouth as he did with his cock. The pain was completely gone, replaced only with pleasure as he stretched her magnificently with each thrust, brushing against that magical spot inside her and sending stars bounding through her vision.

“Avy jorrāelan,” she murmured again as he began to rut into her wildly, drawing moan after moan of pleasure as the pressure in her core built higher and higher. She was not going to last much longer before her release.

But neither was Aemond. Not when he had been dreaming of this for so long. He groaned into her mouth as he felt his hips twitching out of his control, “Aria!”

Desperate for her to cum with him, he brought his hand between them, furiously working her clit until he felt her walls clamp down around him. Only then did he let himself lose control, burying himself entirely within her as he spilled his seed.

Arianwyn felt absolute euphoria. Muscles she didn’t know she had tensed and relaxed as her third release of the night swept over her. Not since her first flight on Emrys had she experienced such bliss so deep in her soul, nor such exhaustion.

He was still inside her, panting heavily as he came down from his high, lazily planting open-mouth kisses to the base of her neck.

“Aemond,” she whined, pulling on his hair to draw his gaze back to hers. His violet eye was hazy with contentment, and the sapphire fogged by the heat of their joining.

“Mmm?”

“Do it again?”

Next Chapter

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