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fairysluna · 1 year

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aegon angst please im begging on my knees OLEASE OLEASE

this is perfect bc I've been planning on writing an angsty drabble based on this song for so long and i finally got the excuse lol. hope you like it!!🤍

Songfic #6

is it insensitive for me to say get your shit together? So I can love you.

PAIRING – Modern!Aegon II Targaryen x Reader.

TAGS – angst, hurt no comfort, alcohol consumption, cursing, mentions of cheating, established relationship, mentions of family issues. if something is missing let me know!!

You saw the clock hanging from the wall, biting your nails and sighing with despair. The feeling in your gut was giving you bad news, and the voice inside your head was trying to convince you to call him one more time with the fanciful idea of him picking up feeding your need to do it. You felt a hole in your belly where your stomach was supposed to be, and your body seemed to be unable to remain still in one place.

4 am, and the last time you heard about Aegon was when he left the apartment and told you he would come back before midnight, for tomorrow he had a very important job interview early in the morning. Needless to say, he did not keep his word, and when the clock indicated that it was the middle of the night, you found yourself alone in the darkness of the living room, at the verge of tears produced by the worry and anger. Your cellphone remained quiet, no phone calls from him arrived. That only made you angrier, for he did not even think about letting you know whether he was alright or not; he did not even think how you had a sleepless night filled with pure distress due to the unavoidable concern. You called him at least twenty times during the night, and none of your calls were answered; you had already memorized his voice mail recording by heart.

When the main door opened, your lost eyes found their way to the frame of it, and the first thing you saw was your boyfriend stumbling inside the living room; a green shirt ripped in the neck, leftovers of red lipstick on his neck, chin and cheeks, and sleepy eyes. You were already used to seeing that aspect on him, though you had naively believed that it would stop. But it never stopped.

“Hello there, beauty,” he greeted you. He dragged his words as if his tongue was as heavy as a rock, holding his body against the door handle.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, you had the intention to scream at him, to yell at his face how much you hated him for doing this to you once again; but nothing would come out, your words would be stuck in the back of your throat, your mind too blurry with disappointment to even think in what to say; so you just stood up, grabbed your phone and left towards the room without uttering a sound. You heard how Aegon closed the door, and how he dragged his feet behind you as he followed you, but you did not even bother to turn around.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, and your heart fell to your stomach as you stopped walking. Once you finally had the courage to turn around to face you looked at him with disdain, as if he was mocking you without shame by asking something so stupidly obvious that it was insulting.

“It’s 4 am,” you spat, already breathing heavily. “It’s 4 am and you just got home… it’s Tuesday!”

“Oh, Gods, I’m sorry, love…” he muttered, trying to step closer to you but you stepped back, rejecting his touch. “Arryk just got a new job so we went to a bar downtown and celebrated for him.”

“And did you forget that later today you have a job interview?” You reminded him, fuming already with rage burning through your eyes. You were barely able to keep it together, your nose already itching as you saw Aegon widening in surprise by your words. He had forgotten, he always did. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Love, listen-” his hand tried to reach for you once again but you slapped it away from you.

“No, this is enough, I won’t listen to your pathetic excuses anymore,” you shook your head and your eyes became watery once you noticed the marks of lipstick on his skin. “I’m so tired of being the only one trying to keep us afloat.”

“That’s a lie…” He accused you, narrowing his eyes.

“Is it?” You chuckled incredulously, “I’m the one paying the bills, working my ass off so you don’t feel pressure to find a stupid job, but all you do is drink and live as if you were still a fucking teenager!” You raised your voice, making him shrink in his position. He took a step back, looking at you teary eyed. That would always be enough for you to soften to him, but not this time. “You’ve told me multiple times how your grandfather would yell at you to do your shit so I tried to be empathic with you and give you time, but I just-”

A sob interrupted your words, making you choke in your own sorrow as you covered your mouth and quickly looked away from him. You closed your eyes for an instant and you slightly shook your head, feeling your heart being torn apart by the impact of reality against what used to be a fairytale. A shake breath came from your lips as you wiped your tears away and looked back at Aegon, who was standing as if he was a scolded child waiting to receive his punishment.

Those lilac eyes of him made you remember the beginning of your relationship, before you truly figured Aegon out. The first stages of a relationship were always perfect, relaying on the rush of adrenaline and excitement that a new feeling would provide; but now that it’s been four years, all that magic had vanished… sadly, the love and devotion you had for him was still making your heart beat, which is why it was so hard for you to pronounce the following words,

“I can’t allow myself to love you anymore,” you struggled to say, the sobs that threatened to escape you were making you choke and gulp. “Why can’t you get your shit together? Why can’t you grow up and act like a fucking adult?”

“You know it’s hard for me,” he excused himself, but you sighed.

“And you think it isn’t hard for me too? I stay awake every night you go out, scared to death. I have two jobs so we can keep this fucking apartment so you don’t go back and live with your parents. Because that’s how much I care about you.”

“And I love you for that.”

“Then fucking prove it to me!” You gave an exasperated yell, “Prove me that you love me! Because lately I feel like you’re saying all these things just because you’re used to them.”

“How?” He asked, “what do you want me to do?”

And there it is, the disappointment crossing your face once again. You could speak to him, scream and yell a bunch of words, but he would never listen. He would always disguise his lack of attention with questions like this, even when you had been screaming the answer to it ever since he stepped into the apartment.

You did not respond to him; you just shook your head as you made your way to your bag. You grabbed your keys, your phone and your wallet. Aegon frowned after looking at that action, and he tried to follow you around but his feet felt so heavy that he only stumbled in his place.

“Where are you going?” He demanded an answer, “what are you doing?”

Once again, silence was the answer to his question and his eyes filled with tears followed your frame until you stopped in the middle of the door frame of the room.

“My love…” he whispered, already feeling himself being sobered up by the anguish he started to feel inside his chest. “Please, don’t. Not you too.”

“You’re losing me, Aegon,” you muttered, loud enough for him to see. “Be aware of that.”

Once you closed the door behind your back, Aegon broke into silent sobs and cries. He had underestimated your limits, stupidly believing that you would always be by his side. Now that he found himself alone in a room filled with memories, the only thing he was able to do was to regret.

GENERAL TAG LIST — @borikenlove @aemondsversion @jvpit3rs @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @valeskafics @clairacassidy @aemondx @randomdragonfires @gothtargaryen @melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jamespotterismydaddy

AEGON TAG LIST — @lovelykhaleesiii @ganymede-princess @xfancyuu @megatardisbaby

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Seven

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Oh my goodness, an early update from me?? How crazy! I never update early the world must be ending. I know it's only like a day, but still, it's a day early! For someone reason, it was super easy to write. I don't know what that says about me. xD I want to thank y'all sooooo much for constantly supporting me. When I first started this fic, I honestly thought nobody would read it and that those who did would hate bomb me. Everyone who has commented has been super nice to me, and I honestly can't thank you enough for it. I do want to warn you, though, that there's going to be a chapter in the distant future where were discuss Aegon's not-so-consensual activities. That's all I'm going to say about that. I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a steamy one toward the end. ;)

Chapter Warnings: Flash Back, Somnophilia

Prince Daemon opened the door to Madam's brothel like a dark cloud, slowly traveling with the threat of a storm, Dark Sister tapping the frame. Rage was his presence as he entered, though his outward appearance seemed as if he was unbothered. He was on a mission, and he had only one question.

"Where is she?" He asked the first woman he saw, a client on her arm. She smiled at him sweetly.

"Give me one moment Ser, so I can escort this handsome patron out, and I will be right with you." She buttered the man up, her words a purr in his ear as she stroked his cheek.

Daemon rolled his eyes, taking three long strides to the girl and grabbing her by the arm. "You will listen to me and listen well. Forget this fool." She whimpered, letting go of the man's arm as she went to shield her face.

"I am Prince Daemon Targaryen, the man who created the very Gold Cloaks that will burn this establishment to the ground should I snap my fingers." She nodded, eyes teary and lips quivering. The girl was confused and caught unaware by the Prince's presence. He had not been here in quite some time, ever the loyal husband to Princess Rhaenyra.

"Where is Madam?" He seethed through gritted teeth at her prolonged silence. The whore took a shaking breath, hesitating momentarily as she glanced at Dark Sister, deciding the truth would be better than Valyrian steel through her stomach.

She leads Daemon to a back room, hidden and out of the way so no simple-minded customers could mistakenly enter. A small fire was lit, and a cast iron cauldron hung over it as Madam stood hunched, her shoulders shaking.

"Madam," the girl spoke softly, and she straightened her posture, wiping at her face as she turned to scold the worker, but stopped short, seeing a former star patron.

"Prince Daemon," she curtsied, sniffling to clear her nose, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" Madam knew she was playing a dangerous game.

"You know exactly why I am here," he replied firmly. Madam tilted her head at her worker, silently telling her working girl to leave.

"I am not sure I do. You know better than anyone that there is no need to come directly to me in order to schedule a session," she said dismissively.

Of course, Madam knew precisely why he was here. It was the exact reason why she was crying.

"Do not play dumb, Babette. Where is Elaina?" He asked, losing patience.

"I already told you this many years ago when you first asked. My answer has not changed. She went back home to the North." Daemon scoffed, rolling his eyes again as he stepped closer.

"I may have believed that lie once, but not anymore. She has no ties to her family." Madam sighed, shaking her head and raising her arms as if talking to a belligerent child.

"I am not sure what you want me to say, Your Grace. That was all the explanation she gave me before disappearing."

Daemon growled, charging at the poor woman and pushing her against the fireplace by her neck. Madam could not react, nearly falling into the simmering stew pot as she grappled for purchase.

"Stop protecting her, Babette; I have no intention to harm. I need answers," he spat.

"I have none to give," she relented, ever the strong woman from years prior.

"Stop lying to me!" He yelled, shoving her into the hearth, her head smacking the stone. "Where is Elaina? Where is my child?"

Madam was a force to be reckoned with herself, but when put against the Rogue Prince, the man crowned King of the Step Stones, she had no choice but to yield. Her years of hardening were not meant to withstand the flames of a dragon.

"Elaina is dead, thanks to the babe you put in her belly, and that child-- my child," Daemon's grip loosened, a lump beginning to form in his throat, "that I have raised into a beautiful young woman has been taken by your eldest nephew for reasons unknown to me,"

Sadness replaced his rage, a dark, depressing feeling shadowing in the pit of his stomach.

Yet another woman in his life has died from childbirth—his mother, sister-in-law, wife, and now a former mistress. Did the cycle of maternal loss ever end? The water wheel that was the Targaryen's customs was spun by endless blood and loss. Daemon's face was stone, though his heart was not. A twitch of his lip indicated he was upset by the news of Elaina's death.

Finally, he stepped away from Madam. Was he destined to lose every woman he had cared for on the birthing bed? What would become of Rhaenyra? She had just given birth to Joffrey not nearly two years ago, and she was already filled with the starts of another. She had been lucky, but the Gods' favor only lasted so long. What would become of you once put in that same spot?

"She is with Aegon, yes?" He questioned Babette, sniffing once as he rested his hand on Dark Sister. She nodded, cradling her wounded head, blood painting her fingers. "The Gods only know what that drunkard has done to her," Daemon said as he swiftly left the brothel, a new mission on his mind.

Lyra ducked into an alcove. Her grey cloak covered most of her recognizable face, the shadows of the secret entrance aiding her efforts. The layout of the many secret passages into the Red Keep was slowly becoming etched in her memory. She needed to know them like the back of her hand.

Her little apple, she thought somberly, her heart aching in the palms of gluttonous high-borns. Left to be eaten until there is nothing.

Madam had sheltered you too much from the reality of the world. You were too kind to bare the Targaryen name, too innocent to become a part of their "holier than thou" culture. You were not stupid, Lyra knew that, but your ignorance was simply due to a purposeful lack of knowledge on Madam's part. Unlike most girls your age, you knew about sex, the pleasures a man could receive, but you still had the inexperience as them, and without some trustworthy to guide you... there was no telling what path you might follow.

Lyra stopped at an almost invisible door, the wood untreated and dark within the shadows. She used her knuckles to knock a rhythm into the door, short and legato sounding. She waited, her anxiety boiling inside her stomach as she bounced on her feet. The passing time seemed too long. By now, someone would've opened the door.

"Lyra, you must leave. The castle is in a tizzy with the arrival of-"

Lyra didn't wait for the servant dressed in red to finish, shoving her way into the bustling kitchen of the Red Keep.

"Lyra, I cannot help you right now," Sara chased, tugging her friend's arm. "They are preparing a feast for the royal family!"

Lyra ignored her, running to another hidden servant's passage, her leather shoes tapping on the worn stone floors.

"Where is she," Lyra asked, sprinting up multiple steps. "I must see her. I need to tell her to wait." Sara tripped up the stairs, catching her skirt as Lyra gained more distance.

"If you would take a moment, Lyra, I could tell you," she huffed, catching up to her old friend at the top of the passage. "They are at dinner," Sara finally answered, her breathing ragged. "She met Daemon. I observed through the walls. He was kind to her. I believe there is no ill-will between them."

"That is a relief to hear; truly, it is Sara, but the things I have listened to since she left..." Lyra trailed off, "a girl of her age should not be partaking in such activities. She is far too young to comprehend the consequences fully."

"That is hypocritical, Lyra," Sara scolded, crossing her arms. "I remember us during girlhood. We were not much better."

"That was different," Lyra said. She dismissed any more attempts of scolding from Sara, opening the door as the sounds of music seeped through the crack.

She could see you dancing, hopping back and forth like a rabbit with Princess Halaena. Lyra could not help but smile. Seeing the joy on your face was infectious. It had become a rare sight over the past moons. Partly, because you had just gotten your cycle, your body readying itself to fill its biological purpose. A part of her almost felt guilty for trying to ruin your night with the plans of your escape.

Your laughter carried into Lyra's hiding place as you lifted the Princess. Lyra slowly shut the door, a wan smile covering her face. It might do you good to extend your stay at the Red Keep. You could live as a girl, make friends and play as you never could. It would give Madam a sense of ease to know you were well and to gather the needed supplies for your trip across the Narrow Sea.

Sara gave Lyra a confused look as she retraced her steps. She still needed to memorize them. You would be safe for now, and that was all that mattered as Lyra slinked back to Flea Bottom.

Daemon had escorted you to your room after dinner, silent the entire way. You were thankful for that; if he had sparked conversation, you could not have held back your grin.

Of course, you were still upset with Aegon for stealing you away and keeping his real reason for wanting you at the castle, but how he looked at you... He made you feel like you were the only person worth looking at in a room full of royalty... It made your heart feel full.

Perhaps you were too harsh in judging him? He is still a person growing into an adult, the same as you. You acted immaturely with Ma, and he acted stupidly with you. You would forgive him, just as Ma forgave you.

You thought of Daemon, wondering what was running through his head during that silence. You understood that people believed you were his daughter, but your mother was not alive to claim it as such.

Sara calmly unbraided your hair as Caldia fluffed your pillows, and one of the other girls you had come to find out was named Izola laid a thin buttoned nightgown on the bed. It was nice to be dotted on, feeling more important than you were as your eyes became heavy.

It reminded you of the nights you and Aunt Lyra would pamper each other. She would use extra wages on the day off to gather pastries, flowers, and sweets. You would sit and listen to her odd stories of patrons for that week about how one man wanted her to call him "brother" and cried after he came. You would laugh and laugh as you both stuffed your mouths full.

Suddenly, your chest hurt, your heart skipping a beat, fluttering rapidly to regain its set pace. You clenched your fist, placing it over your heaving breasts as you tried to steady your breathing. It felt like you had fallen from a great distance and landed on your back. Tears swelled in your eyes as your body panicked, unsure of how to respond as it betrayed itself.

"My Lady," Sara spoke with concern in her voice. She had stopped unbraiding your hair, her hands on your shoulders as they heaved up and down. "Are you alright?" She asked, turning to see your frightened expression.

The other girls came rushing over, like swans landing on a pond, as they all gathered around you with concerned looks.

"My Lady, what has upset you?" Izola questioned as she put the back of her hand to your temple.

"My..." You stuttered, clutching your beating chest. "My... Heart," you gasped, confused and scared about what was happening. "I want Auntie Lyra. I want Ma. Where is she?"

You couldn't think straight. Your mind attempted to grasp what was happening, reverting to a terrified child after a nightmare.

"Ma is not here. You are in the Red Keep," Sara attempted to soothe you, unsure whether she should reveal what she knew.

"I-I want to go home," your voice was thick with shedding tears.

"You..." Sara glanced around, unsure, her voice becoming soft and pointed, trying to convey a message with her tone. "You are home."

"No," you cried, yanking at the collar of your dress. "I want to go home! I want to be with my family!"

The gown no longer held beauty when you gazed upon it. All you saw were hands.

You were screaming, your eyes blinded by tears as you stumbled into the vanity, falling to the stone floor. Dozens of pale jeweled fingers become your skin, trying to penetrate your flesh. They consumed you, curling inside as you attempted to pry them away. You pulled and swatted at them, but nothing worked. A never-ending cycle would appear as soon as you broke free of one another.

"Get off," you shrieked, "get away from me!"

You couldn't think. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't see. All you could do was feel their burrowing digits wiggling into you.

"Ma!" You screamed again, though you knew she wasn't coming. "Ma! Ma!" Your voice cracked, sounding thick with saliva.

You heard a loud crashing noise in the background, and you turned to look, but one of the hands gripped your face, forcing you to look back at them. You could see them gnawing like rats through your flesh and bone. Before you realized it, you were being lifted, the bejeweled fingers still all over your skin as someone shoved you into a chair.

Suddenly, they all vanished under a curtain of water, and you finally regained all your senses, looking at staring faces.

Caldia stood panting, a silver bucket in her grip. The other two maids were there, along with the Guard who was stationed outside your room. Sara and Izola were holding each other, their faces red and tears brimming their eyes. They must have seen them too... the hands.

"I came as swiftly as the Gods allowed," an older gentleman in pious brown robes said, bursting into your chambers with another man dressed similarly with a leather bag.

"Maester Mellos," Sara greeted in relief. She released Izola and thanked him with a squeeze. "I do not know what happened. One moment I was readying her for bed; the next..." She trailed off, looking at you with concern.

The Maester turned, seeing a girl who looked like she had run from one end of the Keep to the other, then averted his eyes swiftly.

"For God's sake. Give this girl some clothes."

You lowered your head. While in your fit, you had split the gown down to the waist; you only tore your small clothes a little higher. You covered yourself in shame, and embarrassment biting your ears. Caldia dropped the pale and grabbed your night dress from the beautifully patterned silk bed while Sara and Izola went to pull the tattered slit to keep your modesty.

Maester Mellows continued his examination, listening to your heart and touching your neck and underarms for anything abnormal. His companion took notes, a leather-bound book and feather quill in hand as the Maester whispered his findings. Your handmaids stood in the background, each with worried expressions.

One with a hand over their pursed lips, the middle looking between you and the stone floor, the other with arms crossed tightly around their chest, swaying slightly.

"She seems to be in good health," Maester Mellos declared. All three women sighed in relief, whispering thanks to the Seven. "Though her heart beats like a wild stallion, even when resting." As he continued, their faces dropped, fear rising to replace their short-lived relief. "I recommend deep breathing exercises to steady the pulse, but if something like this were to occur again..."

He motioned to his assistant, taking his bag and rummaging through it until he found what he was searching for. "Take a spoonful of this. Not a drop more."

He handed you an amber-colored glass bottle, a cork keeping it tightly sealed as you accepted it with trembling hands, letting him know you understood.

"Child, do you think you will be able to sleep tonight?" You lowered your gaze as your pride made your tongue feel like lead.

Maester Mellos sighed through his nose, kneeling to your height and placing a hand in your shaking ones.

"Tis alright, my girl. All women suffer hysteria from time to time. A punishment that all suffer in this time. Just do as I ask and all will be well." His tone was soft and kind, as a grandfather would speak to their grandchild, but the contents made you feel insulted.

He uncorked the bottle with a pop, getting a spoon from his bag as he poured the liquid into the bowl. You opened your mouth as he raised it, wrapping your dry lips around the cold silver. It was tan, almost the same color as molasses, and you began to feel skeptical of the powers this magic potion was implied to have.

You nearly spat it out from the taste. It was a bitter flavor worse than the absinthe Aegon gave you and burned your throat just the same. You didn't think to ask what it was, too focused on not spitting up as you forced yourself to swallow, taking a gulp of air with you and burping afterward.

"Rest now, child; the Seven smile down upon you. Thank the Maiden for this being your only ailment, and pray to the others for your continued health. You will be well in no time if you devote yourself to that." You nodded again, pushing yourself out of the chair wordlessly as you climbed into your bed, your handmaid hurrying to help you.

The Maester and his companion took their leave with a swift bow, the Guard escorting them out of your chambers and leaving the four of you alone. You had been nothing but a calm, albeit stubborn, guest in the Red Keep, and they were more concerned than anything. You could sense that they had questions, wanting to know where this sudden outburst came from.

The day had taken too much from you, and you had no more energy to speak as they pulled the silk sheets to your chest, tucking you in as Ma or Lyra would. You had begun to feel the effects of whatever Maester Mellos had given you as the girls left. Your limbs were heavy, and you felt your body and mind relax, sinking deeper and deeper onto a bed of clouds.

Aegon had drowned himself in his cups as always, but he did not desire to explore the Streets of Silk as he usually would at this hour. He sat on the stairwell leading down to your bed chamber hallway, waiting patiently until he saw everyone leave. Seeing the Maester as one of them did startle him a bit. What had happened in the time he was not with you?

He realized then that his little dragon could not be left unattended. He must be with you at all times lest something happen. It would be a difficult task for Aegon, yes, but he would do it. He would do it for you. You were his hatchling, after all. His and only his.

The eldest Prince waited a few more moments until he was sure your ladies would not return. He pulled himself up onto wobbly legs as he descended the stairs, dragging his fingers along the corridor until he felt a familiar little divot.

Aegon opened the wall into a hidden passageway connected to the many others that led out of the castle, but he didn't intend to leave tonight. Everything that he desired was right here in these very Redstone walls.

He traveled until he saw the familiar patch of stone that signified your room, making sure his drunk legs did not make a sound in case you had fallen asleep. Aegon pushed the wall slowly, careful not to have the stone scrape the ground as he peered through the crack.

Aside from lit candles on your bedside tables, there was no light in your chambers. He pushed the door partly open so that he could slink through, still as quiet as a mouse as he went to the lump on the side of the bed. He called out softly to not scare you, but as you did not move, he continued and sat on your mattress. Still, you did not stir. Your lips parted slightly as drool leaked onto your cheek. He leaned over, gently swiping away the spit, and finally, you roused, only moving from your side to your back, the covers below your chest.

Your nightgown had come unbuttoned, exposing the glistening valley between your breasts. It stopped short of fully revealing what he longed to see to Aegon, much to his disappointment. He traced his finger over your skin, sticky from the summer night's heat, and you, once again, did not move. He was mildly concerned you did not wake from his touch, but it did not stop him, his cock growing hard in his trousers.

He knew in his mind that if you had been awake, you would not let him touch you as he did, moving the fabric over to free one of your breasts. And the fact that you were not conscious right now, your body unable to reject or accept his advances, made him groan.

Aegon moved, swinging a leg over so you were in between his. Surely this would be when you would wake, kick, and scream at him until he left. But no, you laid beneath him like a log, and he grinned. Indeed this was a sign from the Gods you wanted him. In sleep, your body did not see him as a threat, which meant you truly desired him; your conscious mind did not know it yet.

His needy cock became too much, and he freed it from the confines of his pants. The head was a ruddy pink from his rushing blood, his thick shaft pulsing in time with the hammering of his heart.

He removed your other breast from your nightgown, the nipples taught and ready for him to pinch. One hand found the base of his member, the other groping and massaging the sensitive flesh. It only made him go faster, his hand pumping in shorter and quicker strokes. To his luck, you were still sound asleep, with no expression as to whether you felt him.

Aegon wanted to shove his needy cock down your throat and continue what you had started from a moment that now felt ages ago. When you asked him, drunk on the little death he had just given you, to teach you how to pleasure him. Perhaps your subconscious could learn instead.

"I like it sloppy," he said in a strained voice, spitting on his prick as he mimicked the squeeze of your womanhood with his fist, "but for you, little one, we will go slow. I'll have you dripping first, your little cunt begging to be stuffed by me. You will do better that way," Aegon grunted at the thought as he continued. "Then, I'll have you spit on me and use your tongue to spread it before I sink into your mouth. Do not worry. I shan't shove it in all at once. I'll ease it in. I'll guide your head to find the pace I like, and you'll use your hand to make up for the lost space."

He felt a jolt of pleasure, picturing the scenario in his mind, your big doe eyes staring up at him, looking for reassurance.

"Of course, you will be unsure if you are doing it right, but not to worry, I will tell you." The stroking of his cock went faster, making the pace that you would set for him. "Good girl, I would say. You're taking me so well. I know you would just clench at my praise and try to take more of me. I know what you are, even if you do not. A good little girl that would take whatever I gave her with a smile; you just don't realize it yet." Aegon could feel his high mounting quickly, grunts and moans spewing from his chest as he moved his free hand to squeeze your throat.

"You will do that for me, won't you, little one? You'll take my cock down your fucking throat and thank your Prince when you are done?"

Your eyelids fluttered open at the lack of air, sleep still clouding your vision and mind. You could only make out a face—shoulder-length hair of white, pouting pink lips wet with spit, and flushed cheeks.

"Aegon," you whispered groggily, suddenly pulled back under the sleep waves.

He came quickly and suddenly at the sound of his name from your lips. It was such a force that his seed shot to your chin.

"Yes, it is me, little one. I am here," he answered as more spurts of his manhood fell onto your bare chest. "I am here." You did not hear his words. Already back in a deep slumber as you squirmed slightly, wiping his labor off your chin.

Aegon cursed the Gods for such an insurmountable and sudden pleasure, stroking his cock slowly as he came down, almost collapsing on top of you. He wanted to watch you clean yourself, forcing you to wipe his spend off your body with your fingers, sucking it off before swiping for more, but alas, his little dragon was sleeping and knew better than to wake you. He needed now, more than ever, for you to be awake.

Aegon tucked himself back into his trousers and left the bed, searching for a rag to wipe you but could find none, only seeing your peasant clothes draped over a chair. The maids must've forgotten them, and he grabbed the dirty outfit stained with sweat and alcohol to clean his sin of your flesh. He looked out the window once he was done, throwing the clothes in a random spot for later.

At this point in the night, he realized where his highs would cease, and his thoughts would finally reign free. His chest felt empty, a horrid feeling of shame and guilt gnawing at his gut. No one would ever love him, he realized, not in the way he sought for. His mother was ashamed and disgusted at the mere thought of him. His brother filled all the criteria his Mother wanted him to, and his youngest sister, his... wife, stuck in a marriage she nor he wanted, forced to carry his heirs. His father often forgot he even existed in favor of Rhaenyra and her bastard children.

How would he ruin your life, Aegon wondered. It was inevitable. You, too, would surely follow the same pattern. You would hate him, be repulsed by his heinous actions, and become like everyone else. He heard you stir in bed behind him but did not care; you were still fast asleep. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, sniffing and willing himself not to let them shed as he crossed his arms for comfort.

"Aegon," he heard a soft voice behind him call. "What are you doing here?" He quickly wiped the tears from his face, rushing over to kneel on the opposite side of your bed.

You saw the wet streaks, his eyes bloodshot. "Are your alright?" You asked, sitting up as you grew more concerned.

"Yes, yes, little one. I am pretty alright. I was just stopping by to see how you faired after tonights events," he lied. You didn't believe him. Your mind slows as you think of what to say.

Though you were still angry at him for what he had done, you felt your heart soften at his broken face as you opened the covers on the other side of you. "Would you lay with me," you quietly spoke, doubling down as you saw his surprised expression. "Just for a little while until I fall back to sleep." Aegon did not hesitate to kick off his boots, shedding his wine-stained shirt as he climbed in. He, too, was desperate for companionship, as he always was.

You knew this was considered improper in royal customs, and you would most defiantly get into trouble if Daemon found out, but you didn't care. You could tell you, and Aegon needed some, if just for the night.

Aegon climbed into bed wordlessly. From the moment you met him, he was always the one to lead, and you were blank on how to proceed. He was afraid to say the wrong thing and have you refute your offer. You both lay there awkwardly, staring a the black ceiling in silence. You were still trying to figure out what to do.

You recalled childhood moments when you would crawl into Aunt Lyra's bed after Ma had scored you. It was almost second nature for her. She always knew how to help you and make you feel better.

You scooted closer to Aegon's stiff form, wrapping your arms around him as he turned. You did not speak. There was nothing to say as you squeezed him closer to you. Each other's presence was enough as you slowly drifted back to sleep. Eventually, his arms wrapped around yours as something akin to water slid down your skin.

Master List of Series

Aegon is a mentally ill and emotionally stunted individual who does terrible things. Instead of mommy issues, he has "everyone in his family issues." I just wanna stroke that baby prince's cock and tell him what a good boy he is as he makes a mess of himself with his cum.

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gloomwitchwrites · 29 days

Text

Lavender: Part One

Brynjolf x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): second chances, past relationship, angst, kidnapping, denial of feelings, referenced harassment (non-graphic), suggestive themes

Word Count: 6.2k

Working as a lady's maid to Jarl Laila Law-Giver is supposed to provide you peace and a steady income, but your old life is quickly catching up to you. An old flame comes knocking, bringing you flowers and reminding you of the affection you've missed. Do you keep running? Or do you finally face the future you've always wanted but fear you'll lose again?

Part Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

The dawn has not yet risen. It is near, but there is still time yet before the sun’s warm glow breaks the horizon. Sunrises in Skyrim are your favorite. It is one of the reasons why you greet the day so early.

From your apron, you withdraw two tiny bundles wrapped in simple beige cloth. It is not much, but it is good to give something to the gods whenever you visit a shrine. Even a simple prayer is a gift, but today you have more than just your voice.

Before you is a Shrine of Talos, located against Riften’s eastern wall. The shrine is slightly secluded and situated in a curved corner near Mistveil Keep and Black-Briar Manor. To your left is a small graveyard that backs up to the Hall of the Dead and the Temple of Mara. Other than an occasional guardsman that walks past, there is no one else around.

It is quiet. Peaceful. Just as it always is at this hour.

Behind the shrine is a statue of Talos himself. He towers over you, helmeted head slightly bent as if he too is in prayer. Trees with golden leaves create a half-circle around the back and sides of the shrine. At your feet, near the stone base, are little flowers springing forth from the ground.

Warmer weather is coming, and they are reaching out to seek it.

Unwrapping one bundle, you gently retrieve three gold coins. From there, you deposit the gold coins into the small silver bowl before the shrine. They clink softly in the subdued dark. The candles surrounding the shrine burn low, their stunted, melted bodies showing their use.

From the other bundle, you carefully remove a small handful of flowers, placing those in the bowl next to the gold coins. Your offerings do not amount to much, but it is all you can spare.

While working at Mistveil Keep for Jarl Laila Law-Giver has given you job security, the pay isn’t nearly as good as you originally believed it to be. Most of what you earn is used to feed, clothe, and house yourself. While Mistveil Keep provides all this, a portion of your earnings is still taken as a small fee to cover those costs. When you first accepted the job, the fee didn’t bother you because that practice is standard across all Jarl residences.

But once you received your first earnings, you realized quickly how little ended up in your hands. You always save just a few gold coins for yourself. The rest is sent away to your ailing mother and cranky aunt who are far from Riften.

Although you have little, you always make the effort to leave offerings at Talos’ shrine. The practice is not for you, but for your father and brothers. They are no longer here, but they all perished as any Nord should, with weapon in hand. That is why you come to the shrine to pray.

You pray that they are happily feasting in Sovngarde. You pray that they at least have each other.

Standing before the shrine, you bring your clasped hands against your chest, head bent just like Talos. Your lips move silently.

When the final word is whispered, you breathe deep, and drop your hands at your sides. Glancing up, you stare at Talos’ face, admiring the craftsmanship of the sculptor’s work. It is then that you notice a change in the air.

A disturbance.

A subtle shift.

It is not the direction of the wind. It is an old sense. Ancient. Prey noticing predator.

You’re being watched.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” you say, glancing over your shoulder toward the small graveyard.

Brynjolf leans against one of the gravestones.

Even with his hood up and cowl in place, you know the shape of him. You know his body language, and the casualness that comes with it. He’s so relaxed in his leather armor. You remember when he first put that armor on. He wasn’t nearly as muscular then but that was many years ago, and now it fits him like a snug glove. Amongst the public eye, Brynjolf forgoes the armor for more luxurious fare, pretending to be something he isn’t.

But he never hides who he truly is with you.

Never.

Slowly, Brynjolf pushes off from the gravestone, strolling over with a swagger that brings a bit of heat to your cheeks.

“That’s because you know my habits, lass,” he replies, a tease in his tone that always flips your stomach.

You turn toward him fully, pushing your wanton anxiousness down until your heart is Skyforged Steel. But Brynjolf keeps walking, clearly intending to leave no space between the two of you. You do not budge from your spot, and he comes to a stop just inches away. Like this, he towers over you, invading your space.

“Why have you interrupted my morning prayer?” you ask, using every ounce of willpower not to touch him.

Brynjolf chuckles softly and the sound of it is a hammer against tempered metal. This man is going to break you down. “Is that what you were doing?”

You playfully shove at him, the instinct to touch him too much for your weak control. Brynjolf snags your wrist right out of the air. Using his grip on your arm, Brynjolf tugs you against him, pinning your wrist to him. Your free hand reflexively rises, pressing against one of the leather straps across his chest.

All you can see are his eyes. They shine like emeralds even in the dark.

“You come here almost every morning,” he murmurs.

“I do,” you snap, regaining some composure. “And you also bother me almost every morning.”

“Is that right, lass?” Brynjolf’s thumb rubs over your pulse point. The pressure sends a little shiver through your body. “Do I bother you?” He adds a bit more pressure and you inhale sharply. Brynjolf leans down like he’s about to kiss you, but he doesn’t lower the cowl. “I think you’re lying.”

You are lying. Brynjolf doesn’t bother you. Never has. The two of you are forever linked by an invisible teether.

You avoid the accusation. “Why are you here?”

Just above the lip of the cowl, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkling. He’s finding this exchange incredibly amusing.

“To give you these.” He releases your hand and takes a step back. With your wrist free, you immediately tuck your hands to your sides, his touch still lingering on your skin.

Reaching behind him, Brynjolf tugs on something and then brings it out in front of him. There are stalks of lavender and bundles of different colored flowers that grow in the mountains grasped in his fist. The bouquet is slightly squished and several of the flowers are missing petals.

“You only ever give me flowers when you want something,” you blurt, immediately regretting not thanking him instead.

Brynjolf doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t seem to mind at all that you haven’t shown gratitude.

“You know what I want,” he says softly. He transfers the flowers to one hand, and then reaches up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. It is a gentle gesture, one that pushes you toward sweet memories that seems so distant now.

You shake your head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

He knows why. The two of you have been playing this game for years.

“My family,” you insist. That is always the excuse, and it’s a poor one, because there is so much more beneath the surface.

Brynjolf sighs but it’s not with annoyance. The two of you do this dance every time. It plays out in the same routine.

“I have contacts in Solitude,” says Brynjolf. “I can have them check on your mother.”

“My mother is fine,” you insist.

Brynjolf shifts slightly on his feet. “Do you even know if she’s alive? When did you last visit?”

You hold your head high. “I receive letters.”

“From your mother? Or your aunt?”

All your stubbornness evaporates. Your mouth turns down in a frown and your face falls. Brynjolf steps into your space again, his voice becoming a caress. “Let me help, lass.”

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Been doing well on my own.”

These last few years have entirely been on your shoulders. You’ve carried the family burden, and a Voice that you’ve kept silent since the deaths of your father and brothers.

“Have you?” Brynjolf’s voice is still gentle. He is not a soft man, but with you, he’s different. Always has been.

“Yes,” you answer, still not looking at him.

“How’s the palace? The Jarl?”

“The Jarl is fine.” You glance up at him and Brynjolf arches an eyebrow. “A good employer,” you insist.

“How much are you earning?”

“Enough.”

Brynjolf grunts, his upper body retreating slightly. He doesn’t believe you, and you don’t blame him. It really isn’t enough, but you’re not going to admit that to him. Brynjolf used to be part of your life, and no matter how much he tries to fit himself back in, you know you’ll only drag him down if you do.

He holds out the flowers to you. “Take them.”

“Give them to Talos.” You nod in the direction of the shrine.

Brynjolf laughs. “They’re for you, lass.” He bends forward a bit, whispering. “And what would the Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings do with flowers?”

“I offered him flowers.” You indicate the small bowl next to the shrine.

“So you did, lass.” Brynjolf removes a few of the lavender stalks and tosses them into the bowl. “Talos can have those, but the rest are for you.”

Brynjolf holds the bouquet out in front of him. Reaching for them, Brynjolf’s fingers brush against your own. The contact is liquid fire, flooding through your limbs.

“Thank you. They are lovely.”

Yes, they are slightly smashed and wilted, but it is the thought that counts. Brynjolf went out of his way to pick them and bring them to you even if his motivations for doing so are completely selfish ones.

You just—you can’t let him back in, even though you long for it.

Brynjolf’s fingertips lightly graze the underside of your chin. “Turn around, lass. I need to disappear.”

You giggle, giving him your back, clutching the flowers to your chest. You lean in and inhale, eyelids closing slightly in pleasure.

The wind kicks up, and the grass rustles. You exhale and glance over your shoulder.

Brynjolf is gone.

Jarls are some of the messiest people you’ve ever met.

Perhaps it’s because they have a fleet of people constantly waiting on them. They have no reason to care about what they do because an attendant will swoop in and fix it all. Someone else will always clean up the mess.

Right now, you’re staring at chaos.

There are empty bottles of wine and Black-Briar Reserve scattered everywhere. Amongst the bottles are plates, goblets, and platters. The Jarl’s private balcony is trashed, and you’ve been left to clean it all up on your own.

It’s…fine. The quiet will be nice, and the spring air is cool compared to the heat within Mistveil Keep. You’ve been helping in the kitchens all day, and this is the first time you haven’t felt like you’ve been stuffed inside an oven.

Sighing loudly, you start piling up plates and platters. Anything that still held food is long gone, likely sent back to the kitchen to be quietly distributed amongst staff to reduce waste. Sig, one of the kitchen maids, is always taking scraps to the beggars.

Once the plates and platters are removed, you begin to clear the empty bottles and goblets, washing your hands before returning to sweep. With broom in hand, you survey the private patio.

You turn. Glance up. Stifle a scream.

Between the balcony railing and wood awning crouches a man. One hand grasps the edge of the wood awning while the other holds a bouquet of flowers.

“Brynjolf,” you hiss, quickly resting the broom against the table with the intent to approach him. “What are you doing?”

Brynjolf’s hood is up but his cowl is down, showing off the rest of his handsome face.

“Bringing you a gift,” he says simply, as if that is a perfectly logical thing to do at this exact moment.

The worst part about his sudden appearance is his smile. You adore that smile. It is a teasingly soft thing with just the slightest hint of mischievousness.

“Right now?”

He shrugs, slipping to the floor, unfurling to his full height. “Couldn’t wait.”

“By the Nine, Brynjolf,” you exclaim, raising one arm in exasperation. “Sometimes you are just an insufferable—”

Your next words are snatched from your lungs. It only takes Brynjolf two large strides to intrude into your space. You have nowhere to go, and he is right there, both hands grasping your waist.

“No comment about me wanting something, lass?” he asks with a gentle croon.

That sweet sound melts your bones. “The answer is still no,” but even you don’t believe what you say.

Brynjolf murmurs your name, his head dipping.

“We can’t. We live different lives.” At this point you’re simply making excuses.

“You were almost mine once,” he says, voice a whisper.

“We were children.”

“We were young,” he corrects, lightly squeezing your waist. “But we knew what we wanted.”

You did. He did. And then you didn’t. Everything changed and the only thing you had left in the world was your mother who couldn’t even help herself. And there was no one to help you. Not even Brynjolf.

When you don’t answer, Brynjolf rests his forehead against your own. “What can you give me?”

He asks so sweetly, and the old memories are hard to ignore. They bubble up to the surface only to sink into bone and blood, flooding you with the peacefulness you once knew with him.

You’re going to regret these next words.

“You can have a kiss.”

Brynjolf’s hold on your waist tightens. He draws you in, bodies pressed close. One hand slides slowly up your side, stopping at your throat. Brynjolf’s hand is large enough to cradle the bottom half of your cheek.

Everything in you stutters for a moment, and then Brynjolf is right there, hovering as if unsure of this offering. Maybe it is the emotion on your face or his own need moving him to action, because the distance closes and you suddenly realize just how much you missed this.

Brynjolf’s kiss is all tenderness. He doesn’t smash his mouth against yours or use too much tongue. You are lost in this, opening for him, and he takes it.

His hands fall away only to slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts, and your arms immediately drape around the back of his neck. He brings you to rest on top of the table.

You promised him one kiss, but giving him more won’t hurt. You can give those to him.

Brynjolf’s hands slide to the tops of your thighs and then downward. With an ardent quickness, Brynjolf pushes your skirts and apron up, exposing your bare thighs to the cool air. You don’t even blink because it’s him.

His kisses deepen. Lengthen. His hands are on your bare thighs, caressing. They move up, and then one hand dips between.

His touch upon your sensitive skin makes you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Oh, lass,” he groans. “You do miss me.”

He presses in and you moan, his mouth coming down to stifle the sound. With one hand on your upper thigh, Brynjolf drags you to the very edge of the table, slotting himself between your legs.

There is a loud clatter followed by a laugh. You both freeze, slowly easing apart but Brynjolf keeps his hand between your thighs.

You wait a beat before you speak. “You need to go.”

Slowly, achingly so, Brynjolf withdraws from your body. Almost absently, he brings that glossy finger up to his mouth. His gaze remains on the door to the Jarl’s chambers as he sucks it clean.

Only then does he turn to face you.

His face is grim like he doesn’t want to leave you out here alone.

“Go,” you insist, squeezing his upper arm. “Before you’re caught.”

That gorgeous grin of his returns in full force. He steals one more kiss before retreating to the railing. He pulls up the cowl, covering his mouth, and swings one leg over the side. He glances back once before sliding off and disappearing into the dark.

Brynjolf does not come to see you the next day or the next.

You’re not sure if somethings happened, but extended absences are not uncommon for him. You know who he is and what he does, but even you aren’t sure of the specifics. That part of his life is closed off. Only those who walk with him in the Thieves Guild completely understand. There are always the rumors you hear from others, but it doesn’t change your perception of him.

But that is not what worries you. Never has. Brynjolf can take care of himself.

It is the Jarl’s son, Harrald, that concerns you. That cretin of a man has a lingering eye, staring for far too long. The man is wholly arrogant, but he’s smart. Harrald never says anything to you in front of his mother or anyone that might report him for his poor behavior.

Instead, he watches, keeping a close eye on your every step.

His stare is like the slime scraped off the sides of ships. Nasty business, and you don’t want any part in it.

But just as Harrald has a wandering eye, he has wandering hands.

It is why you’re pacing, why you are out in the middle of the night on a walk to clear your head. You stick to the outer wall on the eastern side near Talos’ shrine, walking in one direction and then the other. Pacing and thinking and worrying.

How do you approach this issue? And who can you tell? Who would believe you?

“Need some company?”

You yelp, and whirl around, only for Brynjolf to melt from the shadows.

He chuckles softly. “Didn’t mean to scare ya, lass.” He starts walking in your direction. “But—” Brynjolf freezes. Pauses.

His gaze roams over you before his legs find the will to move again. “What’s wrong?”

Do you look that bad?

You start to reach up toward your hair, but Brynjolf is grasping your hands, bringing them to chest-level, inspecting them. “You’re shaking.”

Is that what this feeling is?

“I’m fine,” you say, but it sounds of drowning.

“You’re not.” Brynjolf’s tone is firm. You’re upset and he wants to fix it.

“It’s nothing,” you whisper.

“Did someone hurt you?” You shake your head. “Say something?”

“No, Bryn.” The little pet name rolls off your tongue uninvited.

Either he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t say anything because Brynjolf continues.

“But you are not fine.” He cups your cheek. “Your face is puffy. And your eyes are red.” He gently squeezes the hand he’s holding. “Your hands are cold. Talk to me.”

You sniffle, only realizing then how stuffy you sound. “I’m probably imagining things. Making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.” Brynjolf’s words are a comfort. They slide over and around you. If anyone in Riften will believe you, it’s him.

“It’s the Jarl’s son. He—” You pause when you notice the deep frown on Brynjolf’s face.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“He—he touched me. At dinner. Maybe?”

“Touched you?”

You start to draw back, regretting saying anything at all. “It was probably an accident.”

“Which son?” he growls. The anger in his voice surprises you.

“Harrald.”

Brynjolf’s frown deepens. “No. It wasn’t an accident. Not with him.”

“Bryn. What should I do?” This job is the only thing keeping you afloat. You need this.

The muscles in his jaw tenses. “Steer clear of him if you can. Make sure you’re never alone with him.” He places his hands on your shoulders. “Is there someone there you can trust? Someone who will listen?”

“I think so.”

Anuriel would listen. She might be the Jarl’s steward, but she has a good heart and looks after everyone.

Brynjolf’s hands cradle the sides of your face. “If he touches you again, say something. Understood?”

You nod.

“Good girl.” He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll walk you back.”

“In that?” you laugh, indicating his Thieves Guild armor with a nod of your head.

“From the shadows, lass,” he teases.

“Finally. Didn’t think I’d ever have a moment alone with you.”

The familiar, arrogantly slimy voice sticks to the insides of your ears. You are in the market. You are not alone. And yet Harrald is right there, standing far too close, grinning widely.

You swallow, the salvia in your throat momentarily sticking. “How can I help you?”

Harrald’s grin widens, and he leans in. You immediately lean back. He makes no indication that your retreat bothers him.

“You’ve been making eyes at me.”

I haven’t you rodent.

“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”

He laughs. “I’m not.”

You quickly glance around but no one is paying the two of you any mind. “Apologies, sir. But I—”

Harrald shrugs and then waves his hand dismissively. “Hard to get is fine. I’m up for a chase.”

“That’s not—”

“I’ll play.”

“My lord, that is not—”

His voice lowers and some of his smile recedes. “Pretty thing like you needs a bit of taming.”

A shadow falls over Harrald’s face. You sense a presence to your left just behind your shoulder. The fading smile on Harrald’s face evaporates. In its place is a deep frown.

“You’re interrupting,” spits Harrald, head turning in the direction of the intruder.

“She said she isn’t interested.”

Brynjolf. Thank the Nine.

Harrald stands stall, puffing out his chest. It does little for him. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” says Brynjolf flatly. He steps around you, inserting himself between Harrald’s red face and your body.

“I could have you locked up for this!”

“We both have connections,” replies Brynjolf casually. He leans and lowers his voice. “Mine just go a bit deeper.”

Harrald’s reddened face loses all color. He begins to blubber, mouth opening and closing like a fish on a hook. Brynjolf takes a deliberate step forward, completely cutting off Harrald’s connection to you.

The paleness is replaced by redness again.

“You—” begins Harrald, his lip curling. He glances around, and this time there is an audience.

Harrald inhales sharply and turns on his heel, storming back toward Mistveil Keep, shoving a guardsman out of the way as he ascends the steps. Brynjolf doesn’t address you until Harrald has disappeared.

But Brynjolf does not speak. He simply inclines his head in your direction before moving back to his stall. The chatter of the market resumes, and you go about your business.

Harrald leaves you alone the rest of the day, but you remain on edge. The tension sticks around until bed, keeping you awake and alert as if Harrald will appear at any moment.

Sleep eventually comes but you hardly notice when you drift off. But your body knows routine, and you awaken at the time you usually do for morning prayer.

The ground is covered in a low mist and the grass is dew-laced. Head hurting from lack of sleep, you stumble through your routine. And when the air stirs, your alertness sharpens, the thread of excitement rushing through your limbs.

You turn, expecting to find Brynjolf.

You do not find him.

Instead, you find two men. Both are tall. One is thin and lanky with greasy yellow hair. The other is burly and balding with his face all scarred.

The burly man grins, showing missing teeth.

You don’t even see or feel the blow.

It’s just their faces. And then darkness.

“What are we supposed to do with her?”

“He said rough her up a bit. Just avoid the face. He likes that.”

You stare at the grimy stone wall. With the lack of light, you can’t tell if the stone is scorched or simply weathered. Distantly you hear dripping, and faint rattling as if something moves behind the stone. If something does, you don’t want to know.

When you breathe in, a dampness clings to the air, sticking to the insides of your lungs. It’s not exactly foul-smelling wherever you are, but it certainly isn’t pleasant. You are underground, that much you know, and there is only one place in Riften that is entirely beneath the earth.

“She awake?” comes a nasally voice. It’s the one that mentioned he wants you “roughed up.”

“I don’t know.” This is the first voice. It is low and droll.

You’re in the Ratway. You’re certain of it. But where, exactly? The place is large. It is easy to lose yourself in the maze of tunnels.

“Well find out.”

You stay perfectly still as one of the men approaches.

“She ain’t moving.”

Beside you, part of the wall crumbles outward. Slowly, you reach out, fingers finding a solid chunk. Within you, there is a Voice, but you haven’t used it in years, and the power you once wielded is a distant memory.

That is tucked away. You’re not even sure if you remember how to use it or if you might do more harm than good.

“Give her a kick.”

Grip tightening on the broken stone, you turn over and hurl it. The chunky rock nearly collides with the burly, balding man. They both start, faces awash with surprise before anger crosses their faces.

The greasy, yellow haired man’s mouth forms a snarl. He approaches quickly, fists raised. “You—”

But the blow never comes.

His head is there and then it’s not.

It is at your feet. The eyes looking upward, and the mouth shaped into an exaggerated “o.”

The one with his head still on stands there, glancing down at his friend’s unattached head. There is a beat of silence. A pause as his gaze turns to you.

Before either of you can speak or move, a thin blade bursts through the man’s neck.

His eyes go wide, hands reaching up in disbelief. His mouth opens, gasping for air he cannot inhale. The blade slides out. Disappears.

The bloody gurgling increases in volume as he falls face-first into the ground. It tapers off as you push yourself against the gently curving wall. You glance up from the black pool quickly forming beneath him.

In the shadows, something moves in the dark.

You reach for another stone, ready to throw the thing. The moving shadow emerges, and you promptly drop it.

“Brynjolf,” you breathe.

“Lass.” He reaches for you, and you throw yourself into his arms.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, hands roaming as he inspects you.

You take stalk of yourself. Nothing hurts expect a faint throb at the side of your head. “I think I’m all right.”

Brynjolf wraps his arms around you, and you melt into him, clinging so tight the buckles across his chest dig against your skin.

“Take me away from here, Bryn.”

“You can’t expect me to stay here.”

When you told Brynjolf to take you away, you meant above ground, not to Thieves Guild headquarters.

A Guild member strolls by and Brynjolf grabs your arm, pulling you further into the dark. “Mercer isn’t all that inclined in letting you go.”

The two of you stand nearly toe-to-toe in one of the alcoves surrounding the cistern. It’s not well-lit, and your voices are hushed, but this is a conversation between the two of you. No one else needs to take part.

“Why?” you hiss, already knowing.

“He thinks you’ll compromise us,” replies Brynjolf calmly, but you hear the subtle tension. Even he doesn’t entirely believe what he’s saying.

“Everyone already knows the Thieves Guild operates out of the Ratway,” you insist. “They already know you’re down here. How will I change anything?”

Brynjolf glances over your shoulder and you follow his gaze. Mercer Frey stands in the middle of the cistern with two others. One is a woman with white hair and a permanent scowl. The other is a man who keeps glancing at the scowling woman with a soft smirk.

Brynjolf sighs, his head dipping slightly. “Yes, lass. But where? They don’t know and they don’t dare come looking. Not with Maven in their way.”

You scoff. “And you trust her?”

“As long as money is involved.”

You shake your head and look away to a spot over his shoulder. Discovery of where the Thieves Guild is located isn’t the point. Mercer intends to trap you here. Either you stay down here with all of them, or potentially put your life at risk.

Brynjolf lowers his voice. “Mercer won’t harm you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Because it’s true. Brynjolf would intercede if it came to that. The issue is with not being allowed to go.

“I’m not a prisoner,” you finish, returning your gaze to Brynjolf’s face.

“You aren’t.”

“But I can’t go.”

Brynjolf laughs softly and it’s a lovely sound. “You want to run from me that badly?” he teases.

“Be serious,” you hiss.

“I am,” his tone shifting. Brynjolf moves closer, shielding you from the cistern. “You keep running and it has gotten you nowhere.”

“Don’t,” you begin but Brynjolf isn’t having it.

He leans in, placing both hands against the stone wall behind you. You’re trapped. Pinned. Wherever you look, wherever you turn, it will only be him.

“You’re running from yourself. From your family. From me.”

“Brynjolf,” you warn, but he ignores it.

“You say you don’t want me but we both know that’s a lie.”

You huff and attempt to dip under his arm. He moves with you, keeping you in place. Shooting him a warning look does nothing.

“Listen to me, lass,” he murmurs. “You don’t shy away from my touch. You always give me soft smiles. Kind words. Kisses.” It is then that his gaze drops to your mouth. There is clear appreciation in that look, and it instantly stirs a heat in your core.

“We almost married once.” His tone softens, and then Brynjolf’s gaze returns to your eyes. “It did not happen. But I still consider you my only option.”

You fall into memory, of the times before, of when Brynjolf meant everything to you, and your family was whole. A time when you wielded a Voice so powerful it scared you, but you knew it meant you were destined for greater things.

How quickly things change.

How quickly they fall apart.

“Don’t say that,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Why? Can I not speak freely with you?”

“Of course you can, Bryn.”

“Then that is how I feel.”

You cross your arms over your chest, retreating slightly. Years have passed and the two of you have not faced this. Is it fate that led you to Riften? You knew Brynjolf was here, but that is because of his involvement with the Thieves Guild. Maybe you should attempt to rekindle what the two of you shared—what you still share.

There is still love there. It does not fester or wither.

It is loud and bold beneath the skin. It simmers. Lingers. Waiting for the two of you to finally find each other again. Every time you see Brynjolf, it warms you all over. You feel safe, and you silently hate it when he leaves.

“If you truly do not want me, say so,” he murmurs. “Plainly and firmly. Tell me there is no chance for the two of us to be together.”

Your gaze settles at his throat. It is the only place you can look. If you look into his eyes, if you see those emerald pools, you will drown in him.

“Bryn.”

“Look me in the eyes when you reject me.”

This makes you start, gaze snapping to attention, finding those green gems you’d know anywhere. And you are lost. Completely. You stare at him, the tension increasing until it’s a knife through the heart.

You drop your gaze. Shake your head. “That isn’t fair.”

It’s not a rejection and Brynjolf’s sigh of relief is palpable. It would be unfair to say you don’t love or want him. Because you do. You’re just—

Scared.

Brynjolf leans against the wall with one arm, dropping the other. Using that leverage, he creates an intimate space, faces close enough to come together but not meeting.

“Everything you need will be provided for if that is what you worry about. I promise you,” says Brynjolf. Casually, the backs of his knuckles brush against your upper arm. “Money will be sent to your mother. I’ve already been looking after her care.”

You blink, startled. “What do you mean?”

Brynjolf shrugs. “You think your measly earnings for the Jarl are enough?”

Your mouth opens and then closes, your mind trying to process this information. “How long has this been going on?”

Brynjolf remains quiet.

“Tell me,” you insist, lightly beating your fist against his chest.

“I’ve been sending money for many seasons.”

“Since when?”

“You know,” he says simply.

The whole reason you broke it off with Brynjolf all those years ago was because of your mother’s health and the death of your father and brothers. All that income disappeared, and you were the only person available to keep you and your mother afloat. Maybe if you had married Brynjolf, money wouldn’t have been an issue, but you didn’t want to drag him down with you. The threat of the streets was constant, and all your hopes for the future suddenly vanished.

And he’s been sending money all this time?

“You didn’t have to. Brynjolf—you shouldn’t—”

Brynjolf starts shaking his head. He pushes off from the wall, face stern. He glances back at the cistern and then returns his gaze to you. “Come with me.”

Brynjolf grabs your upper arm and pulls you away from the wall. A small part of you tells you to stick your heels in and resist because it’s all you know. But you allow him to guide you away into what must be some sort of training room.

“You didn’t need to send anything. I have it handled.”

Brynjolf has his back to you, hands on his hips. He sighs audibly and speaks. “I wanted to. Want to.”

“Bryn.”

He turns, one hand up to ask for silence. “We were to be married.” He drops it, that hand forming a fist at his side. “That didn’t just disappear for me.”

You can’t fault him for caring. It was you that severed the connection, who walked away from a good man that loved you beyond care for himself. Even now, he looks after what’s left of your family.

“Do you remember how happy we were?” he asks.

“All the time,” you reply, voice cracking slightly.

Brynjolf moves toward you, and without thought, you extend your hand to him. He takes it, pulling you into his arms, inhaling deeply of your scent.

“I’d choose you every time,” he says, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I’d bring you a priestess of Mara. Bind ourselves to each other. Give you anything you ask for.”

Brynjolf pulls back enough to change his position. With one hand, he cups your cheek, and draws you in. “You’ll never have to work.” He hesitates, then closes the distance. The kiss he offers is sweet. Gentle. “Never worry.” Another kiss, this one tinged with a spark of fire. “I would provide.” This next kiss is deep, all need and passion. You open for him and Brynjolf groans into your mouth.

When the two of you break apart for air, his thumb begins caressing your cheek. “You know I speak truly.”

“What would I do here?”

“Whatever you want,” shrugs Brynjolf. “Could even teach you our ways.”

“I’m not becoming a member.”

Brynjolf’s smile is infectious. You can’t help but match it. “If you marry me, you do by default.” He lowers his voice. “And you know where we live.”

“Is this your way of forcing my hand?”

Brynjolf laughs. “If I was going to force you, lass, I’d have done it already.”

It’s true. Brynjolf has had years to make you his without your input. But he has always given you space. Given you time. And you do love him. You do long for the times the two of you shared together before you pulled away.

Perhaps it is time to accept, to know that his support is there and so deeply wanted on your part.

“You’ll fetch a priestess of Mara?” you ask softly.

“Right now,” he answers immediately. “If that is what you wish.”

You see the hope in his eyes, feel the anticipation in his muscles. All these years, and still you are so enamored with him, and he with you.

“You did ruin my job with the Jarl.”

“Me?” he laughs, pulling you tighter into his arms. The two of you stay like this, just embracing.

After a long moment, he finally speaks. “Is this a yes, lass?”

You take a deep breath and snuggle closer into him. “It’s a yes.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @miss-mistinguett @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @ninman82

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jesse-eeeeeee · 8 months

Text

Every single character in bsd just feels trans/queer/genderqueer. like. How do you just unintentionally make every character in your story queer coded. And tbh, it’s a full course meal. for me

anyways please drop your hcs, i need them

#I love hcing sskk as transfem #and skk as transmasc #mushitaro? transmasc #also love nonbinary dazai #nikolai and fyordor my favorite trans fems #genderfluid sigma win #yosano is transfem #nonbinary kyouka 10/10 #fukuzawa transmasc elder #genderfluid gin #higuchi? transmasc #i will not elaborate #bsd #bungou gay dogs #bungou stray dogs

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0-animelover-0 · 11 months

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S/O Is The Same Gender As Them

Character(s): Aela the Huntress, Shahvee, Balimund, Farkas, Vilkas, and Scout-many-marshes.

Summary: Title is self-explanatory but basically how they act if they were dating someone of the same gender.

A/N: No pronouns are used; reader is referred to as 'woman' and/or 'man'.

Aela the Huntress

She does not care that you are the same gender as her. (She's dated both men and women you can't change my mind)

Aela defends your relationship if anyone says anything homophobic or in a way she finds offensive.

She uses her title as a way to intimidate anybody that finds your relationship 'bad'.

She portrays herself as a mature and level-headed woman but as soon as you comb her hair or show any type of affection, her eyes soften and her muscles relax.

Shahvee

This lizard woman does not give a spiders arse wether or not you are the same gender.

If she loves you than she loves you. She doesn't see anything wrong with it.

Shahvee has been around Nords her life so she knows how rude they can be. So, she is not afraid to stand up for you.

She is your beacon of light, your pride and joy. The person you love and hold dear. She soothes your worries best she can. She greets you with open arms after a tough one of your journeys.

Balimund

He may not have been in same-sex relationship before but he is definetily willing to try. (I headcannon that he thought he was straight until he met the Dragonborn)

You were his bi awakening so he was hesitent at first but after a while he became pretty affectionate with his words.

He may not be a big fan of PDA but he is not ashamed of dating you. In fact, he likes to tell people of his handsome husband.

Farkas

This hunky werewolf will treat you like he does in any relationship. He is affectionate in public and in private. Always having a hand on your hip or entwining your fingers together.

He is not ashamed of your relationship at all and even brags about having such a great partner.

He might be one of the kinder Companions of Jorrvaskr but he sure isn't gonna take hate from people who are rude towards you. His strong stature is enough to scare a man.

Vilkas

Vilkas through the years never thought he'd be in a relationship, especially being in one with another man.

When he first met you, he wondered why his heart started pounding but he brushed it off and continued his day.

He was hesitent at first but he grew to love being with you. He wouldn't trade being with you for anything. Even if he won't say it out loud.

Unlike his brother, he isn't into PDA as much but in private or inside Jorrvaskr. he always has his arms around you.

Scout-many-marshes

He loves having a partner to share life with no matter their gender. You being a man doesn't change that. He's just happy to have someone in his life.

This scaly man loves PDA and anything to showing affection. He loves just holding your hand or leaning in your touch. In private, he is very gentle and loving. He loves just tracing patterns over your skin with his thumbs.

He boasts about his spouse that is the infamous Dragonborn. He feels lucky that he gets to return to you after a long day of work.

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annikin-annotates · 1 year

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Hi love!

Would you be interested in writing anything about the Green siblings dynamic and make it happy? 😂 I feel like so many fics about Aemond are dark/sad and that’s fine, it’s more accurate canonically and they’re well written it’s just…I wanna read about my boy being happy even if it’s not realistic 😭😭 and I would love to see him and his siblings getting along, taking the piss out of each other, having fun etc lol

Eden

Hiya lovely! Thank you for your request, I hope I did it justice! this is super inspired by the song Thus Always To Tyrants by The Oh Hellos.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Content Warnings: Nothing, tooth rotting fluff.

(Not proof read)

It was early morning when her husbands soft groaning and stretching pulled you from the plushness and warmth of sleep, rolling on your side to see a lilac and blue eye peering back at you - a worm smile crossed both of their lips. Aemond’s hair was still mussed with sleep “Good morning my Sweet Wife” he greeted you with a kiss on the tip of your nose, a positively girlish giggle escaping you as you stretched. You had yet to become used to being called ‘wife’; never mind the wife of a Targaryen Prince, if your parents could see you, you had no doubt they would be overjoyed with your current standing as a Princess of the realm.

“What are your plans for today, my Lord Husband?” she asked as she huddled closer to him, the warmth of his body calling to her. Aemond Instinctively brought his arms around her, pulling her closer as he hummed in thought, the motion sending a deep rumble through her ears. “Helaena asked if we would like to go on dragon back for a picnic, Aegon and the children will be accompanying also” he said softly, feeling torn. If they went on an excursion, there would be less time for them to have a late rise, but if they didn’t attend - Helaena and the children would be heart broken. “We can’t disappoint the children now, can we?” a tender smile spread across her lips as they broke apart threw back the covers simultaneously.

You had always found it strange that handmaids always seemed to be lurking just around corners waiting to be called upon, as soo as you had opened your mouth to call for a maid - several had tumbled through the servants entrance to yours and Aemond’s shared chambers. The pair of hand maids that had tended to her were ones she had become quite close with in her time at the Keep; Amblin and Aylisha.

You had learned their names, their children’s names and where they had hailed from; Amblin had come from the Reach while Aylisha had come from Esos. When they were first introduced, you had set aside a while day to talk to them and hear their stories, where they grew up and what they liked doing in their free time. It had spread through the court like wildfire - that a princess would treat servants with basic respect.

They had dressed you in a pair of black breeches and sturdy leather riding boots that reached your knees, a loose fitting shirt covered your stays and a riding coat was fastened tightly to you person, your hair was tightly braided away from your face. Giving them a quiet ‘thank you’ before they left the room the same way they entered, your feet carried back to where Aemond stood, your breath nearly hitched in her throat.

His pale hair almost glowing in the early morning sun, the milky expanse of his chest was partially exposed by the unlaced collar of his shirt, she politely shooing the maids away so she could finish gawking in private. A knowing smile spread across his lips as he made his way to you, meeting in the middle of one of the plush carpets in their chambers. Exchanging fond looks as you ran your hand slowly up his chest before beginning to tie the front of his shirt and helping him pull on his jerkin and fastening all of the buckles.

It was mid morning by the time they had begun to make their way to the dragon pit, the Keep was slowly starting to come to life as the exited they large wooden doors and descending the front stairs. Kings Landing was full of hustle and bustle by this time, the small folk bartering with shop keeps, women chattering away to each other in small groups, and wily children playing tag. The sight was enough to bring a smile to your face, and the best part of it all was that nobody spared you both a glance - all of them far too wrapped up in their own lives to notice.

“What has you grinning this morning?” Aemond asked her as they walked up the numerous steps into the Dragon Pit. Vhagar was obviously far too big for the pit, but walking through the pit cut the walk time in half, “I’m just happy today, my love. it is not often you venture out for the sake of pleasure” you responded, a wistful smile on your lips.

Aemond’s brows rose “I never said this was pleasure, we are spending the day with Aegon” he said, amusement dancing in his voice as he pushed the large oaken back doors to the dragon pit open. The doors hinges groaned with the movement, they opened slowly to reveal the backside of a near mountainous hill - she thanked herself, the gods, and her maids for dressing her in breeches today.

Ascending the hill was not so bad - the view of the city was glorious this morning. Casting your eyes down the other side of the hill was when you saw her, the largest dragon in the world; and your husbands mount - Vhagar. The histories Aemond pours over constantly never did the she dragons size justice, and if Vhagar was this big - how large was The Black Dread? you shuddered at the thought.

The she beast was flanked - at a safe distance of course; by two other dragons Sunfyre the Golden and Dreamfyre, their riders and their children. Though a fourth dragon was out a little farther its brilliant blue left no room for debate - Tessarion, Daeron’s mount. Tessarion was a large horned beast, The Blue Queen was an egg from Silverwing’s clutch - the late Queen Alysanne’s mount.

You gave Aemond a nudge to the ribs and pointed to Daeron - sending the three of them an excited wave. Daeron, Helaena and the children returned the sentiment, waving excitedly to you; while Aegon hardly looked capable of lifting his had to give more than a half hearted wave. But you could see the lazy grin that toyed on his lips.

The both of you made your way down to the gathering family to mount up, Aemond allowed you to climb the rope lader on Vhagar’s side first - him following close behind. Aemonds chest was pressed firmly to your back as he tied the ropes and belts around you both “Try not to fall from your dragon!” Aemond called to his brother.

To which Aegon gave him a vulgar gesture before covering Jaehery’s ears to yell to his brother “Oh piss off!” he called back to Aemond. “It will be a long way down!” Daeon called, a wry smile on his lips, “You shut your mouth or I will have mother and Grandsire send you away to never return!” Aegon snapped, though there was no malice in his voice.

You let out a cackle - it wasn’t often you got to see them al interacting to comfortably with each other. All of them either had too many duties to attend to or were arguing with each other - though the arguing was mostly shared between the two brothers. Helaena always seemed more relaxed outside of the Keep’s walls, her shoulders held no tension and her eyes shone like Amethysts catching sunlight.

“Soves, Vhagar!” Aemond called, commanding Vhagar to take flight, Vhagar began to move with thunderous noises and movements making your whole body rattle. Feeling and seeing the ground fall away from your feet never got any less unsettling - though you do now have your tendency to scream under control; now only letting out a hushed “Oh gods” as you white knuckle the pommel of Vhagar’s saddle. You let go of the pommel when you felt Aemond’s warmth beckoning you back to his chest, you settled in for a long flight.

The wind whipped so violently around you that you almost felt bad for Aemond behind you - your braid ought to have been smacking him repeatedly. Though the thought quickly left your head as the ocean passed beneath your feet, you could hardly contain your gasp, “beautiful, is it not?” Aemond asked, voice barely audible over the rushing wind.

You nodded “It is most exquisite!” you beamed, “I was talking about you” he hummed lowly into your ear, heat rushed to your cheeks “Oh hush Aemond!” you replied, trying to hide your giggle. The cerulean blue of the ocean stretched on as far as the eye could see, the expanse of darkness broken by an occasional ship and the foam of breaking waves.

The hours in the saddle passed by rather quickly when flying, there was always something new to look at; be it a new species of bird, large fish or the occasional whale in the water. Aemond often found himself pointing out things his love would enjoy, the excited giggle never failing to make his heart soar with happiness. Not many things happened in Aemond’s life made him happy, but you? his love, the very breath in his lungs and the blood thrumming in his veins - you did.

Dragon screeched were heard all around as Tessarion and Daeron shot by them both, “Catch us if you can!” Daeron yelled, his voice fading as quick as it came as he passed them. Daeron was egging both his brothers on, a flash of gold zipped by you both, hot on his little brothers scales “Last one there is a virgin!” Aegon cackled. You looked back at Aemond - giving him a nod as if to say show them who is boss. He let out a throaty laugh before offering Vhagar another command “Adhirikydho Vhagar, toli ziry!” he shouted.

Vhagar gave a begrudging and thunderous grumble before heeding her masters orders ad diving after the other dragons, leaving Dreamfyre and Helaena to follow after them at a much more appropriate speed. You let out a happy yelp as that fluttering feeling happened in your stomach, the kind you get when you were falling. the ocean was fast approaching the three brothers and their fourth begrudging passenger. Vhagar suddenly banked left to soar past Sunfyre and Tessarion, both dragons parting out of respect for their elders and to make room for her immense size.

Ocean blue waters quickly became a patch of lush green grass as you began your descent on Vhagar, the chilly air becoming less intense the closer you got to ground fall. Vhagar was the first to land, followed by Tessarion and Dreamfyre, Sunfyre landing last. The four dragons landed with relative smoothness, the ground beneath the largest of them crumbly slightly at the sudden force thrust upon it.

The four of them sat together indulging in the delights that had been stowed away in baskets on Dreamfyre’s back. Everyone’s favourites had been packed; Lemon cakes, Roast meat, cured meats, both sweet and savoury pies and wine and water. You leant back on the heels of your palms, watching the children play tag with Daeron; the sound of laughter rang out across the open field as Daeron caught Jaehera and spun her around in his arms. Aemond looked across to Helaena and Aegon; Helaena peacefully embroidering while Aegon sipped at his wine, he tilted his head towards your ear.

“Perhaps he will get drunk enough to fall from his dragon” he remarked light heartedly, causing you to gasp “Aemond!” you giggled, playfully smacking his upper arm. You looked up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours and all was right in the world “Avy jorraelan”, he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“And I you”, you whispered back.

High Valyrian Translations

Soves, Vhagar! - Fly, Vhagar!

Adhirikydho Vhagar, toli ziry! - Quckly Vhagar, after them!

Avy jorraelan - I love you

Taglist; @adelusionalwriter @hopelesswritergall @princesssszzzz @arcielee @whoahoney

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dedicatednotobsessed · 1 year

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The Maiden Auction [Aegon Targaryen x Virgin!Reader]

Other HOTD stories [requests open]

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✨Dedicated to @mrsdaemontargaryen Her character is Madame Madelyne {I bet you can guess her love interest 🤭} and this is one of her favorite storylines so this is for you, bestie 💚✨

Summary: Being sheltered in the belly of Fleabottom, you had never been one to experience the true horrors of the streets of silk. You often snuck out against your Madame’s rules and it led to one fateful night of meeting the crowned Prince of the Seven Kingdoms….

Warning: This is a smut one shot. Please read at your own risk.

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You blew out a breath as you moved your hood to the top of your head while you snuck out of Madame Madelyne’s brothel, glancing behind you to make sure you weren’t caught. She took you in close to five years now, having been a child of the streets. She saved you from a couple of poachers and had sheltered you inside the brothel ever since.

You scanned your eyes around the streets with a bright smile on your lips. You knew Madelyne would kill you if she found out about your constant sneaking out, yet you were willing to take that risk.

You pulled your cloak closer around you before gasping when you ran into a body and yelped as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight.

“Let me go!” You spat, hitting at his chest.

“Let me go!” He repeated in a shrill voice while pulling you close to him. He took his other hand and grabbed your chin roughly, moving your head to look at you from all angles. “You are going to go for a pretty penny,” He growled out, his voice gruff.

“What is taking you so long, Bart!” Another voice called walking out from an alley.

The man named Bart turned you around to show to his partner. “Pretty lil’ thing comes walking out of the brothel. Looks like a fresh new face.”

His partner laughed and bent down to look you over, flashing you a smile with at least three gaps where his teeth should be. “Don’t worry sweet one,” He purred reaching up to wipe at your cheeks. “We will take good care of you.”

You narrowed your eyes a bit, the tears glistening before you spat in the man’s face. He blinked in surprise while he reached up and suddenly backhanded you causing Bart to gasp. “We need to stay away from her face, Vynce. What if he shows up tonight?”

Vynce blew out a breath and nodded while he stood up straight. “Take ‘er to the wagon and we’ll make our way to the auction house.”

Bart nodded and began to drag you towards their covered wagon, struggling against his strong grasp. It was no use though as he threw you in, the wagon filled with women of various ages.

“If you don’t behave, we will gag you,” Bart threatened and hit the side of the wagon.

You looked at the sight around you. Most of the women were dirtied with scrappy clothing. You sniffled and looked down quickly wiping at your eyes.

“It won’t be too bad as long as you do what you’re told,” An older woman spoke up and you met her sunken eyes. It was clear that this was not her first run in with the poachers. “After it is over, you can return home or wherever you came from.”

“Unless her buyer kills her like what happened with Bayley,” Another woman chipped in.

You sniffled feeling your hands shake at the thought. You had never been for sale at the brothel with so many of Madelyne’s girls going missing or becoming swollen with child. The brunette Madame took on a motherly role when she took you in and promised that you would stay safe. You went against her rules though and are now suffering the consequences.

You closed your eyes when the wagon stopped, assuming you were at the auction house. You felt the knots twist in your stomach. You could only hope it went by quickly and you did not end up with the same fate as Bayley.

“Out,” Vynce ordered after he opened the curtain.

One by one the girls were pulled out of the wagon, Bart grunting as you dug your nails into his skin. It was no use though, Vynce chuckling.

“You are truly a feisty one,” Vynce told you with a small smirk. “The men are going to love you.”

“Who do you think will pay the highest coin?” Bart asked curiously, his meaty hands ripping your cloak off.

Vynce crossed his arms while looking over you, his eyes resembling that of a rat’s, dark and beady. “Depends…are you a virgin?” Both men cackled before Vynce turned his attention towards the rest of the girls. “Wash up! The auction will be starting soon and we want you all to look pretty for these hungry men out there!”

You whimpered as Bart tore the front of your dress, licking his lips as he did so. He reached up to squeeze your breasts, a lustful stare in his eyes. “If I didn’t need the money, I would take you right ‘ere,” He whispered in your ear, his hand moving down to your bum before he laughed as he smacked it and pushed you over to the water basin.

You glared at the way the men watched you as though they were starving wolves hunting their prey while you washed with the rough cloth against your delicate skin. “She don’t got a single mark on her,” You heard Vynce whisper to Bart.

The other man snorted a bit. “She really is a new whore then.”

Vynce hummed in response. “You know how he likes them maidens. We shall save her for him. He’s bound to show up during the hour of the owl.”

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

Your eyes scanned the large room as Bart left you for a moment to help Vynce escort the girls out onto the stage. You could hear the cheers and laughter of the men in the audience as each girl was sold one by one. You frowned a bit seeing a fruit and cheese platter with a knife and walked over, grabbing the knife and concealing it behind your back as the door opened once more.

Your eyes connected with a pair of violet eyes, a bored expression on his features. “We saved this one just for you, My Prince,” Vynce stated. “We know how much you enjoy the maidens.”

“Was this the only one?”

Bart nodded. “Them gold cloaks are really cracking down, you see.”

The Prince rolled his eyes at the excuse before he let out a sigh. “How much do you want for her?”

“Three thousand,” Vynce replied.

He laughed while pushing his hood off. “Gods no.” It was the oldest of the three princes, Prince Aegon. Everyone who lived in Kings Landing recognized the crowned prince.

“Why?” Vynce asked confused with furrowed brows.

“Just look at her.” Bart walked over running his grubby fingers through your hair and that was when you struck. He let out a howl of pain as you dug the knife into his thigh. “You bitch!”

You turned for an escape but frowned when you realized Aegon was in the way of the only exit, a smug smirk on his features.

You yelped and gasped as Bart suddenly grabbed you by the back of the neck and roughly pushed you up against the wall. “If he ain’t going to pay then I’m going to take her as mine then slit her pretty lil’ throat,” He growled into your ear.

You whimpered trying to struggle against his grasp while his hand moved down your bottom. “Three thousand,” Vynce repeated looking at the Prince.

You squeezed your eyes tight feeling Bart’s hand move inward before Aegon spoke up; “I only have fifteen hundred on me.” He brought out the velvet black pouch and tossed it at Vynce. “I’ll pay the rest on the morrow. You know I am good at that.”

Vynce looked down at the pouch before nodding at Bart. “Give ‘er to him.”

Bart growled and shoved you over to Aegon, falling into his arms as he caught you. You didn’t say anything as he led you out and towards the set of stairs where the buyers went with their girls.

He dragged you into a room near the end of the hallway and threw you towards the bed before he turned to close the door. He sighed softly while reaching up to unclasp his dark blue cloak.

“Do not be afraid. It will only hurt for a moment,” Aegon spoke up turning his attention towards you.

You looked over the Prince with furrowed brows before your attention turned towards the wine pitcher. “Why would a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms be interested in an establishment such as this?” You asked quietly while pouring yourself a glass of the red liquid and downing it.

“Because,” Aegon began as he sat on the bed and took his boots off followed by his breeches and tunic. “Sometimes a man needs time away from his wife and children.”

You frowned at his answer, looking up at him when he stood up. “Why did you pay so much coin for me?”

Aegon hummed as he grabbed the empty cup from you and poured more wine into it. “I paid the money so I can fuck you,” He replied simply taking a drink before handing the rest over. “I can just as easily get my coin back, but you would have to go back to them. It is your choice.”

You mulled the options over in your mind for a moment. You brought the cup up to your lips. “Should I feel honored that you bought my maidenhood, my Prince?” You questioned before downing the cup.

“I would feel honored if a Prince looked at me if I was a common street whore.”

You met his eyes as you set the cup down. Aegon looked over your body before he leaned down kissing the stray droplet of wine, his lips moving to yours. He turned you and moved you towards the bed gently laying you down, his lips not straying from yours.

“I need you to trust me,” Aegon whispered, his hot breath hitting your ear.

You pulled back looking up at him. You could not tell what it was, but there was a certain comfort to his violet eyes. You slowly nodded while his hands laid over yours, interlocking your fingers. You closed your eyes as Aegon positioned himself before he began to slowly enter you.

You couldn’t help the whimper that passed your lips the deeper he went. “Relax, my sweet,” Aegon said quietly. “Just another moment and the pain will be gone.”

You nodded, biting down on your lip. The Prince was correct about the pain; it was released with a certain sensation. As Aegon moved his hips against yours, a moan passed your lips with every movement.

He grunted a bit the deeper he went, holding onto you tight. He grinded his hips against yours, your sensation only heightening. You arched your back a bit as he began to thrust.

Your breathing was coming in short pants the faster he went, clutching onto his back. You bit down lightly on his shoulder trying not to be too loud. It was becoming difficult though the faster he went, his breath becoming a bit labored. Your face turned red and bit down harder, Aegon letting out a groan. You could not tell if it was of pain or pleasure.

“It’s okay, sweetling,” He breathed into your ear. “Do not hold back.”

You released your bite and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. You laid your head on his shoulder breathing a bit heavily as he continued to thrust, going faster and faster. You closed your eyes letting out a loud cry of pleasure.

“That is a good girl,” Aegon whispered with a small smirk while he tangled a hand into your hair.

The moans kept passing your lips, each one causing Aegon to go faster. “M-my Prince,” You cried out feeling something tingly.

“A-almost there,” Aegon breathed and closed his eyes.

He groaned while leaning his head back and he continued to go after you reached your limit. Your face was as red as a tomato as you let out a loud moan, Aegon shortly reaching his limit afterwards.

He blew out a breath while laying beside, both of your breathing labored. Your eyes wandered down and noticed the blood on his cock. You furrowed your brows a bit looking down at your inner thighs but Aegon grabbed your chin and you looked up at him.

“The blood is normal, my sweet,” Aegon said softly and leaned down pressing a kiss to your lips.

You lightly placed a hand on his cheek returning his kiss. You did not realize yet, the crowned prince had changed your life that night.

There were feelings that were unspoken between the two of you, Aegon finding out that you lived in one of his favorite brothels. After the night with the poachers, he continued to visit you and you ended up swelling with child from those visits. Once he found out, he stopped visiting although he came back when he got the news you gave birth. Although it was a daughter and a bastard, he helped you raise her. It was a forbidden love, yet the bond you had with each other could not be severed.

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murdockthenerd · 1 month

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soooo I need some advice-

quick tw:mentions of abuse & grooming (nothing explicit)

I started talking to this cute boy on a dating app and I like flirting with him and I like when he flirts with me- and he knows I'm transmasc and he calls me dude and baby and he says I'm cute and he flirts pretty explicitly, let's say, and I like it. he makes me feel affirmed and confident. and I want to meet him or talk to him on a deeper level than flirting, but- idk what to do

I need some help, some advice. like, yeah, he seems like he's into me,,,,,,, but I don't want to be someone's fetish, and I don't know if that's why he's so flirty or what, but I can't help but find it hard to believe that someone could be attracted to me knowing I'm trans and I'm not saying this because no one can like or be attracted to trans people, it's really because I have a history of abuse and grooming-and its made me scared to be desired because I was manipulated into believing desire had to be a type of violence I endured rather than a shared experience to be enjoyed.....

I guess I'm still so scared, and I need someone else's insight or advice. I'm definitely gonna talk to my counselor about this and ask her, but I feel like I gotta do something, or I'm gonna go crazy

#trans #transgender #transmasc #lgbtq #enby #please help me #i need advice #for extra context: im pre-t & pre top surgery #i can still pass as fem #so idk #please a queer elder come to my rescue #trans elders #i need your help

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tenno-zenith · 11 months

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There needs to be more Hermaeus Mora x non binary reader/dragonborn fanfics. Because there are so very few.

You know how many times I've.seen a fem dragonborn or somebody else's character?

#elder scrolls #herma mora #hermaeus mora #x reader #i'm ANNOYED #the fuck!?#Why is there such an abundance of fem dragonborns?!#Tes #the elder scrolls

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fairysluna · 1 year

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INVISIBLE STRING | Chapter 2: Begin Again.

New Girl!AU — A disastrous break up led you to them; three guys living in a huge apartment and in need of a new roommate who helped with the way too expensive rent.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You found yourself unable to move one from the grieving of your break up, and your roommates try to cheer you up with a night out.

Tags/TW: tiny bit of angst, mentions of violence/blood, mentions of cheating, cursing, platonic relationships, alcohol consumption. if sth missing let me know!!

Author's Note: chapter 2 is hereee, thank u for the support in the first part! i didn't expect it to have such a good response!! this is dedicated to all of you, thank you for reading🤍

Word Count: 4.1k

Tag List: (bold means i couldn’t tag you) @borikenlove @aemondssiut @tillyt04 @doublesparrows @afro-hispwriter @chrisevansslutttt2 @fan-goddess @trshngyn @hiatuswhore @heavenly1927 @deltamoon666 @sahvlren @kravitzwhore @watercolorskyy @n4tforlife

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The boy in front of you would not stop staring. His deep blue eyes slightly widened as his cheeks were adorned with a soft and subtle pink color, making his face seem more childish. You, however, tried to avoid eye contact, watching the bowl with milk and cereal in front of you as you silently ate it.

There was no sound besides the one that was produced by the metal spoon hitting the corners of the bowl. Aegon hasn't returned from his night shift at the bar, Aemond had left for gym half an hour before, and Jace was taking too long to come out of the bathroom.

You would press your lips in a thin line, clearing your throat as you dared to look at the sixteen year old boy in front of you, who seemed to be too shy to even introduce himself to you. A kind smile was seen on your face, trying to not make you look as uncomfortable as you felt, but that gesture seemed to worsen the situation, for the boy let out a sigh.

You were used to these situations as a very young teacher, but still this felt weirder and odder. Perhaps because it was Jace's brother.

"Your name is Luke, right?" You asked, a bit louder than you expected.

Luke's eyes shined with your words as he nodded, "I mean, I'm Lucerys… but you can call me."

A smirk appeared on his face, which turned out to be a big contrast from his shy self of a few seconds ago. His words had left you waiting to hear more, and it took you a while to figure out the word play and the real flirtatious intention of him.

"Call you what?"

"You can call me." he repeated.

"Oh Gods," you muttered as you let the spoon fall into the bowl, slightly covering your face and sighing.

Luckily for you, the main door was opened and the sound of keys smacking against the floor. A few steps were the ones announcing the arrival of a very sleepy Aegon to the loft. The white haired guy had dark circles in his eyes and a big stain on his gray shirt of what appeared to be wine.

You felt relieved the moment he entered the room, because then you were no longer alone with a sixteen year old who was trying to make a move with you. A smile was drawn upon your face as you stood up and walked back to the kitchen where Aegon was; lurking inside the fridge to make some breakfast for himself.

"Morning!" You said cheerfully, arriving by his side.

Aegon only raised his eyebrow in response, slightly moving his head without even spare a glance to you.

"Did you have a long night at the bar?" You spoke again.

"Yes," he answered in a half-hearted tone.

"At least now you can rest, right?" You pointed out, "It's Saturday! You can sleep all day if you wish!"

Aegon let the butter knife fall on the plate as he starts to rub his temples, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he finally looked at you with tired eyes.

"Usually it's not that loud when I arrive here after my night shifts, so if you please… stay quiet," his grumpy voice reached your ears and the cheerful smile soon became a thin line.

"Yes, sure, I'm sorry," you said shyly, pursing your lips. There was silence for a moment, a few seconds passed where Aegon felt the same quietness that used to receive him every Saturday morning, but then he heard your voice again, "It's just that Jace's brother- I think he might have a crush on me."

Aegon chuckled. His lilac eyes looked at you, then looked at the boy playing Brawl Stars on his phone, and then back at you. You finally saw a smile on his face, and even though it was a mocking one, you still feel glad that he was not wearing that sour grin anymore. It was quite intimidating.

"He does that with every girl he meets in this apartment," he explained, rolling his eyes, "he's in an age where his only worry is how to look at a woman's cleavage without her realizing."

Unconsciously, you adjust your robe, grabbing the parts that were open enough to expose your chest. Aegon scoffed at this action before speaking again,

"Don't feel so special though," he told you as he put five slices of bacon on a buttered pan, "you're not the first one, and you're definitely won't be the last."

"Oh," you muttered.

Before you could say anything else, Jacaerys came out of his room with a radiant smile, wearing a casual outfit and a backpack hanging from his left shoulder. He took a banana from the bowl of fruit and peeled it before starting to eat it with big bites.

You could've sworn that Aegon laughed childishly at this, but Jace's voice did not let you know whether it was something you thought to hear or something that actually happened.

"Let's go, Luke," he said to his brother, who immediately stood up. "We're going to Hockey practice, we'll be back late," he informed.

"Bye, guys!" You waved your hand at them with a small smile.

They both returned the gesture as they walked towards the door, leaving the apartment. You turned to see Aegon once again, who was now spreading some mayo on the bread and then he placed all the bacon he priorly fried into the bread. He grabbed a large cup and filled it with coffee, five cubes of sugar fell into it and then, he went to sit on the couch.

At first, you doubted whether to follow him or not, but eventually you also found a spot next to him in the large couch that was in the middle of the living room, and started to watch the infomercials that were playing on the tv in front of you.

"When am I going to meet your girlfriends?" You suddenly asked. Aegon frowned as he slowly turned to see you with clear confusion in his face.

"What?" He asked in return, mouth filled with his bacon sandwich.

"It's just that if my boyfriend was living with a strange girl, I would like to meet her." You shrugged.

"None of us have a girlfriend," he scoffed, taking another bite, "Jace is a virgin, Aemond was dumped by his ex a year ago, and I…" he paused for a second, swallowing the food inside his mouth, "I don't do relationships."

"So none of you are dating?" You questioned, confused.

"Nope."

"Then, whose are those lotion bottles? And the special shampoos and conditioners, creams and moisturizers?"

"Those are Aemond's," he said uninterestedly, "he likes to take care of himself and spends a lot of money on all that crap." He rolls his eyes, "I don't even know why he needs it, for me soap is enough."

"You only use soap?" He nodded, "and what about your hair?"

"I use soap for that too."

Your eyes immediately went to his blonde platinum hair and took a close look at it. He had just confessed to you that he only washed it with soap and yet, he has the shiniest hair you have ever seen in a man —only being surpassed by his own brother. You pressed your lips, trying to play down the curiosity that had grown on you.

"Stop looking at my hair," he suddenly said, making you yelp as he caught you off guard.

"I'm sorry," you muttered shyly.

It's been a week since you had moved in, and Aegon was the one who had ignored you the most. Even Aemond had opened up with you after a long day of work, when everyone else was sleeping and you ended up bonding over the bad ending of your relationships. Turns out he was not as grumpy as he seemed, quite the opposite.

However, everytime you would try to have a decent conversation with Aegon, he would just answer in one syllable words and then he leaves. It was barely impossible for you to interact with him, so you just stopped trying.

But then something happened.

The familiar voice of Beetlejuice and Lydia echoed in the living room as you widened your eyes with surprise. Suddenly, a thousand feelings washed over you as that bloody movie reminded you to the person you wished you could erase from your memory; Jason fucking Lannister, mostly known as the douchebag who fucked a girl in your own couch… the one that you bought with your own money.

You had met Jason at University, having a couple of classes together while you studied Education and he studied Economics. It wasn't until some of your friends decided to make a small gathering that you actually spoke to him, and the bastard made you fall in love with him the minute he introduced himself to you.

That same night, after a few drinks, you had sex with him in the bathroom, and that's how your long relationship started.

Though everything ended two months ago, when you caught red handed while a girl was on her knees in front of him as he sat on your couch. Four years of relationship thrown to the trash, because he couldn't keep it in his pants.

And now you were there, sitting next to your roommate, your nose itching as you watched Jason's favorite movie; Beetlejuice. You bit your bottom lip as soon as you noticed it was trembling, and your hand quickly covered your mouth trying to hold back a sob. Aegon was able to hear you, and he slowly turned to your direction, frowning as he looked at you as if you had lost your mind.

"What the-"

His words were cut off with a cry that finally made its way out of your throat, and tears started to run down your flushed cheeks as you grabbed a cushion and buried your wet face in it. Aegon widened his eyes, having absolutely no idea what was going on with you. He was not going to lie to himself and pretend as if he was not worried about your sudden change of mood, but he did not know how to react, so he just froze as your cries became louder.

The wound was still quite open.

"Uhm…" he tried to come up with something, but he was way too uncomfortable with the situation that nothing would come to his mind, "There's- uh… what's- why are you crying?" He asked, but his tone sounded harsher than he expected, which actually made you feel worse.

The main door was open, and the shape of a sweaty Aemond wearing sweatpants and an Adidas hoodie appeared in Aegon's sight, making him sigh with relief as he realized that he was no longer alone with you and your uncomfortable feelings.

Aemond stood still as he dropped the keys into the small table beside the door, and after taking a quick look at you, his eyes fell on his brother with a stern and scolding look.

"What did you do?" He questioned, blamingly as he slowly walked towards you.

"Why do you think I did something to her?" He replied, offended. "We were watching Beetlejuice and suddenly he started crying!"

"Maybe she got scared," Aemond deduced.

Aegon frowned, "of Beetlejuice?"

"Daeron cried the first time he saw it."

"Yes, when he was six!" Aegon scoffed.

The younger one rolled his eyes while he sat next to you. His hand soon started to caress your back in an attempt to comfort you, and only then you decided to lift your head from the cushion and show yourself to the pair of brothers.

"May the Maiden have mercy on you," Aegon muttered as soon as he saw your face.

Your hair was sticking in your cheeks due to the tears, your eyes were swollen and red and your lips too. You started to have a runny nose too, which made you sniff. Aegon wrinkled his nose with slight disgust as he heard that noise.

"Jar," Aemond said to him.

"It's not that I'm scared of the movie," you started out of the sudden, your voice sounding whiny and unsteady as you try to clean your nose with the back of your hand, now it was Aemond the one who had a slight disgusted look on his face, "Beetlejuice was Jason's favorite movie."

"Who the fuck is Jason?" Aegon asked.

"Her ex, you idiot," Aemond replied.

"We used to watch it on our date nights," you continued, "and we would dance to Jump in the Line everytime we would clean the apartment."

"Oh, darling, it's okay to cry over the memories of the past," Aemond said.

His older brother chucked, "of that you know a lot, don't you?"

Aemond clenched his jaw.

"I hate this," you wept, "this whole thing happened two months ago, why am I still sad?"

"Because you haven't met the world of flings yet," Aegon shrugged, wiping his fingertips with a paper towel and then throwing it away, "you have to meet some new people if you want to move on," he shrugged, "you know what they say; coochie full, happy heart."

"Oh, Gods," Aemond said.

"That's- That's ten gold coins to the jar," you immediately said, "I can't believe you just said that."

"Well, it's the truth!" He claimed, "if you want to move on, then you need to get laid."

"And how am I supposed to do that? I barely get out of the apartment to go to my job," you complained, "I have no male friends besides you three."

"It's Saturday, go somewhere," he suggested.

"Where?"

"The Green Banner," Aemond added. You saw how Aegon's eyes widened as he quickly shook his head.

"Definitely not," he denied, "that's my place of work."

"It's a Saturday, the bar will be full of single men," Aemond said, and then he turned to you, "I hate myself for saying this, but Aegon is right; the best medicine for a broken heart is sex."

So you agreed.

A few hours later you were there, sitting in the bar with your sluttiets dress and high heels that were too uncomfortable to walk with. Aegon was standing in front of you as Aemond was looking around, drinking whisky as you sipped your mojito from a straw. You were nervous, trying to focus on the taste of the drink in your hand instead of looking for someone who called your attention.

The music was loud and the laughter of the people was even louder. Your head started to hurt from the stress of the situation and you wondered why you even came in the first place when you knew you were not ready yet.

"So," Aemond started leaning a bit closer to you so you could hear him, "what's your type?"

You shrugged, looking uninterested, "not blondes," you muttered bitterly.

"What about that guy over there?" He said pointing at a brown haired man with glasses.

"Are you kidding?" Aegon interrupted, "he looks like a fucking psycho."

"He's kinda right," you agreed.

Aemond sighed, continuing scanning the room trying to find the 'perfect match' for you. Aegon seemed uninterested too, almost as if he was being forced to help you. The bar was full, many people asking for a bartender to take their order, and yet Aegon did not leave the place in front of you and Aemond.

The long haired man pointed to a few other guys, all of them were rejected by either you or by Aegon. Until he finally chose one that seemed cute enough to at least try to have a conversation.

"Nah," Aegon had said, "he looks like a douche."

"Look who's talking," his brother quickly said.

"I think I'm gonna go for it," you said, excitedly and already a bit tipsy for the two mojitos you had drank.

"Are you?" Aemond said, impressed.

"Yes!" you yelled, as if you were trying to give yourself the strength to do it, "I'm going to fucking do this!"

"There you go!" Aemond cheered.

You gave him a high five before you drank all the remaining liquid left in your cup in just one sip to give yourself the courage you so desperately need in that moment.

Your feet moved quickly towards the handsome guy sitting by his own at the table, and before you could even speak to him he turned around and smiled at you; a handsome, devilish and flirtatious smile. You tried to avoid the rush that ran to your cheeks, palming your face with your cold hands as you smiled back at him.

"Hi," you said, being inevitably shy.

"Hi, gorgeous," he said, with a deep voice.

"Mind if I sit here?" You point at the chair next to his.

"Be my guest," he tilted his head.

"I'm y/n," you introduced yourself as you sat.

"Nice to meet you, sweetheart," he smiled, putting his arm around the chair you were in.

You waited for him to say his name for a few seconds, but the only response was his pearly whites, which were way too white to be real.

"Uhm, what's your name?" You asked, shyly.

He scoffed, "you can call me whatever you want."

"Oh," you simply said, "well, I- uh, I would like to know your name actually, because-"

"Names are a concept that define us as a person… and I am a man that doesn't like locking himself in those concepts."

"That's- that is…"

"Now tell me, sweetie… What brought you to my table?"

You falsely smiled at him, visibly uncomfortable and regretting your choice of going to his side. The only thing that made you stay there was your eagerness to move on and live your life the way you did before starting your relationship with Jason. So you went through it.

With each passing minute you would see him getting closer and closer to you. He would do all the talking as you simply nod and smile in a polite manner, trying to make yourself seem interested in him. You would try to move back sometimes but he would find his way close to you again.

There were times when you tried to search for Aegon and Aemond, but you couldn't find them around. And when Careless Whisper started to play in the background, you saw his demeanor change.

"Wait, you have something in your eye…" he said in a murmur that you were able to understand only because he whispered close to your ear.

"Do I?" You said, naively believing his words as you tried to stick your fingers in your eye.

"Yeah, just… let me do it for you," his voice sounded low and raspy as he grabbed your hand and put it in your lap.

He leaned closer to you, and you tried to breathe in. He was handsome, that was obvious, and yet there was something inside you that made you want to run away. The image of Jason appeared on your mind as soon as you felt his breath against your lips, and then you started to panic.

He closed his eyes, and you took this opportunity to start to slightly lean back. You started to breathe faster, your heart beating fast and hard inside your chest. And everything became worse when you saw his right hand going to your cheek to keep you still. That's when the disaster happened.

You barely knew how, but your fist ended up crashing against his nose and then all you were able to see was blood, at the same time that you gasped in surprise with yourself, and because the pinching pain in your hand was starting to affect you.

"Oh Gods!" you yelled.

His white t-shirt soon was stained with reddish marks that will not come out no matter how many times he washes it. He groaned in pain as his hands went to his nose, trying to relieve the ache that you, unconsciously, provoked.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He yelled at you.

"Oh, Gods! I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!!" You yelled back, panicking as you kept shaking your hand trying to relieve the pain.

"You fucking psycho bitch!" He said, blood dripping down his nose as he tried to cover it.

"Gods… Fuck, fuck," you muttered looking around for Aemond or Aegon.

Suddenly a couple of arms grabbed you and started to lead you out of the bar, meanwhile you were still screaming 'I'm sorrys' over and over again, for the guilt was starting to be too big to bear. You harmed an innocent man because he tried to kiss you, you panicked. You wanted to bury your head and disappear from the world.

Aemond led you outside the bar, where he told you to wait for him until he returned with his car to pick you up. You obeyed, sitting on the sidewalk as you were grabbing your aching hand, thinking about all your life decisions that had brought you to this… and you started to regret a few.

With your hand holding your head, you closed your eyes and sighed tired of the whole situation. And then you felt someone sitting beside you.

It was quite the surprise when you saw Aegon next to you, handing you a bag of ice for your hand. You gratefully accepted it, without even questioning his action.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" You asked softly.

"I'm on my break," he explained.

"Why?"

"I was…" you noticed how he stopped himself before saying another word, and then he continued with dubious tone, "tired,"

"Oh."

"Where's Aemond?"

"He went to pick up the car. He parked it a few blocks away from here."

"Why?"

"He said this area is quite dangerous, he just changed the tires last week," you explained, and soon you both chuckled softly.

There was a silence that was not uncomfortable at all, and yet you felt the need to take this opportunity to finally have a conversation with Aegon and bond with him in some way. But another surprise came when he was the one who spoke first again.

"You're lucky the guy is not going to present charges," he laughed.

You felt the heat in your cheeks, "oh Gods, don't even mention that."

"I can't believe you punched him. You look so defenseless."

"I panicked," you said between giggles, "and he was being such a douche! He didn't even tell me his name. Maybe he's married or something."

"I was able to see that from miles, I warned you both but neither of you listened," he shrugged, looking at the cobblestones under his feet, "Douchebags know how to identify our own species."

"You're not a douchebag, Aegon," you slightly shook your head as you turned to look at him, "You're better than most of the men I've met."

He frowned, "You're lying."

"I'm not!"

"Then I'm curious to know what kind of men you have spoken to."

You shared a laugh. It was the first time he laughed with you and, if you were honest to yourself, it felt quite nice. You were proud of yourself at the fact that now your relationship with him had an improvement; even if it is something so miniscule as a simple chuckle.

You didn't want the conversation to end there.

"I think Jason broke me," you confessed, "I can't even kiss someone without overthinking everything… I'm a mess."

"Nah," he said, "you're just getting started. You just need to gain more confidence, that's all."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Be a whore, girl!" he yelled, making you giggle, "You're not ugly, and it's your time to shine. Make the whole place shimmer and shit!"

"Are you quoting a Taylor Swift song?" you asked, surprised.

He immediately shook his head and frowned, "of course I'm not!" He quickly said, "My point is, you need to put yourself out there and, you know… be a whore."

You pressed your lips in a thin line as you nodded. Your eyes met Aegon's for an instant and, inevitably, the both of you smiled.

"Thank you."

"You're wel- uh, what- what are you doing?"

Your arms were caught up in their way towards his body as you tried to hug him. His hands caught them before they could get any closer to him, and you forced a little in a ridiculous –and quite pathetic– attempt to wrap your arms in his shoulders.

"I'm trying to hug you," you answered, still struggling to do it.

He pushed your arms to the side and then, he patted your head gently.

"No, honey, I don't do hugs."

You tilted your head, sighing with resignation. However, you were content with what had happened. You might have underestimated Aegon, but now you were glad you finally had the chance to get to know him a little bit more.

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wikagirl · 7 months

Text

okay okay I saw an elderscrolls theory vid about why fem argionas have tits.

And the theory is that, because they can reproduce with any race and the way they evolve is completely dictated by their sentient tree god thing whose sap they slurp, the tree decided to pump the chances of fem argonians getting laid by other species they should grow tits because other species have tits and people seem to like that....so it made them grow tits with literally no other purpose than to be appealing for the other species.

imagine growing tits because A SENTIENT TREE thinks it's sexy

#also as far as we've seen bi-raciall babies in the elder scrolls always end up looking like thier mother #while getting other traits more dominantly from their dad (like race based elemental resistence)#so more fem argonians getting laid by non argonians still means more argonians #where as more male argonians getting laid by non argonians means not more argonians

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gloomwitchwrites · 13 days

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Lavender: Part Two

Brynjolf x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), oral sex (female receiving), breeding undertones, mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 2.6k

After accepting Brynjolf’s marriage proposal, the two of you receive some long-awaited alone time since binding yourselves together under Mara’s eye.

Part One

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

A strong breeze kicks up, rattling the side of the small cabin. A fire burns in the hearth, warm and strong, filling the space with light. The sun is all but gone. Your belly is full. And for once, you aren’t afraid. You are not stressed. There is no impending doom or subtle tension.

Tightening the wool blanket around your shoulders, you gaze into the fire, reflecting on the last few weeks. When you finally accepted Brynjolf’s proposal, he went to the Temple of Mara, and fetched a priestess like he said he would. The two of you bound yourselves together in matrimony.

Then it was done. Over. And your new life began.

The moment you sealed yourself to Brynjolf, the entire atmosphere changed within the Thieves Guild. They dropped their cold demeanors, greeting you with warm smiles and congratulations. The only member who didn’t seem to change at all was Vex, her icy exterior retaining a firm hold. At first, you believed she didn’t like you, but then you quickly realized that she’s sour with almost everyone.

You were not allowed to leave the cistern unless chaperoned, and while that bothered you at the time, you grew used to the routine. Brynjolf never waived in communicating how your mother and aunt fared in Solitude. He made sure to hand over any letters or pieces of communication, and whenever you longed to leave the cistern, Brynjolf would bring you with him to the market.

But all things end, and when Mercer Frey offered up a small retreat for you and Brynjolf to escape to for a bit, the two of you snatched it up without question. In Thieves Guild headquarters, there is nowhere private, and while you and Brynjolf tried to find a bit of quiet, it was ultimately difficult.

Every time you or Brynjolf tried to initiate anything, someone would appear as if sensing the intimacy.

Now, the two of you are alone. Truly alone.

Not simply as friends or lovers, but as husband and wife.

“Lass.”

Brynjolf’s hushed and husky voice drifts over to you. Turning away from the fire, you find him reclined on the bed. He is entirely bare except for a fur blanket covering his groin. The light from the fire casts a warm glow across his skin. Brynjolf bends one knee and lightly taps the bed beside him.

“Come to bed,” he croons, and your legs move without question. It is instinct to do so.

Approaching the side of the bed, your drop the blanket, revealing a thin shift. The chill air instantly pebbles your nipples and Brynjolf’s gaze drops to your breasts. It is a heated look, one that instantly pulls a slickness from your core.

Slowly, you lift your leg, planting one knee on the bed. Leaning forward, you place both hands on the soft bedding, and then lift your other leg. Brynjolf’s emerald eyes flash, his chest expanding and deflating quickly, nostrils flaring. With deliberate slowness, you slide over to him, keeping your gaze glued to his face. Brynjolf watches you the entire time. There is hunger lingering in the depths of his stare.

When you come to rest against his right side, Brynjolf reaches out, cupping your cheek with one hand. He doesn’t say anything. Simply touches. Caresses. Observers. The middle of his brow creases slightly and then softens. That kissable mouth of his turns upward, and there is so much love there it momentarily zaps your autonomy from you.

You would give Brynjolf anything in this moment.

“Do you remember the first time?” he asks.

“The first time?” you reply hesitantly, not sure you understand.

Brynjolf laughs softly. “You know.”

Your cheeks heat, sudden realization dawning. “Oh. Yes.”

Dropping his hand from your cheek, Brynjolf leans back into the bedding. “I was nervous. Excited.” He chuckles. “Couldn’t stay hard.”

“Or inside me,” you add with a smirk.

Brynjolf laughs, the sound of it sweet. “Aye. What a mess I was.”

“Are you telling me you’re nervous, husband?” you tease, placing one hand on his bare chest. He is warm beneath your palm, and you cannot help yourself. You stroke slowly, savoring his heat.

“Hardly,” he replies, his own hand grasping yours. Brynjolf brings your palm up to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. “I’ll be better.”

“Truly?”

Brynjolf’s amused grin widens as your teasing tone. One moment you’re reclining beside him and the next you’re on your back.

“Bryn!” you exclaim, but he has you pinned.

“If we married when he did,” he murmurs. “We’d have ourselves an army by now.”

You gasp and smack his chest. With how much space you have, the strike is weak, but it’s not meant to hurt.

“Don’t like the truth, lass?” he croons, head dipping slightly as if to kiss you.

“You’re terrible,” you reply, smiling.

Brynjolf grins. “You take that back.”

“Make me.”

The words leave your mouth and you cannot snatch them out of the air. You cannot shove them back down your throat.

Brynjolf’s grin grows wider, and you know in this moment that you’ve lost.

His mouth comes down on yours with a fierceness that steals all breath. It is suffocating. Intense. And so different from all the kisses you’ve ever received before, even from him. His large hands roam over the thin shift until your skin is buzzing, as if bees have made a home there. When he retreats it is agony, a staunch shattering that longs to be repaired.

“We have years to catch up on,” he murmurs against your lips, tongue darting out to tease.

“Then we best get started,” you reply, just as softly.

Brynjolf groans and comes back for more. It is sweet like an apple tart with extra sugar. Brynjolf will rot your teeth at this rate, but you’d hardly care even if he did.

His hands slip under the thin shift, bunching the fabric around your hips. The fur blanket that covers his cock is gone and his nakedness is apparent. It presses on your lower abdomen and you flex your hips up to bring him level with your entrance.

Brynjolf’s fingers dig into your thighs as his cock slides through your sex. “Not yet.”

Brynjolf releases your thighs and places both hands on the bed, pushing up to a seated position. His cock stands at attention, nearly meeting his belly button. Every muscle of his is on display, and you long to taste and lick each one.

Years. It’s been years, and your body still craves him like it did before.

“Off,” he says, and it is a command. His red hair lightly brushes over his shoulders as he shifts slightly on his knees.

Your fingers find the neckline but hesitate. It’s not because you’re scared or frightened of him, but because this makes it all the more real. The two of you are bound together under Mara’s blessing.

Brynjolf’s gaze softens. “Want my help, lass?”

Heat rises to your cheeks as you ease the neckline over one shoulder and then the other. It falls to your waist, revealing your breasts. Brynjolf is right there, reaching to help ease the shift down your legs.

When you are bare to him, Brynjolf groans. His hands return to your thighs and you part them, wanting him closer. Brynjolf briefly straightens, drawing back slightly, the tips of his fingers grazing over your inner thighs.

At first, you think he’s pulling away from you, but he only wants to admire, to gaze on your body for a bit.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Those emerald eyes of his darken. “Wife,” he whispers, as if he’s testing it out.

“Wife,” you repeat back to him.

His chest heaves. “Finally.”

Brynjolf surges forward. One hand presses into the bed by your head while his other grasps your hip. Your mouths connect, and the liquid fire returns, roaring through blood and bone until you’re drowning. All these years you’ve waited and resisted, believing that loving him would only ruin him. How wrong you were. This man is enthralled. It’s clear from every touch and kiss.

Brynjolf breaks away only to return his mouth to your skin. He kisses your jaw and the curve of your neck. He moves down to your collarbone and then between your breasts. Brynjolf descends further over your stomach and stops just above your sex.

You are still spread completely, legs forced apart by his expansive shoulders, entirely open for his view. Brynjolf’s gaze is locked on your sex. He is fixated, and when he finally glances up, his pupils are blown.

“May I taste my wife?” he asks, voice rough with lust. Brynjolf slides back a bit, forcing your legs over each of his broad shoulders. His mouth hovers just above your pussy.

“You may,” you reply, voice soft, almost inaudible.

The corner of Brynjolf’s mouth quirks into a smile. His head dips, breath hot against your slickness. It draws forth a shiver, one that has him groaning against your inner thigh. Brynjolf’s lips hover there, pressing lightly on your soft skin.

“No squirming,” he says before gently biting.

It’s not painful, more of a surprise that has you seeking refuge away from his mouth.

“Oh shove it, Bryn,” you mutter.

He laughs, and then his tongue is on you.

It is not tentative. Not hesitant. It’s not like the first time when the two of you stumbled through the motions. This is completely different. Completely other. Brynjolf is sure of himself, as if he’s known your body all his life, and he knows exactly what you need.

His tongue traces, moving from entrance to clit with deliberate slowness. Your back arches, but Brynjolf’s hold is firm. His large hands firmly grasp your outer thighs, keeping you parted. When his tongue makes another pass, a gasp escapes you. It is strangled. Nearly choked.

Brynjolf repeats the motion, and this time you whimper.

“So sweet,” he purrs. “And all mine.”

His words are liquid sin, dipped in Dibella’s teachings. When Brynjolf puts his mouth on you again, he tastes and tastes and tastes until everything in you clenches. That tension coils up like a serpent under the leaves, waiting to strike. There is no escape. No chase. You are completely open and raw, unable to contain the venomous bite inside you. The serpent shows its fangs, and you are a willing victim.

Brynjolf sucks your clit into his mouth and that cracks your control, shattering it like poorly forged steel. Your fingers slide through his red locks, tugging until he growls. Your hips flex, pushing your cunt against his mouth.

Those large, strong hands of his hold tight, keeping your hips still. But Brynjolf doesn’t guide you away. Instead, he keeps you pressed against his mouth, the flat of his tongue tearing your resolve into shreds.

“Stop. Bryn. I’ll suffocate you,” you gasp, trying in vain to create distance.

“Then I’ll die happy,” he replies casually before diving in for more.

Between your legs, you watch as Brynjolf adjusts his position. He freely offers you a clear view of the tip of his tongue as it circles and teases your clit. You are unable to look away. The sight of him worshiping your body like this sends your body buzzing, and that coiled tension returns, blooming fast.

Your gaze is fixed on that one point, of how his pink tongue plays with you. Brynjolf doesn’t need to use his fingers. By the Nine, if he did, you’d likely explode, shatter like hammer against ice.

You melt like the snows in summer. You do not stifle or attempt to restrain the moans that leave your lips. They are wild. Untamed. And all for him.

Who would hear you but him?

By the time you begin to come down, Brynjolf is already bringing your thighs together, angling them back toward your chest. You don’t care. Don’t event mind. Everything inside of you is light, as if you float amongst the clouds, soaring like a hawk.

“My wife,” he says softly, drawing your gaze back to him. Your lashes flutter, and a contented smile spreads across your face. Brynjolf’s mouth and chin are shiny with your juices.

He makes no move to clean himself.

“Husband,” you reply.

With a suddenness that surprises, Brynjolf’s hand grasps the nape of your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, only holds. He tugs, drawing you upward but not entirely into a seated position. Your fingers dig at the bedding beneath you, all the muscles in your body that were once languid are now tight with strain.

In this position, Brynjolf’s cock slides through your slickness in a back-and-forth motion until all you can hear is your own pleasure.

“Brynjolf,” you gasp, reaching for him.

He murmurs your name as the head of his cock bumps against your clit. Your only response is a strangled groan, one he answers by rocking his hips back enough to hold himself at your entrance.

On an exhale, Brynjolf begins to ease in. This is not like before. Not at all. You are stuffed. Filled.

“You’re doing so well, lass.” Brynjolf retreats slightly before pushing forward again. “You can take it.” He gives you more with each roll of his hips.

“By the Nine,” you say as he bottoms out.

“Don’t go praising the gods now, lass,” chides Brynjolf. “They don’t deserve your sweet words.”

You’d laugh, maybe even tease back, but Brynjolf is hungry, and he gives you no respite.

There is no subtle softness. No slowness. Brynjolf drives forward, each thrust concentrated strength. The hold on your neck disappears, and you slump back to the bed, but that doesn’t matter. In this position, you are pinned beneath him, unable to do anything but take. But you gladly accept it, each steady stroke a delicious bite.

You never want to leave this place. Never want to leave him.

Brynjolf adjusts your legs, spreading them out and up, pushing them toward your chest. It forces your hips up a bit but it only creates a deeper angle. Leaning forward, he plants one hand above your head and the other near your shoulder.

He grunts above you, beads of sweat rolling down his neck. Reaching up, you slide your hands up his chest and then over his shoulders, keeping him close. Taking the hint, Brynjolf relaxes a bit, draping himself over you as he thrusts.

Like this, you can reach him.

Flexing the muscles in your neck and shoulders, you arch up to kiss him. You only manage to graze his jaw but it’s enough. Brynjolf tips his head downward, and then he’s meeting you, each kiss desperate.

What were once steady thrusts become needy, quick bursts that signal his end. While you cannot move your legs much, you do manage to hook your heels over the backs of his thighs. This changes something within him because Brynjolf nearly crushes you as he groans out his releases.

You cling to him, holding tight as his hips stutter, the last few thrusts of his shallow and weak. Brynjolf’s lips brush against your jaw, then your cheekbone before falling against the curve of your ear.

“Did you want that army?” he asks.

“Do you?” you reply, turning your head enough to gaze upon his face.

The soft smile you receive tells you all you need to know. “Little versions of us running around the cistern? Brandishing knives?” You roll your eyes and Brynjolf chuckles against your throat. “I’ll take whatever you offer me, lass. You know that.”

He still inside you, and so you roll your hips, finding that he’s already becoming hard again.

“Let’s start with one.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @miss-mistinguett @cherryofdeath @ninman82

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