#silencer x princess justice

[simplyholl]

Frozen Stiff

Summary: Captured by the Frost Giants, your time on Jotunheim gets interesting.

Pairing: Jotun Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. Loss of virginity. Size kink. Somnophilia.

See my Masterlist here

You really did it this time. Your father instructed everyone stay in their homes this night. Loki, king of the Frost Giants had warned your father, King Erik, king of the elves that he would be coming through Alfheim. If anyone was caught outside, they would be considered an enemy, and taken prisoner.

Your father’s royal decree had went in one ear and out the other. You were considered a trouble maker. Not because of anything you had done consciously. Trouble seemed to follow wherever you went. You were so unlike your sister, the future queen of Alfheim, and no one let you forget that.

She was tucked away safely in her chambers with the door locked. Here you were, hiding in the bushes outside the palace. You wanted to get a good look at the Frost Giants. You had never seen one in person, and you didn’t think the view from your chambers would do them any justice.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the forest as they stomped through. The trees were shaking with each step they took, the force of their large bodies leaving holes in the ground where they walked. They were approaching quickly. You really should run back in the palace, but you were frozen. The first few Jotuns walk by and you’re stunned.

They are even bigger than you imagined. Then you see him, King Loki. He struts through and a wild thought comes to you. He’s beautiful. You had always been taught that the Frost Giants were ugly beasts that would take misbehaving children in the night. They seemed nice enough. King Loki had even given your father warning before passing through. He and the last three giants walk passed you and you count the seconds before you can run back inside.

Woof

You look beside you terrified. Your sister’s dog, Arnie, pants beside you, tail wagging.

Woof

He barks again. You grab him, trying your best to shush him. But it’s too late. He’s gained their attention. They turn back around, looking toward the bushes you are hiding in. You sink lower to the ground, trying to shove your body under the bush. You close your eyes, hoping if you can’t see them, they can’t see you.

But their footsteps shake the ground as they come closer. “What have we here?” One of them growls, picking you up with one hand. “We found a spy, your highness.”

“Bring him to me.” King Loki demands. You squeak as you are dropped from one huge hand into another. You shiver, the temperature of his skin is colder than you could have imagined. “Not a he, but a she.” He says amused, as he looks closely at you.

“What are you doing out here, little mouse? I warned your king that we would take anyone we found outside prisoner.” You swallow, trying to seem braver than you felt. “My father, King Erik, he did command the whole village to stay inside, your highness. I was simply curious and I wanted to see you for myself.”

Loki looks at you in the palm of his hand, amusement dancing on his features. “Your father, the king? So that makes you a princess? Are you the heir to the throne?” You shake your head. “No, your highness, that would be my sister.” You introduce yourself hoping it will get you out of this situation.

“A princess for a prisoner. What an interesting day it’s turning out to be.” He sneers. “No, wait!” You protest. He closes his hand around you, silencing you. When you arrive in Jotunheim, you are brought to a room with a giant bed, huge fluffy pillows, and a roaring fireplace. King Loki places you on the bed.

“This isn’t normally how I treat my prisoners, but you are still a princess. As long as you obey me, you may stay in this room and avoid the dungeon. You are free to walk around, and I will let everyone know that no harm is to come to you. Am I understood?”

“Yyyyesss” You stutter, you had been freezing the entire trip. You run to the fireplace, rubbing your hands together in an effort to get warm. Loki studies you, his red eyes lingering on your sheer nightgown. You really didn’t plan on getting captured when you went out, so you didn’t bother with putting on a proper dress.

You regret that decision now as his gaze lands on your breasts, heaving on your shaking form. He could see everything through the nightgown, and he was already looking, so you didn’t bother with attempting to cover yourself. “I’ll have someone make you proper clothing. In the meantime, there are extra blankets in the closet.” He walks out, leaving you with your thoughts.

Months had passed and you were settling into your new home. No one treated you like a prisoner, and you decided for once in your life to stay out of trouble. You had been given a job in the palace kitchen and you were making new friends. You were actually starting to like it here.

You giggle as your closest friend Marta, asks about your sex life. As a princess, you had to save yourself for whoever your father chose for you. You knew very little about the act itself. But Marta filled you in. She answered every question you had without judging you, and she even gave you some tips. The most shocking part was learning that a male might want to kiss you between your thighs. Marta told you there was nothing like it, so you couldn’t help fantasizing about it the rest of the day. When you laid your head down to rest, your tried to think of more questions for Marta.

The door to your room squeaked open. King Loki walked in, shutting it behind him. He gently removed the blankets from your sleeping form. You were wearing the nightgown from the first night you met him. He reaches out, his long finger grazing your nipple. The chill from his skin causing it to harden under his touch. You sigh from his attention, but don’t wake up. He carefully spreads your legs, laying down between them. His cold tongue meets your center, and you buck your hips toward him. He takes this as an invitation, long tongue lapping between your thighs.

You jump up, searching your room for him, but he’s not there. It was all a dream. You confide in Marta about it and she says it must be your conversation. It made its way into your subconscious. But you didn’t talk to Marta about it the next night when you had it or the next night. Weeks had passed and still, you had the same dream every night. It made it awkward for you when you had to serve King Loki his meals.

“King Loki has requested you serve his dessert in his chambers.” Marta told you, handing you the tray piled high with pastries, cakes, and fruit. You knock on his door, waiting for his instruction to enter. When he calls for you to come in, you bow to him. “My king, I’ve brought your dessert.” He’s propped up on his bed, gesturing for you to place it on a table by the window.

He’s so big, he nearly takes up all the room on the large bed. His muscled blue form has been the object of your fantasies for a while now. “Remove your dress, and get on the bed.” He demands. You drop the metal tray on the table. “Excuse me, your highness. I must have misheard you.”

He pats the bed, “You heard correctly, little mouse. I know you desire me. You dream of me every night. I’m only rewarding your good behavior.” You fight the urge to pinch yourself. You must be dreaming. “How did you know about that?” You manage to mumble. “I know all, little one. You can hide nothing from me.”

He beckons you with his thick finger. You do as he instructed, removing your dress and getting on the bed with him. He lifts you with one hand, hovering you above his face. “Wha- what are you doing?” You stammer. “I’m having my dessert.” He quips placing you on his mouth. His long, cold tongue covers your center. You shiver from the chill. His velvety muscle curls beneath your clit, flicking it.

He treats you like a porcelain doll, holding you as if you might break. He could easily crush you without trying. You really were like his own personal doll. He enters your untouched flesh with his tongue, rocking you back and forth on it. Your small hands wrap around his fingers, trying to ground yourself. He drinks you like it’s water, the icy muscle tipping you over the edge, making your toes curl.

He suddenly tosses you on your back, his bulky form trapping you beneath him. He settles between your thighs. They start aching as he spreads them as wide as he can. It’s still not wide enough to accommodate him. So he pushes your knees to your chest, his gigantic cock nudging your center.

The thought of ruining such a small, delicate woman driving him mad with lust. “I’ll split you in half, little mouse. You would like that wouldn’t you?” Your still dazed from your orgasm, so you only hum in response. “My sweet princess is cock drunk and she hasn’t had any cock yet.” You nod, reaching for him. “I am the first to touch you, correct?” Another hum to confirm.

You gasp when he dips a large finger inside you, curling it upwards. “I have to get you ready.” He explains. As he works his skilled finger inside you, you rock your hips, hungry for more. You whine as he removes his digit from you, but you’re not left wanting for long. He thrusts into you, and you scream. He stretches you, and you try to adjust to his size. You feel him bottom out and you wiggle to get more comfortable.

Tears fall down your cheeks, the stinging not subsiding. “My poor princess. I’m too much for her. It’s only the tip, my sweet girl.” He gently traces the outline of his cock bulging in your stomach. Loki presses on it. “I can see myself protruding out of your stomach, little one. Do you know how feral that makes me? Such a small creature struggling to take the head of my cock.”

He tilts his hips, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Goosebumps line your arms when you feel his breath on your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, my little princess. You feel incredible. I’ll keep you forever, my little plaything.” You whimper at his words, a gush of arousal soaking him. He moans, looking at your fucked out expression. He wraps his enormous hand around your waist, thrusting you down on him, faster.

Loki roars as he releases inside you. He pulls out, spreading your now limp legs. “I want to see me dripping out of you.” He lowers his head, black tresses covering your stomach as his icy tongue laps at you once more. “What a delicious mess you made.” He coos.

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @xorpsbane @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @itsybitchylittlewitchy @asgards-princess-of-mischief @weirdothatwritess

#loki x reader #loki #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki x yn #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x reader smut #frost giant loki #jotun loki #loki of jotunheim #frost giant Loki smut #loki fanfiction #frozen stiff

[marvelfanfics1]

Hi! Could you do a Rafe x Little!Reader where it is the readers first time being little around Rafe and the reader is very shy and emotional and it’s just all cute and fluffy please?

I totally get it if you can’t!

Btw, I absolutely loved your Moody Princess one shot, thank you so much for writing it!

Baby's Safe Space

Pairing: daddy!rafe x pogue!little!reader

Warnings: age regression, small mentions of past abuse, soft!rafe, fluff

A/n: Thank you lovely! I hope I made the request justice and that you like how it came out 🫣🫶🏻

⭒𖥸⭒

It took Rafe some time to understand the aspects of regressing but after you explained it to him he started to do more research on his own, and maybe buying some stuff online he thought you would like, to show his support.

You told Rafe that regressing is just how you cope with past trauma you endured during your childhood.

He understood how important it is for your little self to feel safe and protected, knowing it's not for everyone to see and felt honored that you finally got the courage to talk about it with him. That you feel safe enough in his presence to show your most vulnerable side.

Growing up at the cut with abusive parents took quite a tool on you and as you found out about the term age regression it was clear to you it's what you needed to cope or what you deserved to have.

Rafe was beyond anxious that he somehow mess things up by saying or doing the wrong thing that it results in you being little by yourself again.

He felt bad knowing you probably were only little when he would have busy work days or a business trip.

It was a little into the afternoon and you just got out of the bathroom after doing your skincare and Rafe instantly noticed the pastel colored jammies that had little bunnies printed all over them.

He smiled at you softly, internally excited as hell to finally see that side of you and even curious as to how different your behavior is now in this state.

He noticed at the way you fiddled with the hem of your shirt that you're probably even more nervous than him right now, which is totally understandable.

It was already a hard challenge for you to even tell him about it.

Putting his phone aside he waved you over to him.

"Come here, baby. Promise I won't bite ya." He smirked and to see you smile a little was already a triumph to him.

Shyly you shuffled over to the bed, climbing your way up to snuggle into Rafe's side and grasping his shirt in one of your hands.

He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head when suddenly he remembered what he had hidden under the bed. "Ah- wait a second..."

He reached beside under the bed to pull out a white box with a rather big red ribbon on top of it. You sat up straight when he placed it between you both. "I- uh...thought you might like it and if not that's totally fine."

You haven't even opened it yet but Rafe certainly knew you cherish absolutely anything he gifted you.

He was just afraid he would go too far with what he bought you but the sparkle in your eyes already eased his nerves a little.

You slowly took of the lid and gasped. There was a lamb stuffie, color books with crayons, and some obviously custom made pacis in your favorite colors you had been dreaming of getting for yourself for a while now.

You instantly teared up, scaring Rafe beyond belief. "Hey, hey...what's wrong kid?" He asked reaching out to cup your face in his large palms, his thumb swiping away the tears that slipped before asking. "Was it too much at once?"

You quickly shook your head which was a little hard with him holding your face. You placed your hands over his, smiling at him. "Dey are happy tears."

"Really? You don't have to say that just to-" you silenced him by leaning forward to peck his lips.

"fank you, Rafey..." You whispered and he pressed his forehead against yours.

"Not for that, baby. I'd do anything to make you happy."

After your sweet moment you only pulled out the stuffie and a paci, placing the box on the ground beside the bed and snuggled back into Rafe's side. You popped in your paci and had the lamb held snugly under your chin while he turned on the TV and looked through Netflix for a movie that suited your headspace, yet he had some difficulty.

"Can you tell me how old you're feeling right now?" He asked and you held up three fingers. After a moment of looking through the kids section he stopped when you squealed quietly and pointed your finger at the screen at seeing your favorite cartoon making Rafe chuckle slightly. "Alright, guess it's gonna be this one."

He put the cartoon on play, an arm wrapping around you to keep you close and kissing your head.

You sighed contently, mumbling sleepily from behind your paci. "Lub you Rafey..."

"I love you more, baby."

                                       ⭒𖥸⭒

Taglist

for everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!

#little!reader #little reader #cg!rafe cameron #cg!rafe #daddy!rafe cameron x little!reader #daddy!rafe x little!reader #daddy!rafe cameron #daddy!rafe #daddy rafe x little reader #daddy rafe cameron #daddy rafe cameron x little reader #daddy rafe

[house-strong]

— THE DANCE between dragons ʾ ⋆

summary ; request by anon.

“possibly a little love triangle request?? Jacaerys/Reader/Aemond but Jacaerys ends up coming out on top?”

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x reader x aemond targaryen

notes ; i absolutely LOVE jacaerys ever since ep 8,, what a respectful king he is!! warning: this is lengthy!

being offered the hand of an established lord was a glorious feat that was longed for by any waiting lady in the realm. to find a husband that has not only the name, the title, but also lands and wealth to shower his soon-to-be family with. this would not only strengthen ties within the houses of the realm, but ensure that any lords daughter would be well treated, well respected, and well cared for.

but, to get two hands of established lords was unprecedented. you seemed to be in such predicament. to add fuel to the fire, they were both princes. to say your family was merely ecstatic wouldn’t be doing it justice.

one velaryon and one targaryen. the eldest child of laenor velaryon and the princess rhaenyra targaryen, and the youngest son of his grace, king viserys targaryen and his wife, queen alicent hightower. jacaerys velaryon, future heir to the iron throne, and aemond targaryen, the one-eyed prince.

you had been in the presence of aemond longer than you had to jacaerys, being the dutiful lady-in-waiting to the formers older sister, princess helaena. brought to court in king’s landing by your lord father, you were first caught by aemond targaryen – a child with a serious facade who had only smiled when he caught your eye. he would ensure that you were content, always lingering around in the shadows like a lost pup. he envied the time his sister had with you and always pestered his sister with questions.

does she like flowers? what’s her favorite pie? do you think she cares if i have a dragon or not?

that was when he had two eyes.

now, he was a man grown and hardened. donning an eyepatch and a scar on his left eye, he was no different than how he was as a boy when he was with you.

kind, charismatic, and funny. sure, he was all too teasing sometimes, but he always knew the right thing to say afterward so that you could never stay upset. the boyish things he used to do when he was younger; gently shove you as he passed by, mutter playful taunts under his breath, and interrupt your time with his sister princess, was vastly different than the way he treated you now. now, he brought flowers every now and then – even going as far to claim that they were from your native lands. they weren’t, of course, but it was obvious from his dragon riding attire and the dirt underneath his fingernails that he had gone out of kings landing in search of a bouquet worthy of your attention.

bringing you a book, staying by your side in silence as you answered scriptures sent to you by your family, and sitting by you and eating his dinner by your side. offering a dragon ride – anything, to keep you entertained and keep you in king’s landing.

it was adorable, his queen mother had thought. although princess helaena was married to her brother, prince aegon, and no longer needed a lady-in-waiting, the royal family kept you by their side (or rather aemond’s side) for aemond’s sake. you kept him out of trouble and brought light back to the prince’s once dull life.

from the beginning, these interactions had left your heart fluttering and your stomach in a knot. however, as of late with prince jacaerys’ arrival, the feeling had quelled and moved from aemond to jacaerys.

jacaerys velaryon, was no different. when his family returned to court at king’s landing and was greeted by the king, the queen, his uncle and aunt, and surprisingly you, he was head over heels. in your house colors and a long gown that covered your ankles, with long sleeves that looped through your fingers bound by jewelry, he thought he had met the entity of the maiden he had heard maesters and small-folk speak about.

beautiful and radiant, he knew he had to get to know you. the only thing in his way was the stone dragon that ever so protectively stood in front of you, almost shielding your presence from his nephew. it was like a silent exchange between the two when they made eye contact – you were aemond’s.

that didn’t stop jacaerys though. with each action aemond had for you, jacaerys had an equal and sometimes even greater reaction.

he was less obvious and more of how a lord should act; offering his hand to you when ever you climbed stairs or descended from a carriage, being the first to arrive at your apartment chamber to summon you to break your fast. he was constantly a new figure in your life and often asked questions about your native lands. you couldn’t tell him much – years of being away from home, it had turned into a distant memory rather than a fresh remembrance. he had told you one day, when you announced your discontent at being away from home so long, that he would take you. that statement alone was enough to make you fall.

that was when the dance between the dragons started and the revival of their long feud began.

“dear (y/n),” aemond’s voice brings you back to the present. you halt your tracks and turn your head toward the direction of his voice, a smile brightening both of your faces. you give him a customary curtsy as he approaches with long strides. “where are you off to in such a hurry?”

you hadn’t realized how fast you were walking or where you were even going.

“i was going to the godswood to read, my prince. i find that it’s both quiet and relaxing to be there,” you reply, rediscovering the reason for being out of your chambers.

aemond relaxes his shoulders and puts his hands behind his back, “no need for formalities, my lady, would you care if i joined?”

the question wasn’t surprising at all, aemond was always by your side. it was rather poetic and sweet.

“i would love if you joined me, prince aemond.” at your affirmation, aemond sticks out his right arm and you gladly grasp it, taking care to stay in his line of sight as you readjust your hold on your book. his other hand falls onto the one holding his arm, his fingers, long and warm, curled around yours. “how are you fairing with the return of your nephews?”

perhaps you should have waited to ask him, for his face turned dark.

“my nephews and half-sister are like the plague. they turn everything sour and seem to ruin–” when he feels your head turn and his eyes on his side profile, he halts his word assault on his family, “though, the kitchen cooks are preparing better meals every day. i assume that is the only light of their presence.”

“aemond,” you say carefully, raising your brows. the prince sighs and continues to lead you to the godswood, and soon enough, the halls open into an enormous, open courtyard with a single weirwood tree. “they are your family.”

aemond wants to pull his hair out, freely say obscenities and announce their bastard parentage – but he had sworn his mother that he would stop with the strong insults.

“family,” he tastes the word on his tongue before gently dropping your hand from his arm. he approaches the weirwood tree and collapses to the ground, legs spread open and bent at the knee. “is a peculiar thing.”

you follow but more gracefully, bending your knees and sliding on to the grass. you splay out your dress, doing care to keep your modesty. you allow the silence to engulf you two and think about your choice of words next, “how so?”

“sometimes i think my own family isn’t mine,” he confesses and this is the time where he makes that face, the face that comes before he allows his secrets to fall and his wishes to come forward. “aegon, he.. he isn’t what i’d imagine him to be. my mother is.. absent and my father is the closest thing to seeing the stranger.”

you frown, but he continues, “i believe helaena is the only one i’m truly proud of and is my beloved sister.” his confession is a sad one and drives you to gently place your hand on his in support. “i think we should be lucky to choose our family.”

he does well to look you in the eye at his last sentence. you bashfully look away and your hand leaves his – he doesn’t like the sudden coolness on his skin that follows.

“would you like me–” your sentence is cut short by the sudden surprise of aemond’s calloused finger catching your chin, turning your face to his. his thumb gently touches your bottom lip and he’s focused on the pair. with caution, he looks for any objection and when he sees none, he leans in and places a delicate, but yearning kiss on your lips. he parts and leans back, a boyish look lightening his features, “aemond.”

his name comes out like a whisper from your lips and he almost moves to his knees. you enjoy this feeling – the fleet of uncertainty and the softness of love.

the moment passes faster than how it happened and suddenly you’re both parting farther, “nephew.” you look up and it’s jacaerys approaching.

jacaerys smiles once he catches your eye, but it falters when he gaze moves to aemond, “there you are, lady (y/n). i’ve been looking for you.”

he’s been.. looking for you? it’s both a surprise to you and aemond, though, the latter grips the earth until his knuckles turn bone-white. you don’t seem to notice, but the once kind smile the velaryon prince bore had turned triumphant. it’s almost as if he wants to piss off his uncle.

“my prince– i, you have?” you look down at the forgotten book in your lap and quickly raise it to jacaerys’ line of sight, as if to defend why you and aemond were in the godswood, “i was just reading to prince aemond.”

“i’m sure it was something lovely to hear.. dear uncle, would you care to lady (y/n) joining me on a stroll throughout the red keep? i might even show her how great vermax is.” your head turns to observe aemond, who was as quiet as ever. his expression is cold and his singular eye glares daggers into the velaryon prince. you were sure that if vhagar was here, aemond would have commanded his beast to rain fire on his nephew. however, his lips purse into a fine line and his eye flicks to meet yours. he blinks, then looks at jacaerys and nods in defeat.

“i shall safekeep your book, my lady,” aemond says solemnly, giving you a wounded look. he wants to reach out to push jacaerys away, taking you in his arms and mounting vhagar with you by his side and leave king’s landing. “i will.. see you tonight?”

you smile and nod, handing the book you were supposed to read to the prince, before grasping jacaerys’ extended hand that helped you to your feet. you give one last look at aemond while jacaerys leads you away, and it’s enough to tear your heart in two.

you follow jacaerys without a word, your mind a blur. was aemond confessing himself to you? pledging himself to you? did he.. love you? it was enough turmoil that you wanted to tear your hair out.

“you weren’t reading to him, were you?” prince jacaerys asks, his head turning to glance at you as his breath mingles with the air. you’re suddenly shy and nervous – whether from the truthfulness of the kiss you and aemond had shared, or the close proximity between you and jacaerys.

“not exactly, my prince,” you confess, ducking your head and looking at anything but the prince beside you. maybe you should have lied, but so far, you and jacaerys have been nothing less than honest. that’s what you loved – the honesty that never had any deceit or ill-will. perhaps you wanted to keep it that way.

the halls of the red keep become more secluded, less skylight falling into the courtyard and more torches lighting the corridors. jacaerys leads you up steps and you follow, lifting the skirt of your dress a bit to clear your pathway.

he continues to lead, the passageway becoming more clear and open once again. you inhale deeply at the last few steps, the air exiting through your nose as you two exit the tower of stairs. the walls soon disappear and the open, clear sky becomes obvious as it replaces the targaryen heraldries and tapestries. you gasp in awe as you turn your head – from here, visenya’s hill and black water bay are in view. it’s beautiful from the garrison wall.

jacaerys’ steps slow and you walk ahead, turning at the last moment to face him. he looks troubled, hands enclosed in fists at his side.

“it’s no secret that he has some affections for you,” jacaerys says carefully, taking in your figure before creating a set in his jaw, the bone more prominent. he turns his head and stares out into the open bay, moving toward the wall to lean into it. “i don’t doubt that he’s already made it known.”

“i’m sorry, my prince, but i don’t understand what you’re getting at.” your words border on a laugh, brows furrowing as you move closer. what was jacaerys playing at? was this some elaborate plan to embarrass you?

“no sly words, nothing less than the honest truth,” he starts, moving away from the stone wall to stand in front of you. his warm hands engulf yours – it’s embrace is firm and reassuring. thumbs gently run along your hand as he tries to soothe his own nerves and coax yours. “i will tell you exactly as i feel, and i would hope you feel the same.”

your heart moves from your chest to your stomach and tears had begun to well in your eyes at his next words.

“i.. i must confess that i also harbor affections for you. these past few days, while so little, have been something that i’ve been longing for,” he begins, looking down at your conjoined hands before peeking up through his brown strands of hair. “i think of you night and day, lady (y/n), your well-being clouds my judgement, and i am at constant ends with myself.”

he thought to himself, to either make himself happy and serve the consequences of being at yet another war with his uncles, or forever live in regret. he decided to swallow the lump in his throat.

your breath shudders at his confession and you feel your stomach lurch.

“i want to ask for your hand. i want you to be my lady and be by my side when my mother ascends the iron throne and i take dragonstone.” one of his hands releases his grasp on yours, his hand rising to brush a stray strand of hair from your face and tuck it behind your ear. his smile is boyish, with teeth peeking from behind his lips. this mere expression is enough to make you sigh. “i want you to see your family and visit home whenever you’d like – we can go together on vermax and travel wherever we’d like.”

“we wouldn’t have to worry about court, or formalities. we could.. we could do anything that your heart desires,” he inhales deeply, the air squashing the dull ache in his chest, “i just.. i want you. all of you. what do you say?”

the passed days replay in your mind. jacaerys dancing with you in the courtyard – the laughter that always filled the room whenever you were with him. it felt comfortable and content to be with him. you had no worries when you were with him, no worry of the wrath of his mother if you upset him, and no worry if your absence had caused a disturbance. this was easy and this felt right.

“yes.”

when word of prince jacaerys’ proposal to you and your acceptance had caught wind and spread like dragonfire, it had done nothing but harden the feelings of aemond targaryen. some would even say that it drove the one-eyed prince mad and demand atonement, an eye for an eye, or in this case, a loved one for a loved one.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader x aemond targaryen #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fic #my writing

[3rachaslut]

HIIII YOURE LITERALLY ONE OF MY FAVS WRITTERS HERE AND you legit never disappoint with your writtings like hello??? URE SO TALENTEN MWAH!!! I was thinking

Maybe if you could like,,write hard dom leeknow x bratty sub fem reader but with a plot being like; we got into an argument with leeknow and we talked back this time, and he actually got super mad and then it leads to an aggressive sex?? Yk..like us begging him to stop but he actually fucks us harder each time we beg him.. HAHSJWKSNQKSK THANK U

ACTUAL BRAIN ROT OMG. mean lee know has me on my knees KASJDKEJB. i hope i did your ask justice!

warning: SMUT MINORS DNI!!! possessive behaviour, choking, humiliation kinda, degradation, pet names (slut, whore, little girl etc) DUB CON but consensual !!!, fingering, squirting, PIV sex, unprotected sex (don’t be fucking stupid) i think that’s it?

“I wasn’t fucking flirting with him Lee Know! What, I can’t even talk to my friends anymore?” You spit harshly at your boyfriend, his possessiveness getting the best of him yet again.

“You might as well have been grinding Hyunjin's fucking thigh in front of me y/n!” Lee Know bit back, anger lacing every. single. word. coming out of his mouth. He turned away from you with an exasperated sigh and you smirked at the anticipation of his reply to your next statement…

“Yeah.” You scoff. “Maybe I should have. Maybe he would know how to please a woman.” Silence. The tension in the air was so thick, you could effortlessly cut through it. Lee Know turned round to face you, his eyebrows furrowed and a threatening look crept its way onto his face. Your brave bravado instantly faltering as you shuffle on your feet as Lee Know strides closer and closer to you.

“I beg your pardon?” he says, now only inches away from you. Regret washes over you like a tsunami and you wish you would have just kept your mouth closed. “What did you just say?”

“I said..” you stutter, still trying to maintain the faux confidence you once convincingly had. “Maybe Hyunjin would know how to please a wo-“ Before you even had a chance to repeat yourself fully, a hand was swiftly wrapped around your throat, pressing firmly into the sides of your neck, preventing you from fully replying to his question. You gasp at the sudden lack of oxygen.

“Oh, little girl..” Lee Know tilts his head, mockingly. “You better watch that fucking mouth or I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll wish you never opened it princess. Got it?” His piercing eyes burning into you told you he wasn’t kidding and you only grew more and more lustful at each word.

“You won’t” you croak out through strained breaths, eyes locked on his. Lee Know raises his eyebrows and the smirk on his face told you that you were in. for. it. He practically manhandles you into your shared bedroom, quickly grabbing the bottom of your shirt and whipping it off you. He throws you onto the bed, towering over you tauntingly and fear instantly washes over you.

“Such a beautiful girl…” He says, hands finding your pants and ripping them down your legs. “But still so fucking stupid” He says, feigning disappointment as he shakes his head at your naked body underneath him. His fingers run playfully through your bare cunt, teasing your clit in such a way that he wasn’t attempting to pleasure you, rather in a manner of ‘seeing what he has to work with’. It was as if he was deciding if your pussy was worth his time and the humiliation of it making your pussy wetter. He swiftly shoves two fingers into you and you let out a strangled cry at the intrusion, a harsh slap to your inner thigh following your moans. “Stop whining, you can take two fingers up your little cunt." He scoffs. "So wet.. such a slut” Lee Know says as he makes his way upwards so you were face to face with your boyfriend, a look in his eyes that said he was hungry to punish you. His fingers began to speed up inside of you, curling them against your sweet spot and the tears threatening to leave your eyes were hindering your vision.

“God, listen to your fucking pussy, squelching like a fucking whore.” He torments. “I think you forget this is supposed to be a punishment tsk. You fucking love this don’t you? Love being treated like nothing but a whore don’t you, yeah?” He says and you whine in response, his words sending ungodly waves of pleasure straight to your pussy. Unsatisfied with your reply, a harsh slap was landed on your cheek and Lee Know grips your chin between his hand, forcing you to look at him. “Fucking, answer me y/n”

“Yes sir! Fuck!-“ You scrunch your eyes closed, your face contorting from the overwhelming pleasure your pussy was being forced to receive.

“Fucking whore." He tuts. "Look at me." You reluctantly open your eyes and see his evil glare looking back at you. You had received 'punishments' off of Lee Know in the past but something about his demeanour told you that this time, he wasn't going to go so easy on you. He shoves you legs upwards, your knees on either side of your head and the new position allowed his fingers to dive deeper inside of you. Tears begin to fall from your eyes at the angle he was hitting your sweet spot at, hurting slightly due to the relentless thrusting of his fingers inside you.

"Sir.. ah- hurts" you mewl. He harshly pulls his fingers out from inside of you and you let out a jagged breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Aww, it hurts baby?" Lee Know mocks, tilting his head to the side and looking down at you, a wicked smirk plastered over his face. He gets up from the bed and swiftly takes off his pants and boxers, discarding them elsewhere and assuming his previous position on top of you. "If my fingers hurt you baby girl, you better pray to god that you make me cum quickly or this is gonna be a longgg punishment for you doll." He says, his tormenting words making you huff out a sigh of defeat. He teasingly rubs the tip of his cock over your sensitive clit and you let out a whimper, Lee Know smiling at the mess he's made of you. He bottoms out at the first thrust into you and you throw your head back, a mixture of pleasure and pain flooding your senses all at once and the familiar floating feeling of sub space washes over you.

"M- minho, 'm sorry, didn't mean it, hurts.." you babble out as his thrusts begin to speed up inside of you, your body jolting at each thrust and your chest heaving up and down from the uncontrollable sobs you were letting out. His dick was thrusting into you so hard and so fast that you could see his bulge in your stomach.

"Moan his name slut, do it" He dares you, the fierce look in his eyes making you feel so small underneath him.

"W-what?" You respond as best as your vocal chords will let you, unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Moan for Hyunjin baby doll. Close your eyes and moan for him" He leans down to grab your chin. "Do. it."

You unwillingly submit to his request, feeling more timid than ever before. Every part of moaning another mans name during sex with your boyfriend felt totally foreign and wrong. However right now, you realised it was probably best to do what you were told.

"Hy- Hyunjin.." You whisper, almost inaudibly and his thrusts begin to speed up rapidly. The sound of his skin slapping skin filling the room and you let out a loud "AH" every time he slams into you.

"Louder." He demands and again you reluctantly comply.

"Hyunjin! Fuck- AH!" You practically shout this time, "Please.. slow down ah- hurts." You beg, the knot in your stomach threatening to break any minute. "Gonna.. AH" you scream as you come undone, squirting all over Lee Knows cock inside you. His thrusts never slow down, hitting your sensitive sweet spot over and over again and you scream out.

"Such a messy girl" He chuckles.

"Please.." You beg, however, unsure of what you were begging for at this point.

"That's it doll, you just keep begging whilst I cum inside of you ah!-" He growls as he releases inside of you, kissing your face as he comes down from his high. The sound of his kisses ringing in your ears bringing you back to reality.

"Are you okay baby girl. Wasn't too rough was I?" he says as he manoeuvres you into his arms, laying you both down on the bed.

"A little bit but it felt really nice." you giggle at him, pecking his lips and he smiled back at you. "Maybe I should 'flirt' with your friends more often.."

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x y/n #lee know smut #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n

[vodika-vibes]

Hi ! First, congrats on 500 followers, you deserve it !!!

Can I get an aquamarine (healing love) with Crosshair, please ? Something that takes place on he's back with his brothers and they're on Pabu and meets someone and gets into a relationship with her (fem!reader if possible)

Thank you so much and have a good/day night !

Not Broken

Summary: You’re not a doctor or a medic or a healer of any sort. There’s no medical wisdom or magic pill that you can offer Crosshair to help him heal. And yet, he spends almost all of his time with you anyway. And you start to think, maybe you can help him anyway.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 773

Prompt: Aquamarine - Healing Love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! And thank you! I hope this is close to what you wanted. Crosshair is a favorite of mine, so I hope I did him justice for you!

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” Crosshair’s voice is clipped as he lowers himself to sit next to you on the stone wall where you’re watching the sun set against the ocean.

“Because~” You drag the word out playfully, “Shoes are for losers.” You thump your bare feet against the wall, carefully as to now hurt yourself.

He bumps your shoulder with his own, “So, I’m a loser then?”

You shoot him an innocent look, “Well, I don’t make the rules, Cross-”

He flashes a small smirk before he places his hand between your shoulder blades and pushes you off the wall, and you release an indignant noise as you land light on your feet in the soft sand. 

“Rude.”

His smirk widens, “Well, I don’t make the rules-” He repeats your words back at you, and you make a face before you climb back up the wall to sit next to him. 

“Still rude.” You settle back next to him and lean against him, a comfortable silence falling between you.

His weight is solid against your side as you watch the sun creep below the horizon, and, the lower the sun sinks, the more tension drains from his body.

“So,” You say lightly, “I haven’t seen you all day.” 

Tellingly, he doesn’t tense up at your words, and you marvel at the amount of trust he shows you. He also, rather tellingly, doesn’t say anything.

So you lean over slightly, so that you’re looking him in the eyes, “Hot date?”

He snorts out a laugh, “As if anyone has the patience for me other than you.” Crosshair glances at you, amusement in his gaze, “Besides, I thought we were dating.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a jealous bone in my body. Because I’m a superior person.” You say with an easy grin.

There’s a glimmer of affection in his gaze, “Yeah, you are.”

You preen under his gaze, and lean your head on his shoulder, “So glad you agree.” You lightly take his hand between both of yours, “So, if it wasn’t a hot date-”

He sighs, “I had a visit with the Doctor.”

You hum and tighten your hands around his, but you don’t say anything. He’ll tell you when he’s good and ready and not a moment sooner.

The sun creeps lower over the horizon and stars dot the sky like fireflies. It’s pretty. Your favorite time of day.

“Apparently,” Crosshair says, once the sun has set enough that you can’t see his face clearly, “I’m broken.”

You sit straight up from where you’ve been leaning against him, offense writ clearly on your face, “Did he say that!”

Crosshair pulls his hand from your hands and lightly guides your head back to his shoulder, “Not in so many words, no.” He finally admits, “No need to go in guns blazing, Princess.”

You scowl, “So those are your words then?”

“...yeah.”

You fall silent for a moment, his words rolling around your mind for a long few minutes, before you shift and move to straddle his lap, your hands coming up to cup his face.

Your fingers, so much smaller and softer than his own, brush against the scar on the side of his head, and there’s a glimmer of surprise on his thin face.

“Princess?”

“You listen to me, and you listen well.” You say, your voice soft but stern, “You are not broken. You are a person, not a vase.” You trace his face with gentle fingers, “And even if you were a vase, even the most broken of vases can be repaired.”

His gaze locks with yours, and he seems speechless. Which, valid, it’s not your nature to be so forceful, after all.

“I know you might not believe me. So I can believe enough for both of us, until you’re ready to believe on your own.”

He stares at you, for long enough that your face begins to heat with embarrassment, and then his hands come up to press against yours, “You might be better for my healing than any doctor or medicine in the galaxy.” He admits, his voice quiet.

Your lips twitch up into a small smile. 

It’s not a traditional love confession. But, for Crosshair, what he said is just as meaningful, if not moreso.

You lean in and press a light kiss against the bridge of his nose, and then a quick kiss against his lips, “Would you like to go and get some greasy fast food for dinner? There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I’d like to watch it with you.”

And Crosshair releases the softest of sighs, “I’d like that.”

#star wars #tbb #vodika vibes 500 followers celebration #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

[grandlinedreams]

Hiiii!!!

I love your writings and I had this idea and I hope you can bring it to life <3

Maybe Law x Reader or a Zoro x Reader in a sleeping beauty situation???

Like reader got hit with a devil fruit that makes them fall asleep and they can only be awaken by true loves kiss??

Thank you<333333333

OOOHHH yes but also I picked Zoro for a change of pace and because I love him too so I hope I can do this justice for you in this way!!

Zoro doesn't believe much in fairytales. He knows full well that the world doesn't work like that ㅡ that it deals in things far harsher than lost slippers and mermaids that turn back into seafoam.

But looking at you laying so still, he can't help but think about one that Chopper likes so much, one he's heard Robin reading to the little doctor in the evening. One of a princess, an evil witch, and a spindle that put her to sleep for years.

But there is no dragon to slay, no castle tower to climb ㅡ just the creak of the Sunny as it bobs against ocean waves, and the soft sound of your breathing. But you are asleep ㅡ that much is true. And because it's a devil fruit effect, there's little they can do besides wait for you to wake up.

"You can try talking to them," Chopper advises, "it might help."

But what can he say? What should he say? He's never been good with words, finds it too hard to get his point across ㅡ his swords make his intentions clear so much faster.

But he wants to try, because he misses you. He won't admit it to anyone else, but it feels a little less bright without you ㅡ his napping spots colder and less comfortable, training lonelier without you curled up nearby to watch him.

"Feels weird without you," he manages at last, reaching to take one of your hands into his. He thumbs at your knuckles, tries not to focus on how limp and cold your hand is. "The others miss you." Pause. "I miss you."

You don't answer, of course, and he doesn't expect you to. He doesn't believe much in magic, either. He sinks into silence, gaze slipping to the stack of books nearby ㅡ left by Robin or perhaps Nami, reading to you earlier this afternoon.

Zoro doesn't believe much in fairytales, but there's not much to lose, is there? At worst, it doesn't work and he can laugh at himself for entertaining something like this.

He leans over you, studying your features, how calm you are in sleep ㅡ and leans in. It's hardly a kiss as far as kisses go, the dry brush of his lips on yours ㅡ but when he leans back, your eyelids flutter.

It's a barely there movement at first, then stronger ㅡ and then your eyes are opening, and you're looking at him. "Zoro?"

He stares. You're awake for the first time in days, and the first thing out of your mouth is his name. (Take that, stupid cook.)

"You're awake," he says, watches your brow knit in confusion at why he sounds so relieved ㅡ and then you yelp when he all but yanks you upright and into his arms.

"Zoro, whatㅡ" He doesn't squeeze you tight enough that it hurts, but it's with enough pressure that suggests that you haven't just been the normal kind of asleep. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He holds you to him, relief in the steady thump of your heartbeat, the tentative wrap of your arms around him in return. His voice is soft, vulnerable in a way he so rarely lets himself be. "Just glad you're awake, that's all."

#ㅡmine. #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #ㅡanswered. #anonymous

[palioom]

Hellooo!! Just really wanted to say I absolutely love your fics they’re so good am always waiting for you to drop the next one 😩👌🏼

But just a suggestion!! I don’t know what it is but there’s something INCREDIBLY hot about a guy who really wants you to sit on his face 🥵 like he’s FERAL to give it to her and will go down for hours if he can and he will!! 😩👌🏼I don’t really have a specific situation in mind but I just need him to have a NEED to give the reader oral idk FKDKDKS

You can do whatever you want with this! Or don’t! Am grateful for anything 🥹

first of all I'm SO sorry with how long this took to upload! i LOVED the idea the second i saw it and I hope I could do your idea justice after such a long wait, I just didn't have the time for longer stuff with kinktober happening but thank you so much for giving me this idea!!

remedy against pain

summary: after being "gravely" injured, Oberyn knows exactly what would help him heal, and you are more than eager to give it to him.

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but many, many nicknames); fluff & smut; oral (m & f receiving); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; squirting; face sitting; 69; one small slap on the ass

part of "the viper and the sun"

• masterlist •

When she was notified of Oberyn’s injury that sunny afternoon, she was worried at first. All sorts of grisly thoughts came into her head - thoughts of broken bones and bloody wounds. Another deep scar to worship later, once it had healed.

All she had been told was that he had been brought back to their shared bedchambers with an injured back and knee, sustained as he was practicing with their eldest daughter, Obara.

It was difficult to believed that a girl of eighteen years of age could injure her own father in such a grave manner that he had to stop and leave the training pits altogether.

But as the nurse who accompanied her talked more about his supposed suffering, she had to try and keep her oncoming laugh hidden. Coughing to stifle her laughter, the best rendition of worry etched onto her features when she heard of what truly ailed him.

A small, moderately deep cut on the knee and a large bruise on his back from when he fell after Obara had swiped him off his feet.

That old man.

Ever a penchant for the dramatics, the immediate notice of his quite severe injury an exaggeration like only he could procure. In grave danger to meet death, at least that was what he wished for her to believe.

Oberyn loved to exaggerate his ailments whenever she was around, keen to have his wonderful wife dote on and care for him like only she could. With her gentle hands and words, her tongue spinning the sweetest words to help him heal while he lamented about how much he had hurt himself.

She knew every time that things weren’t as bad as he made them out to be, at least not when she saw him. Before that, she would worry her head off, the most grim images in her head until she found out the truth. But she played along nonetheless, and sometimes she would even find it in herself to tease him.

“The Prince is in a lot of pain, my Princess.” The nurse informed her as they arrived at the huge double doors leading to their private chambers, seeming extremely worried. Oh, what a mean man Oberyn was sometimes, making everyone concerned for him all because he enjoyed the attention it gave him from his wife. “You ought to tread carefully.”

She chucked quietly, giving the woman in front of her a soothing smile.

“Thank you, I will make sure to treat my dear husband with utmost care.”

The nurse bowed her head before scurrying off again, leaving her to go inside their chambers.

Carefully she opened the huge doors, flanked by guards on the outside, stepping into the silence of the room. They had drawn some of the curtains so not too much light was flooding inside, dipping everything into hues of red and orange.

She could see him lying on the bed, a wet rag covering his eyes, propped up on some pillows behind him into a position halfway between sitting and lying down. Not looking too miserable, if she had to give an estimated guess from where she stood.

“Oh, my Viper.” She cooed as she came closer, watching how his entire demeanour shifted beneath her words. Suddenly he did look quite miserable, creases forming on his forehead and the corners of his mouth turning downward just slightly. Like their girls pretending to be sick so they would coddle them. She wasn’t quite sure if they learned from Oberyn or Oberyn from them. “My sweet, sweet Viper. Are you well?”

Sitting down on the side of the bed, right next to him, she took his warm, broad hand into hers, feeling the rough calluses on it. With the other, she reached up to remove the wet rag from his eyes.

“My lovely wife.” Oberyn groaned, looking back at her, blinking a few times to adjust to the sudden brightness that flooded his eyes. “My pain seems to ease in your presence, my Sun.”

She chuckled quietly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles while her other hand brushed back his dark, slightly damp hair, then trailed down his face to cup his cheek. Always with a slightly concerned look on her face, but he could see the small twinkle in her eyes.

Oberyn knew it would be hard to fool his clever wife, but he could still try.

“I am glad it does, my love.” She said, smiling at him as he put on the sickest expression he could. Of course he was in some pain, but Gods, how he exaggerated. “Does it hurt much, my fierce Viper?”

The phantom of a smile graced his features for just a moment, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared.

Nevertheless, she caught it.

“Quite so, my Sun.” He answered, his piercing eyes holding her gaze, and for just the briefest moment, she believed the pain he was in. He made her believe, knowing her heart was too soft for him to truly doubt him. “The pain is nearly unbearable, if it wasn’t for you by my side, I would certainly perish.”

She leaned closer to him, placing a soft kiss onto his lips, light as a feather as he was obviously quite weak. Warm and a little chapped against hers, the bristles of his beard tickling her skin.

His lips chased hers as she drew back, having to stop himself from chasing after them further.

He was in pain, his back certainly did hurt, but not to the degree Oberyn made it out to be. 

“What would make you feel better, my sweet husband?” She cooed, sitting back up again. Still stroking his cheek and her pout bordering on mock concern.

His dark eyes truly began to sparkle at her question, his fingers flexing against hers. 

Oh, there were many different ideas he had about what would truly help him.

But there was one idea in particular that would ensure a speedy recovery.

“The taste of your sweet cunt, my love.” Oberyn said after a beat of silence, a small smirk on his lips. “Nothing would heal me more efficiently than that. Nothing.”

She remained quiet for a moment, her pout giving way to a smile.

“Oh, my love. You are too injured for that.” She tried to imagine him wanting to keep up the facade of being terribly hurt, but also wanting to roll onto his stomach and delve his tongue deep inside of her. As much as she liked the idea, she was more interested in seeing how Oberyn would like to go about this. “I wouldn’t want you to risk your back by helping you onto your stomach.”

His fingers tightened more around hers, a fiery desire settling inside of his eyes. Desire and lust and a need, pushing away all the traces of him being too hurt.

“And you certainly cannot kneel with your gravely injured knee.”

Clever thing.

He needed her cunt against his mouth, had been craving the embrace of her thighs around his head ever since he had woken in the morning. While she had laid beside him in bed, sunken in a peaceful slumber, her magnificent features traced by the rising sun.

But he had decided to wait until tonight, for she had slept so peacefully that he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. And the wait would have made things so much sweeter in his mind.

Imagining her taste so much that he swore he did eventually taste it.

Maybe that had been why Obara had knocked him over so effectively in the end.

“Straddle my face, my love.” He said, already moving to pull a few pillows from beneath his head and throwing them to the side, making it easier for her to position herself. “Please, my Sun. Don’t deny your husband the pleasure of suffocating between your wonderful thighs while drinking from you. Not while he is gravely injured.”

Gravely injured.

Her smile widened at his words, pulling his hand against her lips once more and kissing each of his knuckles. Slowly, deliberately. Never looking away from his eyes.

Oh, how dramatic he was. How could she deny him?

“Is that truly what would make you better, my Viper?” She asked, feeling the familiar heat pool in her stomach, the tingling on her skin and in her spine, wanting him but not wanting to cause him further injury. They both could get quite passionate, after all. “Are you certain?”

Oberyn chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. If his back wasn’t hurting as much as it was, he simply would have lifted her on top of him, unable to wait any longer to have her.

“There is no better medicine than the cunt of a woman.” He replied, removing yet another pillow and reclining. Noticing how she almost gave into rolling her eyes at him. “Nothing better than the cunt of my sweet wife who is keeping me waiting, hurting.”

She removed her shoes before climbing onto the bed with a giggle, lifting her skirts as she straddled his chest and moved closer to where he needed her. Watching how his eyes sparkled with mischief, darting between her face and the apex of her thighs.

Oberyn found her movingly too slowly, his rough hands grabbing at her thighs and ass, pushing her along faster as a pained groan left him. Looking up at her, he found her looking back down at him with a raised brow, but he simply grinned, her knees finally on either side of his head, but she was still sitting on his chest.

“Oberyn.” She warned, not wanting him to be in more pain because of how eager he was. Her husband would break his neck if it meant he could fuck her somehow. 

He simply chose to ignore her, coaxing her with his hands on her ass, his thick fingers digging into the silk of her dress.

“Come here, my Sun.” His voice was dark and smooth, desperate almost. So close to what he wanted, if only she moved. “Let me have you, I need your sweet cunt on my tongue, your sweet juices.”

She giggled, letting him guide her over his face, lifting her skirts again as she hovered over him. He looked ravenous and she could feel his hot breath against her folds, his nails forming faint crescent marks on her skin.

Oberyn didn’t even wait, simply pulling her down onto him, groaning at the surprised noise that left her; half moan half gasp. Expertly licking a stripe through her folds, his tongue found her clit and toyed with it. Flicking against it before he sucked it into his mouth with another groan, her hips bucking into him as she grabbed the headboard for purchase.

“Oh, Oberyn.” She moaned, grinding into him, one of her hands tangling into his hair and tugging on it. The vibrations of his noises travelled up her spine, shivers breaking out over her skin. Eyes closed and her head thrown back. “Gods, yes!”

While he started out slow at first, he quickly picked up speed, eating her like a man starved as his tongue sweeped lower, fucking into her quivering hole, his nose bumping against her clit over and over. 

Like he had been denied this for centuries.

“You taste fucking delectable.” He groaned against her, one of his hands leaving her hips and moving up to grope at her breast. Ignoring how his back hurt, just needing her and her sweet noises as she pressed herself down harder onto his face. Just how he wanted it. “Exactly what I needed, my Sun.”

His fingers pinched her hardened nipple, making her whine and stutter in her movements for a second, her own tugging on his dark hair harder. 

This truly was his heaven, his wife’s weight on top of him, her body freely grinding against his tongue while he took whatever he could get, lapping at her as if his life depended on it. As if her juices were the only remedy against his pain, a concoction no one else could prepare but her.

Suffocating between her warm thighs, her wonderful sounds muffled by them but still loud enough for him to hear.

He would have to make a habit out of this whenever he was sick.

But he needed her release above all, feeling how she pulsed around his tongue, how her movements became more erratic, leading him to double his efforts. He came back to focus on her clit, slowly becoming aware of how hard he was beneath the covers, just from devouring her like this.

“Please, my Viper.” She moaned, the words hitching on her breath as she looked back down at him, so close to reaching her peak. He looked gorgeous in the red and orange lights. “Oh, how grateful I am it wasn’t your talented tongue which was injured.”

He smirked, lightly grazing his teeth over her clit before sucking it between his lips once more, swiftly feeling her reach her peak right after.

Trembling on top of him as she fell into herself slightly, she still moved her hips against his face as his tongue eagerly lapped up her release. His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer, over and over as his fingers dug into her ass, keeping her close to him even as the pleasure started to border on pain.

And she knew, as he didn’t stop and simply kept going, that he hadn’t had enough of his remedy yet. Still needed more to sate himself, to heal. Circling her clit, fucking into her sensitive hole, all while he began to writhe underneath her.

Oberyn loved the shift in her sounds, more on the side of painful pleasure which he knew she loved, her senses heightened and burning a path of desire inside of her as he kept going. Taking what he needed from her, trying to keep his hips still as a sharp pain shot up his back each time they rutted up into nothing, against the thin covers which provided little relief.

She took a glance over her shoulder, her hips stopping just for a moment as she saw his cock straining against the covers. Thick and hard, all from him burying his face inside her cunt, aching to be touched.

Wondering if he would end up begging for her touch, knowing he derived just as much pleasure from eating her cunt like he would with his cock inside of it. That’s what made him so wonderful, being able to give and receive pleasure just from that alone.

Choosing to ignore it and see if he actually would end up begging her, she bit her lip and turned back around, his tongue swiftly working her up again, pain and pleasure bleeding together into one. A steady buzz that had her nerves aflame and her mind swimming, torn between shying away from and pressing herself down harder onto his eager and warm tongue.

He hurled her into her next orgasm, her juices trickling down his chin and neck while he hummed into her. His own sounds bordered on pain, making her concerned amidst the haze surrounding her like a thick fog, but she knew fully well that he knew his limits.

Hopefully.

Oberyn needed her desperately, the pain in his back almost forgotten in the nagging presence of his aching cock, the friction against the thin sheets doing nothing for him. Wanting to lap at her sweet, swollen cunt but also needing her on him somehow, engulfing him.

Her hands, her mouth, her tits - he would take anything as long as it meant he could keep his face buried between her warm thighs.

Reluctantly he pushed her away from his mouth just briefly, latching onto the soft, scarred inside of her thigh. Her tiger’s stripes as he called them affectionately, from carrying his children and the weight gain that came along with that.

“My Sun.” He groaned, tanned fingers digging into her skin and his eyes closing briefly as he dug his teeth into her thigh, humming. Feeling like he was getting drunk just from her, or going crazy. Maybe even both. “Gods, I need you.”

A giggle left her through the haze in her mind, catching her breath in the brief moment of respite. She loved when he got so drunk on her that he couldn’t let his lips rest even for just a second.

“You have me, Oberyn.” She whispered, flames still licking at her insides, her blood boiling hot. Acting as though she didn’t know about the painful erection hiding beneath the covers. “I would think you have me, your tongue was deep in my cunt just moments ago.”

Oberyn groaned again, more kisses and licks and bites bestowing the inside of her thighs in a frenzy. His wife could be such a mean woman sometimes, teasing him, making him wait.

Maybe this was his punishment for acting sicker than he was.

“My cock demands your attention, my Sun.” He rasped, his eyes piercing and full of lust. His hips rutted upwards as if to emphasize his point, a deep grunt following the movement. One of pain, and it made her wonder whether she should be doing this with him in the first place. “My sweet, please. I need to find relief in you.”

Hearing him plead her to pleasure him only fanned the flames inside of her, a whine escaping her lips as her own hips bucked up. She didn’t want to keep him waiting, but just how desperate could Oberyn become?

“But you need my cunt, my Prince.” She said, brushing his hair back without a care in the world. Like she wasn’t burning up from the inside and like he wasn’t aching for her. “How will you heal if you engulf your cock inside of it? What other remedy do we have that is better than my cunt?”

Oberyn licked his lips, regretting that he had taught her to be so naughty.

“My Sun, don’t tease your bruised and sick husband like this.” He admonished, attempting to move her, but the sharp pain in his back swiftly reminded him that he shouldn’t. And he really did not want to miss her wet heat just yet, needing more of her. “I will take anything you can give me, as long as you do. Please, my darling.”

She giggled and Oberyn immediately knew that she was playing with him. Making a twisted little game out of his injury.

He would have to punish her once he was healed enough.

“Does your cock need me so desperately, my Viper?” She asked, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t wish to break my sweet husband in half, you are so gravely injured already.”

The sound that rumbled in his chest was akin to a growl, his patience for her games wearing thin as his dick throbbed with need in between his legs. Aching and desperate for her touch.

“My sweet, please.” He whined, his eyebrows knitting together as he looked up at her. Begging her with his eyes, so full of lust and hurt and desperation that she melted underneath them. “Turn around and let me feel the divinity of your mouth and tongue, my Sun. Help me heal, my Princess.”

She smirked, swiftly moving off of his face before turning around and straddling it again, feeling his strong hands grip her thighs as she leaned down. 

Biting her lip as she slowly peeled back the thin, orange fabric of the covers, she let her fingers wander over his hot, tanned skin dipped in orange hues. Feeling his muscles twitch beneath it, teasingly slow as he groaned into her middle, tongue already back on her.

“Don’t tease your husband, my dear.” He whined, digging his fingers into her skin harder in an attempt to make her move faster. “The punishment for this crime is severe.”

It did nothing to stop her teasing, only moaning when his teeth nipped at her folds, her fingers finally uncovering him. Erect and red and angry, the head weeping for her and throbbing as she ran a finger along the length of it with a featherlight touch.

Tracing the thick veins, his hips squirming and his moans muffled by her, she couldn’t help the small laugh that left her. Only keeping him waiting a little longer, she finally granted him his wish, kissing the head of his cock and tasting the saltiness of the pre-cum.

“Oh, Gods.” She heard him groan behind her before his tongue dove into her, eliciting a high pitched moan from her when the pleasurable pain returned. “You gorgeous thing, my Sun.”

Just as eager as he was at the beginning, lapping at her like a man starved, home from long travels through the desert. His hands keeping her squirming hips in place.

She slowly let spit dribble down his cock, wrapping her fingers around it before she pressed her lips against the head over and over, her tongue teasing the sensitive skin with tiny licks before finally flattening against it.

When she finally wrapped her lips around him, he bucked up into her mouth, a whine sounding from between her thighs. Immediate relief spread through him but he needed more, both on his tongue as well as his cock, her head bobbing up and down. Her thighs began to tremble, the slick sounds of her cunt as well as her mouth on him pushing her closer to the edge as she took him deeper.

Her hand wandered to his balls, heavy and warm as she fondled them, just how Oberyn liked it. Taking him deeper still, hitting the back of her throat and feeling another groan against her middle, travelling up her spine.

So damn close, forgetting to move for a moment as she concentrated on the fiery sensation that threatened to set her body ablaze again, closing her eyes and whimpering around him.  The tightness of her throat only spurred him on, her weight on top of him as he finally hurled her over the edge, her sounds coming out as delicious vibrations around his cock.

Yet not stopping, giving her ass a soft smack to spur her back into moving, kneading the soft flesh.

She moved in earnest now, letting him slip down her throat and stilling for a few moments before simply teasing the dark head, kissing and licking at it with vulgar wet sounds.

How she wished to look at him right now, see his dark, piercing eyes glazed over with lust and need and watch him watch her devour his thick cock. Her cunt pulsed at the thought, his talented tongue keeping her nerves aflame, the pain it elicited only helping in hurling her closer to yet another orgasm.

“One more, my sweet.” He groaned, so close himself as her mouth worked over his sensitive cock. “One more for me, let me heal myself through you.”

A sharp whine left her, hips bucking against his face.

“One more for you.” She breathed out, her fingers wrapping around the shaft again and suckling at the head. Delirious and repeating what he had said. “One more, Oberyn- Please-”

She was unsure if she needed him more than he needed her right now, still in awe of how long he could stave off on his peak despite how sensitive and worked up he was.

When the telltale twitching of his cock set in, her tongue continuously flicking over the slit, she felt him focus on her clit, closing his lips around it and sucking hard. Just needing to swallow down more of her.

“Oberyn-” She moaned, dragging out his name as she spilled all over his face, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, trembling on top of him.

It triggered his own peak, groaning into her while he finally felt that sweet release wash over him, dulled by the sharp pain shooting up his spine. Still, nothing could ruin this, no pain would ruin the feeling of his wife’s cum all over his face while his own cock twitched and pulsed furiously.

Some of the white ropes laid across her cheek before she wrapped her lips around him once more with a groan and swallowed the rest eagerly. The salty taste spreading over her tongue, fully Oberyn.

Her mind swimming at the sensation and her body boneless.

They remained like this for several moments, his tongue tenderly licking at her once the waves had stopped, noticing the subtle twitch from just how often he had brought her to a peak. Her cheek rested on his muscular, thick thigh, still tracing the veins on his softening cock before clumsily rolling off of him and onto her back.

A breathless laugh left her, taking a moment to close her eyes and take in the warm feeling that simmered in her body, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining.

A soothing gesture, grounding her in reality as she felt like floating in water.

Oberyn sat up slightly, wincing quietly as he took in her face, some of his cum still on her cheek, red and orange dancing across her skin from the curtains and he couldn’t help but smile. More than satisfied with what just happened.

Never would he tire from seeing his wife covered with his cum, the only sight better than this being when it trickled out of her swollen cunt.

“Thank you, my Sun.” He said, his thumb brushing over her fingers soothingly. Almost forgetting about his injuries as he laid here with her. “The copious amounts of medicine you provided me with are already showing their effect.”

She laughed at that, and the sound only helped to mend his bruised body, watching her open her eyes and sit up. Stopping to take in his wet face, the now tired but satisfied eyes along with the smallest curl of his lips.

The sight was something she would never tire of, her core still throbbing. So handsome, with the lines on his face which began to form, the first few silver streaks in his hair and beard.

“I am glad I was of help, my Viper.” She giggled, raising her unoccupied hand to swipe his cum off of her face before sucking it off her finger. “I generously received a little bit of my own medicine. Though, my aches only began after ingesting it.”

Oberyn laughed, loud and hearty as he pointed for her to lay down next to him. Needing to feel her body, though he wished he could bury his face in between her thighs for just a little longer, slower this time and not rushing things.

She shuffled around, bending down to kiss him languidly and tasting herself on his tongue. Then finally laying next to him just how he wanted, pulling the covers over them.

“I think in your case, my sweet,” he began, wrapping his arm around her and ignoring the pain that came with it. Kissing her forehead and just keeping her close. “It is simply that you are ageing.”

A playfully shocked gasp left her, hitting his chest with a quick swat and laughing at the exaggerated grunt he let out. Pretending as though he had been struck by something much worse than his beloved wife’s hand.

“How dare you treat your husband, your Prince, like such when he is in terrible, terrible agony?” Oberyn asked with a laugh, wishing he could crush her against him. “Do you not wish for me to be well, my love?”

She nuzzled against his neck with a giggle, peppering his jaw with kisses as she inhaled his scent. Still smelling like the training pits, earthy and sweaty.

“I wish for my husband to stop the dramatics.” This sweet banter had always been her favourite, laughing and jesting with him like no other. “Become the feared Red Viper everyone knows instead of letting your daughter of eighteen years of age knock you off your feet.”

The grip on her hip tightened and she giggled more when she realized that he could certainly not do as he pleased with her just now. Secretly she loved the dramatics, always worried about him but unable to stop her loud mouth and her teasing.

“Oh, sweet wife…” Oberyn sighed, looking at her. What a funny thing she was, too swift with her dangerous tongue. “Once your mortally wounded husband is healed, there will be a punishment in order.”

He paused for a moment, squeezing her hip harder, delighting in the warm flesh in the palm of his hand.

“A punishment and an apology. Perhaps both could be the same.”

She became excited at the plethora of things he could do, though she was quite certain about what he meant, her clit throbbing in anticipation.

“First you should heal, my love.” She said, entirely genuine, pushing her dirty thoughts aside as her hand brushed over his stomach. Warm and soft, tender and the most perfect place to rest her head on usually. “Please rest, let the medicine I gave you work its wonders.”

He kissed her forehead again, allowing his lips to linger there as he closed his eyes and breathed her in. The scent of oranges filling him, his body melting in her presence.

Surely, there was no sweeter remedy than his wife and her delicious cunt, the sweet relief he found in between her thighs.

#oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #game of thrones #my writing #tvats

[theold-ultraviolence]

Hello my loveeeeee

I come bearing Aemond thots

So we know Aemond is observant and a man of few words so in relation to his wife I think he would have sooo many feelings about just the littlest things he notices about her but he can't figure out how to say it I imagined he's tried to a couple times but it didn't come out right poor thing

So he started writing her letters almost daily even though they see eachother every day just so he can get his words out 🤍

Whispers Unsaid / Part II

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

A/N: CEE. When I tell you I've never ran to write a prompt THIS QUICKLY, I think I'm breaking a personal record here. This is the sweetest, most precious and unique concept ever and omg I hope I did it justice. Thank you for indulging me and for letting me explore more of Aemond!! Title is based on the song 'Hail to the King' by A7X, which is also the album that has been inspiring me when it comes to him. CW: suggestive language, no explicit content. Words: 2k.

“What are you doing, husband?” 

You sigh from your spot on your shared bed, with an outstretched hand in search of his touch, only it lands beside you on the empty dent where the warmth of his form still lingers. 

It’s late, and Aemond’s back is towards you, with his long hair cascading behind him like the silvery moonbeams that reflect on the ocean just outside of King’s Landing. Straight and stoic as always, he sits, illuminated by the triad of candles sitting on his desk as he’s calmly scribbling away on paper. 

He stops as soon as he hears your quiet calling, and only turns halfway to grant you a little smirk.  “Just some writing. Go back to sleep.”  

“Just some writing, he says...”

He huffs out a quiet puff of air that’s just Aemond’s way of laughing, and you consider it a win. 

At the beginning, the silence had unnerved you; it puzzled you, to be the one to take up the mantle between the two of you and prompt the conversation out of him for seldom did he utter a single word. It’s like Aegon had claimed all the bark upon being the first one to leave their mother’s womb and left no words to spare for Aemond or Helaena. 

But in time, you learned that that’s just the kind of man that Aemond is, and it does not mean that he despises you, as you’d first believed as a newlywed, being one in need of affirmation to be at ease knowing their care is reciprocated.

Having been betrothed to Aemond had proved to be a blessing, despite it being a political arrangement. You’d grown too fond of him, too attached to his scent and the weight of his body against you. You’d often think about what would’ve become of you, hadn’t you been matched with someone as caring and devoted as he. 

Albeit eternally silent. 

So you made it your own little game, to try and pry a smile out of him with your quips, or a sigh of contentment with your caresses, anytime you could. This little laugh you treasure, as it’s a sound as rare as a King without a crown, or a Valyrian without a dragon

“May I enquire, your grace, if it’s something appropriate to share with your lady wife?” 

You speak through a teasing smile and a giddy heart over the sight of his shoulders visibly relaxing and a dimple surfacing along the lines of his sharp jaw. 

“Whispers unsaid, I believe,” he murmurs cryptically, and isn’t that the understatement of the era. 

Everything that Aemond utters to you is restrained, often biting his tongue when he sees you changing into your dress in the morning, or walking down a stairwell while lifting up your skirt, like a proper princess. You wonder what he thinks of you, what passes through the intricate maze that is his mind, whenever he’s helping you put on a piece of jewelry, or tying up the laces of your slippers or squeezing your hand in his in a crowded room.

His gaze is the loudest, while his lips refrain from speaking. 

And it is indeed far too late for either of you to be up, hence why your eyelids are dropping regardless of you aching to keep admiring Aemond, so you give up on coaxing the conversation out of him and ultimately mutter, “come back to bed, husband.” 

“I’ll be there in a moment.” 

You huff in a childlike manner, inching closer to his spot on the bed to absorb the remnants of his warmth, to inhale that characteristic scent that emanates from the crown of his head, imprinted on the pillow. 

“You know I can’t sleep without you,” you dare confess. Only in the hour of the owl did you let these kinds of truths spill. 

It’s true, you cannot. Not when your lives are marked by unrelenting stress, impending danger. He’s your anchor, at the end of the day. In his arms you seek the safety and softness that you need after so much endurance and you dread the moment he’ll be yanked away to war. 

He nods and finally joins you, immediately cradling your face to his neck before his arms envelop you. 

In a dreamy haze, you mumble, “one day you’ll have to tell me all about what you write…is it fiction? Is it prose? Are you writing about how you secretly despise your wife?” you yawn, making him humm amusedly before he’s lulling you to sleep by tracing his fingers all along your spine until you’re no longer conscious. 

– 

First you hear all the clattering noises about the room before you fully awaken, and the next thing you register is the lack of a firm body against your own under the covers.  

Groggily, you call for his name, over and over again and louder each time until a pair of hands frame your face and thin lips tenderly plant themselves on your forehead. 

“What’s going on?” you’re greeted first thing at dawn to a room bathed by shadows except for his sapphire eye, as bright as the sun.   

“Off to clean up after Aegon’s messes, as always.”   

“When will you be back?” one of your hands joins his atop your cheek as your brain tries to process what he’s saying, and you’re hit with the realization that he’ll be away from you for Gods know how long.  

“I’ve no way of knowing. But I promise I’ll come back to you as soon as I’m able.” 

“Promise me,” you plead, staring intently at his right eye and feeling the tiniest bit of relief when you see it twinkling with affection. 

He nods before his touch leaves your face until he’s got a hold of your hand with both of his, depositing something right into it that he seals with one final kiss.  

“If you need me, my lady, look under the dresser. There’s a chest there with something I think you might enjoy.”     

You realize there’s a key dangling from a silver chain left in your open palm.

Before you can even question him, he gives you one last longing stare,  and leaves out the door. 

His last message doesn’t fully sink in as you’re more preoccupied with burying your head in your husband’s pillow.

And it isn’t until the end of this day – an excruciating one without his presence – that you kneel down to retrieve a heavy treasure chest made out of fine silver, which unlocks by the turn of the key that had been resting around your neck. 

You bring it with you to the bed to study its contents, soon to realize that it contains piece after piece of paper, with dates inked on the corners, going back as far as the day you were officially married. 

Your heart takes on a galloping beat as you read, as you go through each of Aemond’s secret letters to you. 

“My lady, we are officially wed. I am eternally grateful to my mother and father for having agreed upon bethroding me to you. I’d had my eye on you for a long time. I’m almost certain they noticed for I’m not entirely discreet – aiding their final decision. I look to the fates that have been bestowed on the rest of my family and while I would have fulfilled my duty with honor, I am relieved and overjoyed that I get to be by your side until the end of our days. The only thing that frightens me is you becoming bored of my existence. I know I’m not the liveliest of princes, but I hope I can convey the affection that I hold for you in the best way that I can. You are the loveliest in the whole court – in the whole kingdom. I’m most fortunate to be yours.” 

“Dear wife, you drive me wild. I wish there was a way to bottle up the sound of your laughter and your moans. It’s exquisite. I wish to keep it, turn it into an elixir to help me soothe the stress of my days if you are ever not around. Please, never stop whispering in my ear, never stop cutting your giggles short for fear of appearing childish. I yearn to hear you, I aim to please you, to make a home right in between your legs so you’ll always be pleased, and in turn, I’ll get to hear you. You hold utmost power over me, and you don’t even know it.” 

“My darling, it’s the little things that make me adore you, so. The way your body elongates when you stretch out your limbs, first thing in the morning, and how the sun forms a halo around your hair as it peeks through our blinds. The way you lick your lips when I’m changing clothes after training, or when I step inside our rooms after a bath. It’s the intensity in your loving gaze, looking at me as if I still had both of my eyes – how you’ve never recoiled from the sapphire that replaces one of them. But I especially love the way your body curls around mine when we’re together in bed. I want to keep you that way, forever in my arms.”  

Your heart swells with each letter and some even manage to heat you up from inside out, igniting a coiling around the pit of your stomach that has you all flustered like the young maiden you no longer were. 

“Wife of mine, your beauty is truly sublime, at every hour of every day, no matter what garments you wear. Although I’m most keen on the kinds of dresses that are tight at the waist and make your breasts all plump and inviting. I both relish to show you off at court so that everyone can see that you’re mine, but loathe how the Watch Guards ogle at you. You’re mine, mine alone. Your every curve is mine to hold and fondle. Only I get to see what’s underneath. And that, my lady wife, is my preferred state to see you in. Naked before my eyes alone, sprawled on the bed with your legs opening up to welcome me in. It’s sublime, I repeat. How tightly you cling to me, how intensely do you pulse around my girth while your nails claw at my back. The day I lay on my deathbed, by Gods, I wish to see such a sight as I take my final breath.”  

You’re poorly fanning yourself with your palm while walking a frantic circle around your room as you’re turning Aemond’s words around in your head.

So this is what goes through your love’s mind. 

So this is what he’s been keeping from you.

There’s a whole universe contained in his mind that he can only let out through paper and ink. And now you’re even more desperate to have him here, to hold him and dote on him and compensate for all the words that fail to come out of his mouth when they're so eloquently handwritten.

On this night you don’t sleep. You’re up ‘till morrow comes and the air is crisp and you’ve gone through every single one of his letters – landmarks of your rather short time as a wedded couple, and pieces of the puzzle that used to be Aemond’s perception of you. 

You’re still deeply immersed in your frenzy, for five more sunsets and sunrises until finally, you hear the lock of your bedchambers turning, and in comes your husband, bruised and battle-worn and perplexed for a second as you’re immediately on him, wrapping yourself tightly to him and peppering kisses on the corner of his lip until he catches them with his mouth. 

“I love you, husband.” You exhale. 

After a moment he replies, with the first full grin you see on his face without saying anything whatsoever.   

Though that doesn’t trouble you anymore.  

You simply return his key and eagerly lead him to his desk where he finds a brand new stack of the finest paper, blank and awaiting to receive his next stream of thoughts.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #female reader #reader insert fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #ewan mitchell #my writing

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Rhaenyra x reader with incest if it hasn’t already been crossed out?

Baby teeth (Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Cousins. You hate them or you love them. And Rhaenyra knows exactly how she feels about you.

Warnings: Incest. One use of Daddy.

Requested: Yes! The first one I fill, too. Here you go! I hope you enjoy this, since it’s my first time writing Rhaenyra.

There is something dangerous about the boredom of young maidens. That’s what Septa Marlow used to say. Rhaenyra never understood it properly. Not until now.

As you entered the Hall, hot in Daemon’s heels and with an expression of absolute contempt, she wondered what could possibly be your reason for coming. It was well known that you two weren’t friends. Viserys and Daemon made actual efforts to keep you apart, after a particularly nasty episode during your shared childhood.

Even at four years old, you were a nasty little thing. All the worst parts of Daemon and Rhea Royce, rolled into one. Rhaenyra had taken your favorite doll, arguing that she was a Princess and so deserved to have it. You had dug your little baby teeth into her calf so hard, she still wore the evidence of your wrath.

Back then, Rhaenyra had wailed for hours, as Viserys rubbed her back. Daemon had tried to get you to apologize, and you had just stuck out your little chin defiantly and refused to budge.

“It was mine.” You had said. Daemon, new to parenthood and not sure about how to handle you, had passed you to his wife. They had argued for hours, screaming for the whole Red Keep to hear. Daemon said your mother hadn’t raised you right. Rhea had screamed back that you had inherited his nasty nature.

If she had to choose a memory to define your personality, she would pick that afternoon. Demon child that you were, you had sat outside their room, playing with your doll. Rhaenyra never again forgot your triumphant smile.

About to become a married woman in less than two days, Rhaenyra finally understood what Septa Marlow meant about boredom of young girls. It was not achieved in an exemplary show of self reflection, no. Exempt as she was now from those silly lessons, Rhaenyra barely gave it more thought than she gave to her childhood bedtime stories.

It was from looking at you, that it started to make sense. Not because you were purity, respect, and shy subservience all incarnate, but because you weren’t. When Viserys had felt like a particularly invested parent, he used to compare you to her.

“Look at your cousin.” He would say. “Daemon tells me she is great at the harp. And she attends to the Sept daily.”

It had fueled her to be better. Because she hated you. She despised you. You had bitten her, like some sort of feral cat. You were not a Princess, but a mere Lady, yet seemed to show her in every area that you dedicated yourself to, according to Viserys.

Either Daemon had lied to him, or he had lied to her. Because did a proper lady show up to a wedding in a black and bronze dress cut in the dornish fashion? No, she did not. Yet as you walked towards the high table behind your father, Rhaenyra could not help but admire you. There was a confusing beauty in your exposed arms and collarbones, in the barest hint of a thigh that could be seen from the side when your gown moved.

It was a surprise to no one that Daemon crashed the wedding. After all, it was in his style to do so. No one bated an eyelash at it. Instead, all eyes were on you. Your gown was a statement if Rhaenyra ever saw one. House Royce stood proud today, not House Targaryen.

She wondered what Daemon thought about it. Not only were you wearing a risqué gown, but you were making a declaration. You were the daughter of Rhea Royce, and you wouldn’t be silenced. A brave stand, especially if the rumors were to be true.

Rhaenyra had heard about it, of course. Your mother’s passing and the alleged hand Daemon had had in it. You looked to be the only one looking for justice for Rhea Royce. Rhaenyra understood the feeling well. Too often, Targaryen men disregarded women in favor of advancing their ambitions.

Hadn’t Daemon done that to her in a ploy to get her off the race for the Iron Throne? Left her there, standing in the middle of a brothel, possibly to face her ruin? She betted he would have not been so happy, so easily pulled away, if it were you in that brothel. He would have burned it down and salted the earth to protect his little dragon.

You were oblivious to it, of course. But the only time that Daemon had been in agreement with Otto Hightower had been when Viserys shyly suggesting taking you as a wife. The row had been explosive, or so she had been told. One arguing that he was King and could do as he wished, Otto screaming it was giving Daemon too much power, and Daemon screaming that he was a perverted old man.

He had not seemed to care about the age difference so much in regard to her, though. Hypocrite. Yet love had a way, it appeared, of bending one’s moral compasses. Or making one grow one, in the case of Daemon.

She envied you for that, too. While Viserys had been willing to pawn her off to an old man or a child, Daemon had been insistent on finding you an age appropriate match. It was why you were still unmarried, despite being only two years younger than her.

As her father pulled a chair for you and Daemon to sit, Alicent made her own entrance, wearing a green gown. The same color Oldtown lit up in when Hightowers went to war.

“It seems she has outdone me.” You pouted, towards no one in particular. Your voice was different from what Rhaenyra remembered. Deeper and accented. You spoke in the clipped tones those in the Vale had, more proper for calling horses than noble speech. It reminded her of her mother.

“It’s my wedding, cousin.” Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at you. Why did you have to show off all the time? You came in here, looking more like a Royce than a Targaryen and had to flaunt it in everyone's faces. “Neither of you are supposed to outdone me.”

“Girls, girls.” Her father placated, placing a hand on her arm. Rhaenyra glared. You glared at her, right back. “You both look gorgeous tonight. No need to fight.”

“Ah, right. How could I possibly forget?” You whispered, right back. “It’s all about Princess Rhaenyra tonight. And every other night. With my father, with yours…” You trailed off, bitterly. Daemon smiled at Viserys, tense. No one wanted the reminder of what had happened between Rhaenyra and him.

The Velaryons, meanwhile, look between the attendants with polite masks. But Rhaenyra can tell Rhaenys is just dying to say something. She is not very fond of her and your comment has given her the ammunition she needed.

Alicent tries to interject, perhaps redirect the conversation, but Rhaenyra is not listening. All she can see are your defiant eyes.

If you wanted to play, it was fine by her. Rhenyra was more than willing to go a few rounds. Her ego was bruised enough that she doubted anything you could say would actually hurt her. But it didn’t mean she had to tolerate your disrespect laying down.

“Dearest cousin, I notice you growing a bit thick on the hips. Tell me, have you traded the dragon for the horse?”

Lyonel Strong nearly spits out his wine. You give him a sweet smile and then say something that freezes both Rhaenyra and Alicent.

“Oh, not so often as you do. I heard you went riding with your white cloak. Where is he? I thought he might appreciate my dress tonight.”

Rhaenyra sees red. It’s the only explanation because she is dreadfully rude. She throws you the half of a pomegranate, which you gracefully catch.

Viserys laughs awkwardly.

“I think we should begin the feast. The Lady Targaryen is looking famished.”

“Of course.” Daemon immediately caught on, following his brother’s lie. Rhaenyra wanted to slap him. Was it him, who had slipped that piece of gossip to you? “How considerate of my niece for noticing.”

“She has grown into a fine flower. Although not without thorns.” Viserys whispers to Daemon, much to Rhaenyra’s disgust. It’s evident that he is talking about you. Was it only the distance from court, what kept you from taking Alicent’s place? Would her father have married you if Daemon had offered you?

After all, you have all his worst qualities. After nearly tangling in the sheets of the man, Rhaenyra is not afraid to admit it.

As if taunting her, you flash her a feral little grin. Pearly teeth on full display, you bite savagely into the pomegranate. Rhaenyra’s calf throbs in sympathy.

Her eyes are fixated only on you. She ignores Laenor’s attempt at making conversation. There is a drop of red juice gathering on your lower lip. There is a sudden urge to rub her thumb over it. Of pinching the appendix with her teeth and biting until she draws blood, all rabid hound.

Cousins. You hate them, or you love them, there is no middle point. The drop slips lower, towards your chin. You have the manners of a peasant, smearing the juices all over your face. Messy girl.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask a very flustered Corlys Velaryon, licking your lips. Daemon tuts in disapproval, but does nothing. Rhaenys looks on the verge of slapping you, but most men in the hall seem to enjoy the display. Even righteous Criston Cole looks your way for a second.

A droplet of juice travels down, down, down, between your collarbones and towards the valley of your tits. She thinks of biting down the soft hollow of your throat and not letting go until you were sweet. “Cousin, please.” Pretty eyes filled with tears, mouth agape. She can see it so clearly… Blood on your throat, all over that pretty little dornish number… Rhaenyra blinks. A trick of the light, surely. For a second, it looked like you actually were covered in blood.

“Daughter.” Daemon says, and tenderly cleans your lips with a napkin. His hands linger a little too long on your throat. Rhaenyra doesn’t know whether he wants to strangle you or is genuinely trying to clean you up and preventing yourself from making a spectacle. She understands both urges. “Please. Why don’t you go greet your other cousins?”

You give him a sultry look, from beneath your lashes. Another pout.

“Oh, Daddy…” You purr, and it’s clearly not directed at him, but to the man your eyes are fixated on. Corlys Velaryon, yet again shifting uncomfortably on his seat. Daemon clenches his fist. Her father clears her throat and gives Rhaenyra a pointed look. Get her out here, his eyes seem to say. Before Daemon punches your future father-in-law and ruins your wedding. “You are no fun.”

“Cousin.” Rhaenyra says, all high and airy. In truth, she too wants these men to stop looking at you. You are hers. Disrespectful fools, can’t they see you already claimed her? “Care for a dance?”

“Of course, Princess. Thought you never ask.” And you get up, insolent little brat that you are, and take her hand. Was it all a ploy? Were you flirting with Corlys Velaryon only to get her alone?

Insufferable brat, that you are. Of course you were.

She wonders, sometimes, what is it, that you want. You don’t care for her. You are as much of a spoiled princess as she is, yet you refuse to see it. Embracing the Royce side of your heritage favored your delusions of normalcy. Learning to hawk and hunt, riding as well as any man would. You have a dragon, of course, but it wears the Royce’s sigil proudly on its neck, and not one of the Targaryen collars.

What is it that you want? Rebel against Daemon? You resent him, surely. For leaving when you were a mere girl, and showing up to the Vale when you are a woman grown, expecting you to bend to his will. Rhaenyra can understand that. She, too, has been babied by Targaryen men. Not even Daemon, despite his lust, sees her as a woman.

It must make for an interesting dynamic. You are headstrong. So it’s Daemon. In your eyes, he abandoned you and your mother to go fight his little war and then tried to get his marriage annulled, making you a bastard, all in a ploy to bed his niece and take the throne. Said niece is only two years your senior and childhood nemesis.

She has heard you are soon to be married, but not yet to whom. Her father leans towards marrying you to Harwin Strong, son of his Hand. A way to keep Daemon under control. The match is slightly more age appropriate. They had yet to decide the problems of inheritance, though.

Rhaenyra doubts Harwin will want you, a dark, bad behaved thing who is always on edge. She has caught him looking at her more than a few times, and you are nothing alike. Oil and water. Well, more like silver and bronze.

As you walk together towards the makeshift dance floor, hand in hand, the crowd parts for you. Rhaenyra lifts her head, proudly. The music that is playing is fit for a couple’s dance, no doubt playing in hopes of luring her and Laenor to dance.

It will not be happening today, it seems. Because Rhaenyra places you in the line along with the women, taking her place among the men. Your hands feel warm in Rhaenyra’s hands, and she smiles. A true Targaryen always runs hot.

You smile back. Rhaenyra circles you, almost predatory. She drinks you in. The untamed spirit. The bewitching eyes. The bristles of teenage rebellion you have yet to shed.

The best parts of Daemon. What had pulled her in. Yet, not the same. Not at all.

You circle back, eyes narrowed. At the high table, your fathers watch. Both of them are pleased by what seems to be the end of the hostilities. They have no idea how you vex Rhaenyra, with those enchanting eyes of yours. How much she wants to find out what's inside that pretty skull, what makes you tick.

Then, the unexpected. As Rhaenyra extends her hand, about to make you twirl, you twirl her instead. Taking the lead from her. You twirl her, and as she comes out of it, it turns into a battle for dominance again. Rhaenyra starts doing the figures for the male partner a little more aggressively, clapping near your ear and forcing you to move to her will.

You struggle, at first. Then you give in. Sweet little cousin that you are, submitting to your Princess and future Queen. Yet, your smile is as ferocious as ever, shiny teeth just begging to sink into her and pull. Feral. As always.

The dance finishes with the two of you standing close, so close Rhaenyra can count every one of your lashes. Your chest rises and falls, lifting your tits tantalizingly. She thinks of licking the sweat from the valley between them, of biting the soft flesh. Of your beautiful little gasps.

Would your eyes light up in bed the same way hers do? After all, Viserys and Daemon are brothers. Both of you share some subtle similarities. Rhaenyra wonders if laying you down on her bed might be like having sex with her reflection. A distorted one, perhaps.

You stand in black, while she does it in white.

“We shouldn't.” Your voice breaks the spell. Despite your eyes constantly darting towards her lips, which Rhaenyra cannot help but lick, you seem spooked. She brushes a hand against your cheek, softly. Tilting your head just so to kiss you. “This is wrong.” You say, expression delightfully tortured. No matter your protests, you close your eyes, leaning into her.

She is so close to breaking you.

“You are a Targaryen.” It's the wrong thing to say. You pull away from her touch, frowning.

“And you are about to get married.”

“Aegon the Conqueror had two wives.” Rhaenyra presses. She is willing if it means having you. If your ancestor married sisters, why can't Laenor marry cousins?

“Does Laenor look to you like a man who could handle a wife, much less two?” You smile, showing her your canines in a bitter gesture. “My father seduces whores with that same line. Get your own.”

Joyfully, you go, right into Ser Harwin's arms. You start dancing with him. You don't look as good as you did when dancing with her. Your blush and your little giggles seem to put the man under a trance. Rhaenyra scowls. So much for wanting her. Good gods, were his affections so fickle? Were yours?

Wanting entertainment for the night, she glances at Daemon. Ugh. Dancing with that girl, Laena. Men. Always led by their cocks.

She doesn't want Daemon. She is not sure what she wants, in truth. Does she want you because you are so much like him? Or did she want him because he reminded her of you?

What was first, the dragon or the egg?

Rhaenyra is the one with fickle affections, much to her horror. As she stands in the middle of the dance floor, she feels adrift at the realization she has a type. Targaryens. Rhaenyra likes you, defiant little grins and all. But what really warms her blood is the thought of you and her being similar.

Is that what Daemon felt when looking at her? This deep connection, the urge to grab you and pull you away from Ser Harwin's arms, whose hands are straying lower and lower down your back. And you are letting him. You are letting him touch you, and sure, he is handsome. But you are a Princess, even if not in title. You are hers, as much Daemon is Viserys's.

Rhaenyra knows you want her. How could you not, when you looked at her with those eyes? As your own face crept closer and closer, it was clear Rhaenyra was not the only one who wanted that kiss. You had played along.

Now she is dancing with Laenor, making a pretty show. Your eyes track her every movement, despite being in the arms of your soon-to-be fiancé.

Everything is as it is supposed to be. You grin at Harwin, but Rhaenyra knows it lacks your usual strength. You are not at ease with the man and it shows. Oh, what wouldn't she do to pluck you from his arms and dance with you again.

Perhaps there is a way. Rhaenyra hides her smirk, passing it off as a smile to Laenor. As soon as the dance ends, she rushes to your side.

“Dearest cousin, you must stay with us for some weeks.” She says, interrupting you and Harwin. The man looks vaguely amused, a flicker of interest in his dark eyes. “The wedding has me thinking about our mothers, and how soon such a joyous occasion might come for you too.”

“Hm.” You answer, raising your eyebrows. The mention of your mother is a low thing to do, but it's the truth. Look at you, a maiden ripe for the taking. Marriage alliances, enviable prospects, yet motherless.

“I was thinking, as my marriage progresses, I could hope to be of guidance, just as Queen Alicent has been for me.”

“Guidance?” You ask, frowning. Maybe Rhaenyra had laid it a bit thick. She must redirect, less you spook again.

“There is much to be learned about marriage, of course. And it's my duty as the eldest cousin to prepare you for it.”

Ser Harwin's eyebrows raise. You give her your signature feral little grin. She wonders what those teeth will feel like again on her skin. Hesitantly, you place your arm on hers and allow her to pull you off the dance floor.

If you had yet to know or not the joys of the marital bed was no matter. The excuse was as good as any for getting you to stay. Rhaenyra would have to thank Daemon for that one.

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targeryan #rhaenyra x oc #rhaenyra x you #princess rhaenyra #rhaenyra x fem!reader #rhaenyra targaryen #me noticing a mispelled tag and refusing to fix it #cristi's bingo

[sapphire-writes]

Hi! Could I request Aegon Targaryen x reader

Yn is his sister wife and Helena’s twin and she see vision and also dreamy like her twin but more self aware. And she saw when Aemond got his eye cut out and when Deamon and Rhaenyra had s*x after Laena’s funeral. So during the last supper (Also If you could can you add Rhaenys to the dinner) after Helena’s toast yn makes her toast and she tells everyone the truth on what happened the night Aemond lost his eye and tells them what she saw Rhaenyra and Daemon doing and just goes off on them. Then the kids reaction to the Rhae and daemon is disgust and anger on how they would do that to there mother. You could add or just adjusted to your liking. Thank you. X

The Dreamer's Toast

pairing: Aegon x Sister!Wife!Reader word count: 0.6k warnings: reader is Aegon's sister wife, language note: Hope you enjoy 💚 masterlist

“I should like to make a toast,” you said, rising from the table, goblet held up towards the air. You could not help yourself at the sight of your half-sister Rheanyra sitting next to Daemon. Princess Rhaenys sat to your right, glancing at you as you stood. It was the first time you spoke all evening. 

Your sister Helaena gazed up at you, sensing her twin’s fury. You sisters were quite alike. Both of you dreamers, doomed to be underestimated by the members of your family. 

But not tonight. 

You could no longer hold in the secret you kept since that fateful night on Driftmark. When you dreamt of your sweet half-sister Rhaenyra during the night, watching as she kissed and caressed Daemon Targaryen. The dream was ripped from your mind as your vision filled with blood, and you had awoken screaming.

“A toast to my sister, Rhaenyra,” you say, giving her a tight smile, “and her new husband, Daemon.”

Daemon’s eyes meet yours.

Say it. He had said in the throne room before slicing Vaemond Velaryon’s head from his shoulders. Would he do the same to you? 

“That is one thing about my sister,” you continue, “ever the devoted lover. Even when her kin’s blood spills to the floor.”

“Y/N-” your mother Alicent hisses, but you ignore her. 

“Did you feel it in your bones, sister?” you seethe, knuckles turning white as you grip the glass, “when our brother lost an eye. When your son maimed him?” 

Aegon giggles from his seat, eyes wide at the sight before him. He feels sometimes that he is the only one who truly sees the fire within you. Aemond’s eye watches you carefully. The only one who demands justice on his behalf besides your mother. 

“I did,” you continue, words coming out more in a growl, “I felt our brother’s pain, while you were too drunk on your uncle’s cock.”

The room is deathly silent. 

“What?” 

Baela is the first to speak. Her eyebrows knit together as she looks at Daemon and Rhaenyra. 

“Is it true?” Baela demands. Rhaenyra opens her mouth to speak, but Baela continues.

“Our mother was barely laid to rest. Your wife,” she snaps, head turning to her father. Daemon’s glare is murderous and aimed directly at you. 

You tilt your chin, bringing your cup to your lips. Alicent stands.

“Cousin-” Rhaenyra says, looking towards Rhaenys. Princess Rhaenys scoffs, holding her hand out to silence Rhaenyra. 

“Y/N, why would you say such things in front of all these people?” she whispers, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“She was merely defending her family mother,” Aemond says, immediately coming to your aid. 

“Speaking the truth,” Rhaenys says, rising from her chair. She glares at Rhaenyra. 

“All this time, I have stood by you,” she seethes, “both of you.” 

Daemon has not removed his eyes from you. You do not waver under his stare. 

“My children deserved better,” Rhaenys said, “as do my grandchildren.” 

She moves to put her hands on Baela and Rhaena’s shoulders. 

“The girls shall return with me to Driftmark,” Rhaenys says. Jace and Luke are sitting silently, in utter disbelief, their faces painted.  

Rhaenrya looks at you, eyes full of tears. 

“Why?” she spits.

“You think of no one but yourself,” you hiss at her, “mother was right about you. Everyone around you is trampled under your pretty foot.”

Alicent glances at Rhaenyra, a pained expression on her face. 

“I am done being stepped on,” you tell her, eyes moving to Daemon. The Rogue Prince sits silently, most likely planning your demise. 

“Well done, my wife,” Aegon says, rising from his chair. He clinks his goblet against yours giving you a loving smile, as though blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. 

“A marvelous toast.”

#aegon imagine #aegon x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fic #aegon ii targaryen x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen

[slavicdelight]

The Last Embrace

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Lannister! OC

Summary: Lorelle, Tywin Lannister's youngest daughter, forms an unexpected alliance with Oberyn Martell after defeating him in a duel. Their love blossoms, but tragedy strikes when jealousy leads to everything falling apart.

Warnings: death, cursing, angst

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In the heart of the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister welcomed his youngest daughter into the world, a fierce and spirited girl named Lorelle. From the beginning, her fiery nature clashed with the traditional expectations of a lady born into such a prestigious family.

As Lorelle grew, her independent spirit grew with her, driving her further away from learning of noble etiquette. She abandoned needlework for the training yard, where she observed the art of swordsmanship. Tywin, torn between pride and concern, could only watch as her interest differed from other young noble ladies. Word of Lorelle's exceptional skill with sword spread through the Seven Kingdoms, reaching the ears of Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne. Although he despised the Lannisters for what happened to his beloved sister Elia, he was curious if the rumours were true.

The first encounter between the two was marked by a clash of swords, or in this case - a spear and a sword. Each duel became a battleground for dominance, a fierce dance where neither was willing to yield.Oberyn's disdain for the Westerlands and its houses fueled the fire of their rivalry. In his eyes Lorelle was not just an opponent but a symbol of everything he despised about the realm.

Despite their hatered for each other, they decided to combine forces to travel together through Essos.The tension between them kept both nobles balanced on the egde.Yet, amidst the clashes, moments of understanding and mutual respect began to emerge.It wasn't until a decisive duel where Lorelle emerged triumphant that Oberyn's disdain began to shift. As he lay defeated, he finally acknowledge her skill. The dislike eventually evolved into a strange alliance, a bond forged on the edge of blades and the heat of their conflicting personalities.

During their tumultuous journey, Lorelle and Oberyn faced numerous challenges, each encounter adding layers to their complex relationship.One day, as they were riding through Pentos, a group of men attacked them. They were strong and quick. It was obvious that they’ve been trained to steal and kill. Thankfully, Oberyn's quick thinking and combat finesse saved Lorelle from an ambush, blurring the lines between adversary and ally. The tension that once defined their interactions slowly transformed into something more.

When Oberyn knelt before her, proposing a marriage with sincerity in his eyes, the tension reached its zenith. Tywin, recognizing the potential for an alliance, reluctantly agreed to their union. Lorelle became the Princess of Dorne, thrust into a political landscape that mirrored the complexities of her relationship with Oberyn.Yet, tragedy struck their already fragile union.

Ellaria Sand, fueled by jealousy and resentment, plotted against Lorelle. In a venomous act of betrayal, she poisoned the Princess of Dorne. As Lorelle's life slipped away, Oberyn's grief transformed into a burning desire for revenge, reigniting the tension between them in a different, more profound way. In a fit of righteous fury, Oberyn confronted Ellaria. The clash was brutal, mirroring the intensity of his battles with Lorelle.

In the end, justice was served, but the cost was high. Oberyn stood still after delivering avenging the woman he loved, a shattered man, his heart torn between the love he discovered and the unresolved tension that lingered between him and the memory of Lorelle.

In the aftermath, the halls of Sunspear echoed with a haunting silence. Oberyn, having avenged Lorelle, found himself with conflicting emotions. The memory of their fierce clashes lingered, intertwined with the love he discovered and the unresolved tension that defined their relationship.

As Princess of Dorne, Lorelle's absence left a void in the court. The alliances formed through her marriage hung in delicate balance. Oberyn, once fueled by a desire for revenge, now faced the aftermath of his actions. The people of Dorne witnessed a Red Viper who had lost his venom, a man torn between the love he found and the ghosts of his tumultuous past. The court of Sunspear whispered of Lorelle's legacy – a fiery princess who defied conventions, a skilled swordswoman who left a mark on the pages of history. Yet, the tragedy that befell her cast a shadow over the realm, a stark reminder of the fragility of alliances and the cost of vengeance.

Oberyn, haunted by the memories of Lorelle, retreated into solitude. The tension that once fueled their clashes now manifested as an internal struggle within him. The flames of revenge had consumed him, and in their wake, he was left with the ashes of regret.In the quiet corridors of Sunspear, Oberyn's gaze lingered on the places where he and Lorelle had faced both adversaries and each other. The sword that once clashed with hers now rested, a silent witness to the battles fought and the love lost.As the years passed, Dorne found itself in a delicate dance of politics and intrigue.

The memory of Lorelle became both a symbol of defiance and a cautionary tale. Oberyn, a once vibrant force, moved through the shadows of the court, a man forever marked by the flames that burned between him and the Princess of Dorne. And so, the tale of Lorelle and Oberyn became a legend – a story of love, rivalry, and the high cost of vengeance that echoed through the corridors of Sunspear, leaving behind a legacy as enduring as the ancient stones of the castle.

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A/N: This is a shorter story, but I hope you'll enjoy it just like the other ones.

#oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #house martell #house lannister #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #tyrion lannister #tywin lannister #lannister oc #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #jaime lannister x reader #cersei lannister x reader #tyrion lannister x reader #tywin lannister x reader #joffrey baratheon #tommen baratheon #myrcella baratheon #robb stark #ned stark #sansa stark #arya stark #iron throne

[brandogenius]

hiii!!! could you do like soft! gf x julien hcs??

hi!!! of course :D i hope i did it justice my love!

‼️RPF‼️

HC - julien x soft!gf reader

- jb is like those cats on tiktok. she likes to sit and watch you do your makeup. sometimes getting curious and asking you to put some on her

- “i want some of that” “you want some highlighter?” “yes”

- stealing jbs hoodies

- julien loves to spoil you

- juliens alarm goes off earlier than normal so she can wake you up because she knows you take long to do your hair and makeup

- either you or jules always brings home flowers every weekend. there’s flowers everywhere. you claim “it lightens up the house”

- sitting down every friday night, you painting juliens nails and jules painting yours

- “sorry they don’t look good” “baby they look gorgeous don’t worry”

- domestic fluff. both of you just wondering around in the comfortable silence of each others presence. julien doing the laundry and you painting at the table

- handmade crafts for gifts. you painted a portrait of you and julien for her birthday she has hung proudly in a framed photo in the hallway

- matching paper rings. it was something cute you wanted to try from tiktok but jb wears it religiously. committed to wearing it

- “it’s like we’re married”

- going clothes shopping doing small fashion shows in the dressing room showing off your skirts

- “do a twirl princess”

#pom writes #julien baker x reader #julien bake x soft!gf reader #julien baker headcanons #julien baker angst #julien baker au #julien baker x fem!reader #julien baker one shot #julien baker blurb #julien baker fluff #julien baker fanfic #boygenius x reader #boygenius fanfic #boygenius au #boygenius one shot

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 4)

Cregan x reader

A/N: new character alert

word count: 1,202 words

Series Masterlist

“Ser Steffon won’t accompany me to Winterfell?” You ask your mother. It feels like another strike in the gut. Steffon Darklyn has guarded you since you were a child. Apart from your family, he is your closest friend.

“He is a part of my Queensguard. He must be with me or…” You know why she trails off. Her or her heir are the words she is looking for.

“Jacaerys.” You finish the thought for her and you hate the undertone of jealousy in your voice.

“You may take as many of your handmaidens as you like and we will find more than suitable guards for you. I would never allow you to be not well accompanied.” She is trying to be reassuring but it is to no avail.

“Then I shall have nobody to care for me in the North?” You regret the words as soon as you say them because you know what her response will be.

“Your husband will care for you.” It doesn’t make you feel better. You don’t want the demeaning care from a forced spouse. You desire care from the man who has been like a second father to you.

“I want Ser Steffon.” You say, your tone almost desperate.

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

Improper or a waste of resources? You wonder to yourself.

“You will be protected.” She reassures.

“It isn’t about that.” It’s about everything that is being torn away from you.

“Help me to understand, sweet girl.” She sounds just as desperate.

“Why did you have to send me so far away, far enough to isolate me?” You ask softly.

“I promise I thought your match through. Cregan gives you control. Putting you in the North gives you a role, not to be a tool to create an alliance, but to be a Targaryen presence so far from the throne. You will be in a position of great influence if you can gain your husband’s trust.” She seems serious but you aren’t sure if she is just trying to make you feel important when you aren’t. Though, it works. “If you wanted to stay close, we would have likely had to betroth you to Aemond.” You cringe at that. You were close to Aemond when the two of you were younger but there is such strife between you now. You’re sure he hates you. “He wouldn’t allow you the same level of freedom.”

“I know that.” You sigh. “I require a moment to collect myself, your Grace.” You give her a nod of respect before leaving, Ser Steffon trails after you. He knows what the topic of discussion was.

You let the tension stew in silence between the two of you before you decide to speak up. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

“You are a woman grown, princess. I know you will excel in Winterfell.” He says and you turn to face him.

“But i’ll miss you.”

“I am flattered deeply and truthfully, I will miss you also.” He says tenderly.

“Well then perhaps if you told the Queen you wished to accompany me…” You trail off, knowing your suggestion is silly.

“Princess…” He says in a certain way and you can sense the pity. “There is something that may make you feel better, though.”

“And that would be?”

“My nephew, Robert, has just recently been knighted. He is by no means a seasoned knight but I had a great influence in raising him when he was younger. He is a good man and a fearsome warrior. Mayhaps having him as a guard could bring you some sense of comfort?” Steffon suggests.

“That is a splendid idea. I should like to meet him. Now.” You reply, feeling almost happy at the prospect.

“Now? Of course, princess. I believe he is training in the courtyard.” He tells you and you immediately begin to make your way there.

When you arrive at the courtyard, you notice that there’s more than a few men training, Aemond and Criston included, who you ignore.

“Point him out.”

Steffon describes Robert and where he is but when your eyes fall upon him, the description doesn’t do justice. Robert is handsome, lean and strong with hair as black as tar and piercing green eyes. He fights with ease and elegance, not relying on brutish strength. You decide that he will be more than fun to have around. When Robert wins his fight, you clap for him. He notices the sound because he didn’t expect eyes to be on him when the dragon prince is fighting.

“Princess.” He bows as you walk over, his competitor stumbling into a bow as well.

“Your highness, I introduce you to my nephew, Ser Robert Darklyn.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ser Robert.” You say with a little smirk.

“The pleasure is, of course, all mine.” He is clearly trying to stay confident but you can detect a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“You are a very skilled fighter.” You haven’t seen much but you’ve already decided what you want. You trust Steffon’s judgement. “And I am in need of a new guard.”

“Thank you, princess. I appreciate the recognition.” He manages to stay cool and calm. He has an easy way about his demeanour.

“Have you ever been to Winterfell?” You ask him.

“I haven’t been anywhere.” He replies, a man in need of something to free him from the monotony of being a second son.

“Perhaps you would like to come with me to Winterfell then, as my personal guard?” You ask him bluntly.

“I am honoured by your offer, your highness. I would like nothing more than to protect you in your new home.” He can’t seem to stop himself from smiling. For a man who seemed to be so stoic, the smile suits him.

“Good because we leave in three days. I apologize for the short notice but I wasn’t given much time to prepare for this change of plans.” You give Ser Steffon a pointed look.

Robert Darklyn has little time to respond before you turn on your heel, wanting to make sure you have everything you need for your travels. As you walk back to your chambers, you strike up conversation with Steffon again.

“I expect you to write to me. Perhaps once a week. Just to be filled in on how my brothers fair of course.” You say to him but you both know that all you want is to hear from him as much as possible.

“I think twice a week would be more appropriate. Your brothers do get up to lots of mischief and whatnot.” He says with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I think that would be for the best as well.” You speak, a small smile on your face as you arrive at your chamber’s door. He holds it open for you. “Oh and one more thing, Ser… If I die in Robert’s care, I’ll kill you.” He smirks at that.

“He’s a much better knight than I was at his age. I promise the two of you will get along well.”

“Hmm.” You say, thinking about Ser Robert… very handsome Ser Robert. “I think we indeed will.”

Taglist(comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

Lord husband: @feyres-fireheart @possiblyafangirl @hb8301 @marihoneywk @youn-jo @velvet-spider @janelongxox @ninastyless @nyctophilic0vitnir r @m-a-s-h-k-a @delicious-xx @weepingfashionwritingplaid @happinessinthebeing @betelrus @joliettes @black-swan-blog27 @mxtokko @valeridarkness @karolalolla @satan-s-ass @synindoodles

#hotd #hotd fic #cregan #cregan stark #cregan fic #cregan x you #cregan stark fic #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #lord husband

[reidbae]

DAY 22: Blissful — voice kink w/dom!aaron hotchner

KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist

summary: Your husband calls you on the way home from work, and is annoyedly cut off in traffic, causing him to say a word or two about it. But when you find yourself aroused by his voice alone, he's eager to take care of you the second he walks through the door.

pairing: dom!husband!aaron hotchner x sub!fem!wife!reader

warnings/mentions: use of pet names (baby, doll, honey, princess, sweet girl), huge sir kink, cussing obv, reader is held down, teasing, fingering, praise, not rlly degradation but def in that area, lmk if i missed something!

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i'm so happy i was finally able to write for hotch <3 this fic does him literally no justice at all but i will make a better one in the future :,)

tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1 @mrs-ssa-hotch

"Hello?" you said, your phone held to your ear as you sat in your living room.

You had been home by yourself all day while your husband was at work. He had been working more hours than usual these days, and always called you when he was on his way home, knowing that you missed him.

"Hi, honey. I didn't wake you, did I?" Aaron's deep voice rang out from the other end of the line. A smile played across your lips as you heard your husband's voice for the first time in too long, and you giggled.

"No. I've been up. I can't sleep when you're not here," you said with a laugh, feeling your face flush with heat. Aaron chuckled, too. You could hear the sound of him driving in the background as he spoke to you.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. I should be home in less than ten," said Aaron in response. "Did you eat? Shower?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, smiling. Aaron always knew just how to take care of you and make sure you were okay, even if he couldn't be there in person to do it. "Yes, and yes, sir," you joked.

Aaron chuckled again. "That's good, baby. And you made sure to rest today?" he said.

Again, you rolled your eyes, and nodded, like he could see you. "Yes, Aaron."

"Okay, just making sure. I—" Aaron began. He soon cut himself off, a curse word falling from his lips in lieu. "Asshole."

Your eyes perked and you raised an eyebrow, wondering why he had said that. Who was he talking to?

And why did it give you butterflies?

"Aaron? A- Aaron, what happened?" you asked bewilderedly, jumping up a little in your seat.

"Sorry, honey, I'm sorry. Some guy just, fuck," he said in a deep voice. "Some guy just cut me off. I'm lucky he didn't hit me," Aaron huffed annoyedly. It was like you could see him rolling his eyes.

"Oh, God, a- are you okay?" you asked. You were sure that your tone was giving what you were thinking away, because it wasn't really one of concern: It was one of shyness, like you had other things on your mind.

That's because you did.

"Yeah, honey, don't worry. I'm fine. Sorry if I scared you," Aaron said in a caring voice. "Driving through D.C. is hell at any hour, for fuck's sake," he cursed again. "It's a wonder anyone can get anywhere."

"Uh, yeah- Mmhm, I agree," you responded inattentively, feeling yourself zone out as your husband spoke to you.

Aaron didn't seem to notice, however, and kept talking to you in that deep voice of his, rambling on about his day. He talked more than you did, which wasn't usually the case, but only because you were so mesmerized by the deep, authoritative way about his voice that you didn't dare to interrupt it.

After a while, though, however, Aaron began to pick up on your silence, and spoke up. "You okay, honey? You're not talking much."

You snapped back into reality, your eyes going a little wide. "Hm- What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just fine," you did your best to lie, sighing.

"That didn't sound very convincing. Come on, princess, what's wrong? You can tell me," said Aaron reassuringly.

It wasn't a question of what was wrong. It was one of what was right.

"Nothing's wrong, Aaron," you giggled in response, blushing.

"Oh, yeah, princess?" Aaron chuckled through the phone. "Are you lying to me?"

You began to run your fingers through your hair, playing with it as you talked to him. "No..." you giggled. His voice was really beginning to get to you now, and you rubbed your thighs together in response to it.

"Well—Maybe there is something."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Are you going to tell me what the matter is, then, baby?" said Aaron, laughing.

"Nothing's the matter...It's just...Well...I just like your voice."

Aaron paused for only a few seconds to process what you'd said. Then, he began to laugh. "My voice, doll? Did I hear that right?" he asked.

You covered your face shyly. "Y- Yes. I don't know. But it's making me feel all hot inside," you admitted to him.

Aaron didn't need to understand precisely what you meant, as long as he knew that it was getting you going. "I'm happy to hear that, honey," he said to you, his voice going lower. "I'll take care of you when I'm home, then, doll. I want you there as soon as I walk through the door. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand," you said with an affirmative nod, eager to do whatever Aaron asked of you.

"Attagirl."

—

As soon as Aaron had walked through the door, you were running to his arms, just like he'd asked you to. He scooped you up effortlessly, using one hand to hold your leg, and the other to support your bottom. You reveled in the feeling of your legs wrapped around his torso.

Aaron's lips found yours in seconds, tongue dancing with yours in a sea of pent up passion. He spun you round, pinning you to the front door, before setting you down to your feet.

Aaron grabbed your wrists to hold them above your head, before attacking your neck with kisses. You squirmed under his touch, your head lolling back on the door with pleasure.

Aaron's eyes met yours, and he chuckled deeply in your ear. "Hi, baby," he said in a raspy voice, smirking down at you.

"H- Hi," you stuttered out to him, biting down on your lip.

"Did you miss me?" Aaron smiled, pressing rough kisses to your neck and collarbone. You whimpered at the feeling, nodding.

"Y- Yes, sir. I missed you so much," you said openly, not giving a care to how needy you sounded. Aaron nodded, only smiling more at your words.

"Mmhm. I wonder how much," Aaron hummed. "Let's see how wet you are for me, hm, baby?"

Aaron didn't give you a second to respond before his hands were dipping into your underwear, slipping between your folds. You whimpered in response as his fingers found your wetness, playing softly with your body.

"Fuck, baby, you're soaked," Aaron said to you, as if you didn't already know that. "And my voice was all it took, huh?" he smirked in a teasing tone of voice.

When you didn't answer, Aaron's grip on your wrists roughened, and it was clear that he was not taking your silence for an answer. "Tell me, princess."

You felt your knees grow weak, and you slid down the wall a little, closing your eyes shyly. "Y- Yes, sir. A- All it took was your voice," you whined.

"There's my good girl. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Aaron teased you, beginning to move his finger up and down your folds. You squirmed some more, groaning.

"N- No, sir," you stuttered out, allowing your body to be taken over by bliss.

Aaron took that as a sign to keep going, your hands still pinned above your head as he snuck a finger inside of you. Your back arched on the door behind you as your body shook for him, and you whined.

Aaron smiled at you, pressing his lips to yours in a wild frenzy of tongues mixing together, lips working each other's to no end. You were helpless to Aaron, unable to do much else but bask in the pleasure he was providing for you.

Aaron raised his head to your ear, bowing down to your level just to whisper to you. "You look so pretty like this, doll. All needy for me," he whispered in his deep voice. Your brain was beginning to fog up with your growing need to hear more of his voice.

"I love being able to do this to you," he chuckled, kissing the spot just below your ear. "Knowing you're all mine. That no one else can see you like this."

As his words fell from his tongue like honey, his fingers moved quicker, eager to make you feel good. You looked up at him, your eyes half-lidded as you licked your lips. "I- I'm all yours, Aaron. God, I'm yours."

"Damn straight, doll," said Aaron deeply, his voice raspy as he responded to you.

It was embarrassing how quickly you needed to come. But, fuck, that's what Aaron Hotchner would do to anyone, and you weren't afraid to acknowledge that.

As Aaron felt your walls closing around his finger, he looked down at you, knowing what was impending. "Mmm, you gonna come on my fingers, doll?"

"Y- Yes, sir," you moaned out, dizzy with desire. "Please, God, please don't stop."

That was the last thing on his mind.

You rode out your high with a blissful passion as Aaron pumped his fingers in and out of you, kissing you and whispering to you as you came all over his hand.

Aaron finally released your wrists when you came undone, and removed his finger from your cunt. Like he'd always done, he sucked his fingers dry, leaving you breathless at the view.

"I love you so much, sweet girl," Aaron smiled at you, using the hand that had been pinning you down to brush hair out of your face. You smiled up at him.

"I love you, too."

—

reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

—

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—

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x you #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader

[aemondsbeloved]

The Lady Strong

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x strong!reader

summary: your father's death left two ghosts that haunt you in the shape of Rhaenyra's bastard children, but you have more ghosts to tend to and justice for wrongs unknown to you cannot go ignored for long. When Aemond has to decide between justice for the only one who could have his heart or to continue to betray his elder sister, the choice is easy. He chooses you. (4.5k)

warnings: canon violence, reader is an OC because she is a strong and is described as bearing resemblance to Jace and Luke

“Why must you go?”

This is what you asked your father that late afternoon in your solar those many years ago. A young girl of no more than ten, he had sat you down and kneeled in front of the chair. “It is for the best,” he had told you after struggling to find the words. “Harrenhal is our family’s seat and I will be the Lord of Harrenhal one day. And one day, it will be yours.”

“But I cannot come with you?” your eyes searched his for an answer. All you saw in his amber eyes was regret.

“Once I am settled I will come for you. Your uncle will stay here in the meantime, but your grandsire will return to you.” He kissed your forehead before he rose, affectionately placing a gloved hand on your head briefly. The touch is fleeting and full a warmth. It is a touch you will try to remember for years.

Those words never came true. Your father did not return to you and neither did your grandsire. The King’s Hand and your grandsire Lord Lyonel Strong along with your father, Ser Harwin Strong had died in an accidental fire in Harrenhal.

People always did whisper that Harrenhal was haunted. You could only try to stop thinking of their charred bodies in the aftermath of the fires.

The loneliness had been fiercer than the grief after the death of your family and there was nothing that could be said by Septas to quell your anger. It was only in your fury that you could forget your dead father and grandsire.

Days after the deaths it seemed the stranger was visiting another. There was nothing that could keep you from Driftmark and Lady Laena’s funeral, even your imprudent refusal to your uncle.

“Why should I care about her?” you had demanded when your uncle told you this. “I have a greater loss to mourn. My mother is already dead. Now my father and my grandsire join her. You are the only one left of my family, why should I care of someone else dying?”

Your voice had trembled towards the end, sounding like angry and more uncertain. “We must go,” your uncle said softly. “Do not worry. I will not die, have no fear.” The words sounded placating at the time.

Despite the stares at Driftmark you had not noticed Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son looking at you by your uncle’s side. Neither had your uncle who was smiling proudly at the Queen, though that day you would not notice such a thing. Moving in front of the flames the brown haired prince was there and a silver haired one you knew as Prince Aemond.

Jacaerys left immediately but Prince Aemond glanced at you. “I am sorry for your loss, my lady.”

His words sounded peculiar, especially as he called you a lady. It was all so formal and you were children. But still, no one had truly sounded sorry for you these past few days. “Thank you, my prince,” you said in a small voice as you warmed your hands in front of the fire.

A long pause passed between you both. Quietly, though determined to meet his eyes, you told him your name.

“I know,” he replied and smiled half heartedly. “I am Aemond.”

“I know,” you repeated but this time it was easier to smile.

Despite the turn of the night at Driftmark and the changes that had occurred, as well as the truth of your father’s deeds finding your ears, the friendship that had begun there did not fade. The only constant throughout the years to follow was the silence and peace you only found around Aemond.

Eight Years Later

“Lady Strong,” a voice behind you greets. As you turn around from where you stood near the staircase to the royal family’s apartments, you are met with a hair of brown hair and dark amber eyes that are familiar, though the one who has them now is a stranger.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you greet politely with a nod. Your voice is constrained, perhaps due to the knowledge of who he is and who you were. Perhaps it is the bad blood with Aemond. “I did not know your family was visiting the Capitol.”

“Her Grace Queen Alicent bid my mother to relocate to the Red Keep as King Viserys health worsens. It would be best for our family to be together when time for the coronation comes. There is a pact being agreed for peace as they speak I am told.”

You nod in understanding, but you do not know why he is telling you this information because it is not something a prince tells a lady of a minor house. Perhaps it is because he knows the truth, but unlike you does not ignore it.

“I was hoping to speak to you.” It is the hand he holds in front of himself between you and the nervous yet determined gleam in his eyes that made you understand his meaning.

“That is what we are presently doing,” you tell him dryly and seeking some distance, you turn your body away from him.

His eyes were bright like a Targaryens but gleamed amber like your fathers. He looked much like your father. Once that would have swayed you to his side in foolish childish disputes had you known the truth.

Before Driftmark and your attachment to his uncle. Aemond might be cold, ruthless and cruel to some but he had also been maimed without consequences as a child. Now Jacaerys eyes so like your fathers only made you think of the righteous air about him and his brother.

“I thought we might speak freely about my father—”

You could not let this go on. “Many speak highly of Ser Laenor,” you cut him off, not daring to look at him as you tell the same lie many had done for years.

Jacaerys stiffens when you do glance his way. A strange, faraway part of you pities him for a moment. “Your father and mine suffered poor fates,” you went on, thinking of the tales of Ser Laenor’s death and the charring of the flesh in his father’s hall. How your father’s death was more or less the same. “The burden of carrying our father’s fates is a heavy one. Best to prepare to wear it well.”

You smile at him in an attempt to reassure to and perhaps silently warn him not to approach you again to speak of what he wished. To admit he is a bastard would ruin more than his life as yours was held by a thread. He is not Aemond, so the smile you give him feels mechanical. Jacaerys seems to understand the message all the same and nods in a rough gesture, though we he lifts his head his eyes are tender.

So like your father he looked in that moment you were sure your father might have looked just like Jacaerys at this age.

You walk up the staircase to the Queen’s chambers. Being summoned to her is an occasional occurrence and one you do not begrudge. She is fair and kind despite what people like Daemon Targaryen would have others believe. Her trust for your uncle has seemed to grow into trust for you too.

Most days you would find Aemond but you knew he was in the courtyard training with Ser Criston. You would take the Queen’s company instead.

Larys is not in the Queen’s chamber as he usually is in the evenings. On this morning it is only Queen Alicent and though a pleased smile is directed towards her upon walking in, it drops slightly when you see her grim face.

“Princess Rhaenyra has just been to see me,” she admitted to you. Following her gesture to sit at her table, you slowly lower yourself into the chair. For years the Queen had made it known how much she dislikes the Princess, but since Driftmark and the decline of the King’s health and Rhaenyra’s move to Dragonstone, there was a longing made unavoidable since Rhaenyra had announced she would return. Few knew it was the Queen who asked her to. “She fears there will be resistance when she claims her father’s crown.”

The long look the Queen gives you is not missed. In private you had never denied who the father of Rhaenyra’s sons were. “No one would resist the rightful heir.”

This is not the answer to the Queen’s silent question and she regards you wearily. You think this must be about the loss of station for herself and her children when Rhaenyra comes into power. There is nothing else there could be bothering her.

“No,” she smiles at you in reassurance. You see through the facade quickly but say nothing. “You are right, of course, my dear.”

That afternoon Aemond was a ghost. Where you had once always been relied upon to find him, he was nowhere. Not in the training yard and not in the library. You felt your will to see him slipping away, resigning to letting him come to you when he wished to, until you hear a roar that could only be from one dragon.

Rushing to his rooms, you forgot what it was to be a lady and have some sense of propriety. He does not come for a lifetime as you pace the room. The books near the fireplace are familiar to you as are the weapons he has hanging on his walls.

“What are you doing here?” Aemond asks in his doorway, quickly shutting the door before his guard saw you here. You might look frenzied from your pacing and worry but Aemond is something stranger, surprised.

Still in his black riding leathers and hair swept messy from the skies, he take a few steps toward you. He opens his mouth to say something but you wouldn’t know what it is nor do you noticed the hardened look of a man who knows a horrible truth in his lilac eye.

“Something is wrong, Aemond. I can feel it,” you whisper harshly, taking a step near him. “Your mother looked grim this morning when I saw her. All because of Rhaenyra and her sons, no doubt.”

You are growing more angry towards your father’s bastards by the minute as the day went on and for no reason at all. If anything you should hate your father or maybe hate your friend for leaving the Keep for the day without telling you, but instead you hate Jacaerys Velaryon and are sure every problem is his doing.

“My sister sent me on a mission for the crown,” Aemond admits. Your pacing stops and you look at him, something between anger and confusion.

Much had happened that you could not understand. The slip of Aemond calling Rhaenyra his sister, something he had always refused, did not escape you.

He takes another step toward you, more cautious as he guages your reaction. “Viserys is not long for the world. It is important that no one usurps the rightful heir.”

Your eyes feel like they could be bulging at that. His hands are crossed behind his back and it is almost easy to ignore the wariness and knowledge in his expression.

“My uncle has been assisting in making sure Aegon would be King one day.” This is a truth you had not been blind to but not involved in. Your love for Rhaenyra was nonexistent and you trusted your uncle, what more was there than that?

Aemond jerked his head down in a quick nod. “Rhaenyra will be Queen and my family will have a high standing, heir to the throne or not.”

“So you cleave to her for a higher standing, for power?” you ask him harshly, looking like your father then and there with the way your pride is ruling you.

“We know Aegon would be a poor king,” Aemond insisted, for the first time showing a hint of emotion as he pleaded with you.

“This has never bothered you before. You will have my father’s bastard sit a throne after everything he has done?”

You do not know if you are fighting for the wrongs done to Aemond or to your own pride and the proof of who your father loved. Pride was a festering wound eating you whole as it once did to Aemond, except now he seemed to see something else.

“Jacaerys is not a monster.” These words seem to cost Aemond everything, making you wonder what caused his change of heart. In your heart you know Aemond is right but feeling frustrated at everything, you turn away and want to flee the scene.

The hand on your wrist that pulls you back to him is unexpected. “Let go,” you say in a choked breath, not wanting to look at him as the tears fall. “You can do as you please and support Rhaenyra, what I say will mean nothing.”

He is persistent, gently tugging your wrist until you turn your head and look at him with tired eyes. “I would not help her without cause,” he points out and pulls your body nearer to his. Another time this would have felt romantic as you both towed the line of friendship or something more, but with your tears and the secrecy you are simply exhausted. “You know that.”

You do. Aemond had never liked his sister and hated his nephews. Maybe it was because he had lost much at their hands, maybe it was because his closest friend had been resigned to watching her father’s bastards walk around the Keep, Ser Harwin’s ghost never leaving his daughter. Aemond does nothing without reason even amidst your anger.

“There was a whisper passing through the lands of Harrenhal that the fire that killed your grandsire and father was no accident,” Aemond tells you, watching your reaction with careful eyes and his hand refusing to leave your wrist. “Someone started it. Rhaenyra sent me to find out who.”

You feel a wave of sickness overtake your body and for once, you feel like one of the maidens in the stories and think you might faint. Aemond holds you by your upper arms. “The news is grim, my lady.”

Again you are a girl and he is a boy, and the titles feel strange and formal for ones so close friends. “Why would anyone kill my grandsire and father?” you ask in disbelief, shaking in his grip from the shock. “My grandsire was a good hand to your father, respected by all. My father had left the Red Keep, he was not a threat to any Targaryen.”

He sees where your mind is going and stops it by cutting it out root and stem. “There was no Targaryen who is responsible. Rhaenyra is the last one who would have done it.”

“Then who?” you are desperate, hanging onto his arms now as you search his face. No longer do you flee his touch and are desperate for it.

“Larys Strong,” he tells you the news in a soft voice, the blow is twice as hard as it knocks the air form your lungs.

“Liar,” you accuse as you grow rigid in his grip, wanting to claw through his very skin. “This is a lie. An illogical one. My uncle–”

“Stole your position,” he interrupts you. “By all rights you should be the heir of Harrenhal but he took that from you. Your father wanted it to be yours.”

You shut your eyes tightly as a heavy breath moves past your lips. Looking at Aemond again, you steel yourself. “My uncle loved his family. He would not kill his father and brother.”

“And yet he did kill his father and brother.”

“Why?” you demand, now glaring at him, or maybe the truth he has learned. You were comfortable in your misery before he spoke it. “My father loved him. He would never do this to us.”

Aemond’s eye roves your features. From the tremble of your lips to the agony in your eyes, he will not look away. “He betrayed you still.”

Protests continue to pass your lips, determined to cling onto pretty lies but Aemond does not move and slowly, you come to terms with the reality. Your uncle, the one who had been there for you when you got the news and comforted you, had betrayed you.

“Why?” you beg Aemond again, body beginning to fall into his as he holds your limp body to yours.

“Power and position,” he tells you, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your sides.

His words only make you cry louder but he still holds you. “He will pay for this, my love,” he swears as your cries quiet. Neither of you are bold enough to determine what his last words mean for you. You only have energy enough to be in his arms.

“Can I stay?” you ask him. Your voice is a quiet in a way that makes it sound like a ghost of yours.

“Always,” he answers immediately.

That night you sleep in Aemond’s arms and knowing a line is being crossed, neither of you speak of it. Tonight was a night of rest, justice would have to wait for the sun to rise.

In the morning your eyes are not open yet when you feel Aemond’s arms wrapped around your middle. At some point in the night he must have reached for you, or you reached for him. Whisps of his pale hair rest on your shoulder and tickle your face. If it were anyone else you feel out of comfort and push them away, but it is Aemond, so you pretend to be asleep to live in your fantasy.

If the world were different, it would be expected for him to hold you in your sleep and there would be nothing wrong about sleeping in his rooms. In a fantasy that stayed in your mind, he might be your husband, but he was not. Your uncle had frequently alluded to the match that was bond to happen, one between you and Aemond. It had not been for your happiness, just another trick to get himself closer to power Queen Alicent yielded.

“How will it happen?” you whisper, knowing he was awake.

Aemond breathes over your shoulder and rest his chin on your shoulder. “In the throne room, before he expects the severity of his fate.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and do not feel pity as you think of Larys’ fate.

Aemond’s fingers leave a featherlight touch to your sides as you leave his bed. His bed, you think, half mourning your fantasy and the other half of you giddy for this moment you had even in your devastation. Before you leave the room, you turn to him. There is a smile on your lips as you regard him and though it is one of someone who has lost everything, you smile all the same.

“I will be by your side,” he promises and because he has never lied to you, you believe him.

It could have been minutes or hours until you were in the throne room, but you found yourself there all the same. A dress of the pale blue found on your house’s coat of arms drapes across your figure. Not for the first time in your life, you feel every part of the Lady Strong. But there is a change, one you do not realize until you alone walk down the steps into the throne room.

Everyone is there— the Queen, the Hand, Princess Rhaenyra in her father’s place, beside her is your father’s bastards. Rhaenyra’s new consort, Prince Daemon is there. As is your uncle, but he sees the change in you too and for the first time, Larys Strong appears perplexed.

You do not stand next to Aemond, though even in a room full of other people of the court, you are drawn to him. He is a Targaryen as he stands next to his brother and sister, but you are a Strong. You must stand alone.

When Queen Alicent moves forward closer to Rhaenyra than she had ever been, they almost look like allies despite the polarizing green and black dresses they both wore as Alicent faces the court.

“It is the responsibility of the Protector of the Realm to insure that the lines of succession in every house across the realm are just. In the absence of King Viserys, his true heir Princess Rhaenyra will be the hand of justice today.”

Your uncle looks at you for a long moment, but your eyes do not leave the Queen’s. When the Queen steps back to stand near her children and father, and Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne you are sure your uncle is quivering. When you glance at him you are sure that his grip on his cane is stronger than ever before.

“Lord Larys,” Rhaenyra says cooly. “You are accused of treason. You are deemed guilty of starting the fire in Harrenhal that killed Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong, and corrupting the line of succession of House Strong by usurping your niece. You are accused of colluding to usurp me in favor of Prince Aegon.”

He flounders but only for a moment and when Larys recovers, the performance is convincing if you forget that this man had lied to you for half your life. “This is slander, Princess. You have been lied to. I loved my father and brother as I love my niece.” He smiles and perhaps it is charming once, but now you can only look at him and chant liar, liar, liar in your mind. “And as far a colluding to usurp you,” he laughs, lightly making a joke of justice as he turns to you. “Niece, tell the Princess how she has been lied to.”

“I think not,” you say as though you were musing, a poet finding his words instead of calling your uncle a traitor to the court.

He laughs without humor and shakes his head at you. “What is this?” he asks with a chill that would surely travel up your spine if the whole court was not witnessing this, if Aemond were not here. “You believe these lies?”

You say nothing, knowing when your restraint would weaken and he is testing every bit of it.

“How do you plead, Lord Larys?” Rhaenyra demands.

“Not guilty,” he proclaims with an edge to his voice. “Of course I am not guilty.”

The bite of ugliness in his voice does nothing to put off Rhaenyra. Somewhere deep within you, there is a ghost that whispers she would make a fine queen. Even now, your father haunts you by whispering the truth in unwanted moments.

“Queen Alicent has told me the truth of how you killed your own father so that her own would be reinstated the Hand, a favor she did not ask you and one that you thought might give you more power. I see your niece’s rightful title you stole from her did not sate your lust for power.”

All eyes on him, your uncle directs his rage at Alicent. “You lie for her now?” he spits the words, no respect for Princess Rhaenyra and the power she wields now.

“There is no lie,” Alicent says cooly without a care for his rage. “You frequently spoke of how the Princess Rhaenyra would not sit the Iron Throne because there were many who supported Aegon’s claim. In many of our private audiences your niece heard these words being said.”

“Niece,” Larys pleads and this is the first time he has ever sounded like a beggar when he turns to you. “Tell them this is slander. You know in your heart these lies mean to set House Strong apart.”

“I cannot say that which is not true,” you tell him lowly, your hatred for him coming in the shape of a frown pinched on your lips. Looking to Rhaenyra, you decided to put your loathing for her aside for a moment. “My uncle often spoke of Aegon’s claim and how one day it was he who would be King. His intentions were clear, the treason from him is no slander.”

There is a flicker of appreciation in Rhaenyra’s purple eyes as she regards you before she turns her sight to Lord Larys. “You see, you are already guilty of the highest treason of colluding against the crown. You will die, Lord Larys. Do you wish to meet the stranger without speaking the truth?”

You were sure he would not budge. What was the truth to a man like him? He had lied to you for an age.

“Your father was never meant to die,” he turns to you, and the grip on his cane is desperate as he looks to you.

“And yet you killed him,” you meet his gaze unflinching. “You stole my inheritance and had my grandsire and father killed all for your own greed.”

He cannot fight the truth now, not when the sentence has already been given. “You have been a daughter to me. I would never had—”

“And yet, you did betray me and our house. I do not want whatever affection you think recompenses this.”

There is something ugly that creeps up his face. He is a man without anything to lose. “You think your father’s bastards could be your family?”

In the silence, the sound of steel being drawn is heard and out of the corner of your eye, you are sure Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys grimace at the insult.

“You took my family from me. I have nothing that you have not already taken from me, Uncle.”

“For years you had hated him for what he did,” Larys reminds you. “The sons he gave to a woman that was not your late mother, the ghosts that haunt you for their likeness to him.”

That is true enough. “For years I have been lied to.” And that is all that matters.

He says nothing, spatting at the floor in Rhaenyra’s direction. His lies are all that matter, you remind yourself.

“So be it,” he concedes. “Short may your reign be, whore.” You do not know if it is the Princess he speaks of or yourself as the new Lady of Harrenhall.

Nothing else matters when the blade wielded by Daemon cuts off his head, the blood and remains of your uncle on the floor now. Nearly the last of House Strong on the floor of the throne room. You are all that remains now.

In the chaos of it all you do not look at Larys anymore. Across the room your eyes find Aemond. His pale lilac eye is already on your face. Something tells you that all will be well now, so long as Aemond is there with you.

“It was Ser Harwin’s wish that his daughter would succeed him,” you hear Rhaenyra vaguely over the buzzing in your ears. Still, you do not look away from Aemond. You cannot bear it. “To the Lady Strong, the rightful heir of Harrenhall.”

Your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s and if it were any day except this one, you would think she had another motive to give you your inheritance back. But there is something in her eyes that makes you change your mind. Maybe your father haunts her too. Maybe her sons are the ghosts of Harwin Strong to her as well.

You wonder if you haunt her sons as well.

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #hotd x reader

[delfiore]

the principles of pleasure

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!martell!reader

synopsis: the princess learns to give in to her desires with an envoy from dorne.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: some spicy stuff but no actual smut

a/n: ik i said no incest but there wILL BE A SLIGHT MENTION of the deed that rhaenyra and daemon did in that brothel because it’s essential to the plot 🧍‍♀️

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You stood out like a sore thumb.

They say a star would sooner fall upon the earth before a Dornishman set foot into the capital. Yet, here you were.

Despite whispers and chatters of the surrounding lords and ladies—clearly aimed at you—you never bat an eye. Instead, your eyes found Rhaenyra’s across the courtyard, as she tried her best to mingle with her family.

As if you read her mind, with a calculated steadiness, you made your way over to where she was.

“Princess Y/N,” Daemon said, his eyes hard and defensive, “welcome to the capital.”

She didn’t miss the animosity. Her uncle had just returned from Stepstones after all, and from what she gathered listening in at the Small Council, the Martells sided with the Triarchy, against him.

“Your Graces,” you bowed, “It is exciting to see the city again. My brother Qoren sends his regards.”

“Now that the war is over, I trust that our two houses will find common ground. You are most welcome to stay for as long as you like, Princess.” Viserys said.

“Yes, you must,” Daemon inferred.

“I thank you for your hospitality, your Grace.”

“May I introduce the Queen, Lady Alicent of House Hightower, and my daughter, the Crown Princess, Rhaenyra,” The King gestured towards the girls.

“Your Grace, Princess,” you smiled, “all the tales of your beauty truly do you no justice.”

At this, Rhaenyra let out a small laugh, heat creeping up her neck at your blatant compliment. She didn’t notice the way Daemon flit his eyes between you and her menacingly, nor the way Alicent looked to the ground at her hands.

“May I show Y/N the new tapestries?” Rhaenyra inquired, swallowing thickly.

Her father laughed. “Darling, Princess Y/N must be no stranger to tapestries, don’t you think she might find them a bit dull?”

“It’s alright, your Grace. I’d love to see them,” you then turned to Rhaenyra, and gestured for her to lead the way. “After you, my Princess.”

The words rolled off your tongue like silk. Rhaenyra found herself in a pit. There was something charming about you, and soon she found herself entranced, though you’ve only just spoken to her.

You had walked in silence beside you in the thick of the West garden when she suddenly spoke. “Do you like poetry, Y/N?”

“Poetry, songs, I enjoy them all.” You glided your hand over a big leaf. “We were raised to love art, my brother and I. My mother, in particular, told us that without it, there is no pleasure in life.”

“Pleasure can be found in many things.” Rhaenyra countered.

“Yes, it can be,” you raised your hand to show her. “This ring was gifted to me by my mother. It was given to her by her mother, and to her by her mother before.”

A clunky, golden ring adorned your middle finger, but no less beautiful. Engraved on it was the sigil of your house, a sun pierced by a spear.

She only noticed that she was holding your hand to admire it, when you flexed your fingers and the friction of it startled her. She pulled away quickly, averting your amused eyes.

“Is your mother in Sunspear?”

“My mother has passed on,” you smiled sadly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Which is why I was saddened to hear of the news of Queen Aemma’s passing, for she was a mother as much as she was a queen.”

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra said, brushing over her fingers where they had touched you. “The realm seems to have moved on rather quickly from her ever since my half-brother was born.”

“History has a tendency to discard women the moment they don’t benefit the succession line, doesn’t it?”

“When I am Queen, I will make a new order.” The princess stated, “and they will have no choice but to obey.”

“I have no doubt that you will,” your voice softened, like a prayer, before you tenderly brought her fingers to your lips to kiss them. “It’s about time this country sees some changes.

“You must excuse me, then. I have some business I must attend to. The tapestries were lovely,” you bowed, and then you were gone.

You didn’t look at the tapestries at all.

Daemon was apprehensive when she returned, but the princess was too dazed to care. An arrow had struck her heart, and no remedy could cure her of Meleys’ grasp.

The prospect of her marriage was looming over her like a dark cloud. Daemon told her all the things that people do when they’re not stuck in a loveless marriage, and she thought about you. She had never been to Dorne, but she’s heard stories. She wondered if the Dornish were any happier than people like her.

“Y/N Martell,” Daemon asked her in Valyrian, “what do you think of her?”

“I think she’s very charming.” It took weight of her to say. “I’m sure that she would find many suitors of her liking. Men would flock to see her.”

“Men and women alike,” her uncle corrected her. “The Martells have been known to act upon their carnal desires, whether it be with men or women.”

“You think Y/N—No, it can’t be.”

“Can it?” Daemon raised a knowing eyebrow.

That night he smuggled her out of the Red Keep, into the city of the smallfolk, where she saw for the first time how the people lived. She saw mothers breastfeeding their babes on the streets, vendors selling foods and goods that would barely keep them alive past dawn, fools and jesters and actors guising as royalty, mocking her to entertain others.

He took her to a pleasure house, where she saw people fuck for the pleasure of it, no marriage nor the intention of procreation attached. She saw pleasure and desire in Daemon’s eyes when he circled her like a hawk, and kissed her against a wall. Yet, Daemon refused to go further and left her there.

When she opened her eyes again, she thought she saw you, in the back behind a veil, naked between a man and a woman. She knew she wasn’t imagining it when you opened your own eyes, and held her gaze as the man descended between your legs.

Fucking is a pleasure, her uncle told her.

Rhaenyra saw what she saw at the brothel again in her dreams, yet instead of her and Daemon, she saw you, she felt you embracing her, staring into her eyes with that fiery gaze of yours.

The princess had never known bodily pleasure, but she thought she might have felt it with you. She remembered the tenderness of your touch, the weight of your body on hers, the taste of you. She awoke the next morning frustrated as her bed was empty and her mind clouded with impure thoughts of you.

She had been in the gardens the next morning when she saw you. Her heart dropped as she quickly hid behind a tall column. The visions of you still fresh in her mind, and yet you were only sitting on a bench reading. She could hardly believe that you were there at the brothel too, and now here you were.

“Princess? Is that you?”

“Seven Hells,” she muttered, and came out of hiding.

You gave her a warm smile, and beckoned her to sit next to you.

“What are you reading?”

“Poetry from Dorne, dating back to the Age of Nymeria.” You pointed to the page you were reading, “this one in particular is a love letter from a noble woman to her lover, who was also her handmaiden.”

Rhaenyra knew you were watching her for any type of hostility, but in truth, there wasn’t. Instead, she leaned closer to you to read the words.

“Someone, I tell you, will remember us, even in another time.”

“I can’t imagine how lonely they must have felt,” she said, “not being able to show their love.”

“Yes,” you smiled sadly. “I imagine Your Grace also feels certain impediments to do so yourself, as a princess with certain duties to your realm?”

“What about you, Princess Y/N? Do you feel these impediments? Or do you act upon your desires as you please?”

You smiled, but there was an edge to it, almost like a smirk, like you were daring her to ask about last night. Rhaenyra held your gaze, despite how much she wanted to look away because of how nervous you made her.

“I find it easier to separate duty from pleasure than most people in the realm,” you said, “some people don’t have that luxury. But like a keg of wine, the more you fill it up, the more it spills.”

You grasped her hand softly, just tight enough so that if she wanted to pull away, she could have. She let her thumb brush over the back of your hand, feeling the smoothness of the skin that had been rough with somebody else the night before. Rhaenyra wished it was her.

The clanking of armor pulled her out of it, and made her retract her hand.

“The Small Council meeting is about to begin, Princess,” Ser Criston announced.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes, duty awaited. But you never took your eyes of her. She excused herself anyway, and left without another word nor another glance, afraid she wouldn’t be able to leave if she did.

The hour of the owl came, yet Rhaenyra was still wide awake. A breeze crept through her chambers, caressing her skin and raised goosebumps. She sighed, wishing it was you. No matter how hard she tried, all she could see was you.

She sprung out of bed, hastily throwing on her nightrobe. Ser Criston had left an hour before, leaving her door empty, and she quietly made her way across the castle. Long gone were the days of hopeless longing, she was grown now. If she were to be Queen, she would take what she wanted.

You opened the door without hesitation, a soft smile on your face illuminated by candlelight.

“You’re still awake.”

“I was waiting for you,” you spoke softly.

Feeling bold, she pushed forwards, through the door, and you took a step back. She did it again, and you let her.

Her hand then crept along the hem of your gown, feeling the fabric before pulling it loose.

She was too nervous to meet your eyes. You, on the other hand, watched her tentatively, but made no sudden move lest you startled the princess.

Wordlessly, Rhaenyra leaned up to kiss you deeply, her eyes shut tight. She was no longer a princess, she was just a girl, infatuated with you.

“What do you want, Princess?” You asked softly, holding her waist endearingly.

“Show me what pleasure feels like.” Her breath warmed your neck as she spoke. “I want you.”

You undressed her, slowly; you wanted to savor it. But you had desired her the moment you laid eyes on her, and when her left breast peaked through her gown, you let out a low groan, and picked her up around your waist.

The Targaryen princess was all you tasted. Her mind was hazy, her chest warm, and her cheek pressed against your own bare chest.

The morning sun peaked through the window, daybreak. She had duties, she was a Princess.

Rhaenyra slipped away from your embrace, carefully so as notnto wake you, and took a piece of parchment paper on your desk and a quill to write with.

“I’ll see you again tonight,” she wrote.

The princess then slipped out the door and back to her room before Ser Criston could figure out that she was ever gone.

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen imagine #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x you #house of the dragon #hotd imagine