#half sleeves lace wedding dresses

[luvhughes43]

on the dance floor | luca fantilli

[luvhughes43 masterlist🌷]

request: I want to send a request for Luca. So Luca and reader are dating and maybe it’s Summer and they go to a friend or like a family members wedding and she gets drunk and he’s just admiring her with one of his friends until she drags him on the dance floor, just something cute and giggly!

word count: 0.6k 

“do you like?” you ask your boyfriend of a few years as you twirl around in your dress. luca plants his hands firmly on your waist - effectively stopping your twirling - to kiss you before mumbling a soft, “you’re gorgeous,”

“i don’t think i heard you?” you giggle from the pressure of lucas soft lips darting across your cheek and down to your neck. 

“you’re gorgeous,” he repeats, knowing full well that you heard him the first time. luca places one last kiss on your lips before stepping away from you to straighten himself out. your cousins wedding ceremony was late this afternoon, so now you and luca were just waiting around the venue until the real festivities began. 

you watch silently as luca straightens his tie, which will definitely be discarded by the time you two hit the dance floor. you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his small movements, like the way his fingers comb through his grown out hair, now weaving through the laces of his shoes, the way he rolls the sleeves of his blouse up his arms… 

“we should head down now,” luca says, straightening up and reaching for your hand. you quickly intertwin your fingers, and let luca lead you outside where the party is. you vow silently to yourself that you were going to have a great night. 

tequila shot, 

vodka cran

stolen sips of a ceasar

another tequila shot…

“luca!” you cheer, wandering up to your boyfriend who was busy talking to some of your brothers. it had only been about 30 minutes since you left to do some shots with your cousins, but you still miss luca regardless. 

“y/n!” he replies easily as a smile breaks out across his face. he swore he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. 

once you were in reach of luca and your brothers, you stumble on air. “how many shots did you take?” one of your brothers tauts as luca steadys you. 

“only not very many,” you slur, gaze now focusing solely on your boyfriend. “luca!” you repeat, all giggles as you lean your head against his shoulder. 

“hey baby,” he replies, arms wrapping securely around your waist to prevent any more stumbles and falls. “are you having fun?”

you hum in response, meaning to say something more but when you look up at luca your train of thought disappears. “you’re so pretty,” 

“you're so pretty too,” luca giggles and brushes your hair out of your face. “i was actually just telling your brothers how pretty you were,” 

your face burns and when you turn towards your brothers for confirmation they reluctantly nod. “its gross how much he likes you,” 

“that’s so mean! luca is so sweet and-”

“It’s a murder on the dance floor… but you better not kill the groove!” 

you gasp mid sentence, completely forgetting about whatever petty argument you were going to start for fun. “luca,” you pull away from him while he's distractedly looking at you. 

“DJ, gonna burn this - house down!” you attempt to sing the lyrics in your hazy mind. “luca let’s dance,” you shout enthusiastically, and luca lets you pull him onto the dance floor with all the other young wedding-goers. 

“it's a murder on the dance floor!” luca sings, spinning you around quickly as you both move messily with the music. 

“you better not steal the moves!” you shout sing back, arms high above your head as you continue swaying to the music. 

“DJ!” luca yells, pointing to who knows! you spin once more, and then lace yours and lucas fingers together. 

you two continue dancing, stealing quick kisses in-between songs, and taking half-shots as two young people in love do at weddings!

#luca fantilli x reader #luca fantilli fic #luca fantilli blurb #luca fantilli imagine #umich imagine #umich fic #umich blurbs

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Something Borrowed

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Smut. Word count: ~1.5k Summary: An addition to Best Intentions. Read as a standalone, if you'd like.

Author's note: A birthday gift for @hoosbandewan - husband Tom on your birthday. Happy birthday, Erin! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“God’s got bigger things to worry about than me makin’ an honest woman outta ya,” Tom had told her with a wink. “Besides, the money we save we can put towards a bigger do. Would rather everyone have a few beers and sarnies to celebrate, than sit in a stuffy church with their arses going to sleep.”

That had settled it. Her and Tom were to have a registry office wedding, with a reception at The Ducie Arms afterwards. 

Even without money being as tight as it is she knows that this is what they would always have chosen. It’s just irrevocably them. Theirs is not a love born of grand gestures and material possessions. They share a soul connection, a lifetime of scraped knees, shared sweets, building their lives around each other, growing together. They are already two halves of the same whole, this is simply the string that ties it all together.

Despite keeping the ceremony itself modest, she feels like a princess as she stands in front of the mirror, her mum behind her fastening the last few buttons on the back of her wedding dress, as she places the last of the pins in her hair.

They’d gotten a deal at the haberdashery on some end cuts of lace and satin, and her mum had worked her magic with her sewing machine. The dress looks shop bought.

She smiles as she smooths her hands over the skirt, taking in the high neckline and draped sleeves, grateful that she’d woken early enough to clasp herself into the lingerie and slip that lies beneath - a wedding night treat for Tom - before her mum had arrived to help her get ready.

It had been a struggle to get out of bed that morning. Her mum, Lois and Connie had all popped round to the flat the previous evening to make sandwiches for the reception. She’d been half way through spreading margarine on a slice of bread when Connie had produced a bottle of gin from her bag.

“Well, if Tom and the rest of the lads are all at the pub, why shouldn’t we?” Connie had asked with a smile as Lois had rushed to get glasses down from the kitchen cupboard.

The pounding in her head the next day tells her exactly why she shouldn’t have. She wonders if Tom is in as much of a sorry state as she is. Thankfully, her make-up does a good job of hiding it.

Tom has called in a favour with a customer at the garage, so she can travel to the registry office in style. She has to stifle a laugh behind her hand as the sleek black motorcar pulls up outside the shop to pick her up. It’s the exact same one that her and Tom had vigorously made up in the back of.

As she slides onto the seat, gathering her skirt so that it doesn’t catch in the door, the memory of Tom laying between her thighs replays in her mind, causing her skin to heat up.

“Everything alright?” Her mum asks, climbing in next to her. “You look a bit flustered.”

She blinks, swallowing and nodding, startled out of her reverie. “Yeah, Mum, bit nervous is all.”

Tom stops fidgeting with his tie knot the moment he sees her, a grin spreading across his face as she walks towards him and the registrar. He lets out a low whistle as she stops beside him, turning to face him. She bows her head, giggling. She feels like a school girl all over again.

Time seems to stand still for her as she gazes into Tom’s blue eyes, not really registering the words being spoken, or the vows she utters in response, fixated only on Tom’s beaming smile. Once more he is that little boy, face full of sunshine and the sweetest little rabbit teeth she’s ever seen. 

Except now he is hers. Her husband. She is a wife.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Tom mutters, surging forward once they are told they can kiss.

He grasps the back of her neck, pressing his lips to hers in a motion that steals the air from her lungs. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, smiling into it, her heart fluttering just as it had the first time they’d ever kissed. In a way, this is a first too, the first of many things they’ll share as a married couple.

“Hello, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers against her lips when they finally part for breath.

The words have heat pooling between her legs almost instantly. She is certain she’ll never tire of hearing them.

As everyone heads in the direction of The Ducie Arms, she is confused when Tom pulls her back in the direction of the shop.

“What you doing?” She asks, brow furrowing as she resists his gentle tug on her arm.

“Left something in the flat, need to go back for it,” he tells her, nodding his head in the direction he wants to go.

“Can’t you just quickly go back for it on your own, and meet me at the pub?”

He shakes his head, tugging at her hand again. “Need you to help me, come on.”

She sighs, relenting and allowing him to pull her along. “We’re gonna be late to our own wedding reception.”

Tom smirks, glancing sideways at her. “They’ll wait, they have to.”

As soon as they’re home, he’s upon her, backing her up towards the bedroom as his hands grasp her waist and his lips find hers.

She giggles between hurried kisses, their breaths intermingling. “Is this what you forgot then?”

Tom pushes her back against the mattress, placing hot, opened mouthed kisses against her throat. “You look so good in that dress, darlin’, couldn’t wait any longer.”

She gasps as her hands slide up her skirt, bunching it at her hips. He leans back, arching a brow appreciatively at the white lingerie he finds beneath. His fingers hook beneath the strap that attaches her stocking to her garter belt and pull back slightly before letting go. It snaps against the flesh of her thigh, making her squeal.

“Tommy, we can’t!” She protests. “I’m wearing things that I won’t be able to put back on if you take them off.”

“Why ever would I take ‘em off?” He asks mockingly, cocking his head. “It’d be a waste.”

She whines as, forcefully, he pushes the gusset of her knickers to one side, swiping through her slick folders, grinning at the wetness he finds. “Gonna make us late to our own wedding reception with this. Naughty, naughty.”

Writhing against the bed, she no longer cares for her fancy lingerie, or if she rumples her dress, not when she hears the metallic clink of Tom’s belt buckle opening. The noise travels straight to her core, causing her to clench around nothing, until finally he’s lining himself up against her entrance and pressing inside. No matter how many times her and Tom make love she’ll never get used to the exquisite torture of that first initial stretch. It robs her of all coherent thought every time, only able to focus on the feeling of him pushing her walls apart.

She expects him to be quick and brutal with her, but he stills once he’s fully inside, resting his forehead against hers. It’s comforting to have him this close, just to feel the weight of him.

As she runs her hands down his back, met with the wiry yet solid expanse of muscle, she’s taken back to a time when he first returned from France and was so thin she could feel every vertebrae in his spine. This is testament to how far he’s come, how far they’ve come; not just the weight he’s put back on, but that he’s healed enough to be in a place where can be someone’s husband, and he has chosen to be hers.

Feeling a prickle of tears in her eyes, she blinks them back, feeling embarrassed when one strays its way down her cheek, until she looks back up into Tom’s eyes to see his are similarly wet.

He holds her close, he takes his time with her. It’s gentle, unhurried, and full of love.

“I love you, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers to her.

They are late to their reception, but met with rapturous applause as they enter through the pub doors nonetheless. They drink lager, and eat spam sandwiches, and Tom treads on her feet when they attempt to slow dance to ‘Sentimental Journey’ by Doris Day. She can’t imagine a more perfect evening, that is until Tom guides her outside.

They walk back towards the wall, their wall and Tom helps her up onto it, before sitting beside her. Her legs don’t dangle as high from the floor as they used to, and it’s odd to look down and see her legs draped in white lace, instead of littered with scrapes and bruises.

She grins when she turns to Tom, watching as he produces a paper bag of sherbet straws from his inside jacket pocket. “Just wanted to say thanks for helping me with my maths homework fifteen years ago,” he says with a cheeky smile, “Mates, yeah?”

Warmth spreads throughout her chest as she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Always.”

#tom bennett x reader #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett x you #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett #tom bennett world on fire #world on fire tom bennett #tom bennett fan fiction #ewan mitchell #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett fan fic #world on fire #world on fire fan fiction #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire fan fic

[slaymybreathaway]

Batwife (Bruce Wayne x Reader)

"The Batman" 2022

Warnings: mentions of nudity

Word Count: 776

Masterlist

"The city's favourite couple are saying 'I do' this morning at Gotham Cathedral. Billionaire Bruce Wayne and Oscar Winning actress Y/n L/n made their first public appearance as a couple nearly 3 years ago at the premier of y/n's movie The Gravedigger," one reporter said.

Every news station in the city waited impatiently outside the cathedral for them to emerge. It was the event of the decade, the closest Gotham would ever get to a royal wedding.

Just then, the newlyweds emerged from the Church. Y/n was wearing a simple silk wedding dress with colourful flowers adorned on the lace sleeves that covered her arms. Bruce was looking sharp in a black suit. The handkerchief tucked neatly in his breast pocket was a bright yellow. Many fans speculate that the burst of colour was added by his new wife, the actress being famous for her making block colours fashionable again.

As soon as the doors of the Cathedral were opened, they were bombarded with flashing cameras and intrusive questions.

"Y/n, many speculate you are marrying for money," one particularly pushy reporter asked.

Bruce tried to get his new wife to ignore this statement but y/n turned around and spoke straight into his microphone. "I'm more than capable of making my own money, thank you," she said and followed her husband into the wedding car.

♡ 5 years later ♡

Y/n Wayne sat in living room watching, no studying the news. Every night she did the same, waiting for the headline she dreaded 'Masked Vigilante Found Dead'. Thankfully it hasn't happened yet.

Then, Alfred brought her a cup of coffee. "Here, I assume you won't go to sleep until Master Bruce comes home," he smiled slightly.

"Am I that readable?" she asked and took the cup "Anyways will you tell me when he does get home, please?"

Alfred agreed and y/n went back to watching the news.

An hour later, y/n was on the verge of falling asleep when Alfred came back in. "Master Bruce has arrived," he announced.

Y/n yawned. She got up, put on her robe and got in the elevator down to what her husband called the 'bat-cave' but she referred to it as the glorified basment.

When the elevator stopped y/n could see Bruce writing down the nights events.

"Dear Diary, it's Halloween today and I had to dress up like a bat. All the other kids made fun of me and stole my candy," she joked and walked over to him.

Bruce smiled "I told you not to wait around for me anymore honey," He closed his notebook and brought her face to kiss him.

She watched as he took out his camera contact lenses and placed them on the scanner.

Y/n knew that he wouldn't listen to her properly while watching the footage of tonight so she decided to mess with him.

"I went to a Halloween party tonight,"

"Mhm, that's nice honey. What did you wear?" he asked, not really caring about the answer.

"Barely anything," y/n whispered in his ear.

No reaction whatsoever came from Bruce's face, he replied with another automated answer "Great, hope you didn't get too cold,"

Y/n crossed her arms in frustration. "You should've came. To the party, I mean. If I attend another social event alone people will start to rumour your death,"

"Well, it seems like crime never ends in this city," he said, his head still stuck in the monitors.

"Yeah but marriages do," y/n mumbled.

Bruce broke out of his trance and turned to face his wife. "What?"

Y/n's expression broke into a smile. "The fact that I had to mention divorce for my husband to even make eye contact with me,"

He sighed "I'm sorry, my love. It's just, this thing," he gestures to the screen.

"Maybe I can help?" y/n asked, already knowing the answer. Bruce didn't want her involved in the whole 'Batman' thing because she worries enough about him without her knowing the amount of danger he really is in.

"C'mon, with most women, if their husband stayed out half the night and comes back with eye makeup on then he's cheating. My situation is... A little different. Just, please let me help you," she looked up at him pleadingly.

He sighed. "Alright come here," he wrapped his arms around his wife as he showed her the 'He lies still' card.

#dcmultiverse #comic books #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #the batman #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #gotham #dano riddler

[sexlapis]

just thinking abt corporate!reader & her goth!wife mikasa :3

female!reader, short fic, flirty coworkers, fluff, crack, wife!mikasa

wc: idk just read it damn

you were a diligent, serious worker but you’d never be caught working overtime in a place like that. you would never work longer than you had to, you don’t give a fuck about your job, or any company that much. the job wasn’t exactly exciting or difficult, but the salary was absolutely ridiculous for such simple tasks and you just can’t say goodbye to this lifestyle, really. it is easy, stable and comfortable and you really cannot ask for anything else.

you always kept to yourself and minded your own business but, unfortunately for you, the men you worked with were not familiar with such a concept.

when you started you job, your male coworkers found no problem or shame in flirting with you. and now, with the new, simple yet expensive golden wedding band on your finger…they still had no problem flirting with you.

you sit at your desk typing away, when all of a sudden, your coworker, sam, appeared out of nowhere like a bunny in a top hat.

“hey!” he spoke, far too loudly for the environment you were in.

“…hi.”

“how are you?” sam leans on your desk, shifting it in a way which will irk you for the rest of this painful interaction.

you look up at him, mouth streamline and eyes blank. “i’m fine, thank you,” you make a point of not asking how he is before raising your eyebrows and looking at your desk computer, “got work to do.”

“yeah,” he chuckles, biting his lip, “so listen…”

oh no.

“so i’ve been thinking…”

please, stop.

“i think we get along really well and i’m just wondering…”

god, help me.

“…if maybe we could go out sometime,” he finishes, smirking all of his ivory, hyper-perfect, white teeth at you. he stares at you, awaiting your answer.

you sigh. he sees so confident. it was sad.

you fiddle with your watch and begin your awkward rejection, “look i-”

a voice calling out your name is heard as you spin around in your squeaky desk chair and a few feet away, stands your wife, mikasa.

what is she doing here?

next to her is the receptionist, you smiles at you and nods to mikasa before walking away.

mikasa is dressed to the nines, as she always is.

she is decked out in an all-black outfit - her toned arms, decorated with lace sleeves, snug at the top and loosening out as the fabric goes on. a corset adorns her waist, peppered with lace accents and it emphasises the pale expanse of her upper breasts that are on display for everyone to see. her lower half is draped in a long, slightly billowed out skirt and platform boots cover her feet, making her almost tower over everyone.

mikasa walks over to you, unbothered by all the eyes on her. in her hand is a small container, one that you assume carries your lunch. she leans down and kisses you cheek, surely staining your skin with scarlet. you feel heat on your face. you’re pretty sure nobody is working at this point.

“hi ♡.” mikasa greets, a soft smile on her lips.

“hi-mikasa, what are-” you stand up swiftly, looking around your small work area, noticing how your colleagues are simply pretending to work, “what are you doing here? i said i’d meet you outside.”

“you were taking a while. the receptionist noticed and asked who i was waiting for. she let me come up here.”

“yeah, but-”

“but what?”

you huff and glance behind you.

sam, your flirty coworker who cannot take a hint, stands there like a buffoon, mouth agape and just watching you and mikasa interact. mikasa says a small “hello” to him and he responds with a dumb wave.

you roll your eyes. then you notice the food container in mikasa’s hands. she has a new set of nails too. “is that my lunch?”

“yes, that’s why i came here. you forgot it.”

you take it out of her hands, graceful. “thank you, baby…new nails too, i see?”

mikasa blushes, eyes knocking to the side. “mhm. i took your card for that.”

“mikasa!” you frown halfheartedly, “i was looking for that.”

“sorry. but you have seven other cards, so i think you will be okay.”

you hear a snort on your right, and a sharp glare from you shut them up.

mikasa beams at you.

you huff, beginning to walk “lets go to that café across the street.”

“okay!”

mikasa slips her hand into yours. on that very hand, a ring with an onyx diamond beautifies her finger. the ring that you placed there.

you coworker starts to call out, “aren’t you gonna introduce-”

“no!”

*

“you should be nicer to your coworkers.”

“why on earth would i do that?” you groan, disgusted by the suggestion.

the food mikasa made is delicious, and you shove your face with it in bad table manners. you were starving. mikasa doesn’t mind.

it was a sunny thursday afternoon and the streets were quiet, along with the café itself. mikasa nibbles on a small pastry and sips her tea.

“because, they’re your coworkers. and you need to keep your job.”

“ha! they need to keep me. i’m the best worker in that damn place.”

mikasa hums, taking a hold of your hands, causing you to drop you cutlery on the table ungracefully, “but then, who’d be able to pay for my nails?”

“…yeah, you’re right,” you smooth your thumb over her smooth knuckles, kissing the ring on her finger, “who would, huh?”

*

you walk back into your workplace, skip in your step. you whistle a tune all the way to your desk, stopping in your tracks when you realise everyone is silent and looking at you.

“…what?!”

the continuous chatter starts up again and everyone goes back to their tasks, not looking to bother or piss you off today

later on, when you walk through the door to your house and look in the mirror right beside it, you see a multitude of faded, red lip-shaped lipstick stained kissed all over your face.

a/n: i want her to be my wife so bad………

#mikasa x reader #mikasa x you #mikasa x y/n #mikasa fluff #mikasa ackerman x reader #mikasa ackerman x you #mikasa ackerman x y/n #mikasa ackerman fluff

[halfmoth-halfman]

a designer dress from heaven and your dirty wedding ring - prologue

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: none Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: it's finally here, the mob boss!price series! before we start, i want to give a special thanks to the fabulous @mvtthewmurdvck for letting me rant and rave about peaky blinders while i work on this series, to the amazing @valkyriesregalia and @bubble-dream-inc for reading and giving me feedback, and of course to @uselsshuman's discord girlies for hyping me up and giving me inspiration, i love you guys 💜!! || next

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

Your father had mentioned it to you a few times when you were a child; you remember the admiration— and jealousy— that laced his voice as he weaved tales of smoky backroom poker games and men who’d skin you alive for looking at them wrong.

You hadn’t believed him then, assuming it to be like all the other fairytales and war stories he told from that worn leather armchair— exaggerated tales meant to teach you lessons he himself never followed.

Now that you’re here, though…

You’d expected better security.

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to get inside. With no one at the front and the doors left unlocked, you waltz into a vision straight from your father’s imagination— all deep red velvet and hazy air carrying the scent of cigar smoke and danger.

It’s surprisingly modern with a vintage feel to it. You should’ve expected as much, but you still find yourself impressed. You weave through the round tables and plush chairs— elegantly decorated with brilliant red flower centerpieces sitting atop white silk tablecloths— making your way to the center of the spacious room.

You have the perfect view of the stage from here— directly in the center. It’s gorgeous: hardwood polished to perfection and bordered by thick, velvet curtains— even in the bright white of the blaring house lights, it’s a sight to behold.

“Um, you can’t be in here— we’re closed!”

The voice startles you, but you maintain your composure, turning slowly—non-threateningly— on your heels with a wide, unassuming smile. A long, half-circle bar stretches across the wall opposite the stage, just up a small set of stairs and past the various game tables, lined with golden railings. The wall behind it is completely covered in shelves of alcohol— some you’re well-acquainted with, some you recognize from your father’s private collection.

And there, gathered at the far right end of the black-quartz bar, are three men dressed in black, staring back at you.

“No one told me,” you smile, gesturing towards the front of the club, “and the doors were open.” The men groan to themselves, then mumble to each other. They glance back at you occasionally; you keep your polite smile taking in the rest of the club as they speak.

“Well,” one of the men— the American one behind the bar with a colorful sleeve tattoo and impressive facial hair— clears his throat. “We’re still closed regardless. One of the boys can see you out.”

The other two stand, the handsome one with light eyes and a brown mohawk making his way toward you.

“I have an interview-” all three pause, shooting glances at one another in silent conversation. You dig through the pockets of your denim jacket, pulling out the folded paper and holding it out to Mohawk. The room lapses into silence, so you add, “S’posed to meet with the owner about a singing gig?”

That takes the man behind the bar by surprise.

Mohawk takes the paper from you, unfolding it to read it over. His brows shoot up, eyes scanning the worn words. He turns, holding the page to the third man—the one with short, curly black hair and a scar on his left cheek— who takes it and skims over it. He glances between the paper and you, between you and the paper.

“I’ve got this,” he addresses the other two.

British, huh?

Not what you’d expected.

“This way,” he smiles at you, all charm and politeness as he folds the paper back up and leads you toward a section of booths tucked against the wall off the right side of the bar. You follow, smiling at Mohawk and Bartender as you go.

You slide in across from your interviewer, taking him in as he settles with his hands folded atop the table. He seems young, maybe a few years younger than yourself, with dark skin and kind, brown eyes.

But you can see the sharpness behind those kind eyes.

You know better than to trust a friendly gaze— your left shoulder aching at the reminder.

“Not gonna lie…I thought you’d be older,” you joke. He arches a brow, curiously narrowing his eyes. “You just seem a little young to own a club.”

“Ah, you caught me,” he laughs. “The owner’s my father, but I handle most of the staffing.”

“Oh! Well—” you extend your hand out to him, “—pleasure to meet you, Mr…?”

“Garrick, but you can just call me Kyle.” He shakes your hand, firm but not too strong—clearly practiced. You retract your hand, letting it fall into your lap. Kyle stares at you expectantly, and you give him your best smile.

It’s only a few seconds, but the silence is almost unbearably awkward.

“And you are?”

“Oh, shit. Right.” Heat floods your cheeks; you hope you haven’t fucked this up already.

“Canary.”

“Canary?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe you; you don’t blame him— you wouldn’t either.

“Yeah, like the bird.”

“I’m familiar.”

“It’s…it was an inside joke between my parents that they ended up liking a little too much,” you explain.

“That’s…sweet,” he smiles, a little less taunting now. “Is there a…last name too, Ms. Canary?”

“No,” you reply immediately, “just Canary.”

“Okay then, Ms. Canary-like-the-bird, do you…have a resumé?”

“Yes, I do.” You dig through your bag, pulling out your resumé and handing it to him. Kyle gives a hum of thanks, reading through it with those sharp eyes.

You hope it’ll do; it took you three whole hours to get it done last night.

“No references?” he asks, briefly glancing up at you.

Shit. You knew you forgot something.

“I…mostly worked solo,” you lie, “but I have a couple cards for people I’ve collaborated with.” You reach for your bag like you’re ready to dig through its contents. There are some cards in there; you’re prepared to give him those, but you’re not prepared to explain why a singer would’ve previously collaborated with a real estate agent and a tattoo parlor that’s been closed for years.

“That’s alright,” Kyle says.

Thank god.

“Have you worked in other clubs before?”

“Just one.”

He looks up, waiting for you to elaborate, but you stay silent, smiling back and adding a few bats of your lashes for good measure. He laughs, quiet and to himself, looking back at your resumé.

“I’ll have to run this by my dad—” He sets the paper down, eyes skimming over it once more, “—is there a number we can reach you at?”

“I don’t have a phone…not yet, anyway.”

Kyle looks up at you, surprise evident, but he masks it with impressive speed.

“Alright, Ms. Canary, one more question for you.” He leans back in the booth, arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over— taking in your appearance bit by bit and committing it to memory.

“What are you running from?”

“I— what?” The smile falters slightly, but you see his eyes dip down to your lips, and you know you’ve been caught.

“No last name, no references, no phone…”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“And we haven’t used these—” he holds up the flyer you’d brought with you, “—since I was a child.”

You drop the smile, hands slowly clenching into fists in your lap— your nails drag across the ripped denim of your jeans to dig into the meat of your palms.

“I’m not running, just…” you pause, searching your mind for the right words. ”Starting over.”

Kyle keeps his eyes trained on you, not moving a muscle. You can tell he wants more information.

If you weren’t so desperate…

“My ex was super shitty, and the divorce got real ugly—real fast,” you sigh. “In the end, I let him have whatever he wanted just for the chance to get out, and, as it turns out, he wanted everything. So…here I am.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kyle lets out a low whistle. “My condolences.”

You can’t help but laugh, a small weight easing off your shoulders.

“Well, the bad news is this flyer’s ancient, and we aren’t looking to hire entertainment at the moment. But the good news: we are in need of a cleaner.”

“You pay in cash?” you ask, noticing the twitch of the corner of his mouth as he bites back a smirk.

“We can keep it off the books, no problem. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price #john price #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth talks

[mllemarianne]

Indulging

Aemond Targaryen x F!Strong!Reader

Part 1: Deserving Part 2: Indulging Part 3: Striving

Summary: After your little adventure in the Stormlands, you are now betrothed to your prince. You have everything you have ever wanted. So why are you fleeing the Red Keep on the eve of your wedding…

Word count: 18.5k

Warnings: Angst, fluff and smut (6k words total!) Sexual tension, hurt/comfort. English is my second language.

N/A: Brace yourselves for the second half of this part lol Discover what happened during the 2 weeks between their adventures in the Stormlands and the wedding! One thing is for sure: they are feral all the way to the end. Unfortunately, Aemond can’t possibly let go of his demons in one night. Some Aemond POV too this time. Enjoy!

Masterlist | AO3

Aemond

Aemond slipped into your chambers after bribing the guards, like he did every night since you got back from your little adventure in the Stormlands. Only this time, all he wanted was a few words with you. And of course, you were not alone.

Unbeknownst to you, he entered your chambers and hid in the shadows. He watched as your maid brushed your long hair and exchanged some words with you. He noticed how tense you looked, fiddling with the hem of your nightgown’s sleeve. And he knew. He knew..

You were hurt, and he had to make it right again. Especially since it was the eve of your wedding. He refused to see everything fall apart after a fortnight only. Not when he spent his life longing for this.

It did not take long before you thanked your maid, confided you had a headache and wished not to be disturbed until the morning.

Aemond ducked behind a silk screen covered in paintings of flowers and birds. On it rested your impressive wedding gown. Blue silk trimmed with silver lace. He smiled when he saw the small dragon shaped clasps. His mother had the seamstresses working day and night for it to be done on such a short notice. He could not help but imagine you in it, holding his hands and swearing to the old gods and the new that you would be his until your last day.

Holding his breath, he watched the maid curtsy and leave your chambers. He was about to reveal himself when suddenly, he froze in place.

Your eyes were glued to the door and you listened carefully as your maid’s footsteps slowly faded in the distance. After a few seconds, you got up and stripped until your naked form was all he could see in the dim lighting. Seeing you undress was always a peak of his day… but then you reached for something that did not look like your nightgowns.

…What was it? Some kind of commoner's dress? It was a simple flowy white dress that hung from your shoulders with red beads. 

Still hidden, Aemond stood in silence as his worst nightmare manifested before his eye. A chill ran down his spine when you put on a hood and grabbed a pair of simple leather boots. The kind of boots you can easily run away in, he thought.

For an instant, you seemed hesitant. Looking at your vanity, you probably thought about how awful the last hours— fortnight, even— had been. A nightmare for you, he was sure.

He had warned you. The people at court were cruel and sometimes, he wished he could sweep in with Vaghar and burn them all until they were nothing more than ashes. And he would probably do it now. 

It was too much for you. You were hurt… And you were leaving.

Good things never came to him, so however heartbreaking it was to see you flee like a thief in the night… it did not come as a surprise to him. He was but a crippled second son with nothing to offer except his love, and you deserved so much more. Your former betrothed was certainly a better option, with his own castle, lands, armies… and looks…

His chest tightening, his heart breaking, he watched as you grabbed the necklace he gave you long ago. The necklace you wore everyday since. You almost put it on, but ultimately shoved it in your pocket along with some crumpled up paper and other whatnots.

Reader

You observed yourself one last time in your mirror, to gather some strength if anything… when you unexpectedly noticed him in the dark.

His impeccable silvery white hair picked up some of the light from the fire burning beside you. Hidden in a corner, Aemond stood tall, eye locked on you, arms crossed behind his back. He had a weary frown and his lips were pressed in a thin line. 

Oh gods.

Eyes widening, your spine straightened as you got caught and he slowly walked up to you. His hair bounced on his shoulders and his wonderful amber and sandalwood scent hit you at once when he stopped mere inches away from you. 

You looked up at him and you knew he tried to keep a straight face, but you could feel the hurt behind his eye.

“Aemond– ” you said quietly. “You are leaving?” he sharply queried.

Your eyes widened even more, panic seeping through. “Aemond, I–”

“No, let me speak.” he insisted bitterly.

You feared what he was about to say. You felt his ire. You felt his ache. He was cross with you.

He had been so silent lately and you always hated when he did that. Still, you did not think he would show up to your chambers this night of all nights. Seeing your betrothed on the eve of your wedding, bad luck and all. Superstitions, merely, but your prince was keen on tradition and you respected that.

Then again, you knew why he came to you anyway. The day, nay the last two weeks, had indeed been… eventful.

A fortnight before

Reader

When you went through the Mud Gate, you saw your father and almost thirty guards standing in a circle, planning the day’s search party for Aemond and you. The Prince and the daughter of the Hand had been missing for more than a day by now. You felt guilty when you imagined your father frantically looking for you everywhere as you did not come back the previous day.

Well… you almost felt guilty.

Even though your original plan was to confess your love and devotion to Aemond during your trip in the Stormlands, you had not planned to take shelter in a village inn during a frightful storm. You had not planned for Aemond to shut down, resulting in you gouging words out of him. You had not planned to share a ridiculously small bed and to spend the night wrapped in each other's arms. And you definitely had not planned for you to make passionate love that very morning after he surrendered his heart, body and soul to you.

“There they are, my lord”, one of the guards said. Suddenly aware of the crowd, you let go of your prince’s hand and went to your father. You saw relief in his eyes and he hugged you tight when you reached him. You tried to hide your bare arms under your cloak, but you were not quick enough to escape his sharp eye.

The Queen rushed to you as well. She kept pulling at Aemond’s hair to tame it, but nothing could be done. It was still wavy from the pouring rain and the flight back. To be fair, you were both a mess. Your clothes smelled of dragon and were coated in mud and dust. 

Aemond pushed the Queen’s hands away in a gentle manner and immediately asked for an audience with the King and your father. He did not waste a single second. As promised.

He took your hand again as you all climbed the stairs, heading to the council meeting chamber. However, when you went to enter the room, your father requested that you wait outside. 

Aemond turned to you and planted a chaste kiss on your knuckles…then cupped your face and swiftly kissed you on the lips. Your pulse went wild and pink bloomed on your cheeks. He smirked arrogantly, amused by your sudden shyness. Just like when you were children, he waited to see if you would kiss him back.

To say you were shocked by your prince’s doings was un understatement. Usually, he did that when people were not looking. Certainly not under the stare of the three most powerful people in all of the Seven Kingdoms. One of them being your own father.

You kissed him back quickly. He then disappeared into the room, still smirking. Indubitably flustered, you turned around, avoiding any and all eye contact, curtsied and left. You waited until the guard closed the door to run around the corner and reach a certain tapestry. Your father had you play cupbearer during some council meetings in the recent years, so you knew about the hidden vent.

A vent allowing you to hear and see everything.

“I do think it oddly coincidental that the day your daughter’s betrothal to Lord Tyrell’s son, Luthor, was announced, my own son and her went missing only for them to reappear a day later, wishing to join our two families in front of the Seven.” Queen Alicent told your father in one breath. She turned her head to address Aemond directly. “Is she with child?”

“Your grace—” began your father.

“Of course not, mother!” cut Aemond, annoyed.

“And the Hand gets to marry his daughter to a prince. How practical, Lord Strong– ”

“No, I get the honor of marrying her,” cut Aemond again. He stood in front of your father to speak to him directly. “For the longest time, even now still, she is the reason I get up in the morning. She is loyal and has always been there for me, even when my own family was not,” he confessed, avoiding the King’s gaze. “I wish I could apologize for acting so imperiously, but I will not take no for an answer.”

Queen Alicent gently pulled him aside while your father and the King discussed the matter of your current betrothed. “Are you certain? …Does she want this as well?” You felt bad yet grateful for the Queen’s concern. You were not blind. She cared for the King, yes, but she was invariably thrown at him at a young age without any saying in the matter.

“She loves me, mother. Despite my temper, despite the snickers following me everywhere, despite my face, she loves me.” You had not said the words to him yet, but he clearly knew of your true feelings. Although, your heart shattered a bit at the self-loathing coating his words.

“My sweet boy, stop saying “despite”. It is not all there is to you.” The Queen uttered in a reassuring tone, leaning in to comfort her son but he backed off.

“I have loved her all my life.” he insisted. You knew that now, but hearing it again had your heart skipping a beat. “I was always yours” he admitted to you the same morning. The Queen opened her arms again. He embraced her this time.

“I know. And of course she loves you. She defended you so fiercely when you…”

She did not finish her sentence, but you knew all too well what atrocious event she was referring to. When his nephews and nieces gang up on him after he called them Strong bastards, no one– not even the King–  stood up to defend him. Only his mother and you. Even if he had dragged your older brother into it, you had defended your prince.

When it came to it, the King gave his verdict… and he was pleased. The King was pleased. After all these years, he knew you as a sweet, thoughtful yet daring girl. “A real warrior, that one!” he proclaimed once, when he spied you knocking Aemond to the ground during hand-to-hand combat training in the yard. Furthermore, your father was an honorable man and the King did not have any doubt regarding his intentions.

King Viserys agreed to his son’s request and told your father they could surely work something out to “ease possible arising tensions”. Namely young Luthor Tyrell losing his bride a day after the announcement of his betrothal and a moon before his wedding.

The Queen declared the ceremony could be set in two moons time, at the Great Sept of Baelor. With his head held high and his face unreadable, Aemond only replied: “I wish to marry her in a fortnight.”

Your heart stopped again. Seeing him so eager almost made you tear up. The Queen begged him to be reasonable, reminding him that some lords and ladies would be traveling from afar, that they needed time to plan a tourney in your honor and feasts. You knew Aemond did not care about any of that. And he did not budge. “We will marry in a fortnight. It is enough time to gather her family and ours. That is all that matters.” Alicent was not entirely sure Aemond told her everything, but accepted her son’s demands nevertheless. You ran back to the main entrance when the meeting was over and your prince went straight to you. Bracing his hands on each side of your waist, he whispered “It’s done, my betrothed.”

You looked at him with love and he mirrored your bright smile. He kissed your cheek this time and let his lips linger, relishing in the softness of your skin and the smell of your hair.

“Your father wishes to speak to you, dear girl,” the Queen imparted. “Aemond, you need to come with us. Unfortunately, you have duties to the realm beyond flying around on Vaghar.” she added, looking at you with a faint but genuine smile.

Aemond exhaled against your cheek, then stared at you with a look full of longing. You knew the only thing he wished for this instant was to drag you to whichever of your chambers were the closest… but to both your displeasures, he followed Sir Cristen to the armory for some princely duties. 

“I have to speak to Lord Tyrell now. However much a gentleman Luthor is, he won’t be very pleased,” your father stated when you joined him in the council chamber.

“I’m deeply sorry, father. He seemed like a wonderful man.”

He smiled fondly but incredulously. “He was everything I ever wished for you. He was perfect, indeed… but something tells me you are not as deeply sorry as you say.”

You smiled slightly as an answer.

Hesitant, he peeked at the heavy doors still open and prone to indiscrete ears. Lowering his voice, he probed: “May I ask where you could possibly have been?” 

“We visited the Stormlands. The weather made it too dangerous to fly back. We stopped at an inn for the night.” you simply stated.

“So you took shelter.”

“Yes.”

“Alone with the prince.”

“Yes.”

“And all of a sudden, the prince wants to marry you in a fortnight.”

You did not quite know if it was a question, a statement or an accusation. Or maybe was it all three?

“… he does, yes.”

He looked at you intently, demanding more details.

“I can be very persuasive.” you evasively asserted.

Indeed, he thought. He knew you went out there and got what you wanted. It seemed he was constantly underestimating you. He sometimes forgot you were no longer five of age and chasing cats around the castle grounds at Harrenhal. Now, you could inarguably rule a kingdom with that much resilience and volition.

Your father's eyes wander at your dress again. You hid once more your bare arms under your mud-caked hood. Not only did Aemond shred the white shift you normally wore underneath, he threw it in the damn hearth. “Inadvertently”, he assured you. Too eager to see your bare bosom to notice or care, more like. It had beautiful little flower embroideries, you were furious.

Your father thought about his next words carefully. Lowering his voice to almost a whisper, he inquired: “...am I right in thinking you find yourself in need of moon tea?”

You chewed on your cheek as you had flashbacks of your early morning… of Aemond slowly losing his composure as you shamelessly ground your hips on him… of the whole of you shaking uncontrollably under his taut body… of the faintest of “I love you” he breathed in your ear as he spilled himself deep inside you…

With your spine ramrod straight, without a trace of shame or remorse, you said: “I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise.”

He nodded, walked to the door. Before he left altogether, he added: “I am no fool, I will have some delivered daily and discreetly to your chambers,” You repressed a chuckle, wondering if it was necessary when the wedding was merely days away.

The late afternoon sun shone bright when Aemond found you in the gardens with Halaena. You were eating lemon cakes, both outstretched on cushioned chairs in a veranda by a glorious pond brimming with water lilies. You were freshly bathed and wore the most revealing dress you owned. 

Aemond had also changed it seemed. His long hair was neat again. The Gods knew how tangled you left them that morning. 

“My betrothed.” you jested. Or were you? It had a nice ring to it.

“See, I like this formal title.” he answered with a simple smile that curled his lips, his eye falling swiftly to your plump breasts half spilling out of your dress before he turned to Heleana. “Sister, I’m afraid I need my betrothed on some urgent matter.”

You saw fire in his eye.

“Indeed,” you concurred, knowing exactly what sort of business desperately needed your tending. “Thank you for everything Helaena, it was a lovely afternoon, I’ll be sure to find the book in the library.”

“You are not fooling anyone, you know,” she remarked as Aemond grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the Red Keep. He held onto your fingers so tight you thought you might lose them.

“You seem tense, my prince. What could possibly cause such restlessness?” you asked, yelping as he groped your behind through the fabric of your dress as an answer.

Three minutes.

That is all it took. Not even ten steps in the Red Keep and Queen Alicent intercepted you both, seamstresses in tow. A rushed royal wedding meant twice as much preparation. You needed to get your dress sorted out as soon as possible. You needed jewels made. You needed to learn the traditional nuptial dance and to learn your vows.

Aemond’s blood seemed to be boiling in his veins as you were separated once more.

Aemond

Clearly, the Gods were punishing the both of you. Aemond had to get hold of himself. He could not possibly be losing it. He was a grown man, for gods’ sake. He even wondered how he managed to go on about his day before you were betrothed to him.

The answer was barely.

It was no surprise he selfishly spent so much time with you. You made him feel good a little bit everyday, which was an exploit considering how people were utter cunts everyday.

He spent his time looking at you, observing you when you were not looking. Apparently, not as subtly as he thought he was being, you told him. He sometimes allowed himself to touch you. While you were training or riding Vhagar with him. Sometimes it was too much, and he shamelessly found relief in the arms of one of his mother’s chambermaids. He was not proud of it. Especially since you confessed spying on him once.

Training with you was the highlight of his days. He liked how strong you were, no pun intended. He liked the smell of you in the morning, when your hair was damp with sweat as you spared with your swords. You were one of the few who could best him in hand-to-hand combat. And you were truly deadly with your daggers. Unquestionably better than half the knights you trained with. He loved that about you. Even if he was horrified by the dozens of scars he found on you as you laid in bed with him.

He particularly enjoyed walking in the gardens with you. Even when you were children, you ran away from your septa only to meet him in your secret spot on top of the hill. Hidden in the tall grass, you would read books or nap under a willow tree. Lately, you also went at night to look at the stars and drink wine.

The library was his favorite. Especially since you decided you had to read books only wearing a nightgown lately. Everytime, he made sure the fire was dying. It was his own little punishment for the torture you seemed to enjoy putting him under. You were cold, but he got to see your breasts peak through the sheer fabric.

Lately, he particularly indulged in the little adventures you liked to plan. You gave him the destination, and he supplied the dragon to get there. When you asked him to go to the Stormlands the day before, he did not hesitate. He knew something was wrong. You had not joined him in the library the night before. Your absence at the morning training session had not gone unnoticed either.

Flying back in the storm was already the pinnacle of unpleasantness, but when you broke the news of your betrothal to another, Aemond fell into a sort of trance. He knew this day would come, and for a moment, he found the courage to let you go. He would not even speak, afraid to ruin everything. He knew how his silence irritated you at times, but he had to… for he knew what a life with him would be like.

He never dreamed of burdening you with a life ensnared in torment and ridicule. It meant incessant mockery, rude encounters and even ruder stares from the people of the court. He did not want that for you. He loved you enough to keep silent, wallowing in his own despair at the very idea of losing your ever soothing presence. He sacrificed his own desires for what he thought was best. He did not deserve you.

But then…

He did not expect to spend the night in your arms in a dingy inn during a storm.“I want you,” you repeated again and again while you threw yourself at him. You climbed on top of him, looking like a goddess in your simple white shift… you said all these filthy things about thinking of him while touching yourself at night… you shared how you wanted to feel him, wishing for him to make you scream his name… “Claim me!” you commanded, grinding your bare cunt on his equally bare cock.

Aemond was a prince, a dragonrider, a scholar, a trained fighter… but he was also just a man.

So he obliged. He willingly let go of everything that held him back and took whatever you would give him. Not only did you give him your body, you also gave him your heart and all your devotion. He loved you so deeply, he had no choice but to give in to what he desired the most for as long as he could remember.

The way you looked at him that morning was forever engraved in his memory. The morning sun hit his sapphire and hundreds of blue specks of light danced on your smiling face.

No one had ever looked at him like that.

It was the moment he knew that… mayhaps he could find happiness in a world that had been so cruel to him for years. The mere prospect of spending his days and his nights with you as his lady wife almost erased the misery of the last seven years. Misery he desperately tried to keep hidden from you. You, who inexplicably loved him.

Although, things were not settled yet. He could only manage to have the wedding ceremony held in a fortnight. He had his reasons. Hells, some part of him would have married you today if he had the possibility.

Aemond shook his head. Again all his thoughts were of you as the thudding of his boots echoed in the stone hallways. It was an hour before you had to join both your family in the royal dining room, and he had plans for the remaining time.

He went straight to your chambers and got past your guards without any hesitation. At this point, he did not care in the least.

He needed you. He needed you now.

His eye patch went flying through the room unceremoniously. He was about to do the same with his sword when he noticed the royal jeweler still taking measurements of your fingers and your neck. Aemond’s jaw clenched as he locked eye with you through your looking glass.

Intrigued by the giant sapphire Aemond wore, the jeweler stared at it. A little too long to Aemond’s taste in fact. He immediately went scrambling for his eye patch and held his sword right in front of him, as if it would somehow hide the clear swollen bulge in his trousers. From the look on your face, you appeared as out of sorts as he was.

He rarely spent his days without you, and while he could bear it before, now that you were his, it was torture.

Especially since he felt your touch. He savored your taste. He enjoyed your warmth and revelled in your scent. And he wanted it all again now.

He wanted your perfect breasts in his mouth and to tease you with his tongue until you arched into him. He wanted you soaking his sheets as he buried himself over and over again in your sweet cunt. He wanted you mewling in his ear while he held onto you so tight you could only shake and cry out as he brought you over the edge. He wanted to stay inside you after you were finished, relishing in your lovely heat, some part of him wishing for your belly to swell already, only to stun you with a thrust when he felt you drifting off.

Aemond wanted to worship you… but it seemed you could not be alone. For. One. Damn. Second. 

He elected to sit on your dark blue velvet settee, picked a book from your personnel collection and tried to calm himself down.

Reader

Of course, by the time the jeweler had finished his business, you were expected downstairs for your first meal with the royal family.

You were finally alone, regardless of how improper it was for Aemond to be found in your chambers unchaperoned. He stared at you with raised eyebrows, utterly unimpressed as you laughed uncontrollably, wildly entertained by his state of distress. Oh how you liked to see his walls crumbling around him everytime he was in your presence now.

“I wish I shared your amusement.” he scoffed. 

You would bet your life Aemond was on the brink of madness this very moment. You craved him too, but being late was out of the question.

“If I’d known it only took one night with me to completely unravel you, I would have acted sooner,” you bantered, raising a hand to tame a few strands of his hair.

His hands found your waist, fisting the fabric. “Mayhaps I should remind you which one of us was begging, this morning,” he purred in your ear, pressing his body to yours.

You stole away a kiss, but hauled him outside of your chamber. You did not have the will or strength to stop him– or yourself– if you stayed alone a minute more. That hitch that only he could scratch. You felt it desperately too.

You held his arm while he escorted you up the tower. Lamentably, there were people everywhere again. Your guards followed you. Servants carried wood to make fires later in the evening. Drunk knights laughed while exchanging lewd stories of their youth.

You crossed paths with a gathering of lords and ladies of the court. They went quiet and split to let you through. Some peered at you with wonder. Two of them exchanged quiet words as you passed by. Aemond's grip tightened on your arm and he quickened his pace. Of course, by now the whole castle knew of your sudden betrothal to the prince and you became a topic of conversation.

As if the day had not been long enough already, the diner felt like it would never end. First, the King drank to your health and talked of young love and the union of house Targaryen and Strong. Then plates upon plates appeared on the table and the meal went on and on. Aemond’s face was void of any emotion. He seemed so serious, but then you knew why.

When it came to spending time in his family’s company, he seemed like another person. He sat straight, rarely smiled and spoke even less. You knew he loved them immensely, especially The Queen and his sister, but he undoubtebly did not have the warm relationship you had with your brother Harwin, for instance.

You could feel how uncomfortable he was. Your hand resting on his thigh certainly did not help calming him down, even if your touch was simply loving and supportive. You let go of him, but he grabbed your hand and put it right back where it was without even glancing, all while he exchanged a few words with Prince Aegon. He entwined his fingers and brushed the back of your hand with his thumb. You tried being subtle… but you had to look.

He had beautiful hands. You thought about them all day, in fact. You could not help yourself, you had to glance at them like he always sideyed your breasts. Heat pooled at your core and you felt even more tight in your skin.

Then Prince Aegon spoke louder, making sure you heard him as well. You were used to him being a drunkard prone to raunchy discussions, and tonight was no exception.

Throughout the years, he often invited you to join him in his chambers, his carriage, even a privy of all places once, but you never agreed. Aemond punched him once, when his brother dared ask in front of him, with wandering hands to top it all off. After that, you always hid a dagger in your sleeve, hoping you would never have to use it on a prince of the crown.

“Seriously, I’m proud of you, brother. It only took you 10 years to get her.”

“You drank too much, Aegon. You should retire,” simply retorted Aemond, sipping his wine.

“To be fair, it was I who did all the work, my prince,” you jested innocently. Your prince squeezed your hand and looked at you, but it was too late. You gave his brother enough ammunition.

“Really, you did all the work? Please tell me more, y/n. I do love a woman on top– ”

Aemond banged his cup on the table and stood up in a flash. Still holding your hand, he spoke before you could come up with an even vulgar answer. “Mother, Father, my lord Hand,” he bowed his head to them before he turned to you. “I’m retiring for the evening. May I escort you back to your chambers, lady Strong?”

You had not yet properly answered that he yanked on your arm and whisked you away.

You walked through the hallways at a steady pace. The day was finally over and nothing more was expected from you both. No duties to the crown, no jewelry fitting, nothing. And frankly, you were eager to get away from everyone. “Follow us and I’ll have your heads mounted on spikes.” Aemond snarled through clenched teeth at the guards who went after you. They turned around immediately and scattered. 

Aemond half-mumbled half-cursed something resembling “Can’t be alone for one minute in this damn castle” as you snorted in a very unladylike manner.

“Want me to put on my nightgown?” You asked, desperate to cheer him up.

“We are not going to the library.” he simply stated.

You spied a wine jug in his hand. He nicked it from the diner table. You soon realized he was not taking you to your chambers or his either. He walked you to the gardens.

He dragged you far, up the hill, through the tall grass and close to a tall yew tree. It was your favorite spot, for it was far enough that nobody ever bothered you there. It was where he first kissed you when you were still a young girl. 

“I want you now,” he urged, pushing you against a nearby mossy stone wall, tugging up the hem of your dress without a preamble. He shoved his face in your bosom and licked the valley between your breasts. Your hands went straight to his neck, weaving your fingers through his silky hair shining bright in the moonlight.

Even though you were better than Aemond at hiding your desperation, it did not change the fact that you were a wanton mess at that moment.

You were dripping wet, even feeling it down your trembling thighs. It was a miracle it did not show on your dress after hours of tensely sitting down during dinner, looking at his fingers and imagining all sorts of things.

One of his hands found its way up your thighs and brushed the apex of your sex, briefly playing with your clit before he pushed past your fold with two of his fingers. You gasped, head falling back against the wall.

“Hm… desperate too?” he murmured in your neck as his fingers went in and out of you with ease, finally taking care of that burdening itch. “I could slide right into you.” 

“Yes… please…” you begged, squirming over his expert hand, your forehead buried in his neck. You grabbed his wrist and forced him to press harder, setting your nerves aflame. You whined, hearing the lewd sound of your drenched cunt with every stroke of his long fingers. He ground his hard length against your left thigh with the same pace.

Without notice, he cursed and pulled back his hand. Before you could protest, he grabbed the collar of the blue silk shift you wore underneath your bodice and tore it to free your shoulders and arms.

“If you tear up another of my shifts again, I am feeding you to your dragon, are we clear?”

“I’m getting you dressed with clasps.” he grunted.

He left an apologetic peck on your lips, then went to lick and bite everywhere from behind your ear to your shoulders while you shamelessly pawed at his hard cock through his trousers. He groaned and started fumbling with his belt. You left open mouth kisses to his marred cheek, drunk on his amber and sandalwood scent. You were rewarded with a faint whimper.

He finally freed his manhood, his trousers falling at his feet, still tucked in his boots. Unbothered, he reached underneath your skirt again and bunched up the fabric to your waist. He hooked an arm under each of your thighs and hoisted you up.

Oh gods. He meant it. He wanted you now. And he wanted you against this wall.

Your legs dangled on each side of him and you wrapped them around his hips at once. You hooked a finger in the leather band of his eye patch and yanked it off, wishing to see all of him. He flinched, surprised, but kissed you immediately after.

He nudged you at your entrance, coating his cock in your wetness, brushing your clit every time. “Hold onto my shoulders,” he mumbled in your mouth. You nodded and bit his lower lip in return.

All the tension since you got back to the Red Keep that morning, as you were deliberately kept apart, led to that very moment. You braced yourself and buried your face in his neck, for you knew this would be vigorous, feverish and unrestrained. And you did not want it any other way. You wanted to feel him.

He lined himself up and pushed into you, driving right to the hilt. Still gasping from the full impact of him, you could not breathe as he rocked his hips into yours at once. He covered your mouth with his, stealing away any and all sounds that fell from your lips.

He tore whimpers from you with every thrust. You already felt pleasure building deep in your belly. Your hands roamed his shoulders and neck, desperately trying to feel him through his damn collared leather clad tunic.

He grunted and groaned while you made high pitched sounds, stars flashing behind your eyes. He slammed into you at a torturous pace, so deep his pelvis brushed against your most sensitive part.

“Don’t stop,” you wailed in his ear and he hiked you up higher against the wall. His fingers dug into your plump flesh and you knew you would be bruised in the morning. This new angle had your body spasming and clenching around him. He suddenly hit that spot within you. Every. Single. Time.

Trapped between the wall and his body, you had no choice but to take it. And you loved every second of that feeling.

He pressed even closer to you, desperate to fit all of him in you, his aching balls slapping your cunt every time. He moaned your name loudly and sloppily kissed the side of your open mouth.

His rhythm started to falter. He was close too. You let out a strangled noise and his face fell down into your cleavage.

“More…” you pleaded. “I need more…”

One of his hands let go of your thighs and snaked between your two bodies. You felt his calloused fingers squirm their way to your cunt and you whimpered when he started circling your clit slowly, a stark contrast with the steady pace of his hips.

Your eyes rolled back and with a few more hard thrust, he pushed you over the edge. You jolted in his arms, arching your back as your vision blacked out. Hands clawing at his shoulders and pulling at his hair, you cried out his name as your orgasm ripped through you, waves after waves of pleasure crashing onto you again and again as he kept pumping.

You squeezed him so tight he followed you short after, plunging as deep as he could, groaning your name loudly against your bosom and filling you up with his hot seed. You cried out again as he pulsed inside you, his hips still snapping at yours erratically while he shuddered from his high.

He finally cooled down, completely out of breath. You were shivering hard, head back against the wall, eyes closed, overpowered by this intense moment you just shared. 

He gently pulled out, leaving you with a strange feeling of emptiness, his seed trickling down your inner thigh. When he let go of your legs, you nearly collapsed. They so much as buckled under your weight. He untangled himself from his trousers and boots and laid down half naked in the tall grass with you.

You stayed there a long time, savoring this quiet interlude away from the rest of the world, sipping wine while basking in the moonlight. The warm summer air blew the wispy hair around your face. You listened to the waves crashing on the rocks by the coast. The trees made their own music with each gust of wind. Faint clather came from the Red Keep in the distance…. It was a beautiful cloudless night, and you gazed at the stars.

True to himself, Aemond kept quiet. Except this time, you did not need any words to know how he felt. He was half sprawled on top of you, his head resting on your bosom, bobbing up and down as you catched your breath still.

He turned to you. “Was I too rough?”

“Did you hear me complain?” you asked back.

He hummed and laid his head down again on your breast. It was different from your first time, but in the most exhilarating way.

You slowly brushed his long hair cascading on his back while he traced figures on your arm and chest, leaving patterns in the pearling sweat. He loved doing that, it seemed. Every time, goosebumps rose everywhere. 

“I thought of taking you in this garden so often,” he confessed before he took another sip of wine from the jug and handed it to you. “But I never imagined it this way.”

“What did you imagine? Midnight swim in the pond?”

He grinned. “The lords love to piss in that pond when they are drunk, so no.” 

He turned his head and looked at you, his gaze positively burning. You felt something awaking in your belly again. You nodded at his silent request and let him guide you through his vision. 

He rose, took off the last piece of clothing he still wore— his leathered tunic— and laid it down on the tall grass. He made you sit so he could take off your skirt. When you reached for the laces, he grabbed your hand and shook his head.

He wanted to do it himself. You obliged.

You squirmed out of your skirt but did not attempt to do anything else. He unbuttoned your bodice, discarded what remained of your blue silk shift and he folded it all into a makeshift cushion. He gently pushed your bare back down on his still warm tunic, your folded dress under your backside, propping you up a little. Your breasts pebbled as the chill air from the coast blew. He slowly climbed on top of you, kissing you, caressing every inch of your skin, his hard cock pressing at your core again. 

When he took you against the wall, it was needy. It was rough. It was an itch that desperately needed to be scratched. And it felt so good, you knew you would never forget it. But what Aemond truly wanted was to make love to you in this garden. 

No frivolities. Just you. Just him. No titles, no pressure and nobody else around.

Propped up on one elbow beside your face, his hand went to hold the nape of your neck while the other brushed your still sensitive clit, awaking all your senses and having you sighing already. He kept going, but you wished for more.

“Please, I just want to feel you,” you pleaded, and he did not fret. Holding onto one of your thighs, he went in slowly. He looked upon your face to see it change with every inch while he easily slid himself in you, still wet from both your releases. You liked the stretch. You liked when he reached deep and took your breath away.

He paused to let you adjust and you smiled at him, eyes half closed. He kissed you slowly too, his tongue caressing yours. You melted in his embrace, his breath stuttering against your neck. He kissed your shoulder while you were momentarily lost in all the sensations.

Aemond had his issues. He had his temper, but when he let his soft side come out just for you, you could not help but get emotional.

His lips brushed yours before his head rested in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning your skin, biting and licking your shoulder. You bent your knees on either side of him for better traction and you rocked your hips against his so he knew he could move.

He grabbed your hip to refrain you from moving. Then his hands reached for yours and he laced your fingers, bringing them beside your head. You felt his heart beating fast against your own skin. 

Then he moved. Slowly.

You enjoyed jesting and teasing him, to talk big like you were in absolute control all the time, but for once, you were the silent one. You felt so vulnerable. You half-panted half-sobed in his arms, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as he slid in and out of you without hurry. So calmly. So softly.

It was measured and unhurried. Completely overpowering. Every thrust was long and perfect, continually stroking that spot within you. His hair fell all over you and you inhaled his intoxicating amber and sandalwood scent.

He pulled you apart completely. You felt yourself break, overwhelmed by your feelings and every nerve in your body set ablaze by this agonizingly gentle rhythm.

He was yours. Aemond was yours, as much as you were his. After years of longing, you got to have him. 

Feeling your shaky breath, Aemond cursed and let go of your hands. He held you even closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, making sure you were alright.

“I love you”, you only whispered back, your fingers brushing his scarred cheek.

He groaned and picked up the pace, grasping at your thighs, your waist. You left kisses in his neck, hands splayed on his shoulder and lower back, feeling his muscles flex. Whining loudly, you neared your peak and you knew this one would shatter you in a million pieces.

With the night sky above, you were already looking at the stars… yet he made you see more. So many more. 

The following days

Reader

The Queen tried to chaperone you but it was a losing battle. You manage to escape her and her guards' notice every time. Highly annoyed, Aemond even tried to reason with her, saying you spent every day of the last 10 years together without any need for a chaperone.

“You are betrothed now, it would not be proper.” she explained. You laughed uncontrollably, while Aemond looked impossibly bewildered. You recalled him saying these exact words multiple times to you… before he essentially ravished you somewhere in the Stormlands. Oh how he seemed more laxed with the notion of propriety. What a terrible influence, you were.

Lately, you were constantly swarmed with people asking what flowers you wanted for the wedding ceremony, what kind of meal you desired for the feast or which fabric you preferred for your dress. You only cared that your dress was blue with elements recalling the Targaryen dynasty and your Riverland heritage. “With clasps”, you insisted, since Aemond took the sordid habit of tearing up your clothes.

Your family confirmed that they would get to King's Landing in time for the feast and tourney held the day before the ceremony. You could not wait to see your older brother Harwin.

As you served as cupbearer during a council meeting one afternoon, you also learned that there was no news of your former betrothed. For all you knew, Luthor Tyrell did not know yet that his bride had been claimed by the second son of King Viserys.

And claimed you, he did.

Something magical happened in the gardens that night. Your first time was driven by undeniable lust. When he took you against the wall, it was a desperate need. But in the tall grass under the stars? It was pure love. Unconditional, indisputable and passionate love.

Nothing held you back. No guard to spy on you. No one to whisk you away from him. When your passion reached its limit, you screamed his name knowing absolutely no one would hear you but him. You had never felt so free and so loved.

Truth be told, you could not bear to spend time away from each other. You still trained in the morning. Although, you sometimes hid in the armory to indulge in a heated moment after, mostly involving you “yielding” and putting your smart mouth to good use. At midday, you shared a meal outside in the gardens. Which often resulted in Aemond feasting on… something else entirely. In the evening, you still took joy in reading in the library. Except showing up in your best nightgown became mandatory now. The room was always awfully cold… and so was the desk when Aemond would bend you over it and sink into you until pleasure won you over. He sure knew how to warm you up nicely and efficiently. Nobody ever tended to the fire in the library. 

But mostly, when you asked to claim his nights, he took you very seriously. And Aemond Targaryen was a very dutiful man.

Every night, he bribed your guards, slipped in your chambers and climbed into your bed. Since your stay in the Stormlands, not a single night was spent without his strong arms holding you close and his scorching heat keeping you warm all through the night. Every morning, he left before the first light to be found “asleep” in his own chambers. 

The more intimacy you shared, the more things you noticed he loved doing for you… or to you.

He loved burying his head in the crook of your neck to smell your heated skin…  He loved the sounds you made when you fell apart on his tongue… He loved how you trashed and clawed at him when he did not slow down after you climaxed and overstimulated all your senses until you came a few more times, leaving you an utter breathless, babbling and squirming mess… 

But more than anything, he loved caressing every part of your body he could reach after you made love. When you had no energy left and laid down in damp bed sheets, his hands would roam freely on your skin, drawing idle figures and waking every nerve in your body. He did it so often you found yourself daydreaming about his beautiful hands brushing your arms.

However much you liked it, you soon found out something was amiss.

Aemond wanted to train in hand-to-hand combat again. Your septa told you many times over how “wildly inappropriate” it was, but you did not care as it often resulted in one of you sitting on the other’s lap. You sometimes felt the envious gaze of other knights standing around, but paid no mind. Aemond, on the other hand, minded with every fiber of his being. He was very protective of you, even more so since you were his.

Still, hand-to-hand combat was fun, but you loved sparring with swords and daggers too much. You insisted on it that morning in fact. You did not know why, but your prince was not quite himself. He went easy on you, whereas he showed you no mercy usually.

“Bit tired, my prince? Didn’t get enough sleep last night?” you quipped, trying to rile him up. You had, in fact, kept him quite busy.

You heard a few giggles coming from the knights nearby and Aemond scowled at them. He threw another limp jab at your left with his sword and you knew something was bothering him. There was always something when he kept silent like that. “Attack me, Aemond!”

He exhaled, spinning the handle of his sword in his hand. He seemed to regain his usual strength. His sword came down hard on yours. You dodged and danced, trying to get to his blindside, but he would turn around and stop your blow in a loud clang of steel.

You tried again and this time, you felt his sword slicing into your forearm, though your training gear. You winced at the hot white pain that shot through you, tears welling up in your eyes instantly.

His sword went flying to the ground. He was all over you, holding your arm and putting pressure on the wound, making you cry out at the instant jolt of pain. He ordered Sir Cristen to go fetch Maester Mellos immediately whilst he took you to the armory. Aemond got everybody out and made you sit on a large wooden table right before he settled on a bench in front of you. He did not say a single thing during the whole process. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you reassured him, your other hand coming to brush some of his hair away from his face. He unbuttoned your tunic before you could say anything else. He tore up the sleeve of the white shift you had underneath to both see the wound and somewhat preserve your modesty.

“Aemond! You owe me three shirts now!” You reproached him, annoyed yet amused, trying to calm him down but he looked absolutely panicked. “I swear I’m okay–”

“I'm so deeply sorry. Please forgive me,” he begged, using the remains of your sleeve to soak up the blood.

“It’s just a cut, it’s not even that ba–”

“No it’s not!” he insisted.

He would not look you in the eyes. He only ever looked at your forearm bleeding through the cloth.

“Why? What do you mean?” Were you missing something? You grabbed both his arms but he untangled himself immediately and put pressure on your wound again.

“Your arms,” he blurted out, mortified.

You observed the bloodied cloth. Well, it was indeed a deep cut. Not the worst you have ever had, but nothing that would kill you before sundown. “I mean, yes I’ll probably have to get it sewn but it’s not life threatening. It’s almost not bleeding anymore.”

He hummed low, as if it was somehow an answer.

“I have been training with the sword almost everyday for years with you, of course I’m bound to have some scars to show for it.”

Then you get it. The scars.

You had small scars everywhere. Scars he gave you. They are not very visible but if someone were to see you up close— naked, for instance— of course they would notice. It dawned on you that when he traced figures on your arms, he was focusing on every little scar under the pad of his fingers. You thought he simply liked seeing the goosebumps spreading on your skin.

“Do you resent me for it?” he asked seriously.

Everything snapped into place in your head. He feared you held a grudge against him, like the one he held still against Prince Lucerys. It occurred to you that he probably hated himself for it everytime he laid his eye upon them. 

“Have I ever given you that impression?” you asked, guiding his answer.

He stayed silent, but you now worried it was out of embarrassment.

“I hold you no grudges, I just don’t care, Aemond,” you comforted him, caressing his cheek. He hummed again but did not say anything else. You got down from the table and embraced him. His fingers traced a small line on your shoulder.

It must have been difficult for him to even comprehend how you could possibly not care. Not when all his life revolved around one scar on his face. He regained his voice after a while.

“I just hate that I gave them to you.”

“You act as if the line across your left ribs isn’t from one of my daggers. Do you resent me for it?”

“...No.” he admitted.

“Because you know I would never hurt you intentionally. Same for you with me.”

Maester Mellos indeed confirmed it was not a bad cut. Aemond insisted on sewing it himself anyway, always making sure the pain was bearable as you refused milk of the poppy for such a minor affliction. As with everything that Aemond did, he was very meticulous and precise. Nothing short of perfect. He had practice, after all.

Since Drifmark, Aemond refused to let anyone tend to his wounds but himself. You knew he resented Prince Lucerys for his eye, but the tension between families made him believe Lord Corly’s maester purposefully sewed the wound badly. The long jagged scar forever a bitter reminder of the cost of claiming the biggest dragon in the world.

Aemond insisted you rested for the rest of the day, which was ludicrous. You however agreed to go hide in the garden to read all day in the tall grass. He even stole candied plums from the kitchen for the occasion.

Five days before

Reader

Someone must have spied on you being improper because double the guards– the Queen’s guards–  suddenly followed you around. As you trained. As you walked in the garden. Even as you read in the library. 

It was not as much of a problem in the afternoon since it was the only time you spent apart and guards strangely left you alone. Aemond had his duties to the crown and his dragon to tend to. You still had lessons with your septa or you helped the realm by serving wine to a council made entirely out of rich men who appeared to care only for their own rich men’s needs. You thought they only came for the fine dornish wine you served, at one point. Still no news of your betrothed for a day, Luthor Tyrell, as well.

You spent time with Princess Helaena as well. More and more each day lately. She was in fact a very charming and helpful person. Aemond usually found you in her company when he fetched you later in the afternoons.

But the guards following you around were getting on his last nerve. That evening, in the library, they stood tall at the entrance. They looked away from you since, again, you were dressed very inappropriately, only sporting your blue silk nightgown adorned with pearls and silver beads as well as the necklace Aemond gave you long ago.

“100 gold dragons for each of you if you leave my betrothed and I alone until the wedding and not tell my mother.” Aemond snapped. The guards exchanged a quick look, bowed and left.

“They were only here to make sure we act properly before the wedding. I’m positively baffled you dismissed them. It is most improper. I’m afraid I’m a terrible influence, my prince.”

“I just want to be alone with you, like we always have been in here. Is it too much to ask? And I have to read these, as a matter of fact.” he complained, pointing at various scrolls and books in front of him. 

While he went through an impressive pile of scrolls, you read a book Halaena recommended to you and scribbled away on your papers. You had indeed something important to read too… but you were distracted.

So distracted.

You spied his fingers thrumming in a steady beat on the desk. His perfect hands grazed his parchment, letting it fall on the desk while he grabbed a quill to strike down a note. The pad of his index finger then wandered on the words of an ancient book, gliding smoothly across the paper. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as you imagined these fingers on you. Or in you.

Lost in your fantasies, you jumped when one of his fingers unexpectedly pointed at you.

“Why are you always looking at my hands?” inquired Aemond, his eye narrowing, ever the suspicious mind.

“What could you possibly mean?” you say, shifting in your seat, putting your quill down and opening a book on the fauna of Westeros’s southern lands. His eyes bored intensely into yours, a smirk on his lips.

…and your attention strayed again.

He stroked the binding of his book with the back of his hand. Then he traced idle figures on the cover. He pinched a corner and small veins popped out as his fingers flexed. 

“You say I not so subtly ogle at your bosom, but you staring at my hands this very moment is on the verge of being outrageous, my lady.”

“I won’t apologize,” you answered, standing up and closing your book. He stood too. What a proper gentleman, so well mannered. You walked around the desk and stopped before him. “You have beautiful hands.”

He watched studiously as you grabbed his right hand. You held it gently, caressing the back with your thumb. He mirrored you and you watched his veins and nerves come into sight as he flexed his thumb, caressing your palm in return.

“I think you lust after my hands,” he murmured.

You brought it to your lips and started kissing every knuckles… while your other hand grabbed the belt of your nightgown. “Mayhaps I do…”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked down as you fumbled with your garment, then glanced around nervously, making sure there were no other witnesses.

Under his burning gaze, you slowly parted the silky fabric and revealed your naked form to him. You stopped kissing his fingers and brought them to your breasts. He squeezed the plump flesh instinctively. You sighed quietly.

Then you guided his hand down your torso. He exhaled loudly.

Next, you tugged his hand down to your belly. He felt goosebumps rising on your skin.

At last, you brought his fingers to your wet folds and he immediately pushed you backward until you were pinned against a bookshelf. You gasped as your back crashed against the old books and dust fell on you.

He captured your lips before you could make more noise. You gripped his broad shoulders while he pressed his whole body to yours. His fingers already going in and out of you, his thumb gently circled your twitching bud while you mewled in his ear.

He grabbed the hair at the nape of your neck and tugged it back to have better access. He kissed and licked your skin like a starved man while your hips rocked on their own. You ground into his hand, seeking more friction. He pushed down the heel of it and upped the speed, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing through the room.

His fingers were merciless as he took you higher and higher, savoring the sight of your face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Were you imagining my hands when you touched yourself at night?” he breathed arrogantly in your ear.

“Every time,” you panted. 

“Good,” he said. Then his eye darkened as he whispered in your open mouth: “I won’t stop until your legs shake.”

Oh gods.

He grabbed your neck and squeezed it gently to keep you in place. He felt your walls throbbing around his fingers, your slick soaking his hand and your thighs. You were close and Aemond held your gaze until your eyes rolled back in your head. Your muscles wound tighter and tighter until you cried out as your climax hit you like wildfire, burning through your veins and ravaging your every limbs.

You curled your fingers tight into his tunic and groaned helplessly against his chest. Your thighs clenched on his hand as though you were trapping it against your cunt. 

He fucked you through your orgasm with his fine fingers as you whole body convulsed uncontrollably. Face flushing, back arching, you braced yourself on his shoulder as you slowly came down from your high.

But he did not falter.

He kept going, ruthlessly pleasuring you and bringing you right back to the edge, your feverish moans music to his ears.

Keening in his tight embrace, you bit your bottom lip to stop you from wailing even louder when another climax hit you like a lightning strike. You were overwhelmed, kept mindless with ecstasy from his fingers still plunging into your cunt.

Aemond loved to see you come, whether it was on his hand, his tongue or his cock. Seeing you enjoy his body and praising his every move was what kept him going everytime. And he knew you could take it.

Amidst the euphoria, his lips crashed onto yours and coaxed fiery kisses from you. You writhed against his strong body, shuddering painfully and almost trying to twist yourself away as he drew yet another release out of you.

Barely breathing, practically weeping, the overstimulation left you a twitching mess when he finally slowed down his assault on your cunt.

When the pleasure finally faded, you collapsed on him, your body ridiculously limp. You felt him gently pulling his fingers out of your soaked core, and could not help the high-pitched sound that got drawn out of your mouth. He held you up in his arms while your whole body quivered still, kissing you everywhere on your face.

“How d’you like my hands just now, hm?” he asked pretentiously.

Unable to form complete sentences yet, you grabbed his prodigious hand and brought it to your lips as an answer. Astonished, he watched you lick his fingers clean before you kissed him so he could taste you on your lips.

“Your turn,” you hushed.

You grabbed his belt. You needed him in your mouth. You needed him now. You wanted to swallow all of him until his long shaft hit the back of your throat and—

« Prince Aemond?” a shaky voice resounded at the entrance of the library. You both froze into place, Aemond’s hands braced on the bookshelf while you were on your knees, fingers wrapped around his hard—

“I– I am here on your mother the Q—Queen’s behalf. You are needed in the c– council chamber.”

Clearly hearing you both panting, the poor valet waited in front of the door, eyes glued on the ceiling. You were mortified.

Aemond snarled when you let go of him. You stood up while he adjusted himself in his trousers as best as he could. He kissed your forehead before he left. You all but covered yourself and ran to your chambers, wholly embarrassed.

At least, when he joined you later that night, you picked up where you left off.

You were solicited more and more everyday regarding the upcoming wedding. Your dress was almost finished, decorations and tables were laid in the great hall, wedding gifts came in from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet something casted a shadow on the merriment.

You knew the lords, ladies, knights and servants of the court always addressed Aemond with the respect a prince is entitled to… but the snickers and the whispers always followed him everywhere. And now they followed you as well.

You were a curiosity. It was strange, considering they saw you together a thousand times before, since you were children. Yet every time you two appeared in public, whether at a feast or in the hallways, you heard the chatter. You heard the jeers. Had they nothing better to do?

One evening, you stopped to greet Lady Beesbury, one of the few ladies you actually enjoyed the company of. You asked how married life treated her. She replied quickly, her gaze darting to Aemond constantly. She left before you could ask any more questions. Aemond pulled your arm and encouraged you to keep walking.

Not quickly enough, for you had time to hear another lady whisper: “Why him? Do you think she’s with child? Poor girl.”

You were astounded. The allegations against your virtue did not bother you in the least, but that being betrothed to Aemond inspired pity? Absolutely preposterous. No one could ever make you feel bad about your betrothed. Furthermore, your dresses were so tight to begin with, where could you possibly be hiding a pregnant belly?

You diffused the tension by addressing Lady Beesbury’s behavior. “Does she think I’m too important for her now that we are betrothed?”

“She was afraid of me. She wanted to get away,” Aemond said quietly, his face unreadable. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologize for simply being you. She is a bad mannered cunt. How could people act like that around you?” you retorted, outraged at her behavior.

“I’m used to it.” he answered, and it hurt to hear.

“Well they can go fuck themselves on spikes at the front gate, for all I care.” you muttered under your breath. He hummed when you expected a chuckle. He usually enjoyed it when you swore like a bravosi sealord.

Aemond

You walked in the gardens, fleeing the people. Aemond did not fear many things in life, but this, this whole interaction, was exactly what scared him the most. You told him that you did not care about the court gossip, the looks, the fake conversations. But in all seriousness, how could you not care?

“Why him? Do you think she’s with child? Poor girl.” one of the ladies had uttered to another. Aemond hoped with all his heart you did not hear that. 

All these people made his life so miserable for years. How could you possibly want to share the burden? To be a target just as much as him? Aemond had agreed to let you in, to let go of his apprehensions and just give in to you. Yet a snarky voice in his head kept saying:

She could change her mind.

It was why he insisted on having the wedding ceremony a fortnight later. At least, it prevented too many people from attending the festivities. Less chances of having second thoughts.

Some part of him flinched at how dishonest it sounded. Like he was tricking you into marriage. But he never wished for something so ardently before in his life. Well, possibly as much as wished for a dragon.

It is not like he was ever worthy of you. A prince, sure he was, but merely a second son with no hope of ever reaching the throne. Or any throne, for that matter. Aegon would get the Hightower family seat with Daeron at his side. Helaena would go wherever the most advantageous marriage would provide her with a castle. Aemond would be left with being a war commander, mayhaps. Probably.

Moreover, he was a damn cripple.

At least, you assured him you did not mind the scars he gave you. The shock when he first saw them at the inn, dozens of small little cuts scattered out across your perfect silky skin. He loathed himself for days after that. And you miraculously held no grudges. How? It seemed so simple.

You both skipped the library and spent the night flying around the city on Vaghar instead. Away from the crowds, he let you ride in front of him this time, his hands roaming freely.

The peace was short however, for that was the moment everything turned into a mess.

A day before

Reader

Your wedding celebrations consisted of a series of events on a two day span. First, a tourney in your honor, then a feast to celebrate the winner. On the second day was the actual ceremony in the eyes of the Seven at the Great Sept of Baelor and a wedding feast. 

To everyone’s surprise, large banners flaunting the Tyrell sigil arrived in Kings Landing that morning. Luthor Tyrell and his entourage showed up for the festivities.

The first things he requested upon his arrival were water for his horse and a private audience with you.

Unluckily, you were already at the jousting grounds. Your family had arrived the day prior, and you wanted to spend time with them.

From Dragonstone came Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and all of Aemond’s nephews and nieces. But most importantly, with them came your brother Harwin.

As the eldest son and heir of House Strong, he represented your family in the tourney and you had to make him promise not to die hours before your wedding. In no way did you doubt his abilities, but he was your dear brother and you missed him terribly already. 

Aemond followed you around but kept relatively quiet. None of them felt comfortable enough to talk extensively if you were not the one driving the conversation. Harwin tried to be the bigger person and asked your prince about his sword masterful crafting. Aemond praised the castle’s blacksmith and complimented your brother’s armor. You had no expectations to begin with, but the small conversation filled you with hope. Aemond certainly tried hard for you.

It almost made you forget how much you hated tourneys. First, women were not allowed to enter. Since you were better than some of the men participating, you thought it was profoundly ridiculous. Secondly, men died in gruesome ways in these tourneys. But mostly, it lasted hours. 

This tourney, however, was held in your honor. For once, your betrothed was celebrated rather than feared. He proudly sat beside you in the royal dais, along both of your families. Everyone looked at you and you felt a little intimidated. You watched as every participant stood in line and bowed. First, there would be sword fighting. Harwin would compete in this portion.

Your father leaned between Aemond and you and said “The first lord on the left is Luthor Tyrell. He arrived unannounced earlier this morning.”

Aemond hummed and stared at him. Studied him. Dissected his every move.

Luthor Tyrell beat every lord that came his way. He was truly impressive, even if you noted some weaknesses. He did not guard his left side enough, he underestimated smaller opponents and took a couple blows in the ribs. Ultimately, your brother Harwin all but smashed his shield in half and pinned him down in the dirt. Bested, Luthor yielded and Harwin won. Aemond smirked at the sight and, to your surprise, applauded your brother. 

Then the joust followed.

You finally had a closer look at your former betrothed. He was indeed a handsome young man, a couple years older than you at least. He was tall. He had tousled light brown hair, pale blue eyes and perfect teeth. He looked exactly like you imagined. You knew why your father chose him in the first place. He was the perfect young lord and heir of the Reach.

And he was approaching you, tall on his white horse, holding a lance.

“Your graces,” he beamed, bowing to the royal family. “My lady Strong, let me introduce myself. Sir Luthor Tyrell. I now see that you are indeed the fair maiden my father described you to be. I come to ask for your favor. It would be a small kindness since our betrothal fell through, don’t you agree my lady?” 

The whole crowd seemed to go wild with chatter. Aemond, quietly seething by your side, was astonished by the man’s audacity. As much as you did not want to give it to him, withholding your favor is considered extremely rude. Ladies of the court are basically forced to give them to whoever dares ask.

You stood up, grabbed your small wreath of blue ribbons and let it fall down his lance. He thanked you and went to stand on the left side of the jousting grounds.

“Cunt.” Aemond uttered hoarsely. You tittered, grabbing his hand.

The crowd fervently cheered and cheered as Luthor won every round. He had perfect technique. To Aemond’s displeasure, he knocked the last knight to the ground, and won the tourney.

Luthor bowed as Aemond handed him a dragon shaped trophy made out of pure gold. When you congratulated him, he turned to you.

“It was indisputably your favors that got me through this tournament, my lady Strong. Faith knows best, as I often say.” he bowed and kissed your hand under Aemond's watchful eye.

You could not quite put your finger on it, but every time that man opened his mouth, something felt odd.

Soon enough, everybody gathered in the great hall for the feast. Aemond usually loathed these kinds of events but attended anyway, for his family’s sake and yours. He made small talk with lords and ladies but you knew he hated every second of it. Especially since the talk of the town was your former betrothed showing up and winning the tourney held in your honor. The very feast you attended now celebrated his victory.

You made it your mission to distract Aemond all night. Your hands would wander when you danced. You would whisper filthy promises involving your wedding night. You ate fruits in a suggestive manner when no one but him looked.

“Behave, y/n.” he murmured, sliding his hand to your inner thigh under the table. “Or I’ll make you.”

His “threats” usually did nothing to calm you down, though. All was well… that is, until Luthor Tyrell approached the royal table and went straight to you.

“Your graces,” he enthused, addressing the most important people in the Seven Kingdoms before his eyes fell on you again. “May I offer my congratulations on your imminent union. Our paths unfortunately crossed briefly in the grand scheme of things, but would you consider giving one dance to a poor jilted lord, my lady?”

You felt Aemond stiffen beside you. He stared at you, curious to see if you were considering it. Even if you were betrothed to a prince, you had to accept. Now was not the time to ruin political alliances over a dance. As much as he hated it, Aemond knew that. You squeezed his hand still gripping your inner thigh, asking him to let go of you. He did, reluctantly.

Unsurprisingly, Luthor Tyrell was a fine dancer. The man really was perfect. He smiled and greeted every lord who crossed your path and complimented you on everything, from your dress to the flowers in your hair. Then he asked about your family’s well being. Your lands, your court. He talked of how much of a catch you were.

You knew you had a substantial dowry, but you had no claim to anything else. Luthor went on, praising how Harrenhall was the only castle that matched his equally grand castle at Highgarden.

You started to feel unsure about where this conversation was going.

“Highgarden sounds wonderful, my lord.” you commented casually.

“It is. Certainly better than King’s Landing, if I may say so… The only thing it is missing is a lady, actually.”, he flirted, startling you. “Lady Strong, I hope you will forgive my boldness, but I cannot simply watch you wasting away your life chained to this court.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord?”

Shocked was the word.

“What does the prince have to offer you? I would give you the Reach, my lady. I’m an heir to my father’s title. I’m offering you a comfortable life in a better castle with extensive gardens, lands stretching to deep turquoise waters, armies to keep you safe from our enemies. I’m offering myself to you as well. I’m a skilled warrior, obviously, but also a dancer, a poet and a musician. Furthermore, I’m told I’m unmatched when it comes to… pleasuring a lady.” he bragged shamelessly, his hand pressing the small of your waist.

You felt sick to your stomach. “This is how you court ladies, Lord Tyrell? On the eve of their wedding, talking about the women you bedded before?”

“I’m sure the prince can be a charming person despite his… interesting appearance, but you shouldn’t throw your beauty and life away for a man like that. I have it all. Wealth, a castle, lands… eyes.”

And there it was. A beautiful face hiding the most disgusting man you had ever had the displeasure of encountering.

Pulling away, you declared: “I’m not quite well, my lord, please excuse me.” You could not bear to spend one second more in company of this horrible excuse of a man.

“The song is not finished my lady, it would be rude to leave.” he urged with a big smile but a menacing tone.

From the beginning, this man used bigoted social conventions to coax you into giving him your favor at the tourney, dancing with him at this ball and now holding you hostage until the musicians ended their song.

Well, fuck courtesy. To the seven hells with propriety. Abandoning him in front of the whole court seemed like the perfect thing to do.

You pulled away again, but he grabbed your arm and forced you to stay with him. 

Your reflexes from all your hand-to-hand combat lessons with Aemond kicked in and in one swift move, you were the one holding his arm at an odd angle. In your other hand, you held your dagger retrieved from your sleeve, pointing right at his left ribs. You had ample time to observe his weaknesses at the tourney, after all.

“You’ve come here under false pretenses, my lord. Leave for the Reach at first light and my father will never know the treasonous words you spoke here today or the real motive of your visit.” you threatened. He squirmed and you pushed your dagger a little more into his tunic, almost cutting through it. “That is all you will ever get from me. And from what I gather, you do not deserve this kindness.”

He stepped away from you and brushed his clothes with the back of his hand. He put on a smile. A smile you now knew was fake. Reeking of malignance, his last words were quiet so only you could hear them. “Enjoy being a cripple’s whore.”

And he left. 

So perfect, so charming, you thought. And you almost married that perfidious swine, for gods’ sake.

You went to stand close to Aemond on the outskirts of the hall, seeking his ever calm and collected nature. By some miracle, he did not witness this mess. You knew that if he had, Luthor Tyrell would be a fuming pile of ashes by now. He deserved it, to be fair.

No, Aemond was simply exchanging some words with his older brother, already drunk on ale and wine.

You hooked your arm in his and rested your cheek against his shoulder, his warmth comforting you. You observed the lord and ladies dance, letting the merry mood seeping into you again, determined not to let an insignificant man’s words ruin your night.

You tugged on Aemond’s arm so he would turn to you, and you played your little game one last time. Being sneaky was no longer necessary, you thought.

You reached for his neck, tilted your head and kissed him quickly, in the middle of the great hall.  Surprised, he looked around at all the people watching. You almost regretted it, remembering all too late how he hated being the center of attention… But he kissed you back regardless. He even lingered a bit longer before returning to his conversation with Prince Aegon.

It definitely cheered you up… for a time.

Shortly after this joyful moment, you overheard a conversation coming from the other side of the pillar beside you.

“Luthor Tyrell is so handsome. She turned him down for the one-eyed prince, can you believe it?” a lady blurted, and your eyes could not have rolled harder. 

“The prince has no prospect, at least 10 people have to die for him to be on the throne. What a twat she is.” another lady added as you choke on your wine.

Aemond got somewhat used to the same comments throughout the years. But never had you heard things so mean said about you in such a short time.

“He scares me, frankly. Imagine him hovering over you in bed. So up close. Ugh, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I could ask my maid.” a third lady confided. “I know the prince seeks her out for a good fuck from time to time.”

“She would have been better off with one of the crowned princes.”

“She can’t marry one of them. They are her nephews!”

“Shhh, quiet! People have lost their head for saying that.”

Again, people slandered your brother, questioned his honor and speculated about him being the true father of the crown princes.

You realized Aemond was not talking with Prince Aegon anymore and listened to the same horrible conversation as you. He yanked on your arm and hauled you into the hallway before you could unleash your wrath on them.

You went to a balcony and breathed in the fresh air coming from the coast. It was a cloudless night again and the stars shined bright. The silence felt good. 

You observed a bunch of lords walk drunkenly in the gardens only to stop in front of the pond to relieve themselves. These are the fine men presiding over this kingdom, you thought. Very distinguished, You thought. You promised yourself to never again fantasize about Aemond taking you amidst the beautiful water lilies. 

“She had a point.” Aemond conceded, recalling the frightful gossip you heard. 

“That was the most idiotic and insensitive conversation I’ve ever had the displeasure of eavesdropping.”

“Luthor Tyrell has everything. I have nothing to give you.” he uttered, sincerely.

“I have never heard so much nonsense. You have the biggest dragon in the fucking world, Aemond. Not that it matters anyway. You are enough. When have I asked for anything more?”

He opened his mouth but then pressed his lips in a thin line.

Now was not the time to be bereft of speech. “What is it?” you coaxed.

“This is what I meant… the mockery.”

“I can take it. I told you, I’m a strong lady.” you tried to jest, but it came out too abrasive.

“Your eyes are glassy.” Aemond stated.

“Yes, because the words were harsh, it caught me off guard!”

“It will never stop. I don’t want to see you tormented all the time.”

“I won’t have this conversation again.” you finished, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Aemond went mute once more, but you were used to it by now. Difficult conversation usually ended up in silence on his part, anyway. He always tiptoed around you, carefully choosing his words not to upset you. Admirable, yes, but insufferable sometimes. “My apologies, I didn't mean to sound harsh.” you spoke softly.

He hummed.

You went back to the ball and joined the royal family. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra spoke with the King and Prince Daemon. Their children were dancing and enjoying their night. 

Words from the ladies of the court about the crowned princes still floated around in your mind, though. It had for years, if you were honest with yourself. This is when you looked… Really looked…You watched… you observed… and finally…

…you believed it.

Aemond

The night was a disaster. After you went back to stand at the head of the royal table, Aemond noticed how quiet you were. And you were never quiet. Your eyes were locked on your brother. He drank wine and exchanged pleasantries with Jacaerys and Lucerys as young Joffrey looked bored. That is when you murmured to him: 

“You were right…”

“As I so often am,” Aemond jested, trying to lighten the mood. “But what are you talking about, my love?”

You inhaled deeply. “They look like my brother… They look like me.”

“Y/n— »

“They took your eye for that, and you were speaking the truth. I’m so sorry, Aemond.”

He held you in his arms and felt somewhat conflicted. Years had passed, but one thing had remained. You were adamant in defending your brother. He could not blame you, he would have done the same for any of his siblings, even Aegon. Yet seeing you acknowledging the truth he dared spoke about his nephews– and cost him an eye– did not give him the satisfaction he thought he would get out of it. You fully believed him now, but the revelation was disconcerting nonetheless. You obviously felt guilty.

You asked to retire to your chambers. Half of the royal family had already left, anyway.

It was the only night Aemond had to sleep without you by his side. It was bad luck, his mother claimed. He kissed you goodnight after he walked you to your door.

But as he walked to his own chambers, he promptly turned around and went right back to you. He knew that tonight of all nights, you needed comfort. He needed to make sure you were alright. He needed to know if you were okay after your revelation about your brother… He needed to be certain the gossip did not affect you that much… He needed to be sure that Luthor Tyrell was not a threat with his perfect smile and all that.

He could not chase away the thought of you not showing up the following day, leaving him completely humiliated at the altar in the Great Sept of Baelor. 

He knew you would never do this to him, but he thought about it nevertheless. The voice in his head repeated the vile words again. She could change her mind.

And here you were…

Aemond

You stood in front of him, wearing a hood and taking off like a thief in the night.

Aemond scrambled for his words, but you would listen to what he had to say, even if it resulted in you leaving him. “I knew it would be hard for you. I knew that people would be cruel and I warned you. But you convinced me that you didn’t care. You said that they could go fuck themselves on spikes at the front gate.”

You chuckled, but it only added to Aemond’s heartbreak.

“You promised me. You said that you wanted me. I told you I was yours. You promised.” he scowled.

He tried to say more but words would not come out. And he knew how you hated it when he kept silent but he feared he was about to say things he did not mean. Angry words cost him an eye once. 

“You are everything to me. You are the strength I need to go on about my day. You are the courage I aspire to with your bold words and actions. You are the wisdom I seek when people of the court get on my last nerve… And the ladies were right. ‘Tis true. I don’t have a castle of my own. I don’t have lands. I don’t have armies or even a court that loves me. My father is King yet I don’t believe he ever cared enough about me to give me any of that. I have nothing to offer you but my complete devotion, but it is not enough, is it?”

By the time he finished, silent tears were falling down your cheeks.

“…You really think I’m leaving, don’t you?” you bemoaned.

The world stopped. He was still angry but his eye narrowed at you. “...are you not?”

“Seven fucking hells, Aemond,” you swore, wiping the tears off of your cheeks.

Aemond never felt so confused. Your words somewhat reassured him, but he needed confirmation in plain words regardless. “Just answer me. Are you leaving?”

Reader

“No, I’m not leaving!” You huffed, and you saw his shoulders relax, relieved from whatever was going on inside his head. You could not believe it. He still doubted you.

One of his hands fiddled at the lapels of your hood, silently asking what it was for. Well, at least, he saved you the trip to his chambers.

“We are leaving, actually.”

The clarity Aemond got for half a second was smothered into confusion again. You handed him a hood, took his hand and lured him to a hidden door on the back wall of your chambers. 

He followed you in dark corridors littered with dirt and dead rat carcasses. You emerged behind a tapestry somewhere in the west wing. “Do you mean to tell me I’ve been bribing the guards for the last two weeks when there was a door leading straight to your bed?”

“I didn’t know. My brother told me about it only yesterday.” Your chambers were Princess Rhaenyra’s, before she left for Dragonstone. Of course your brother would know of this passage, but Aemond refrained from commenting on it and you appreciated that.

You lead him through the mudgate. “Want to leave on an adventure at this hour? Are we eloping, my lady?” he asked, following you diligently all the way to the beach, near Vaghar’s nest.

He saw dragon keepers guarding her and a small gathering of people beside a fire. Instinctively, Aemond reached for his sword but you grabbed his hand before he could draw it.

Slowly he recognized some faces. Healena was there. Your brother Harwin too. You were sure that at this moment, Aemond’s mind was racing as he imagined a hundred wild scenarios involving his dear sister being secretly in love with the man too. The last man, Aemond did not know.

“Your grace, my lady.” he rejoiced, bowing.

You let go of his hand and took off your hood. He watched you grab the necklace in one of the pockets and put it on. Tendrils of your hair blew everywhere with the sea wind, almost like the flames of the grand fire burning beside you.

You reached again in your pockets and grabbed a crumpled paper… and a small blade of dragonglass.

It dawned on Aemond that…you were never running away.

This was a Valyrian wedding.

You beamed at him. He was silent but not by fear. He was truly and utterly in shock.

“I wouldn't have changed my mind. Not ever.” You said. “We would have waited a fortnight, two moons or twelve, that I wouldn’t have changed my mind. I want you. And you are enough. Take off your hood.”

“If you would please take place, facing each other, we will begin.”

Aemond appeared weary. You, on the other hand, had the brightest smile he had ever seen. He watched as you glanced down at the piece of paper and tried your best. “Aemond… konīr issi daor isse iā Valyrīha dīn— dīnil— dīnilūks. Nyke sepār jeldan na— naejot urnēptre hen mirrī angotan.” you stammered. There are no vows in a Valyrian ceremony. I just wanted to show off a little bit.

His eye was the widest you had ever seen. He stared at you as if you were a goddess and you felt how much he loved you at this very moment.

“Avy jorrā— jorrāelan, se kesan sagon on— ondoso aōha paktot ēva aōha mōrī tubis”. I love you, and I will be by your side until your last day. “Well I hope that made sense, because it is all I could learn in a fortnight.”

Helaena clapped enthusiastically behind you. When you asked for her help, she spent every afternoon teaching you the basics before Aemond came to fetch you. She even gave you small assignments to do later in the library. For once, your septa approved of your doings. 

You kept your eyes on him. He was still silent, but you knew it was because he was overwhelmed. He kept blinking, his eye getting red with emotion.

He reached for his eye patch and took it off, baring himself in front of you and the others. That in itself, meant the world to you.

You took the dragonglass and brought it slowly to his lip. You waited for some kind of reaction. It was the part you feared the most. Aemond had enough blades cutting his face for a lifetime and beyond. He nodded and you made a small cut in the middle of his bottom lip. Still looking at you, he frowned when you put the blade in his hand and waited for him to do the same to you.

“It’s okay,” you mouthed quietly. He raised his hand and made the smallest cut he could possibly make on your lower lip. Even if you were okay with the scars everywhere on your body, he obviously did not wish to add more.

You both traced the Valyrian symbols on your forehead. Aemond only looked away when he cut the palm of his hand and let you do the same.

He could not believe you were doing this. Just for him. He felt foolish for ever believing you would leave.

Holding each other's bloody hand, the priest went on with his ancient text. You could not decipher a single word for your life, but you knew the gist of it. When the priest stopped and backed off from the makeshift altar made of random rocks on the beach, you jumped forward, grabbed Aemond by the neck, and brought your lips to his in a fiery, bloody kiss. He circled his arms around you immediately and you felt his hands fondling your back and waist.

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear. “Avy jorrāelan,” you answered back. “That was an easy one. It was about time I learned the language.”

After the secret ceremony, Aemond brought you to his chambers for the first time. He had already bribed the guards anyway. For once, you would be the one sneaking away to your chambers before sunrise. Or not, since you were legally lord husband and lady wife. In the old fate, anyway. 

As soon as you entered, you inhaled profoundly. The whole room smelled of him, of his wonderful amber and sandalwood scent. An oil for his hair, apparently. You spied the bottle beside his looking glass.

There was a simple luxury to his chambers. A fire already burned brightly in the hearth. Gold details, flowy red curtains flanking his windows, shelves and shelves of books and a large wooden canopy bed covered in pillows and blankets.

He stripped down from his hood, sword and knife but your attention drifted elsewhere. You noticed something familiar. You went to his bed to have a better look at the torn piece of white linen fabric dangling from his headboard. It had little flowers embroidered on it.

“Is that…?” “Yes. I kept it.” he confessed as you recognized the remains of your white shift. The one you thought he threw in the fire at the inn. “It smelled like you.” he explained, coming up to stand behind you.

He grabbed a strap from your dress and tugged it, the fabric making a small hesitating sound and you grabbed his hand immediately.

“Aemond Targaryen, if you rip my Valyrian wedding dress, I swear to the old gods and the new—” He chuckled, but then delicately slid the straps down your shoulders. The dress fell down to the floor and pooled at your feet. You wore nothing underneath.

Towering over you, he guided you to his bed but you raised a hand to stop him.

“Hm hm, no. Take off your clothes first.” you demanded. Surprised, he smirked but agreed to your demand.

You were bold and daring in your everyday life, but when it came to your intimacy, you usually let Aemond have it his way. You loved surrendering all control and let him ravish you thoroughly, but that was not your plan for the night.

He would have the wedding night. You, however, would have this night.

While he unclasped his dark leathered tunic, you threw the pillows and blankets in front of the fire. Aemond kept undressing as you made a cozy little bed on the floor. 

When you turned around, Aemond waited for you, stark naked, his manhood already hard, screaming to be taken care of by you. He approached you again, but you stopped him once more.

“No. This is my night.” you said. “Let me.”

You went to him, angled your head and captured his lips in one searing kiss. He hummed into your mouth while your hands freed his hair that was still tied at the back of his head.

“What? I can’t touch my wife?”

Now that formal title, he would use without jesting. You would insist on it.

His hands found your waist and you let him caress your shivering skin while you made him walk backwards to the makeshift mattress you built out of blankets.

He laid down slowly, looking up at you like you were a goddess. The fire crackled soundly in the stone fireplace, heating both your bodies. You straddled him, caressing his chest and relishing in the sight of him under you. His fingers thrummed on your thighs and you were distracted for a moment. He looked at you with a malicious smile. Damn him and his hands.

“No touching, husband. Not until you listen to me”

“Hm?”

He was aroused and confused, his cock keenly digging into your lower stomach. Unfortunately for him, you would make him wait a little more. 

You desperately wanted to lay down on him. You wanted to feel his whole body under yours. You wanted to kiss him passionately while you rocked your hips. But what you wanted the most tonight, was to worship him. Aemond thought you were leaving him. He thought you would change your mind. He thought he was not enough.

You would prove him wrong.

You dragged him to a Valyrian wedding, for gods’ sake. The ceremony was secretly planned since you got back from the Stormlands. Your brother Harwin came from Dragonstone with the priest, even. You studied High Valyrian everyday, only practicing speech when tucked far away in the gardens with Princess Helaena.

“Nothing would have changed my mind, Aemond.”

You locked eyes for a moment. His gaze was burning, his eye darkening by the minute. He refrained from moving except for his damn fingers tracing idle figures on your thighs.

“I know that now.” he answered, trying to avoid the conversation by flexing his fingers on your legs and diverting your attention. He knew you well.

“If I have to tell you one more time that I’m serious when I say that I want you, Aemond Targaryen… I married you tonight, have I not?”

He nodded solemnly and you laid down on his chest to kiss him again. His lips were hot and soft, and he flinched as the small cut you made there cracked open. Your tongue flickered against his, slipping between his lips and tasting him eagerly. Your arms circled his head and tugged at the tie holding back his hair. It was wavy from the humid coastal air on the beach. You loved when that happened.

He rocked his hips into yours instinctively, but you stopped kissing him immediately. You shook your head. He nodded, understanding your silent demand.

Then you got off of him and he protested loudly.

“Where are you goin—” he began… except when he saw you pulling all your hair in a bunch with his hair tie, he kept silent again. That temper of his, sometimes.

He subtly moved one of his hands so it stayed limply against your leg. Like you would not notice him desperately trying to touch you. 

You kneeled between his legs, braced yourself on his hips and kissed the tip of his cock. He gasped and closed his eye. You ran your tongue across the slit and his head instantly fell back into a pillow. 

You rolled your tongue over his tip and sucked every drop of his seed that already pooled there. He hissed, fisting the blankets already.

You licked from the base and he throbbed against your tongue. Then he cursed as you took all of him in your mouth at once.

His tip bumped against the back of your throat. You tried your best not to gag as tears formed in the corners of your eyes. He raised his head to watch you. Not breaking eye contact, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft. He groaned every time the tip brushed the velvety walls of your throat. 

You rubbed your thighs together, seeking any kind of friction to ease the pressure building in you. You circled your clit with one of your hands, even if it was still sore from the fresh cut during the ceremony. You moaned loudly and the vibrations had him whimpering.

His balls tightened, and release gathered in his spine. His hands went instinctively to your head, his fingers rummaging through your hair, pulling it when you swiftly quickened your pace. He shivered and you knew he was utterly at your mercy. He cried out and his grip tightened on your neck, forcing you to stop your sweet torture.

“This is a wedding night. If I come, it is between your legs, not in your mouth. Come here.” he demanded angrily, sitting and trying to grab you.

“No. You have done enough.” you stopped him, using his own words against him. You all but repeated what he told you at the inn during the storm. “You have been insufferable, my prince.”

You pushed him flat on his back without preamble, settled your hips over his, and slowly sank down onto his length. Inch by inch, your cunt swallowed him whole.

Eye wide, a plethora of curses fell from his mouth. He grabbed your hips to hold you still while you braced yourself on his chest, wincing a bit from the pain in your right hand’s palm. You panted already, the coil in your belly almost hurting, begging for release. But you looked him in the eye and made sure he understood you. 

“You. Thought. I. Was. Leaving.” you said, rocking your hips with each of your words for emphasis. You ride him hard, taking no prisoners. Mayhaps it was the position, but you swore you never felt him this deep before. His mouth fell open at the overwhelming feeling and he growled.

“You. Are. Enough.” you sighed as his cock brushed your sweet spot repeatedly, his pelvis brushing against your clit as well. You arched your back, already feeling pleasure taking over you.

For a moment, neither of you uttered a single word. You noticed how the bandage around your hand came undone and how you smeared blood all over his chest.

Well, fire and blood, was it not?

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth grinded, his face scrunched as he neared his release. You were on the edge too but your leg muscles slowly gave out, screaming for mercy. Your rhythm faltered and you cursed yourself for skipping leg training during your hand-to-hand combat lessons. Your movement almost came to a halt when he decided to be an arsehole.

“You thought it would be easy to ride a dragon, my love?” he queried arrogantly.

Affronted, you tried to shut him up with a sharp thrust but your calves were no longer cooperating.

“Come here!” Aemond asked again, yanking on your arms so you end up splayed on his chest.

His arms crossed at your back to keep you in place. He looked into your loving eyes and you felt the air leaving your lungs as he began fucking up into you with strong, heavy thrusts. His embrace tightened more as you squirmed on his chest. He instilled a ferocious pace and you cried out as he took the lead, having you mewling in no time.

His hard cock slid against your sensitive wall, making your toes curl and legs quiver. Rubbing your plump breasts up against his chest, you circled his head with your arms, caging him in as your fingers were lost in a sea of silvery white hair.

His muscled arms were like iron around you. Your shaky legs tensed even more and squeezed around his hips while you praised him in his ear.

You did not mind if the whole castle heard you. You moaned as loud as you needed to while he kept thudding that perfect spot deep inside you. Every touch inflamed your very nerves and sparked pleasure through your every limbs.

He was already on edge before you took him inside you, so you noticed the signs of him starting to fall apart. You felt his heart beating wildly against yours, you felt his leg twitch despite the punishing rhythm of his hips having all your attention. Sweat pearled at his temples, tracking down his face and you did not hesitate to lick it all up.

“Don’t just hold me, touch me!” you begged.

“But you said not to, my love,” he teased you and you cursed his whole Targaryen ancestry. Vindictive prick.

“I said touch me!” You insisted, voluntarily contracting your inner muscles to squeeze him so hard he yelped loudly and saw stars momentarily.

One of his hands went to caress every inch of your back, sides and trembling thighs. He captured your lips and muffled your sobs as he battered into you still, gritting his teeth as you held on for dear life. 

“Please!,” you pleaded, trying to pry yourself from his strong embrace, your body starting to spasm as you cried out with every thrust now. «Aemond!»

“I don’t want you begging, I want you screaming.”

Then the feeling started in your toes, burned through your thighs, your belly and your chest until your whole body combusted. You shivered and wailed as you reached your high, almost alarmed at the sheer force it hit you. Hot spasms of pleasure wracked through you, burning you up like wildfire, until your vision blacked out. You screamed his name, your whole body convulsing and shivering.

You collapsed on his chest and felt him kissing your neck. You whined as he rutted into you right through the remainder of your climax, slamming over and over again in your tightness, so tight he almost could not fill you anymore. You clenched around him like a vice, your walls gripping his cock so hard he believed you would swallow him. 

He felt you pulsed and it was too much for him. His release had his whole body shuddering violently, muscles seizing up. His grip tightened even more and you knew you would have bruises all over your back and hips in the morning.

He buried his face in your neck, bellowing as he cummed hard. Warmth spread through your belly as he spilled into you, filling you deep, dripping out of you already.

You ground yourself into him, his twitching cock stroking your walls again, wishing to give him a taste of his own overstimulating ways. He whimpered, his face twisting in agonized pleasure, his hands darting to your hips, desperately trying to stop you from moving but you kept going. Four more thrusts and you went over the edge a second time. 

Eyes closed, you slowly caught your breath. He kissed your neck and bit your ear. You moaned softly as he slid out of you. You still flinched and twitched as your nerves slowly settled down.

When you hoisted yourself up, you noticed the blood smears on his chest. In his hair too. On your bosom and hips as well. You could only imagine what your back looked like. 

Both of your hands bled through the cloth covering them. You were not particularly fond of blood, but with the fire raging beside you, you thought the consummation of this Valyrian union could not have been any better.

“Husband,” you murmured.

“Wife,” he whispered back, smiling, looking at you like if you were a true Targaryen.

That night, you made love again. And again. And again.

Your absence at breakfast was noted. To say the Queen was shocked when she found you was an understatement. You were both naked and asleep in a bloodied mess of blankets and cushions in front of the fireplace. Visibly embarrassed, she looked away as you covered yourself.

She did not approve of you eloping and getting married in a faith that was not her own but understood nonetheless. At least, your virtue would never be questioned now, you thought to yourself, almost laughing.

She convinced you to clean up, get dressed and immediately go to your maids. The ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor was mere hours away.

“I’ll fetch gloves to hide your hands.” she added, before she left Aemond’s chamber.

You were exhausted but there was indeed another ceremony to attend, another feast to endure and a private bedding to have– you both insisted on that one– in the eyes of the Seven, this time. 

At long last, you were lord husband and lady wife.

But that was not all…

Your brother Harwin chose this moment to announce he gave up his title to stay as Lord Commander of Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. Your father thought it was madness but it was Prince Daemon who had asked. There was apparently an understanding between the two men. Ultimately, your father agreed. You understood his reluctance. He spent his life grooming his eldest son to take his rightful place when the time came to it…

But so did he with you.

Your scholar of a father knew the importance of giving both his sons and daughter a thorough education. 

He had you read books from a young age so you were knowledgeable and wise. He had you training in the yard with the boys so you would learn combat, strategy and to defend yourself without any man’s help. He had you live in King's Landing since you were ten of age so you would learn to navigate through high society…And he had you play cupbearer during council meetings so you would know what running a castle– even a kingdom–  entailed.

Suddenly, you were the lady of Harrenhall.

Aemond Targaryen indeed had no castle of his own, no lands and no armies. So when all three came to you, you shared it all with him.

Before the moon turned, and without a second thought, Aemond packed his possessions and left the Red Keep with you on Vaghar’s back. He never looked back, for nobody at Harrenhal would dare speak ill of their Lady and her prince husband.

To your utmost delight, nothing really had to change. You could still train in the morning. You could still do your duties in the afternoon. And you could still spend your evenings in the library. It was your own small realm, with your own rules.

Aemond quickly found solace in his new life and even felt comfortable enough to discard his eye patch once and for all. One evening, you both sat on your balcony, one of Aemond’s hands splayed on your now swelling belly, and you admired the sunset above the calm waters of the Gods Eye. You silently enjoyed the peace and quiet.

You looked at him and with the brightest of smiles, you thought…

I can’t wait to give him the happy life he so deserves.

NEXT: Part 3 (Striving) or see is my Masterlist.

Thank you for reading!

The ending made me cry, not gonna lie. This is how I chose to fix Aemond’s tragic story. This is me trying to fix everything after I read the book lol

What a ride. I did not expect to write nearly 30k words total but hey. I needed it I guess. Poor Alicent, she can’t get a break. Always walking in on her sons being naked and improper 😂 Reader is a strong and daring lady so I injected a bit more girl power in this part. She even kidnapped him into marriage! And invited Vaghar to the ceremony even, what a sweetheart ❤️

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond imagine #aemond one eye x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #hotd

[writerpetals]

before dawn | 🔞

; optional male lead smut |  ☁️

// royal!au, a little angsty

There was no excuse for you to have such strong feelings for the Prince. You were only supposed to be a servant, bound by a contract to do as he wished, and when you agreed to work for the palace under his command, you thought nothing of scrubbing a few floors or washing his linens in return for a place to sleep and a hot meal. However, you never would have guessed in just a matter of months he would become so head over heels that you would have him wrapped around your finger at just a chance to feel your body against his.

“Did anyone spot you entering this wing of the palace?”

Even if it meant sneaking behind backs and hiding behind closed doors in fear of getting caught.

“I’m your servant,” you sigh, from his paranoia as well as his lips against your neck. “If anyone were to spot me, I have a good excuse for being with you.”

“After midnight, though?” The raspiness in his voice as it deepens when he speaks against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, coursing through every inch of your body and only strengthens when his hands find your hips. Lowering to your thighs, he pushes your servant’s attire of a black lace skirt higher up your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your flesh to form well-deserved goosebumps.

Your back pressed to the red, satin bed sheets as he finds comfort between your legs is nothing out of the ordinary, yet both of your worries always seem to rise as thoughts of someone finding out never fail to cross your mind.

“You’re the one that requested me to see you,” you remind him, “even though you have a meeting with your future bride in the morning.”

Sneaking off to see him in his sleeping quarters in the middle of the night is risky enough, yet knowing he is expected to wed a princess from a country close enough to your own makes matters all the more dangerous. However, his dissatisfaction in the arrangement could not be more evident in the way he groans at the reminder between kisses to your jaw.

“They can plan as many marriages for me as they want,” he begins, fingers clutching your thighs while his lips graze your skin to have soft whimpers spilling from your lips, “I’ll never care about them half as much as I care about you. It’s not that princess wishes to marry me, either.”

“Doesn’t matter to them if either of you care or not,” you say, words hitting his ears in a whimper as your fingers clutch his bare shoulders. He always wore too little to bed, making it easy when you decided to sneak in to see him. “You’re the prince. You have duties to fulfill.”

“Maybe so,” he huffs, hinting at the irritation filling him at only having a conversation about it, “but right now all I can think about is you.”

With that, he rolls onto his back, tugging on your waist to pull you closer before you straddle him, a leg on each side, your body pressing to his own.

“If anyone were to find out…” Your words fall short, already having spoken them several times. Fingers brush loose strands of black hair from his eyes while peering down at him, lip bitten, eyes sparkling with desire.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he teases with a smirk of his beautiful, pink lips, causing your heart to beat twice as fast. He’s confident you’ll keep the secret between the two of you, just like you have for months. Just like you always will, because there’s no turning your back on him when you care just as much, and there’s no denying him what he wants, either. “Forget all that. Forget it all and just be with me here, tonight.”

As he speaks, his hands find purchase on your hips to begin guiding you to move. You obey, beginning to press your aching center against his thigh with muscles tensed beneath you. You can feel how on edge he is in his every word and motion, rolling your hips against him as a whimper of his name escapes you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encourages, eyelids fluttering as he raises his hands to tug on the sleeves of your dress. In one, simple motion the thin fabric falls, exposing your bare chest for him to take in with a deep groan. “Beautiful.” He exhales the word, as if it’s the first time he’s laid his eyes on you, even if the two of you lost count long ago.

His name slips from your lips the moment his palms press to your breasts, sensitive nipples hardening beneath his touch as your motions over his thigh increase. You feel yourself growing hot, needy, aroused, dripping into his silk garments even through your panties, making the tension all the more electrifying. “Feels… so-so good.” You can hardly speak, eyes closing, head falling back, jaw slacking and it’s all you can do to keep your moans to a minimum. The fear of getting caught still weighs on your mind, but with your throbbing clit pressing to his thigh as you ride him, the worries diminish faster than they can build.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he groans, thumbs teasing your breasts just to hear you whimper, “come for me.”

At his command, your pace quickens, becoming lost to his voice as the world drowns out around you. Your moans pour from your lips louder than before, but you have a hard time caring as the bliss swells within you. Arousal drips from your slit to coat his flesh beneath you, soaking through fabrics yet the friction remains while the pleasure rises.

With his grip tightening against your body, nails digging into skin to leave crescent-shaped marks of ecstasy, your body trembles against him before doubling over. Hands press to his chest to steady yourself once the pleasure begins to overwhelm you. You call out his name, again and again between desperate whimpers and gasps and moans, thighs tightening around him as you ride out the bliss against him, dripping and coming and you don’t slow your pace until the first wave washes over you, causing you to grow weak.

You relax against him, quivering, whimpering, feeling his arms wrap around your back as you lay chest to chest while trying to regain your strength. He eases you down from your high with slow circles of his fingertips against your skin, lips pressing to your forehead until you gather the energy to raise your head and peer up at him.

“Tired already?” He smirks a moment before easing your body onto the bed next to him, taking it upon himself to return to his position between your still trembling thighs. Gasping, you feel his arousal press to your soaked slit, and from his groan you realize that, even through your panties, he can feel it as well. “I’m far from done with you,” he says, a hint of teasing in his tone as he tugs the servant’s outfit from your body to toss aside.

“Oh?” you ask with a raised brow, though you remain too weak from his pleasure to return the taunts.

“After all,” he begins, lips meeting your bare chest between words as your back arches from the bed, “this might be my last night with you.”

And the words leave a certain ache in your heart that only grows with the thought of having no more nights like the current one. Where you will give yourself to him and he will give his all to you, and in the morning you will sneak out before dawn so no one but the two of you will ever know what you shared between you.

#bts smut #marvel smut #call of duty smut #twilight smut #harry potter smut #jungkook smut #loki smut #nct smut #got7 smut #monsta x smut #stray kids smut #harry styles smut #ghost smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #x reader #x reader smut

[bellarkeselection]

Can you do a bash short were he comes back to France with y/n as his wife and they explain why they got married in Secret

Princess’s Make Their Own Rules

Nobody expected the kings Bastard to ever marry anyone. The note that his mother was his mistress was enough for people to turn the other way from the thought. But when Mary arrived at court, so did the Princess from England, and she had some shocking news for everyone at the French court. Stepping down from the carriage my eyes didn't even notice the rest of the court simply because I already had my attention set on the only person I cared about which was Sebastian or as he preferred to be called Bash. He moved through the crowd offering me his arm with a head nod. "Princess Y/n."

"Sebastian." I greeted looping my arm through his when he offered it to me. Together we began walking through the crowd who all just stared confused at us.

Bash tilted his head to the side complimenting on the dress I had worn. It was gold with short sleeves covered with lace. "I would have thought you'd stole into court wearing trousers." His blue eyes scanned me over smirking when he saw my horse riding boots peaking out from underneath.

"My sister is having a hard enough time ruling without a husband. At the very least, I thought I'd make my first impression at court good.. but later, you won't be seeing this ridiculous gown." I whispered the last part in his ear before we saw his half-brother, the now turned King of France Francis, coming towards us.

The blonde curly haired king smiled bowing at the same time I gave him a curtsey. "Princess Y/n, it's pleased to see you back at court."

"I'm glad to be back, you're grace. I was wondering if I could speak with you both privately for a moment?" I glanced between the pair so Francis nodded walking down the closet hallway until we reached an empty chamber door. Bash locked the door so we wouldn't be interrupted.

Francis raised a brow at me. “So what did you want to talk about with me?”

“I needed to give this to you. And ask that you wed me and your brother officially in front of the court.” Reaching for the necklace around my neck I revealed the ring that was hanging from the chain that was Bash’s mother’s ring. Since my sister was Queen Elizabeth we couldn’t legally get married because he was a bastard and I was a princess by birth. I handed over a sealed scroll hidden inside one of my boots and gave it to Francis.

Bash blinked his eyes confused at my boldness. “Y/n, you know that we can’t. You’re royal and I am a bastard.”

“And yet my sister has declared that she shall never marry anyone and bear children. So what is stopping me from following my heart and marrying the man I love hmm.” I lightly snapped at him with my hands on my hips.

My secret husband shifted his attention to his brother who had opened the scroll I had given him still in shock at the idea I was proposing. “Is this even possible. I mean unless I got legitimized as Henry’s son it shouldn’t be possible.”

“You’re right it wouldn’t be until this…” Francis clear his throat reading the letter aloud. “I Queen Elizabeth of England hereby declare that my sister Y/n and Sebastian de Poitiers are allowed to be wed. Sebastian shall inherit the title of prince and will be the master of my armies. He shall no longer be a bastard after marrying my sister and that is final.”

Bash steps towards me gently grabbing a hold of my shoulders where I focused on his bright blue eyes. “How did you get her to agree to legitimize me?”

“I told just how you have treated me, made me happy and that I just wished that stupid titles weren’t in our way. And she didn’t see any problems with not following what everyone else has done in the past. So…will you marry me Bash?” Lowering myself down on one knee in front of him I take his hands in mine staring up into his eyes.

Francis made a confused face at his brothers response. “No.”

“Uh…” I slightly froze not sure what would happen next.

Yet Bash lowered himself down on one knee where we were both on our knees and eye level with each. He holds my hands in his, his blue orbs pouring into mine when he delivers his question to me. “That’s not how this is done. This is how is done, Princess. Y/n, will you marry me and make this bastard the happiest man on earth?”

“Yes, Sebastian.” I nodded moving forward kissing him. He cupped my face kissing me back with Francis smiling behind us.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#bash x reader #reign x reader #reign #sebastian de poitiers #secret wedding

[laracrofted]

happy birthdayyyyy may I please I request “if you keep looking at me like that, i’m not responsible for what happens next.” for my love Bob? (love me a good man going feral)

i also love a good man going feral, and since i know my audience (aka you, dear), i had to throw in a little whiny bob 🫡

warnings: minors dni, explicit sexual content (oral, sex), swearing, bob floyd in powder blue (deserves a warning), alcohol, not proofread. bob x fem!reader.

Pete Mitchell and Penny Benjamin get married on a warm Saturday evening at the end of April.

It is a beautiful service — all whites and creams and pastel blues – and very well-attended.

Every important Naval Admiral is here, even Admiral Simpson, who supposedly doesn’t even like Captain Mitchell. He lurks near the champagne all night, making eyes at the woman who came with him, a pretty young thing in a backless periwinkle dress.

And not a dry eye in the house when Maverick mentions Goose and Carole Bradshaw in the speech at the reception.

Goose would’ve owed Carole $100 tonight. He never thought I’d settle down, but Carole always had a sixth sense about me. She always knew. And I know Goose is looking down on us and thinking, damn, Pete, Penny Benjamin?

It is a moving speech about friendship and fate and the love that comes back you for a second, even third time against all odds.

You barely hear a word.

You should probably be more ashamed than you are.

But Robbie is in a beautiful powder blue suit that brings out the deep shade in his eyes, crinkled with laughter from a joke that Maverick cracked. He looks so damn handsome in the golden glow of the pink and orange sunset.

You’re so in love with him. You can hardly breathe.

Damn damn damn.

Out of the corner of his eye, Robbie catches you watching him. A dimple carves out in his cheek as Robbie bites down on an adorable smile.

He finds your hand under the table. Leans over to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, breath warm with champagne.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

Champagne fizzes in your bloodstream, making you bold. You reach across him for another canapé and accidentally brush your whole chest against his arm.

“And what happens next, Robbie?”

He swallows hard, eyelids fluttering closed.

Luckily, Pete Mitchell and Penny Benjamin wanted a destination wedding and wanted the reception to be in the ball room on the second level of the hotel.

You probably couldn’t have last a whole drive back home. You barely make it back to the room.

“You look so beautiful. This dress…”

Robbie guides the zipper down, leaving a kiss along your spine with every pull, and helps you step out of the dress. He drapes the fabric over his arm and carefully puts it on a hanger in the closet to prevent any wrinkles. Sweet man.

His gaze sweeps over the pale blue lingerie and the matching heels, and Robbie drinks you in, gripping your chin with gentle fingers and pulling you in for a kiss that leaves you wanting more, so much more.

“Get on the bed.”

You do.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. You sigh.

He has great forearms.

You reach down to unbuckle the heels, but Robbie stills your palm. He lifts your hand and kisses along your knuckles, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.

“I like them. Leave them on.”

Fully clothed, Robbie kneels down in those nice slacks and pulls you to the edge of the mattress, lifting your legs over his shoulders and sighing against you.

His next kiss is pressed to the damp spot in the lace, now a dark blue under his attention. His tongue dips underneath the side of the fabric and licks at the seam of you, and Robbie moans.

"God... Taste so good."

You come three times on his eager tongue before Robbie turns you loose, mouth shining with you.

You sink down on him in one move, soaking wet now, and Robbie whines, unconsciously canting his hips into you, pushing even deeper. You'll never forget that beautiful sound.

He comes with a broken whine too.

#birthday 🤠 drabbles #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fic #bob floyd smut #robert floyd x you #robert floyd smut #robert floyd x reader #laracrofted writes #fic: bob floyd

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt II the wedding dress: crowley's shirt

Dear GOD this post is so overdue I blame the 10khaos. But never fear I'm back on my bullshit.

Okay I'll just add the overview here and then get started on the info-dumping:

THE SHIRT OVERVIEW: For the shirt (which goes under the corset and cummerbund like I described in the pt I post), I went with the basic design sleeve-wise of a typical Victorian-era men's shirt, but with a shorter length (somewhere between a Victorian women's chemisette and the men's shirt). The length is reduced so it doesn't interfere with the silhouette at the waist where the upper part of the dress meets the lower (the lower half hasn't been drawn yet because I got hyperfixated on the cufflinks).

THE NECKLINE AND BODICE: The material would be muslin and it has a Regency-era neckline and bodice, both of these factors inspired by a 1805-1810 Regency muslin evening gown in the Victoria and Albert museum. Regency era gowns typically gathered just under the bust, and so will this shirt, which gives the slight pleats at the bodice below the ruffles. I figured this was best given which parts of the shirt would be visible and which hidden under the corset and jacket.

THE GOOD OMENS ALLUSIONS: The Victorian era is when the Edinburgh minisode happened, which is why I've leaned on it for the shirt. The Regency era, on the other hand, is where most of Jane Austen's novels were set, and so the neckline is a nod to Aziraphale's love for her novels and the ballroom dance he organised in season 2.

For reference, below are (L to R) a Victorian men's shirt, a chemisette, and the neckline and bodice of the V&A Regency dress:

[don't mind the shit images just take the vibes I'm working on a Canva whiteboard and I do NOT keep things organised on there]

Okay I think the ruffles actually need a separate post because I did a lot of overthinking for them. It involved textile trade in the Edwardian era and a lot of lace and Good Omens motifs.

Well... prepare for the ruffles post you poor sods you created a monster.

#weirdly the nightingales wed #good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #good omens #crowley #crowley's wedding dress #the book of love #good omens fandom #maggots #aziraphale #good omens s2 #aziracrow #ineffable wedding #ineffable spouses #it starts as it will end with a garden #fashion history #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #fashion

[sourskywalker]

Mrs Darth Vader - part 8; A wedding fit for an Empress

Relationship; Darth Vader x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: Newly appointed Emperor Vader, has been hassled about getting married and producing an heir. Whilst having a meeting with Admiral Piett he meets his second in command’s daughter, Y/n.

Series Warnings: Age difference, forced marriage, eating disorders, postpartum depression, suicide attempt, toxic relationship, smut, angst, pregnancy, darth vader is not only a massive creep but also an asshole, referenced suicide

Chapter Warning: N/A

Chapter Summary: The moment Y/n has been dreading; The wedding

(GIF in no way correlates to the readers skin tone)

“This is ridiculous, could I not have been allowed an extra half hour of sleep?” You stare unamused towards your tutor, who simply shrugged their shoulders and resumed their explanation “You’ve been practically hammering into my head how the ceremony is going to occur, do I really need to hear it once more?”

“Miss Piett..” The tutor sighs, pinching the bridge of their nose “In just a few short hours you will be married to the most powerful man in the Galaxy, and not only that, but you will become the most powerful woman in the Galaxy…I will continue to explain up until you are about to step into the carriage” You shook your head, knowing there was no point in arguing “Now…After your vows have taken place you will….” You chose to ignore what they were saying, instead opting to look at each portrait you passed “Oh maker would you look at the time! You’re meant to be in the dressing room”

With an internal groan you followed your tutor down the long corridors, occasionally catching a few cuss words escaping their pursed lips as they made their way towards your bridal suite. You’d been dreading this since the moment you woke up, knowing that by the time you entered the double doors there was definitely no getting out of this mess. “…We are on a tight schedule…” The tutor mutters, fingers resting on their chin as they seem deep in thought “Wedding is in the late afternoon, no afterparty as they both leave for Naboo straight away where the consummation is to occur…” You only heard tidbits of what was being uttered, though the thought of consummating your marriage with Vader loomed over you like a dark cloud

“Miss Piett?” A maid asks, stepping behind you and looking at you “Are you alright?” You blink a few times, turning to face her and giving her a soft wavering smile

“Yes..” Looking back towards the mirror, you cringe inwardly at the sight before you. When you thought of your surprise wedding dress, you never imagined a frumpy pile of fabric practically drowning you, the lace cuff sleeve rubbed against your skin uncomfortably with each small movement, and the puffs that lay on your shoulders caused the fabric to cling to your sweating skin “I’m fine” You blinked back tears

This didn’t look like a wedding dress, this was something only dolls wore.

“Careful!” The tailor snapped, eyeing your movements like a hawk “You nearly stepped on the train” You quickly turned to look behind you, and sure enough there was a train, at least thirty feet of fabric bunched behind you

“Miss, hold still” A cold hand pressed against your chin as they continued to apply a bit of rouge to your cheeks and then moved on to applying a sticky gloss to your lips “Almost done..” She mutters to herself “There” She smiles, taking a step away from you to admire her work “You look beautiful”

You turned to the mirror, holding back a look of disappointment at what you saw before you; This- this girl wasn’t you, this girl is a future empress, you are not a future empress, you’re meant to be out there in the world, acting, hanging out with what little friends you had, going out and getting blackout drunk because that is what nineteen year olds are doing these days, people these days aren’t getting married to someone old enough to be their parent and ruling a galaxy.

Where had you gone wrong..?

“Miss Piett?” A young boy, around your age, peeks his head around the corner, he stares for a moment or two before the tailor gets annoyed and clears their throat and breaks him from his trance “Oh! Uhm, Miss Piett, the carriage is ready” He steps forward, giving you a small and awkward bow before rushing off

“Miss” Alicgil steps behind you with a velvet pillow resting on the palm of her hand, she plucks the tiara from its spot and gently places it atop your head, she put the pillow aside and her hands come to rest against your shoulder comfortingly, she looks forward into the mirror “Everything will be okay” But the uneasiness in her expression said anything but and you sighed, holding her hand on your shoulder for a moment before brushing past her

“Wait a minute!” You turn to look at the tailor who steps forward and brandishes a veil “You cannot leave without this” They click their fingers and a few maids move towards you, placing the veil on top of your head and then shoving a bouquet of flowers into your gloved grasp, they step away from you, eyeing you for a moment and then nod to themself “You are ready”

You turn back to the door, taking a deep breath as you slowly start to walk forward, your eyes planted on the ground so as not to embarrass yourself by tripping over.

You watched from the safety of the carriage, eyes widening at the amount of people who stood behind the barricades, waving and chattering excitedly as they caught a brief glimpse of you as the carriage continued towards its destination. A nudge in the ribs from your father and a nod towards the crowd had you waving your hand and putting the brightest smile on “This is your wedding day, Y/n. Do not disappoint me.” He whispered into your ear, your eye twitched slightly but the small movement went unnoticed by Firmus

The tiara placed on your so-called immaculate hairstyle had never felt more heavier as the carriage gradually slowed until it stopped and the door flung open. Flashes from cameras evaded your senses as Firmus climbed out of the carriage first and then extended a hand to help you out

“Thank you. Firmus” You clutched his hand tightly as you clambered out, you stared at him coldly and he shifted uncomfortably but then you plastered on a wide smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly as you turned towards the red carpeted stairs that led towards the double door, you smiled and waved to the people standing behind the barricades

Firmus slowly led you through the double doors and down the aisle. If it didn’t feel like you were being led to your doom you would’ve been impressed by how beautiful the venue was. But the thought was squashed when you looked up and realised Vader was standing at the end, he had yet to turn and look at you, but you knew he could sense your presence as his mask tilted slightly before turning back

“Hello.”

“Hello.” Firmus guided your hand into Vaders who took yours gently

Too gently.

The whole wedding droned on and you felt yourself near to falling asleep a couple of times, but the gentle grip Vader had on your hand would tighten slightly to keep you grounded.

“Kneel, my wife” Vader spoke, he leaned slightly helping you get comfortable on the carpet as he turned away momentarily before returning with a beautifully intricate gold and sapphire crown resting on his palms “Under the gaze of the maker I crown you; Y/n, Empress of the Skyriver Galaxy. May the force be with you” He placed the crown on your head and an eruption of cheers reverberated throughout the venue as people stood from their respective seats and applauded the newly married couple

TAGLIST: @mariamyousef702

#darth vader x reader #emperor darth vader #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader series

[vacantgodling]

oc description tag

thank you @void-botanist for tagging me! honestly i describe hya a Lot in paramour so this will be FUN—

Rules: Share an excerpt from your WIP that describes one of your OCs.

Hyacinthus’s attire and mask had already been decided for him. The mask was a white, long beaked half covering of his face, adorned with decadent and fluffy white feathers coming from its top, and feathered out along his cheeks. It was accentuated with delicate gilded accents akin to embroidery; creating patterns of lace between the eye holes and along its cheeks. In between each individual feather of the bottom portion of the mask, baubles of gold danced each time he moved his head; tapering off with little ruby red pear cut gems dangling at their ends, and of varying lengths. Instead of a dress, he wore a suit jacket with heavily padded shoulders, creating the illusion of thorns upon them. His necktie was ruffled in the usual fashion, and the ruffle detailing reappeared in his long and wide sleeves at their ends. The threading of his jacket was a light vermillion, to hark back to the colors of his wedding gown.

(i’m not sure how good i am at describing clothes and outfits but this wip has definitely forced me to get better LMAO)

tagging @outpost51 @kingkendrick7 @henrike-does-writing-sometimes @zeenimf @calicoy & anyone else who’d like to do this :)

#s: paramour #ren writing

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: My Time at Sandrock

Rating: M

Pairing: Fang x F!builder

AO3

Chapter 1: a visit

Summer, 104

Sage

—

Sage stepped off the bus from Portia as a cloud of dust floated up into the air and she reeled back breathing it in, eyes watering and nose tickling. She sneezed into her sleeve and reopened her burning eyes to be greeted by Logan. Taller than her by at least half a foot, and eyes as blue as the oasis, Sage understood why her twin sister was immediately magnetized to the man the day she saw him. On a wanted poster no less. It still made Sage chuckle to this day.

Logan stole her suitcase right out of her hand and beamed at her.

“Where’s Violet?” She asked.

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“You need to make her take days off.”

“You think I can make her do anything? She’s as stubborn as a boxing jack. Worse actually.”

Sage sighed. “Yes. She is.”

“She says you ain’t much different.”

“Perhaps. But have you considered there is a reason she gets that first place trophy every year?”

“She told me once, that you let her win.”

“I’m here to tell you she’s lying.”

Logan chuckled at that while curling his hand around his belt buckle. “Well, come on, maybe once she sees you, she’ll realize her commissions can wait.”

“I do admire your optimism,” Sage said as she trailed after Logan.

It was just a short stretch to walk from the bus stop to Violet’s workshop. But it was enough for Sage to realize she’s over dressed, roasting under her long sleeved shirt with a matching belted harness and cape. Her trousers were loose at least, and laced boots knee high to keep all the sand out. But every piece of her outfit was too much black for a desert sun. She mumbled an almost inaudible incantation to keep herself cool while lagging behind Logan’s long-legged stride, hoping he hadn’t noticed. Though, the man probably knew their family secret. Still, better to be safe.

“Does my sister have to run to keep up with you?” Sage commented when they arrived at the gate.

She steadied herself on the fence to catch her breath and wished she would’ve kept up her training with Arlo the past year.

Logan laughed. “I have to run to keep up with her!”

He held the gate open and Sage peeled herself off the fence to follow him into the yard. Somehow she believed that what Logan said was true. Violet was always flitting about like a bee, buzzing along to her next task. Veering to the right, past the stables, Sage spotted her sister slouched over, painting steady strokes of blue onto some flower boxes. Her white shirt sleeves were rolled up to her muscled shoulders, sweat shining in rivulets that trailed down her tanned triceps. Sage was similar in build, though she’d been kissed more delicately by Portia’s summer sun, her freckles less prominent.

“Hey Darlin’, look who’s here,” Logan said.

Violet glanced up from her work, her dark blue locks pulled back into a thick braid while a few strands framed her face, her grin spreading wide as the bright sunlight glinted off her nose ring. The brightness almost obscured the freckles that dusted her nose and apples of her cheeks. She set the box aside, wiping her hands on her red and white striped work apron and threw her arms around Sage. She wrapped her sister up in a long, overdue hug and squeezed. When they finally parted, a string of half dried paint clung to her shirt and Violet swept it away with a chuckle.

“You want to take a tour of the town?” Violet asked. I need the paint to dry on those boxes so might as well give you the lay of the land.” She plucked her leather work gloves off and pocketed them in the front of her apron.

“You act like I’ve never been here before.”

“A weekend at the Blue Moon Saloon and the church, mostly cluttering up your schedule with wedding duties is hardly what I’d call getting a feel for Sandrock. Besides, Mi-an, Wei and I have spruced up so much more since you were here last month.”

“Very well, show me your pride and joy,” Sage said with a smile and Violet clapped enthusiastically.

Violet practically vibrated with joy. “You’re gonna love our little town, Sage. Can’t wait to show you around. Maybe I can even convince you to move here, yet.”

—

The valley stretched as far as her eyes could see but Sage’s drifted up to the sky. Inside the tram cart, she imagined herself flying and free. The way the fluffy clouds swirled on the horizon, soaking up the sun's rays and glowing in orange, with ruffles of purple, made her wish she had wings. She was ready to float on air after a day of endless introductions and small talk.

“It’s gorgeous up here.” She dangled her arms over the side of the cart and watched a bird flit across the sky and disappear behind a distant peak.

“It is,” Violet replied from beside her with a little sigh.

“Can’t believe you built this.”

“Me neither. I didn’t do it alone though,” she continued. “The Sandrockers are just always working together to pull through for me. They’re good people. Real good.”

“They are. The way you talk about this place, plus the views and the warmth of the people—makes me want to leave my old life behind and live here.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because—well, Vi.” There was only one reason really but she didn’t know how to say it. “I just can’t.”

“You can. You’ve told me time and time again how you’ve never wanted to be a builder. So, why don’t you stop holdin’ yourself back and start working toward your future? Logan and I would be more than willing to get you settled in here.”

“You would?” Sage cocked her head sideways at her sister.

“Of course.” She grinned while throwing her arm around Sage’s shoulder. “Plus you know me, I always want you around. It would be so nice to have you here in Sandrock. You could come with me to Saturday night story time with Owen and Sunday fireside meetin’s that always end up with a little party back at my place and—”

Violet launched into a speech of activities to participate in together as Sage turned back to the view. The sun sunk halfway below the horizon, brushing the sky with hues of pink and orange that had her believing her sister's words. She could move to Sandrock. Minus all those activities she was planning.

There was nothing holding her back. Well, nothing except her misplaced hope that he might return.

—

Sage pulled fresh rolls from the oven and slid the tray on top of the stove. The savory scent of caramelized onion and garlic she added to the dough before it baked filled her nose and her stomach rumbled.

“That smells heavenly,” Violet told her in a sing-song voice and then the doorbell rang.

“Did you invite someone over for dinner?” Sage asked.

“I sure did. But it’s a surprise so you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“This better not be a blind date. You know I’m not ready. I didn’t come here for that.”

Violet booped her nose and chuckled. “Not a date. I promise. He’s a friend and I just think you’d get along. He’s quiet. More than you, even. But he’s real kind.” She hurried towards the door but stopped in the frame and glanced back over her shoulder. “But it wouldn’t hurt to put the feelers out.”

Sage inhaled deeply to keep from shouting at her sister and turned back to the rolls. Violet disappeared and Sage reminded herself that her sister’s intentions came from a good place. Sweet even. Another deep breath and she noted that the tops were perfectly browned and ready to serve and smiled to herself with pride. She dug around in the cupboards for a basket to put them in and spotted one high up on the refrigerator and climbed the counter, stretching herself across the small gap. The tops of her fingers curled around the basket. She teetered but regained her balance, snatching the basket and clenching it against her chest, she crouched down and then jumped to the floor.

She busied herself with setting the table and then stirred the stewed mushrooms on the stovetop. Adding just a hint of extra cilantro, she left them to simmer a tad more while tossing the alfalfa salad with a few extra fresh veggies and a light vinaigrette. She set the salad bowl on the table with tongs and returned to the stovetop just as her sister ushered in the most beautiful man with blue eyes and long silken black hair she’s ever laid eyes on. He was nearly as tall as Logan but much more slight, dressed in a simple white button up and slightly tattered trousers, she gathered before averting her gaze. It’s rude to stare, she reminded herself.

“Sage, I want you to meet Doctor Fang,” Violet said.

The name sounded so familiar but she couldn’t quite place where she’d heard it before. She raised her hand in a small greeting. An awkward wave. “Hi,” she said.

Doctor Fang’s expression was unreadable as his eyes fell on her. A raven suddenly swooped in from behind him and landed on his shoulder. It whistled then said, “Pretty bird! Who’s this?”

“It’s—the builder’s sister,” Doctor Fang said in the softest, most comforting voice Sage had ever heard. She wanted to wrap herself up in it like a cozy blanket and fall asleep under the stars.

Picking her jaw up off the floor, Sage blinked. “That’s right. I’m Vi’s sister, Sage” she said to the bird.

“This is—X,” said Doctor Fang.

“Well it is a pleasure to meet you, X.” She offered a small smile. “And you, Doctor Fang.”

“Now that we’ve got all the introductions out of the way,” Violet clapped excitedly, “let’s have a seat, dig in and eat!”

Sage slid into the chair next to her sister and filled her plate with salad and then buttered her roll liberally, delighting in the way the softness just melted in her mouth as she took a bite. Meanwhile Violet told a story about her most recent adventure. Something about trying to collect cactus flowers for Doctor Fang when a boxing jack (which Sage had heard about plenty of times but fortunately had never come across) knocked her on her ass. Thankfully Logan had been at his outpost and spotted her in time to assist. Violet and Logan took turns telling the story of his heroic save and Sage listened while filling her stomach with the delicious foods on the table. By the end of their storytelling, Sage was done eating and collected her dirty dish from the table. She didn’t learn a thing about Doctor Fang because he barely said a word. Not like he could really get a word in edgewise anyway.

Eventually Logan and Violet dropped their plates in the sink and she was surprised when the Doctor joined her, drying the dishes she'd set in the drying rack.

“The rolls—did you make them?” He asked as he pulled open the cupboard, stacking the plates he'd dried.

“Yes,” she replied.

“They were very—good.”

“Thank you,” she said as she worked at cleaning the pot next.

She bit down on her lip while she scrubbed, channeling all her focus into cleaning. She almost forgot that Doctor Fang was with her and that she’d left him in silence for a decent length of time. But she only had one dish left.

Sage wiped the last dish clean and handed it to Doctor Fang. The walls shook and there was a low groan that

filtered through the floorboards as she briefly grazed his long fingers in the dish exchange. Flushing red, she muttered an apology. But Fang acted like it was nothing.

“I must—return home,” he said as another moan, much louder and longer than before, washed over them.

Sage refused to be left in the house with her sister and Logan, so at the risk of sounding desperate she asked, “can I please walk you home?” She cringed.

“Yes,” he stated simply, unaffected by the sounds going on around them. Or at least appearing not to be anyway.

Sage wished she had half his decorum.

“Thank you,” she breathed, following after him as he made his way toward the door.

The cool air washed over her as she sighed with relief, easily keeping pace with the Doctor as he led the way to his home in the night.

—

“You live in the clinic?” She asked once he stopped just outside the door, one hand pushing on it, letting the light spill out, grazing the top curve of her black boots.

“Yes,” he said simply. One foot was in the doorway, the other with her.

She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for her to go or for her to come in. Each minute passed made her second guessing worse.

“Come in!” Squawked X. “Don’t be shy! Shy!”

“X! Be quiet,” Doctor Fang said softly.

Sage took that as a sign.

“Wanna go back?” X squawked again.

Sage stared at the two of them a bit baffled. “Not particularly. I need to find something else to do while—” she hesitated. There was no need for an explanation. He was a stranger. They owed nothing to each other. “I hope you two have a good night,” she said instead and turned around.

“Thank you.” Fang’s words were a whisper of a hand on her shoulder but as she glanced back, the door clicked shut as the clinic bathed her in its warm red lighting.

Sage knew she couldn’t go back to her sisters just yet and she didn’t want to go to the Saloon. There was just too much noise and brightness there and she was far too exhausted from the day. She wandered over to the bench, situated between the clinic and the Golden Goose, and took a page out of her good friend Mint’s book. Curling up with one arm under her head as a pillow, she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

But it wasn’t long before she dreamt of the Rogue Knight again. He had pinned her to the ground, his sword at her chest and his laughter echoed as his mask melted away. The kind brown eyes of a betrothed betrayer mocked her. She thrashed and glanced away, not wanting to see the face behind the mask. Pain rippled through her nerves as the edge of his blade tore through her clothes and nicked her skin. Then he plunged it deep. A sharp intake of breath and she threw her eyes open, jolting upright. Five years gone and she hated the hold he had on her even after all this time.

X was pecking at her shirt and she didn’t mean to swat at him. “Wanna go back!” He was shouting over and over as she came to, blinking. It was still night.

She sat up and X landed on the shoulder of Doctor Fang. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah. I just—I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”

Doctor Fang stared at her, tilting his head quizzically then turned away. He gestured for her to follow. “Come with me.”

#bear writes #mtas #my time at sandrock #my time at portia #mtas spoilers #mtas fanfic #Portia crossover fic #mtas fang #mtas logan #mtas builder #mtap builder #a sea of silt

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 11, 16 mars 1873, Paris. Toilettes de Mme Fladry, 43 rue Richer. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Description de toilettes:

Robe de mariée, en satin blanc. Jupon long, tout uni; corsage et tunique en crêpe osaka blanc. La tunique, garnie d'une haute frange en soie blanche, est relevée sous une très-large ceinture en faye blanche. Le corsage, plat et montant, est orné, au milieu du dos, d'un rouleau en satin, unissant deux dentelles blanches (point de Colle-ville), et se terminant par un nœud entouré de branches de feuilles d'oranger, composant une basque. Manches longues, demi-larges.

Jupon en faye bleu moyen, garni d'un volant plissé, ayant 30 centimètres de hauteur, surmonté d'un' biais liséré de chaque côté en faye vert ancien et couvert d'une branche découpée en faye de même vert. Tablier pareil, bordé d'un même biais (plus large) et d'un volant plissé fait en faye vert ancien; polonaise ouverte sur ce tablier, avec corsage ouvert, bordée d'un biais pareil à celui du tablier, et d'une frange vert ancien. Sous cette frange, et seulement sué le bord inférieur de la tunique, volant en faye vert ancien, pareil à celui, du tablier; manches longues, avec bord inférieur couvert de trois biais vert ancien, et garni d'une frange de même teinte que les biais.

—

Wedding dress, in white satin. Long petticoat, all plain; white osaka crepe bodice and tunic. The tunic, trimmed with a high fringe in white silk, is raised under a very wide belt in white faye. The bodice, flat and high, is decorated, in the middle of the back, with a roll of satin, uniting two white lace (point de Colle-ville), and ending in a knot surrounded by branches of orange leaves, composing a basque. Long, half-wide sleeves.

Petticoat in medium blue faye, trimmed with a pleated flounce, 30 centimeters high, topped with a bias border on each side in old green faye and covered with a branch cut out in faye of the same green. Similar apron, edged with the same bias (wider) and a pleated flounce made of old green faye; polonaise open on this apron, with open bodice, bordered with a bias similar to that of the apron, and with an old green fringe. Under this fringe, and only sweat the lower edge of the tunic, ruffle in old green faye, similar to that, of the apron; long sleeves, with lower edge covered with three old green biases, and trimmed with a fringe of the same color as the biases.

#La Mode illustrée #19th century #1800s #1870s #1873 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #retouch #description #Forney #dress #toilette #ensemble #Fladry #bridal #veil #bustle #train #petticoat #faye #blue #polonaise #ruffle

[stardusted-bookworm]

Amber and Pearls

It was a quiet wedding. Not just because of preference, but out of necessity. After all, it was hard to have a large wedding when one of the grooms was a war criminal and the other liked to commit "treasonous acts" in the name of dismantling a corrupt system.

So they had to turn down their blue tiefling friend's ideas for a lavish wedding on Rumblecusp. Had to gently decline the many opinions for over the top venues and decorations.

They had considered the offer their captain friend had provided. Of using his ship in the middle of the ocean where none could reach them easily. But the threat of Uk'otoa remained, leaving the ocean more unsafe than the land.

They had decided on the Blooming Grove, but the halfling complained. "You can't have a wedding in a graveyard," she said. "It's too dreary."

The amber haired groom only smiled, not telling her that graves and dreariness were companions the grooms knew well.

Then, the groom with stars for hair and amethysts for eyes said, "What of the Tower?"

There was a moment of silence before squeals of delight and cheers of approval pierced the night air. The amber haired groom smiled as warmly as his favored element and kissed his starlight fiance under the diamond-covered heavens.

It didn't take long after for the wedding to be planned. When the venue was the product of two imaginative minds… no, it didn't take long to plan at all.

The long anticipated night had finally come and the Tower looked resplendent. Amber and diamonds and amethysts covered the walls, glittering as the dancing lights illuminated them.

The starlight groom made well on his description as he entered the Tower from a door created especially for him.

A dress of delicate lace hugged his form and left his shoulders exposed. A gorgeous train of the same material but more sheer trailed behind him as he walked. The sleeves were long and came to rest in loops around his middle fingers. Amber jewels hung from his ears, matching the ring that would soon adorn his finger. Elegant white heels adorned his feet as he walked, yes walked, up the stairs to the dais. He fidgeted with his bouquet of yellow tulips and baby's breath and waited anxiously.

Finally, finally, his groom of amber and fire walked up the stairs on the opposite side: Fjord, Beauregard, and Veth following close behind him.

Essek's breath caught in his throat. Caleb was in a suit of deep, deep red and his hair was pulled back into a braided half-bun. Caleb's hands were covered in black gloves as they flexed nervously by his side. Essek couldn't help but chuckle at how clean his soon-to-be husband looked even as his heart fluttered restlessly in his chest.

A large hand came to gently rest on Essek's shoulder. Yasha smiled reassuringly as Jester linked elbows with him. He took a steadying breath and handed his bouquet to Yasha before allowing Jester to lead him to where Caduceus stood.

Veth was doing the same for Caleb and once they reached the center of the dais, Jester and Veth joined Essek's and Caleb's hands.

"Take care of my boy, Essek Thelyss." Veth's voice wavered, and it was all Essek could do to not wrap his arms around her.

Essek bowed his head. "You have my solemn vow, Mrs. Brenatto." His voice was thick with tears.

Caleb squeezed his hand, the warmth of his fingers felt even through the gloves. Essek squeezed back with a watery smile.

They approached Caduceus together.

The firbolg gazed down at them with a peaceful smile. "Well this is really nice."

Chuckles were heard around the room at that.

"Dearly beloved," Caduceus began, "We are gathered here today to honor the union between these two beautiful souls under the ceremony of marriage. May we have the rings please?"

A beautiful Bengal cat walked up to Caduceus, a black velvet pillow balancing on its tail.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Frumpkin." Caduceus bent down and picked the two rings off of the pillow.

Frumpkin nuzzled Caleb and Essek before going to stand next to Beauregard.

Caduceus handed the amber ring to Caleb and the pearl ring to Essek.

"Do you, Caleb Widogast, promise to love this drow for as long as you may live, through sickness and in health and in unspeakable dangers?"

Caleb chuckled, his eyes glittering as they met Essek's. "I do."

The wizard of amber and fire gently took his groom's hand and slid the glittering amber ring onto his finger.

"And do you, Essek Thelyss, promise to love this man for as long as the stars glitter in the skies and until the Luxon itself blinks out of existence?"

Caleb looked at him with wide eyes.

Essek smiled. He had specifically requested these words be said because he knew that only the truth would ring from his mouth as he said, "I do."

He slid the pearl ring onto Caleb's finger. Elation filled Essek's chest as he reverently lifted his partner's hands to his lips.

"Aww that was sweet." Caduceus grinned gently and spread his arms wide. "By the power of the Wildmother, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss the groom."

Essek threw his arms around Caleb's neck and kissed him soundly, grinning as Caleb dipped him slightly.

The Nein cheered loudly and proudly around them. Essek's heart was filled to the brim; he couldn't be happier.

As he kissed his husband—his husband—Essek felt his feet lift off the ground and the two wizards spiraled upward through the magic of the Tower.

Essek laughed in childish delight. He stared adoringly at his husband.

"I love you, Caleb Widogast."

Caleb grinned wide even as his gorgeous blue eyes filled with tears.

"I love you, Essek Thelyss."

The wizards joined together once more in a beautiful kiss, surrounded by friends and family and most importantly, love.

#can't remember if I've posted this one to tumblr #but whatever #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss