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the-iceni-bitch · 6 months

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𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖑𝖐𝖞 𝕭𝖊𝖉 𝖂𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖌𝖍

𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟺 - 𝙽𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚑 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚏𝚏

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜.

𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚢 ~ 𝙰 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗'𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚜.

𝙰𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜

Words: ~1.6k

Relationship: nymph!Wanda Maximoff x goddess of spring!reader

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (chase kink, food in a sexy scenario, analingus, body worship), sex outdoors, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all my latest fics, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

The clouds parted and the sun rose warm in the sky as your eyes at last fluttered open after your long slumber. It was finally time, your season, the awakening of the earth and the beginning of new growth. You slowly rose to your feet and breathed deep of the fresh spring air, looking out at the frozen land that was waiting to be rejuvenated by your touch.

As you began your trek down from your mountain you smiled warmly, hyacinths and irises and peonies blooming each place your feet met the earth while new green life spread across the land in front of you. Frost and ice broke away from the ponds and rivers when the sun’s rays reached them. Birds and animals chirped and sang, filling the air with the sweet sounds of rebirth as they rose from their winter hibernation and came to greet you. A lark fluttered around you with a symphony of twitters before landing on your outstretched hand, preening its feathers as it whistled before taking flight again.

By the time you reached the foot of your mountain the land was lush and green, the air filled with the verdant fragrances of spring that made you feel so alive and powerful. You took one more deep breath and spread your arms wide, beaming when the entirety of the land sprang to life at once and basking in the sunlight.

That was when you heard it. That lovely laugh that lilted like a song through the air. The murmuring splashes and soft singing of woodland nymphs as they bathed. It was her. Your love. The only thing aside from the growth of spring that you longed for during your time of sleep. As you came upon the still pool where the maidens bathed you felt your breath catch, the sunlight glittering on the surface of the water and on the flawless skin of your beloved when she rose from the depths with a beautiful sigh.

“Wanda!” You let out a delighted laugh when she turned to face you and blushed, her ginger hair flowing around her bare shoulders and her blue eyes sparkling with playful desire. “I see your thoughts, my love. If you run, I will catch you and drink my fill of your sweet pleasure.”

“My goddess…” she stretched her lithe, naked body and giggled when you let out a low sound of want, taking a few steps away from you towards the opposite end of the pond. “If I did not run, you would not love me as you do.”

That was the only warning you had before she took off at a sprint. You chuckled to yourself before beginning to pursue her, your steps fleet across the green earth and making trees and flowers spring up in your wake. Her laughter made your grin grow even wider. She was right, you did enjoy chasing her down before you lost yourself in the heady pleasures of her soft flesh.

Rivers and hills passed the both of you by as you chased her, the land sloping towards the sea as you moved further and further from your mountain. Her laughter was like music that rang through the valleys and forests, birds and animals joining her song as they rose from their winter sleep. Deer and foxes ran with your beloved, their cheerful yips and cries echoing her joy and only making your desire for her grow deeper. She was the embodiment of life and happiness, of everything that belonged to your season. And though she ran and played the shy coquette, she was yours.

Wanda’s voice was teasing and bright as she called your name over her shoulder, the sway of her hips enticing you to run after her even faster as she bent to pluck a sweet smelling hyacinth and breathe in its scent. She leapt over a brook and squealed when she felt the tips of your fingers graze against her heel, changing direction quickly so you could not catch her. You could smell her. Above even the scent of the new flowers you could smell the warm and fertile wetness between her thighs that called to you.

Though Wanda was quick, she was not as quick as you. But then, she did not truly wish to be. She squealed with glee when your hand wrapped around her knee and pulled her to the ground, her eyes bright when she beamed at you over her shoulder when you pounced on top of her. The rest of her playful noises were muffled by your lips as you bent to give her the most luscious of kisses, the sweetness of her plump lips making you moan into her mouth as you pressed her into the warm earth.

Wanda laughed lightly when you turned her onto her back and nibbled on the tip of her nose, her fingers teasing along the curve of your waist. Out of thin air a honeycomb appeared in your outstretched hand, the two of you sharing a pair of warm smiles before you pressed the comb to her lips and let her taste the sweetness of spring. Her eyes fluttered as you smeared the precious golden syrup all over her full lips and let it slither over her tongue and down her throat. Your lips were quick to chase the drops that escaped from the corners of her mouth, your tongue flicking out to trace the viscous trails left along her soft, pale skin.

You dragged the comb down her chin and then the slender column of her neck. You wanted her nubile body covered in honey, to taste the luscious flavor of her sweat mixed with the sweet syrup. When your tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat to lap up the golden nectar she sighed, making you grin when the soft sound of her pleasure made a smattering of asters bloom around her.

“My dear, sweet love,” your lips met Wanda’s skin between each word. “My beloved nymph,” the honey dribbled over the gentle swells of her breasts, followed closely by your eager tongue. “How I miss you when I slumber.”

“My goddess, oh!” Her sudden gasp when your lips brushed against her stiffened nipple made Olympus yarrow join the aster that was springing up in an ever growing ring around the two of you. “I have missed you too, so much…”

“I know.” The fragrance of the flowers and the warmth of the sun bathed the two of you in a haze of passion, Wanda’s breaths turning shallow and quick as your mouth left a wake of fire along her tapered waist. “Sing your song for me, my nymph.”

Wanda groaned when you turned her so she was laying on her stomach, biting her lip when you pressed the honeycomb to the firm skin of her back until she could feel the thick, sticky sweetness creeping down the curve of her spine. Your mouth ardently pursued the path of honey as your beloved whimpered and moaned, your teeth sneaking past the cushions of your lips to nip at the small of her back. The comb kept traveling lower and so did your mouth, worshiping her perfect, alabastrine skin as she spread her legs for you and arched her back. When Wanda felt your fingers opening her up and the warm honey dribbling over the dusky folds of her anus she gasped, her voice rising in timbre as your tongue fluttered and lapped at her sensitive flesh.

Her voice was musical and dulcet as you continued to lavish her body with passionate attention, your fingers and tongue leaving her sex covered in the syrupy evidence of your love for her. The pitch of her voice let you know that her mind was fully consumed by the pleasure you were giving her, her existence narrowed to only you and the pleasure you gave her as more spring growth bloomed around the two of you. Your tongue pushed past her tight ring of muscle at the same time your fingers slipped inside her pretty pussy and when she cried out softly you grinned against her.

Already you could tell your love was close, her staccato breaths and the way her toes and fingers curled letting you know just how lost in her pleasure she was truly. Every breath and sound she made was pure and primal, out of her control as she offered herself to you as a loving sacrifice for the new birth of spring. There was nothing on the earth for her except you and your touch, the unending ecstasy only you were able to give her. Your tongue and lips kept moving reverently against the most secret part of her as her body wound tighter and tighter, her slick inner walls clenching around your fingers while your thumb gently circled her swollen clitoris until she truly was singing for you.

Wanda screamed your name as she fell apart at your touch. It was more lovely than the singing of the birds or the falling rain, everything about your beloved was the epitome of beauty. You drank up her bliss gluttonously, catching every drop on your tongue before draping your body over hers so your head was resting on her shoulder. A glade had grown around the two of you as you pleasured your nymph, poppies and anemones surrounding a sparkling pond as the shade of a fig tree kept you cool. She rolled over and let her eyes flutter as you ran your fingers through her silky hair, her own fingers trailing along your side until she was tickling your hip.

“My goddess,” Wanda purred and bit her lip as she gazed at you with adoration. “It is your season, my beloved. Let me worship at your altar so you can give the earth new life.”

#natalie writes #monstrous mayhem #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #wanda maximoff #nymph!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #female reader #goddess!reader #marvel #marvel au #eighteen plus

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larluce · 3 months

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Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU

LINK TO THE OTHER PARTS: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 (You're here) , PART 6

After the third day Merlin doesn't come back from his visit to Claws' partner, Arthur gets worried and send search parties to look for him. Merlin said he'd be back soon. He wouldn't just leave and abandon him. Something wasn't right. Something bad must have happened. The prince is now in the middle of the Woods shouting his bird's name while other knights keep searching their surroundings.

Arthur: Merlin!

Knight 1: Sire, it's getting late. Maybe we should-

Arthur: No! We're not leaving until we find him!

Knight 2: (approaches running) Sire! I think I found something.

They follow the knight and they find the corpse of a dead merlin and a torn red neckerchief in the grass beside it. There's other corpse of a bigger falcon, obviously not a merlin. The crime scene is clear to Arthur. Both birds died fighting each other.

Arthur:...

Knight 2: I'm really sorry for...uh... your loss, your highness. I know he was very dear to you.

Knight 1: Yeah, he was a.. a really good hunter and... died with dignity! Like a warrior! He was-

Arthur: That's not Merlin.

Knight 2: (surprised) But, sire, the neckerchief is there. It must be him!

Knight 1: And that’s clearly a merlin.

Arthur: Yes, that's the neckerchief and that's a merlin, but it's not MY Merlin. Because THAT merlin is a female.

Arthur can't really blame his knights for not noticing. Even merlins confused Merlin for a female most of the time. But he knew the patern of his feathers well enough. Arthur doesn't know how the neckerchief ended there, but if it is there Merlin can't be far. Soon enough, he hears a familiar chirp.

Merlin: (chirps loudly from a tree)

Arthur: Merlin! (Turns to the sound and, as soon as he lays his eyes on Merlin, he's filled with joy and relief) Thank the gods! What are you doing there? Come down!

Merlin: (shakes his head and chirps in sorrow)

Arthur: (concerned) You can't? Why? Are you hurt?

Knight 1: (whispers to other knight) he's talking to the bird?

Knight 2: Get use to it (looks more carefully the branch Merlin is in) Sire! There's something under the bird.

Knight 1: Wait! Is that a... nest?

Arthur: (in realization, looks at Merlin and then looks at the dead merlin at his feet) Brownie?

Later in Arthur's chambers. Arthur and Morgana comfort a very distraught Merlin who is in his human form holding a nest with 5 eggs as close and as carefully as he can. The three are sitting on the bed.

Merlin: (sad but with no tears left to share) I was too late. I couldn’t save her. And the eggs were alone and needed incubation so I couldn’t leave either. I'm sorry I worried you.

Morgana: (with a hand on his shoulder) We completely understand, Merlin. Don't worry.

Arthur: (with an arm wrap around Merlin) I wish I had come sooner. You shouldn't have grieved Brownie alone. (Confused) Why couldn't you just use magic to transport yourself and the eggs here if you didn't want to leave them? You've done that before.

Merlin: (looks at the nest) Eggs are so fragile, I didn't want to risk them breaking in the way. Besides... (cuts himself and blushes a little)

Arthur: What?

Merlin: (smiles at Arthur) I knew you would come for me.

Arthur: (looks at him lovinly) wait (sudden realization) you didn't leave the nest at all? How did you eat?

Merlin: ...

Arthur: (sighs) I'll bring you some food. Want something in particular?

Merlin: Larks, please 🥺

Arthur: (doubts for a second but then kisses him quickly on the cheek before leaving)

Merlin:... 😳😊☺️

Morgana: Are you going to put those little ones somewhere?

Merlin: (looks around) I think Arthur's window is a good place. Do you think he'll mind?

Morgana: I'll make sure he won’t.

Later. Arthur and Morgana at Claws' grave now also Brownie's grave.

Arthur: At least now they are together.

Morgana: Well done, Arthur. Now you left 5 merlin chicks orphan.

Arthur: (ofended) Hey! Brownie's death wasn't my fault!

Morgana: But if you hadn't killed Claws, he would've been able to protect Brownie and his eggs!

Arthur: Oh, come on! That falcon was more than twice his size. He wouldn't have had a chance.

Morgana: Well, now we'll never know. (Sighs) How did Uther react when you told him you brought a nest with 5 merlin eggs with you?

Arthur:...

Morgana: You haven't told him?! 😨

Arthur: You know how much I had to fight for him to let me keep Merlin! You think he's going to let me keep 5 more?

Morgana: So what are you planning to do?

Arthur: Well, merlin eggs hatch in days time. We can hide them until then. Once they are out of their shell I can leave them in the wood-

Morgana: Oh, no. You're not abandoning those merlins! You killed their parents so now you are going to take responsibility!

Arthur: But-

Morgana: Responsability I said! Now if you excuse me, I'm going to make five more neckerchiefs (she leaves)

Arthur: ...

Arthur: What just happened? 😧

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU

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finxwrites · 8 months

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ladyhawke time

It should have been the other way around. Jaskier was a creature of sunshine, bright as a summer flower and gaudier than a whole circus. Jaskier was all color and light. Jaskier should have gotten the day.

For his own reasons, too, Geralt would have preferred the night. It would be more practical – there were some monsters that only came out under cover of darkness, and he couldn’t hunt them at all now. But, selfishly, he also wished he could have had this excuse to not have to deal with people anymore. To finally just let Jaskier handle it all, start to finish, the way he’d so often insisted he should.

Usually while insulting Geralt’s ability to communicate in something other than threats and insults, mind, which was rude and uncalled-for. Geralt only communicated in threats and insults maybe half the time. Less, when the bard wasn’t around to get on his nerves.

Though these last few months, he’d been communicating mostly through glares. So maybe that wasn’t entirely true either.

The lark came back, then, putting an end to his wistful musing. It flitted around his head, twittering furiously, until Geralt raised a hand for it to perch on. Then it preened itself, fluffing its breast and poking at its wings in swift, fussy little motions. Geralt had to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat.

It was so small. He didn’t even feel its weight on his hand. It was such a delicate, beautiful thing, with its bright yellow face striped dramatically in black, the gentle blurring of light brown wings to dun-white breast and the black collar round its throat. It had two little black tufts of feathers like fierce little eyebrows, giving it a permanent flair of drama.

Its claws weren’t even long enough to pierce the leather of his gloves. It was so small.

I miss you, he didn’t say. Sometimes it was easier to talk to the bird than it had ever been to talk to the man, but sometimes it wasn’t. I’m sorry. I still don’t know how to fix this.

The bird took off again, chirping up a storm, only to land again at once on Roach’s head. Roach flicked an ear, but otherwise ignored it, plodding staidly on. The bird pulled at the swirl of fur at the top of her mane, preening her too.

Sometimes it would land on Geralt’s shoulder and preen his hair, too. Sometimes it would sidle along his shoulder and hop down past the edge of his pauldron and then nestle there, just beside his ear, peeping softly to itself as it drifted off to sleep. The brush of feathers was so soft against the side of his throat. So fragile, and so warm.

It wasn’t exactly Jaskier in there, Geralt knew. This wasn’t a choice Jaskier was consciously making. Geralt was just familiar, like Roach, and tiny little songbirds need somewhere protected to sleep. It didn’t mean anything, not really.

Geralt wondered, often, what he did during the night. Jaskier left him notes, so he knew he became a wolf – a huge silver-white wolf, which was so fitting it made him want to vomit – and that he’d never yet hurt Jaskier. Wouldn’t, Jaskier insisted, when Geralt had responded to learning this by chaining himself to the nearest tree the following sunset. In the mornings, Geralt remembered strange, stretching dreams of smell and sound and the layered silences of a nighttime wood, and – he never knew if he was just making this part up – he remembered warmth. A gentle hand stroking between his ears. Singing and chatter over the crackling of the campfires he was careful to assemble and light before darkness fell. A body pressed against his, trusting and tired.

The lark took off again, flitting out over the side of the road to swoop joyfully over a meadow of wildflowers. Geralt sighed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Roach flicked an ear at him, and he patted the side of her neck.

The road stretched on, endless. The lark soared against the brilliant blue sky, singing without a care in its tiny, delicate heart. Geralt watched, silence clogging his throat, and wished he still believed in promises he didn’t know how to keep. Wished he could promise, even to himself, that he’d see Jaskier again.

#the witcher #we love a good ladyhawke au

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pellaaearien · 10 months

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Soft retired!Dream headcannon:

I always imagined it was Death who brings him to Hob first, just shows up on his doorstep with a wildly disoriented former anthropomorphized personification, and a huge wild grin, chirping “I NEVER GET TO DO THIS THE OTHER WAY AROUND, THIS IS FUN!”

And that sticks in Hob’s head. He remembers once on a lark asking Dream when his birthday was, and Dream just stared at him for a solid minute and said, eventually, “Calendars were several eons away from being invented, at the time” and that was that. But then one morning, exactly one year from the day that Death knocked on Hob’s door, Dream shuffles out of their bedroom in his pajamas to find Hob, and his sister, balloons (black and silver), a birthday banner taped to the living room wall (black and silver, though Matthew begged to buy the pastel one that said HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BIG BOY), and a cake in the middle of the table (dark chocolate, raspberry filling). Matthew lands on his head and squawks “SURPRISE!!”

Once Dream wakes up enough to process what the hell is going on, he has to spend a good five minutes trying not to cry into Hob’s jumper. All he manages to say at first is, “You have informed me more than once that I cannot eat cake for breakfast.”

Matthew caws indignantly, “It’s your birthday, man! You can do anything you want!”

And Dream looks up at Hob, smoldering, and says, “Anything?”

(Death: Oi! Okay Dream, wait till everyone goes home to play with your present!

Matthew: OH EW QUIT IT!!!)

Let Dream play with his toys he's just a baby!

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BIG BOY has me cackling I'd want that just to see Dream's face lmao

Tbh I love the idea of Hob giving Dream a birthday, either on the anniversary of his retirement, or on World Dream Day (September 25) I always have a soft spot for immortal/eldritch beings who've never had a birthday get bullied into a day that celebrates them 🥹

Thank you for this delightful image I've been blessed ❤️

#nice people being nice #please send soft dreamling headcanons #dreamling

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doodle-pops · 1 year

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A Moment of Peace

Elladan x reader

Request: Hello! Can I plop in a request for Elladan or Elrohir skinny dipping with reader? Fluffy and giggly - they can also be fully clothed, I just think either of them would be really fun to go swimming with! Please and thank you 🙏🏻🥰😇 - Anon

A/N: Coming right up, a fluff for cheeky Elladan :)

Warning: nudity, skinny dipping, fluff, humour

Word: 1.5k

Synopsis: A day off from work leads you to spend the day with your beloved, swimming around nude as you were born, enjoying the summer peace.

The sun rained its radiance upon the earth like thousands of diamonds, glittering like the pinnacle of gemstones it proved itself worth, illuminating the world with its brilliance. From the flowers in the meadow to the canopies of the forest to the rich soil of the earth after a blossoming rainfall to the surface of the lake where splashes of jovial laughter echoed. The song of birds, larks and robins, singing their lungs full of a merry tune and adding to the astonishing beauty the world was. In the distance, occasionally, a deer or two would pass by nibbling on the mulberries in their fruitful abundance along with a stag and their little offspring. The quiet trekking of their hooves across the forest floor was below the whisper of wind, and yet, your hearing could pick them up. Even the spirited squirrels that chased each other for nuts did not go unmissed.

A loud splash followed by a gasp broke the serenity you found in the woods. After a month off slaving away behind the fireside as one of the cooks under Lord Glorfindel, he was graciously kind to offer you the week off to recuperate. The first two days were spent under the quilts, nestled deeply and tucked away in wonderland, dreaming about a distant land far away. The third and fourth day was spent tidying up your house since you barely had time to have your life in order and the fifth day, today, was currently being spent drowning underwater by your elven beloved.

Though you prefer to say, playful drowning since he wanted to discover his response to a drowning you should the moment ever arise, however, the game didn’t last for long. Pouting when you no longer wished to continue the game, he decided to find another means of entertainment. Another splash to your left and you observed a bare-bottom Elladan taking a dive under the crystal clear lake to go fishing for flat stones, an obsession he grew to develop after you explained to him your once hobby. From your angle, you were able to clearly observe every nude part of his body freely moving with the push and pull of his strokes underwater. This boy really has no shame. Shaking your head at how peculiar his nudity request was today, perhaps it was to make you laugh with his dangling body parts.

It didn’t take long for him to resurface with four flat stones, each a different colour from the mineral content in the lake. “Look! This one matches your eye colour,” he gleamed, swimming closer and holding the stone closer to your eye to compare. He was right indeed. The stone bore the same glow and brightness that your eyes did and became illuminated when held under Anor. “This is my favourite; I’ll put them beside the other fifty I’ve collected that matched your eye colour,” he chirped.

Taking a short swim away from you to place the stones beside your clothes on the shore, you swam further out only to shriek at the sudden decrease in temperature. Your little sound didn’t go unnoticed by his ear and prompted him to wade into the water once again, approaching your side. “What’s the matter?” he questioned and inched his head closer to yours.

Grinning embarrassingly and shaking your hanging head, you wheezed at how silly you were to expect the entire lake to sit at one temperature. “Nothing really, it’s just that I wanted to swim out but over there is a lot colder than here,” you chuckled.

Wanting to humour and charm you, Elladan took it upon himself to wrap his warm arms around your waist and tug you closer to his wet chest. His naked body was pressed against yours and you felt every ripple of his steel muscles flexing when he tightened his grip around your waist. You felt bashful at the daring action as though you two have never been naked before the other on numerous occasions, though this was different. A different type of intimacy shared between you both radiated pure and playful love. It prompted a puppy-like form of affection to blossom.

On his face, he hid the growing blush that spread across his cheeks at the close contact with your naked body. Acting like some ellon who reached maturity, Elladan’s ears were also reddened. With the slight brush of your chest against his and his neither region poking the softness of your thigh, he bit his lip to resist the urge to giggle. He acted like it was the first time he was seeing and holding you naked; as if you didn’t regularly bathe together.

“Elladan…” you sang.

“Yes, my sweet little dove,” he sang to you.

Giggling in an attempt of replying, you buried your face into his neck and released peals of laughter. Something so simple from him could emit rounds of tummy-aching joy from a soft and calm person like yourself. You wished to respond to his singing with a melody of your own but were caught up in the rapture of feeling the eruption of bubbles and butterflies in your stomach at the usage of his endearment for you. He could be such a sweet and goofy person all at once and you adored it. Compared to many who bore the same individualities as he did, it was revered in your eyes differently than any other. He was beautiful in his own little enchanting way.

“Is the water still cold?” he inquired, breaking your thoughts of admiration.

Pulling your face out of his neck to quizzically observe him, you jerked your head back before breaking contact to view your surroundings. You were much further out than you originally were minutes ago. “You moved us?” you asked.

“Hmm, while you were busy giggling away, I pushed us out. So, is the water still cold?”

Answering with a shake of your head, he produced a cheerful grin, proud of his accomplishment. A little trick of his up his sleeves since he was the literal sun all through the year. The one time you couldn’t complain about him overheating and causing you to sweat like a pig.

“Told you that my superheating would come in handy,” he boasted.

Rolling your eyes at his inherited dramatic flare from his mother, as his father once described, you reached out to scoop a handful of water and dumped it on his head, hearing him gasp. Elladan didn’t hesitate for a second, pushing you out of his grasp to face the harsh coldness of the lake and reach for his scoop of water to dash all over you. Back and forth the two of you splashed each other, completely oblivious to the nudity you both wore in board daylight where a passer-by could observe. At one point, you started complaining about the unfairness of the other because that’s not a part of the rules.

“What do you mean I can’t over splash you? You’ve been drowning me with cold water!”

“Well, that’s the rules of the game.”

“You mean those ridiculous rules you and your brother would create to cheat?”

“That is not true – ah!”

Holding your hand at splashing him again, you froze when you noticed him holding his face, importantly, his eye. You felt panic surge through your veins at your day being ruined by a simple game and causing injuries. Wading through the water to reach his side, your smaller hands crawled up his arm to pry his hands away from his face for you to inspect the severity of the damage. It took a lot to make him cry since he tended to ramp with the scarier and tougher folks out in the wild. His whines informed you that it wasn’t pleasant.

Refusing to allow you to inspect his eye, you didn’t notice his freed arm reaching out to cup his hand in the water and spray it on you. Your reaction time was slow as the sequence took place. One minute you were whining over his injury and the next, you were gasping for breath as cold water soaked your bones and travelled up your nasal cavity. In the distance, you could hear his boisterous laughter growing distant as he swam away from you to avoid any form of punishment.

“Elladan!” you screamed.

“Aw, don’t be so upset dove. It’s all part of the game,” he spoke with smugness in his voice while he continued to keep his distance.

Wiping the water from your face and nose, you peeked through your hair strands and noticed he was paddling back to shore, leaving out in the coldness. “Just wait till I get my hands on you!”

“You’re gonna have to catch me first. Race you to the shore.”

“That’s no fair! You already have a head start!”

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thedeathofduty · 2 years

Text

Motion Sickness

I hate you for what you did

And I miss you like a little kid

Summary: You went for a morning ride in the Kingswood, as you sometimes did when you were a young girl in King's Landing. Unfortunately, you'd barely enough time to enjoy your hard-earned solitude before Prince Aemond arrived and started trying to speak with you. Reluctantly, you agree to work with him to mend the bonds that were broken years ago.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!F!Reader

Word Count: 8,305 (I got a little carried away)

Warning(s): Mentions and very brief description of child abuse, detailed description of a fight between two kids (not the eye incident), vague references to sexual trauma (Aemond)

A/N: So in the canon, Aemond claims Vhagar and gets his eye cut out when he's 10 years old, but I decided to change things a bit here and make it so that it happened when he was about 12. I messed with the canon timeline a few times here and aged Aemond up (babygirl is ~22 here), but every other change is actually addressed in-text. Also, I'm not 100% sure what the technical difference is between and OC fic and a Reader fic, but I am definitely on that line here. If anyone has an actual answer to that conundrum for me, please DM me and explain it to me, I am desperate to understand. I've been editing this as I go, but there might still be a few issues, so just be forewarned.

Though it had been close to ten years since you had ridden your white mare down this twisted path in the Kingswood, you found that the memory of it was deeper than you thought. Despite the years, you still knew where to turn, where to slow down, and where to duck your head so a stray branch would miss your face. You'd been gifted Nymeria at the tender age of only twelve and, now as you were a young woman of twenty-two years of age, she was every bit an extension of you as the short nails just barely peeking past your fingertips and the golden braid bouncing off your back as you galloped through the forest.

The crisp morning air nipped at your flushed cheeks and your steady breaths came out of your mouth in thick clouds. You were grateful you had not left your riding gloves in your chambers or else you knew your fingers would be too stiff. As the trees around you thinned, you tugged on the reins and brought Nymeria to a slow walk. Soon enough, the two of you reached your destination: the apex of the little rivers that ran through the Kingswood. As a girl, you had loved this place, though you'd only laid eyes on it a mere handful of times. Back then, you had been too young to go out riding on your own as often as you did now.

You jumped down from Nymeria's saddle, your muddy riding boots crunching in the pebbles below. The soothing murmur of the water was a balm on your senses after the extravagant feast you'd been forced to attend the night before. With a deep breath, you led your horse to a nearby tree and hastily tied her there with the soft rope you'd grabbed from the stables in the Red Keep.

"Here you go, sweet girl," you crooned, petting her under her chin as she usually liked. After planting a kiss on her dark gray snout, you grabbed your book of poems from her saddlebags and wandered off to sit near the edge of the small river. It was shallow, barely a river at all, and perfectly clear. From your spot on the bank, you saw a few peach-colored fish swimming against the gentle current. Around you was the sound of a cool breeze stirring the tops of the trees, the rising chirping of morning larks, and a faint crunching off in the distance. It was far enough that you could ignore it for now.

You settled into your seat, balancing your book in your lap and humming contentedly as your face slowly warmed with the clear sunlight. With the cold still nibbling at you, the light did not feel golden so much as it did silver. Almost like moonlight. You wanted to truly soak in every moment you had left alone out here. After the unfortunate journey to King's Landing from Casterly Rock, then that overwhelming feast last night, you were desperate to have some time to collect yourself. It would inevitably be interrupted, though.

The crunching in the distance got closer and you could feel the pounding of hooves through the earth beneath you. You sighed, already pushing yourself up to stand as the sound behind you came to an awkward halt.

"Prince Aemond," you said, not even bothering to turn towards him as he struggled to get his horse to stop completely. He had always been a clumsy rider, at least when it came to horses. You hoped for the sake of the realm that he was better with his dragon. "It is both a pleasure and an honor to see you again." You refused to look at him until he had finally dismounted, considering it a great mercy on your part. As a child, he had fallen out of his saddle enough times that any attempts to help him would just infuriate him. Granted, he had been much smaller back then, bigger only than Princess Rhaenyra's second son.

When you did fix your gaze on him, it was without a warmer greet or even a smile, just your hands clasped together in front of you over your book and your chin held high. His riding boots were cleaner than yours and still held some shine, unlike yours, which had been dull and scuffed for some time now. Just as he had been the previous night, he was clad entirely in black. His thick overcoat had little splashes of mud along the bottom and the sight of it did admittedly cause your lips to curl a bit. He was fixing his eye patch, trying to adjust the strap over his windswept hair with one hand while the other held tight to the reins of his dark horse. Unlike you, he had forgotten his riding gloves.

"It did not seem to be either last night, Lady Y/N." His eye met yours and you snorted, shaking your head in disbelief.

He was referring, of course, to your refusal to dance with him. Given the farewell he had gifted you before you left King's Landing nine years ago, he should hardly have been surprised at your cold demeanor. It was, in truth, because of his harsh farewell that you and your family had been compelled to leave. After the way he had treated you, it was clear he no longer wanted you and so the royal family had no use for you and your ilk either. To say your father had been cross would be entirely inaccurate. No, he had been well and truly raging, swearing to the gods that you must have done something to displease the Prince.

You had, though you never shared it with him. Your mother, at least, had been kind to you in those early years, even as you pulled away from her. No matter how kind she was, though, or how close you sometimes felt to any of your sisters, you never told any of them the truth of it.

"I was weary from my travels and did not wish to be paraded around like a jester." It was not a complete lie. You probably would have danced with someone else, if a desirable hand had been offered to you. Prince Aemond's hand, however, was little more than an insult, a thick glob of spit in your left eye. "Come," you sighed, walking towards him and grabbing the reins from his hand. This close to him, you could feel how warm he must be under his layers of thick clothing. He was standing rigidly like a little wooden toy. "I will fasten your horse."

You redid your rope tie for Nymeria so it could hold both, smoothing another hand over your mare's soft face before putting your book away. Maybe you would have the opportunity to read later, but you doubted the Prince had lowered himself to come out here just to sit in silence with you. Though you were not eager to, you would listen to him. He was more than just your childhood companion now. He was the King's younger brother and possible heir to the throne.

"There are matters," Prince Aemond paused, rubbing his hands together before balling them into stiff fists at his sides, "matters we must discuss." He was having a hard time meeting your eyes, only being able to meet your gaze for a brief moment before looking away again.

"And what matters are those, Prince Aemond?"

"The manner of your return to King's Landing."

"Well, I came mostly on horseback, but whenever I grew tired, I rode in the carriage with my mother and sister." You offered him a cheeky smile as he sighed wearily and rolled his eyes.

"Gods, you are still just an intolerable as you were when we were children."

Intolerable? And yet he had spent nearly all of his time with you as a boy? Oh yes, that sounded quite reasonable. You crossed your arms over your chest, forearms digging into the golden lion's head clasps in your crimson riding coat. "Perhaps you would find me more tolerable if I was simply able to divine your motives for questioning me. Alas, I cannot."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before speaking. "It has been many years since we have last seen each other. I am simply trying to get reacquainted."

On your last day in King's Landing, you had woken up before the sun and scrawled out a simple note asking him to meet you in the courtyard when he awoke if he wished to speak. With a thundering heart, you had given the folded paper to Ser Criston who stood guarding the door to Prince Aemond's chambers. He had promised to pass on your message, though he could scarcely look you in the eye.

Your family had planned to leave as the sun set to avoid the heat. He'd had all day to respond and to speak with you, but he had chosen not to even send a response. All you had wanted to do was apologize to him, but you knew now as a woman that you truly had nothing for which to apologize. In truth, what you had been feeling back then was a deep sense of shame and guilt for having hurt and angered the Prince as much as you had, but it had not been your fault.

You uncrossed your arms with a heavy sigh. "What is it you wish to know?" He pulled his hand away from his face.

"Did your parents tell you why you've returned?"

You shrugged. "In truth, I can see a few reasons why my family has dragged me back to this circus. There may be a war coming, after all."

"The Princess accepted our terms."

You smiled at him with feigned pity. "The Princess, yes, but what of her husband? Do you think they call him the Rogue Prince for his mild disposition and penchant for peace? Perhaps he'll kill her, return to King's Landing on dragonback, and burn the whole thing to the ground under cover of night."

He visibly swallowed, his pale neck bobbing. "Perhaps. But I doubt it."

"Let us hope you are correct, Prince Aemond."

He squared his shoulders and stood up straight, towering at his full height. There was enough distance between you that you did not feel dwarfed by him, but you knew it would be different if he were close enough to touch. As children, you had been the taller one for a time, until you stopped growing. When he had asked you to dance last night, your neck had actually hurt a bit at the strain of looking up at him. Your heart had been in your throat, breath hitching at the way the orange light in the grand hall danced on the side of his chiseled face. Prince Aemond was truly a man now, and the sight of him so grown twisted your insides.

"My brother is King now," he declared and you nodded with a slight smile on your face. "There are few who would dare stand against us."

If war was not an immediate concern, there was only one other reason for your family's return that seemed feasible to you. As a girl, you had been promised to the Prince who now stood before you, but the betrothal had been broken shortly after the loss of his eye. To this day, you were not sure who had finally decided to sever that tie. You only knew that before Prince Aemond left for his cousin's funeral on Driftmark, you were betrothed to him, and then a mere fortnight after his return, your father was screaming at you with his large fist in your hair, demanding to know what you had done wrong as your mother corralled your youngest sister out of the room. A lady only in station, as your mother often said of you, you refused to cower or cry whenever he flew into one of his rages. He was your Lord Father and you were the first in a line of five daughters, and the least ladylike girl at court. Was it any surprise he was often angry with you? In his eyes, you were his first failure as a man. Even with that, you were the only one of his daughters to inherit his temperament.

"Hm, then perhaps we are to be married off just as when we were children."

He wet his lips. "Does this displease you?"

"Oh, yes. Deeply." Something stirred in your chest then, some deep threatening rumble. Prince Aemond had written to you for years after your return to Casterly Rock and you devoured each and every word he wrote, but never once did he impart upon you the words you had wanted to read most of all. For two years now, he had stopped, and you would be lying if you said the loss had not broken your heart anew. "To be married to a man so proud and self-satisfied that he cannot even apologize?" You chuckled cheerlessly. "Gods, how unfortunate."

The atmosphere between the two of you grew heavy and oppressive. It seemed as though the trees around you were leaning closer to catch every single word exchanged. The water rushing behind the man in front of you grew louder, or maybe you were the one growing more tense and ready to strike back if he raised a hand to you out here.

His nostrils flared. "I was a child, Y/N."

"So was I," you hissed, jabbing a finger into your chest and baring your teeth at him. "You promised me that-"

"When you saw what had been done to me, you looked at me with so much-"

"I was devastated, Aemond!" Gods, your voice sounded so wild and shrill even to your own ears. You felt yourself get hot, tears coming to life in your clear eyes as you desperately blinked them away.

His mouth curled downwards in disgust. "Yes, I am aware of what you thought of the sorry state I was in."

You glared at him, your body vibrating as you fought to keep it in place. "Oh, and what is that exactly?"

When he spoke to you, he looked you up and down as if you were covered in manure and offending him just by being where he could see you. "That my deformity would shame you and your family, that I was incomplete."

"You are such a fucking imbecile!" you bellowed, your scream echoing briefly and then being swallowed in the cold air. "You were ashamed, you felt incomplete!" You swung your arms in the air, aching to punch him in the face, to climb on top of him and strike him as he had you all those years ago.

When Aemond's hand had made contact with your cheek back then, you remembered feeling an absolute, resounding emptiness inside yourself for one eternal moment before he was on you again, making you howl in pain as he fought you with all the desperation of a wounded animal. Thankfully, the milk of the poppy the maesters had given him had weakened him. His tears were hot and thick as they landed on your face wet with your own tears. You had managed to claw at his hands and neck, slashing blindly to try to create space between your bodies.

When Ser Criston stormed in with his sword drawn, he immediately sheathed it and separated the writhing tangle of screams and violence the two of you had become. You were only thirteen at the time, but you felt so much younger as you cowered behind the knight's white cloak, clinging to the fabric with your hands wet with blood, snot, and tears. It took nearly an hour before you could stop shaking. The Prince was not supposed to have visitors so soon after his injury, but nobody would tell you what had happen and you had gotten curious, so you had scaled the tall tree outside his chambers and climbed in through the open window. How you had grown to regret that curiosity...

You were both trembling in front of each other now, your legs and arms feeling like they were filled with tight copper coils. What would happen if you were to release that tension? Would you really attack the Prince? Would he attack you? More importantly, did he not deserve your ire, your ferocity, and your violence?

"You knew about the sort of man my father was," you said in a low voice, "And you..." You pointed an accusatory finger at Aemond and he flinched, looking at his shiny boots briefly before meeting your gaze again. "You promised me you would never raise a hand to me. You promised me that violence was not an inevitability. We were both children back then, yes, but were you still a child when you stopped writing to me?"

"Oh, spare me the theatrics," he groaned, "you never even wrote back!"

"I was waiting for an apology! Just one. That was all I wanted, all I would have needed. I know you were in pain, that you were not yourself, and I can forgive that. But I cannot forgive this lack of an apology."

"Did it ever occur to you that I was too ashamed to ask for your forgiveness?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I looked at you the way I did when I saw what that boy had done to you because it pained me to see you that way?" Neither of you said anything for a few long moments before you continued. "Nobody would tell me what was going on. All I knew was that you were not to be allowed any visitors, not even me. I begged your brother and sister to share their knowledge with me, but even Aegon kept the secret." You rubbed your arms as you felt yourself start shaking. Whether it was from the wind rushing through the clearing or the emotions surging through your body, you were unsure. "You were my only true friend in this ridiculous place and I was afraid for you and when I showed you my fear, you punished me for it. And then you never once offered any sort of apology, you just continued living your life and writing me those stupid fucking letters."

Guilt settled onto his pained face as he pursed his lips. "I am sorry, Y/N. Hurting you like that, it has been my biggest shame."

His words were like a lance through your heart. Why could he not have written that to you years ago? You shook your head, blinking away more tears as they twinkled in your vision. "I don't want it anymore. You had years for that, Aemond." Your lower lip trembled and you turned away, placing your hands flat on Nymeria's flank and focusing for a moment just on matching her breathing. It was an exercise you had tried for the first time after an explosive fight with your father and it was now one of the few things that could ground you when you were in genuine distress.

"What must I do to earn your forgiveness? Tell me, and it will be done. Please, Y/N, you were my friend as well. I wrote to you because I could not forget you."

You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against your horse, your face rising and falling with her breathing.

When Aemond had allowed you to peek under his bandages to see the damage, his eye had been closed tightly. The angry cut underneath, coupled with the swelling, the thick black stitches, yes, it had all unnerved you. A deep primal feeling roared in your chest, a possessive need to both destroy and protect. You had never felt that way before. A sob had torn its way out of your throat, your eyes drowning in angry, impotent tears. If his own mother could not help him, what could you do? It seemed your look of horror and anguish was too close to disgust or, as was more likely, Aemond's own pain distorted your expression into one of pure revulsion.

It mattered little now. You had no marks anywhere on your person from that unfortunate day, not from Aemond or from your father. If nothing else, you were thankful for that. You never climbed again, having more than learned your lesson about curiosity and how little you stood to benefit from it.

You turned to him again, your heart clenching at the sight of his open, unguarded stare. "You broke my heart," you said simply, "but I read every letter. I wanted so badly to know that you were all right. What I wanted then was to protect you."

"You wanted to protect me?"

You nodded. "Do you not ever feel that way for someone in your life? The desire to defy time, to go back, and be there when they needed you most?"

"I often feel that way for my mother and sister, and... for you. Cole gave me your note that day, though..."

"You did not read it."

"I did not. What did it say?"

The years had washed away the specific words. "I wanted to see you in the courtyard before my family left. I had been hoping to beg for your forgiveness for having angered you so, and perhaps to salvage our betrothal. It's funny, I look back now and all I see is a scared little girl who just wanted her father so stop being mad at her. I am glad you did not come. I owed you no apology."

"You did not, I saw that even back then."

If only you had been able to see it, too.

You were the only one of your sisters to be born at Casterly Rock, but you had spent the vast majority of your life here in King's Landing. Your father traveled back and forth between the Rock and the Keep, leaving your uncle to look after the family in his stead. It was because of your uncle that you had even had the opportunity to meet Prince Aemond, his brother, and Princess Rhaenyra's sons in the training yard.

Your uncle did not care that you wore pants, thinking it to be a silly habit of childhood that you would willingly outgrow as you blossomed into a woman. He would be wrong, but freedom was always welcome. You had scaled the high stone walls around the training yard, carefully climbing up into the high branches of a tall tree to lounge in a cloud of bright green leaves and watch the boys practice. It was a few days before any of them even noticed you.

You had known Prince Aemond almost your entire life. The trust you'd had for him had been near-infinite before he hurt you. But you were a woman grown now. It had been nine long years since your departure and you had grown to understand why it had all happened the way it had. If Aemond understood that he had to earn your trust again and you understood why he reacted to you in such a cruel way, then what else was left but to continue in some simple way? If you knew your father at all, the reason he had dragged you back here was for a marriage pact.

"I think it is best to begin to make our peace with each other out here, away from prying eyes."

"Shall we say I left for Driftmark all those years ago and never returned?"

Your heart clenched. "It seems near enough to the truth to bring some comfort."

You both nodded, your bodies shuffling awkwardly before he broke the silence. "Shall we go for a ride?" You snorted when he gestured to the horses behind you. "What?"

"My Prince, it is not my wish to humiliate you."

"I'm not so bad."

"Some might find that to be just another way of saying you are not so good. Dragon riding and horseback riding are not the same. I cannot simply tell Nymeria to obey me and have it be done. She must know me first. It has nothing to do with me being worthy. I must earn her trust, her obedience, and her love everyday. What is your horse's name?"

He shrugged. "I haven't the faintest notion. He was the first horse I was able to find in the stables."

You nodded sagely. "Ah, so you are a fool." When he sputtered and opened his mouth to argue with you, you held your hands up with a laugh. "It is only a jape, my Prince! I would prefer to go for a walk along the water, if it pleases you."

In a few minutes, the two do you were walking side by side along the riverbank with your respective horses. When you looked down at your feet, you noticed that you and Prince were walking in step together and it brought a faint smile to your lips. You had missed him for many years, those letters he sent you making it near impossible to move on. After two full years without them, you had declared yourself cured of any affection for or attachment to the man beside you, but it was clear to you now that you had been deluding yourself. All your emotions had just been pushed into the darkest depths of your heart and being around him again brought sent them floating back to the surface.

"Is it true that you have an ever-burning blue flame under that eye patch?"

He snorted. "Obviously not. Is that what people are saying about me?"

"It's mostly just the women." You both smiled at each other. "You have striking features, it is no surprise you find yourself the subject of idle gossip."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Merely a neutral statement of truth, my Prince."

The apples of his cheeks were a dusty pink like the inside of a rose, but you were sure it was just the biting wind. "I must admit, my Lady, I never thought I would see you in a dress." At the mention of it, your ears burned red and hot like irons in a fire. You only wore dresses when your Lady Mother demanded it of you. Whatever your differences, you knew everything about you reflected on your house and it was not your desire to have a relationship with her that was full of constant strife. Because of that, you had acquiesced and worn the uncomfortable, form-fitting dress your mother had presented for you.

It was pretty. The fabric was a deep crimson and it hugged your curves, exposing you in a way that make you feel weak and irritable. Your breasts bulged over the top with every inhale, so you'd hunched your shoulders to try to hide it. Your mother had noticed, though, and corrected you with a firm hand on your back. Your bare neck and shoulders felt too much like an invitation to you and, as you'd expected, more men let their gazes linger on every bit of exposed skin and even worked up the nerve to speak with you. Of course your appearance emboldened them. You'd felt like a prey animal lost in the woods, naked and trembling in the breeze.

When you retired to your chambers last night, you had the servants draw you a hot bath and practically ripped the dress off your body. It seemed to cling to you like a desperate lover, but you took great pleasure in throwing it on the floor, along with your dainty golden rings, your ruby earrings, and the thin chain one of the servants had wound into your braids. You were not a doll, not a decoration, not a flower. You were a lion.

"My Lady Mother has me very well trained." If you so much as suggested wearing pants to any sort of gathering, she would immediately start wailing about how you did not love her and lived every moment of your life as a ploy to personally humiliate her and destroy your father's standing. After a few years, it became tiring to constantly be accused of plotting to overthrow your own house, and you learned to simply smile and wear a dress for a few hours.

"Hm, I thought it would be your father."

"No, he only demanded I dance with you, but I told him I would sooner put my neck on the executioner's block than agree to that. He told me he could arrange for it if I truly wanted it." The fights you had with your father now frequently bordered on the ridiculous.

"So you and your father still fight."

After your return from Essos six moons ago, it was not infrequent for him to threaten to cut out your tongue if you spoke out of turn, to which you would respond with a similar threat to his manhood. Whatever fear you'd had of him had worn away throughout the years, finally fading into nothing after your travels.

"Not as much. Maybe he's grown bored of the constant struggle, but my mother has taken up the mantle for him. I suppose that is what marriage is all about: sharing burdens. In truth, I do not believe the gods fashioned me for that."

"The gods fashioned us for love." You bit your lip to keep from laughing. Aemond had always been the pious sort, forever dutiful and tangled in his mother's skirts. It seemed time had not changed that, and it endeared you to him.

"Love, perhaps, but marriage? Childrearing? Do you truly see yourself in that?"

"I have always known it was my destiny to be married off to a Lady of a Great House and have children with her."

"But is it what you want?"

"I do not think those in our position can ask those sorts of questions. It is my duty, so it will be done. It is your duty as well. We should see ourselves as lucky that we have been able to outrun fate as long as we have."

You hummed, looking up towards the muted sunlight streaming through the tops of the trees around you. "An easy thing for you to say, my Prince, when you will never have to face the threat of bleeding to death in a birthing bed. Were we to have children, I would be the wound and you the knife."

"It needn't be that way," he said softly and you looked at him curiously. "A child can grow strong without a father, but he needs his mother. I would never risk that."

"So if it came down to it, you would not cut me open to save the babe?" It was a bold question, yes, but a necessary one. You had a right to know if your Lord Husband planned to kill you someday. If nothing else, you could make better use of your remaining time alive.

"Never."

You knew most men, considering the wife's use to be at its end, would kill her to keep the son. Your own grandsire had done it to his first wife and had even boasted about his unflinching, steadfast commitment to having an heir. What a barbarian. When he finally died and your father was named the new Lord of Casterly Rock, your cheeks had hurt from how much you grinned at his funeral.

You gifted Aemond an affectionate smile, looking back down at your feet still marching in step together when he gazed back at you. "If you are being truthful, then you are a unique man indeed, peerless and without equal."

"You are kind, my Lady."

You let silence fill the space between your bodies, listening to the crunch of grass and pebbles beneath your boots as you walked together. The river felt even quieter now, a mere whisper in your ear. The sun was settling into its spot high in the sky, the light hitting you now closer to gold than silver. Though the day was still cold, you were starting to grow a touch too warm under your coat.

"What have you done with yourself these past few years?" You turned your head to Aemond in surprise. Curiosity was normal, you supposed, but it still confounded you. "You never answered my letters, so I was left to piece together gossip and tell myself stories."

"In truth, there is little to share. After my return to Casterly Rock, my relationship with my father was... difficult to manage, at first. I often felt that he saw me as little more than a failed son, but he grew to accept me in his own way. He allowed me to train with the sword, and to study nearly whatever I wished."

"You are fortunate. Perhaps when we return to the Red Keep, we can explore the library together." You could not help but grin sheepishly at his invitation, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel young and girlish. "You can show me your book, if you'd like."

"I would like that very much. I am afraid I do not have many peers. Though I love my sisters, we do not understand each other."

It felt as though your sisters and your mother all lived in their own world and had their own language-the language of girls, you'd heard it be called. Whatever it was, your tongue could not shape any of the words. You had been born a girl, but you did not fit with them or with the men. Mostly, you fit only with yourself.

"I feel the same way with my brother. Though we are both men, that is where the similarities end." Aemond at least felt a strong kinship with the women in his family. You... Well.

You supposed you did feel a certain strength in the bond you had with your father now, a certain comfort you could never have hoped for as a child. When you returned from your travels, the two of you spoke at length about Aemond, since he had found your hidden cache of old letters. There was nothing indecent in them, nor was there any mention of what had happened in the Prince's room that fateful day, so you were not punished for keeping the secret.

The two of you were in his study, where he managed the taxes and most of the trade out of Lannisport. For the first time in your life, you were sharing a pitcher of wine with him. 'It seems the boy still holds a torch for you, so why have you not answered him?'

'If he truly wanted me,' you'd said, swishing your drink around in its cup absently, 'he would have ridden his dragon out here to speak with me himself. These letters are nothing but the words of a craven masquerading as a romantic.'

He had leaned his head back then, and looked down his nose at you with a curious glint in his eye, as if he was regarding you for the very first time. The next morning, he gave you a present: a golden ring just like his but smaller. It was a signet ring with the Lannister crest on it held in the mouth of a lion with bright ruby eyes. Unless you were unable to wear it, it never left your hand.

"Yes, you and I have always been alike. Both dragonless."

"Both lonesome."

Your chest tightened at the memories his words brought back: memories of the rejection you had both faced for the ways you were different, but also of the comfort you had been able to find with each other. Mostly, you fit only with yourself, yes, but you had once fit with Aemond as well.

"You stopped writing to me," you grumbled. "I left Westeros with a cousin of mine for a time and upon my return, I expected a stack of letters to be waiting for me. To my surprise, there were only a few. Did you stop because I did not answer?"

"In part, yes."

"And the other part?" you pressed.

"I met a woman." Stupidly, you felt your mood sour, a bitter taste coating your tongue. Silly though it may be, some part of you imagined him to have been loveless and celibate all these years as a form of penance for you. The fact that he had well and truly gone on to live a life without you felt so indecent and wrong. Of course, you were being hypocritical. You, too, had lived your own life.

"Oh? May I ask her name?"

"You may not." Shame spread through your chest like spilled ink on parchment. "She is gone now anyway, and the less said about her, the better."

"She was not good to you?"

He hesitated before speaking. "She was lowborn, a witch, and a bastard."

You gaped at him. "Oh my. Your mother must not have liked that."

"No, she was furious with me." He sighed. "Looking back on my indiscretions now, I just feel foolish. Never in my right mind would I have pursued someone like that woman."

"But you did pursue her."

"She chose me, I did not choose her."

Slowly, you worked to complete the puzzle he was laying out for you. If he could speak plainly, it would be easier. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

He gave an exasperated sigh, twisting his mouth. "She bewitched me somehow, Y/N," he said slowly as if he were explaining the mixing of colors to a child, "I do not know how, but I know I was not myself. When I finally left her to return home, it was as though a great fog had been lifted from my mind and I could see her clearly again. By then, it was too late."

"Too-"

"But you needn't worry about her. My grandsire helped to secure her and her son safe passage to one of the Free Cities. I did not ask which one." You stopped walking abruptly, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. After a few steps, he too stopped and turned to face you. "Is something wrong?"

"Her son or your son?" He didn't answer. "Aemond. Did the child look like you?"

His gaze turned upwards, towards the sky, the trees, the gods. Away from you. "He was my son, yes. I don't know where she is now, but I hope never to see her again."

You smacked your lips together, rolling your eyes. It was true that jealousy was likely muddying your thoughts, but you could not help but feel anger towards him for sullying that unnamed woman's honor with a bastard child and then washing his hands of her so carelessly. Otto Hightower was an intimidating man with a steady, calculating gaze. As a child, you had been so scared of him that you could never even look him in the eye, much less speak to him. If he was intelligent, he had sent assassins to clean the Prince's mess instead of allowing her to flee to the east. It was what you would do.

It was more likely that the girl and her bastard son were cut from ear to ear and dumped in a river than that they were living a peaceful life in a manse on the coast of Pentos. Of course, if the Prince wanted to continue to delude himself, you would let him. The fantasy likely served as a way to ease a guilty conscience and, though you were unfamiliar with that feeling as a woman, you remembered it from your girlhood.

"I hope he sent her to Myr," you finally said and at your words, his body visibly relaxed, "I spent a few months there and I found it to be quite beautiful. The beaches are lovely at night."

"You will have to tell me about it, my Lady. I have never been to the Free Cities."

"That is very unfortunate, my Prince. Travelling broadens the mind and strengthens the spirit."

"If that is all it does, I've no need for it. I see enough of the world from atop Vhagar."

"You lack imagination, my Prince." Either that or he was afraid. You were not sure which option was pitiful and which deserving of sympathy. "Would you like me to regale you with stories of my travels? With a dragon, you could arrive in Pentos in mere hours. Perhaps my tales will light a fire in you and you will grow more adventurous."

"My last adventure ended with me as a witch's thrall," he muttered. Though the thorn of jealousy still pricked your chest, you softened at the bitterness in his voice. If the two of you were still children, this would be the moment where you reached out to take his hand or pulled him into a tight embrace until his breathing matched yours. Instead, you bit your lip and looked down at the dry grass below your feet.

"When I traveled with my cousin, I was rarely alone. We kept each other safe."

"Are you saying you would keep me safe?" There was a bemused smile on his face and the melody of his voice was soft like the song of a silver syrinx.

"I did tell you that I wanted to protect you when we were children. It appears you still need it." His eye swept over your face and down your body like a paintbrush over canvas. Though you tried, you could not help but squirm as he stared.

"How fortunate I am to have such a champion," he chuckled, gesturing for the two of you to keep walking. As you continued your aimless trek through the woods, you worked to swallow the pulsing lump in your throat. The day was warming up noticably now.

The Prince asked you about your studies and your time in the Free Cities, to which you responded with open enthusiasm. His blue eye sparkled in the warm sunlight like a precious jewel, the edges wrinkled by the easy smile on his lips. You knew you looked very much the same. The anger that had been bursting in your chest the night before was almost entirely forgotten as the two of you meandered back to where you had started.

Even on the other side of Planetos as you stood in the gardens of a lavish manse on the coast of the Narrow Sea in Pentos, your drooping eyes had been fixed on where you knew King's Landing to be on the horizon. For years, you had assumed the story you had begun to write with Aemond as a child was over, though you had not truly wanted it to be that way. A fantasy of him riding in on the dragon he had traded an eye for had filled your head with longing all that time. Despite all your various failings as a Lady, it seemed you still had some of the same dreams other women did: dreams of being a muse, of being love, desired, and adored completely, of being a home someone could return to and find comfort in. Though you had taken a few lovers during your travels, none truly moved you in the way you wanted.

You did not tell Aemond any of this. Instead, you simply answered the questions he asked you and offered him some of your own. Wherever his heart had lead him during your time apart, he was here with you now. If nothing else, you would have your friend back. You longed to reach a hand out and run your fingers along the strap of his eye patch, to slide it off his face and look upon him in a soft, restrained way.

Had his witch woman seen what lay beneath the dark leather? Had she been kind to him when he showed it to her? You hoped she had been, almost as much as you hoped he had not shown her. Despite the distance that had separated you all this time, he had remained in a class of his own in your mind. You wanted to cling to the idea that somehow, in some way, he had felt the same.

It was time to part and go back to the Red Keep and you were lingering, knowing you would immediately lose him the moment you starting riding. The sun was high in the sky now and you had unfastened all the ornate clasps in your coat to allow the breeze to cool you.

"Do you still wish to come to the library with me?"

"I do," you said. "I will bring my book of poems." You both swayed in place, unable to look at each other directly. "I suppose... we should ride back now, yes?"

"Yes," he murmured, but the moment you grabbed Nymeria's saddle, he spoke again, "wait. I... I have a question for you, so that I may understand what you hope to gain from this arrangement." His hands were flexing open and closed by his sides and you remembered the habit from childhood. He was nervous. When he noticed you looking at him hands, he hid them behind his back.

You dragged your eyes back up to his tense face. "What is your question?"

His face grew flushed and he opened his mouth once, twice, before finally asking, "did... did you think of me in our time apart?" His eye darted back and forth between yours, seemingly hoping to find the truth buried inside them.

There was a sharp tug in your chest, pulling you forward as you took a careful step towards him like you were approaching a frightened child. With your heart pounding the way it was, you very much felt like a frightened child. You cut the cord that was trapping you, allowing yourself to reach out to him slowly. If what he desired was to stop you, he had ample opportunity to do so, but he did not. With a shuddering breath, he allowed you to lay your hand on his cheek and cup the side of his face, the tip of your thumb brushing against the edge of his eye patch.

"I thought of you," you confessed, "long and often." Your eyes drifted down to his lips and the short breaths coming out of them.

As a girl, you had never kissed Aemond, though you had often wanted to as you both grew older. You considered it for a moment, tilting your mouth towards him so slightly, until you noticed the tension he was holding in his body, the way his breathing was still erratic, and how he could not seem to look at you. Gods, he looked terrified. This wasn't how you wanted it. A bit crestfallen, you retreated and granted him his space once more.

His hand darted out to grab yours in a grip so tight, it was nearly painful. "Aemond?" His eye was fixed on your joined hands, his hold loosening as his thumb gently glided over your knuckles. Just as suddenly as he had grabbed you, he released you. Something was wrong, though you could not venture a guess as to what it was. He seemed so brittle in front of you, like a thin shard of glass or a lone snowflake.

Silently, Aemond nodded once, as if steeling himself before his transformation. His shoulder squared at once, his hands carefully tucked behind his back, and an easy smile graced his lips without reaching his one blue eye. "My Lady," he stated as if reading off a bit of parchment, "I will meet you in the stables, so that we may walk to the library together."

Your skin bristled at his formal tone and you opened your mouth in protest, then thought better of it. "I look forward to it," you said with a tight smile. After giving him a polite nod, you climbed into Nymeria's saddle and charged forward without sparing him a glance.

The wind on your face was warmer now, but no less fragrant. Your stomach was in tight knots as you rode through the Kingswood, your heart filled with excitement, confusion, and embarrassment. You wished you could make some sense of it and just feel one thing then another, arranging your emotions in a neat column so they may be easier to digest.

Though Aemond still felt familiar to you, there were parts of him that were foreign and hidden. You did not know his witch woman's name or his son's or why he had seemed so timid and frightened just before you left. It was as if he was a home you had lived in your whole life, only for you to awake one morning and discover that someone had changed something in every room.

You hoped he could truly be your friend again. No, you knew he would if you were only to be given the time necessary to nurture that bond.

Your hands tightened on your reins as you quickened your pace.

After all these years, Aemond was to finally be your Lord Husband. There was a slight chance you were wrong, but you did not see the value in entertaining the possibility just for the sake of self-doubt. You knew your father, you understood the importance of your own house, and... Well, it was what you wanted. You were correct. You knew you were.

You and Aemond would have nothing but time to connect and explore. In time, he would once again be as familiar to you as the air in your lungs or your own face in the mirror. You could hardly wait.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #mine #aemond fic #i actually wanted to make this so much longer because i ended up falling in love with this reader/oc/whatever #but good god it's already so long #and i wanna write other stuff but i'm not good at juggling in that way #anyway i love writing aemond being incompetent in certain things and i will be doing it more often

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nursesharkinfirmary · 9 days

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ִֶָ࣪𓂃 * -` 🪺 ´- bird npts 🪽 ㅤׂㅤ⭒

─ 𖦹 ˙ ̟Names

Robin, Dove, Lark, Wren, Jonah/Jonas, Byrd, Cardinal, Jay, Sparrow, Finch, Merle, Callum, Ava, Mavis, Alouette, Avian, Feather, Blythe, Carlton, Volya, Aero, Zephyr, Celeste, Skye, Aria, Azure, Ciel, Tweety

─ 𖦹 ˙ ̟Pronouns

Tweet/Tweet's, Beak/Beak's, Plume/Plume's, Peck/Peck's, Seed/Seed's, Coo/Coo's, Soar/Soar's, Fly/Fly's, Feather/Feather's, Chrip/Chirp's, 🐦/🐦's, 🕊/🕊's, 🐣/🐣's, 🪽/🪽's, 🦜/🦜's, 🪶/🪶's, 🪺/🪺's

─ 𖦹 ˙ ̟Titles

(Prn) who Flies in the Wind, (Pref Royal Title) of the Skies, The one with Feathered Wings, (Prn) who Sings in the Dawn, The Chirping Lovebird

#npt list #npts #npt suggestions #name suggestions #pronoun suggestions #title suggestions #birds #bird npts #requests #🩷🐶

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coldshrugs · 3 months

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longing's favorite season 🔹 part ?

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau rating: explicit word count: 2.7k note: this was planned as the 8th chapter in which the tension between estinio finally breaks after a spat at a recent ball, but i have no self-control and couldn't resist writing what that looks like. enjoy! additional entries: prologue 🔹 part 1 🔹 part 2 🔹

The street lantern bleeds just past the sliding door, but there is no light inside. Curious, that the stablehand would leave the door open like this. On another night, he might draw the knife from his boot and investigate; tonight, he can only think about moving. If there is a threat waiting amongst the feathers and straw, he will deal with it as it arises.

Estinien crosses the threshold into nearly pitch darkness. The nearest birds agitate at his presence, sounding deep, guttural drums and shaking their feathers as he approaches the stalls. Some call with curious chirps from further down the row. The faint scent of dust and freshly rolled grass surrounds him.

There is an odd comfort about it, something that reminds him of another life.

He breathes deeply through his nose, closing his eyes as he reaches for a wooden stall gate. The chocobos steady in time with him, their rustling steps and probing calls stilling back to the quiet they must've enjoyed before he came in. One lightly nips and nudges at his hand, eager for a chance at freedom but content with a gentle scratch through the bristly feathers of its cheek instead. He exhales, and that is when he hears it.

Another sound under all the rest. A voice he would know anywhere.

Io's soft song comes from the far end of the stalls, lark that she is, but he's never heard her with this confidence, in the dark when she assumes she's alone. She draws out a note, and then her voice quivers, but it is controlled, intentional. Her pitch drops, just barely, into something full and aching. It caves his chest. A full-body blow like he's never felt before.

Estinien swallows.

He cannot see her yet, and she must not sense him. He could leave–on the chocobo he came for, set for the snow-covered countryside where he might clear his head, or back to his chambers, to restless sleep where he will question, once more, why he cannot grasp the one thing he wants.

The song ends with her quiet giggle, and the thought of running dies at the sound. He moves through the dark, dusty corridor. Shapes form in the darkness, the wood-plank gates keeping the birds in their pins, the tall walls separating them in twos and threes. Mounds of rolled hay shoved against the exterior wall made of large, unpolished stone.

She stands by one of the last stalls, stretched long to run her hands through her bird's feathers. Long, loose waves of dark hair drift across the small of her back. She's dressed simply–perhaps too simply for a supposed noblewoman outside her home... the hem of her skirt skims the stable floor, and she wears a pair of stays with no blouse above or below them, an indecency in almost every context. Her tattooed chest is on full display, if only for herself and the chocobo. A thick cloak hangs over the gate.

She is a far more recognizable version of herself tonight.

"How come you never sing to me, Gany?" she asks her bird. Ganymede responds only with huffs and chirps, his midnight feathers ruffling as if he finds the idea distasteful. Estinien watches her soothe him.

"More keen to claw than sing, that one," Estinien says.

She startles, whipping to face him, as deep and blue as the night around them. It only takes a moment for recognition, or memory, to warp her expression into a glare.

"Something else you have in common with him." Io throws the cloak around her shoulders and fusses with a hasty knot. "I thought it might just be the pompous strutting."

She's angry at him, yes, but she is still herself. Amusement tugs at his lips. "I don't strut."

She rolls her eyes and rushes past him, knocking into his shoulder. Hard. Now he smiles fully, pleased to see a display of the strength he remembers. He takes a chance.

Estinien catches her hand. Io doesn't pull away.

His thumb sweeps over her wrist, pausing at the tender dip that gives away her spiked pulse. Her fingers twitch, squeezing his. He loosens his grip, unwilling to force her into a confrontation she doesn't want to have. Io shifts her hand until they're palm to palm. Their fingers weave.

Her wedding band is a caustic interruption to the otherwise unbroken pattern they create.

Still, she doesn't face him. "What are you doing?"

"Will you allow me to apologize?"

It is a long moment before she turns to him, her lip caught between her teeth. Her hand remains in his, warm and solid. "If you insist."

He steps closer. "I was an ass–"

"A drunken ass."

"–a drunken ass, at the Manseauguel ball. I should never have insulted you." His laugh is weak, a poor attempt to lighten his guilt. He shakes his head and looks at their hands. He squeezes hers. "You were very pretty. You... are very pretty. And it was difficult to watch you..."

"What are you doing?" Io repeats. But now there is an edge under the familiar quiet of her voice. She moves in front of him, ringed in yellow lantern light from the entryway. Something sparks in her shadowed eyes.

Here is the danger lurking in the stable. The truth he wants to voice while holding her hand.

"You said he doesn't see you." Estinien lifts his free hand to her cheek. She leans into his palm as if she has done it a thousand times. Like she will do it a thousand more. His heart tears its way into his throat. "I do."

Io closes her eyes and nods. Her features relax, leeched of her previous annoyance. "You always have."

She lifts her hand to his chest. It whispers over his collarbone, winds around the back of his neck. The sounds of the stable fade from his mind when she lifts her chin and licks her perfect lips. He watches her make these tiny decisions; each one could bring their ruin, and she chooses to take the risk anyway. The rise and fall of her chest match his frantic heartbeat.

His lips fall to hers.

There is something sacred in that first brush of their lips. A dizzying, deliberate attempt to drag it out, to breathe together, to crystalize the shape and taste and feel of this moment into something they might be able to keep.

Io stretches up, pressing closer. Her tongue rolls into Estinien's open mouth, soft and wanting–and she's smiling, for him. He answers in kind, his smile for hers, his tongue moving with hers. His hand tangles in her hair, and she moans, a little sound that fills his mouth.

Godsdammit, he needs to feel that again. There is no consequence Ishgard and all her high lords could dispense that would compare.

They could be closer without her fucking cloak in the way. One tug on the loose knot at her neck and it falls to the floor. He pulls her against him, hands roaming over her back, her waist, and down to where the skirt drapes her ass. Her moan again, louder, shaking through them. His desire is no longer mere yearning; the reality of Io's reciprocation–once speculation, now unquestionable–earns a bodily reaction. He hardens, pressed between the tight squeeze of their bodies. She reaches for him, an indelicate, appraising touch that sweeps the front of his pants. He can hardly reconcile that this is Io touching him like this. Estinien groans and–

Io jerks away, breathing hard. Shock grows in her eyes as she covers her mouth with a shaking hand. "Oh, gods."

It pains him to do so, but Estinien moves back. "Forgive me."

"For what? The apology is mine to give. I..."

They say nothing, standing in the dark with their hands at their sides.

Io's tousled hair is haloed by flyaway strands catching in the light. The bodice is off-center now. Her lips are swollen from his kiss, but her expression falls into something serious. It is impossible not to want her, and she looks at him with the same conflict.

A breeze whistles through the open door, the birds coo and click, and the seconds drag on without extinguishing the heat in his chest or the greedy coil of need in his belly. Estinien closes the distance between them again. His knuckles ghost over her neck, and Io sighs at the touch.

How long has it been since Haurchefant touched her like this? Like this. Has he ever? Estinien's imagination isn't vivid enough to picture his opposition as a lover, but he hopes Io will never endure that touch again.

Let these be the hands she remembers drifting across her chest, the jut of her clavicle, the barely-raised tattoo. He traces the bold triangle, lingering at its point until his hand skims the front of her bodice.

Io holds his face in her hands, keeping him at a safe distance, refusing to let him go. Her dark stare is hard. She struggles with herself. Kiss him or don't. Estinien holds her waist.

"We can't."

"I know," he says. His grip tightens, and he guides her backward, between two large bales lining the wall. Io's mouth parts when she meets the stone.

Her hands move to his rumpled shirt. She toys with a button, trying to keep her gaze low, Despite the effort, her eyes flash from his chest to his lips. "If someone sees..."

"I know, Io." Estinien hoists her up the wall until she's half a head above him. The rough stones scratch and snag on the delicate stays, and the straps slip down her shoulders an ilm or two. Io's legs circle his waist, pulling him closer until her breath washes over his face.

One arm holds her up, the other braces on the wall. Io shifts her skirt up and out of the way until it hangs around the meeting of their hips. The slick warmth between her thighs bleeds through the few layers of fabric between them and seven hells, he wants her around his cock. To feel the way her body reacts to his. The thought aches like a pressed bruise.

"Estinien, we–"

Io says his name and he bucks forward. Her sweet little gasp, her forehead against his.

"We won't. You're right," he says. He needs to breathe. To think. "We can go no further."

His eyes squeeze shut, as if being unable to see her will offer him some measure of clarity even as she envelops his remaining senses. It's the harmony of their breathing that calms him. Aye, Io is close. As comfortable and familiar to him as the nostalgic scent of the stable. She has never asked him to modify himself around her. With her, he just... is.

And she is married, to a lord. A bastard with a title, a command, and a powerful father will always carry more weight than a lowborn who stumbles into leadership they resent. But (besides the new rage that pulses beneath his temples at the mention of Haurchefant) her husband concerns him less than her infallible sense of obligation. She is trapped in a bargain of fools.

Just as Estinien begins to accept tonight as a short-lived glance into what could've been, Io leans forward and claims his lips again. Her fire burns more steadily now. She kisses him slowly, keeps him close by wrapping around him more tightly. Her hips rock against him, lulling him away from the stupidly rational thought of moving on. The soft center of her body yields deliciously to the stiff strain of his cock, a shadow of what he could offer.

Even the shadow causes her to shudder.

She whispers, "No further than this. Just like this." Her voice is low and thick. Somnolent, and he can imagine she sounds like this when just waking up on an idle day. He nods against her cheek.

Here, against the cold stony wall of Ishgard's Holy Stables, they make a mockery of chastity. Estinien might find it amusing if she didn't feel so damn good, even through his woolen pants and the thin fabric of her undergarment. Every grind of their hips and open-mouth kiss is more graceless than the last. There is no denial between them now. No struggle except the one for more heat, more friction, more closeness within the confines of their clothes.

Io's head rolls back, and his name is a repeated whisper between her breathless noises. "Estinien" becomes "Stin" when she can no longer manage the syllables.

A quick, high-pitched sound distracts them–some seam ripping on the back of her bodice. The neckline droops on one side, exposing her right breast.

"Is that... alright?" Estinien asks.

"It's fine," she laughs.

"Is this?" He drops his attention to her chest, nipping lightly at the tight peak before taking it into his mouth.

Io sucks in a sharp breath. "Yes."

"Who could hide you?" His lips move to the underside of her chin. "Who would dream of it?"

Io breaks, and it is everything he imagined. The little quake she tries to restrain, her short nails digging into his back and shoulder, her eyes clenched tight as he continues to move. He would give anything to see her like this in the light, illuminated by the hearth in his chamber, perhaps. A stupid dream.

"Stin, I wish..." –her voice is soft and raw, panting against him– "I wish it had been you."

She renders him undone with a sentence. He grunts, surprised by the force of it, and tries not to swear. Io plies his jaw with a long kiss as he catches his breath.

Warmth floods every inch of him, a strange, beatific contentedness he's not experienced with previous partners. Would she consider them partners, he wonders? Lovers? Estinien isn't sure if the terms matter, so long as Io shares this glow in his chest. He turns to her, their noses brushing in a mischievous mutual tease, and she giggles as she meets his lips. The same laugh that drew him across the stable half a bell ago. How will he hear it tomorrow–in two weeks–next year–without thinking of this kiss?

A tear falls into the valley of their pressed cheeks.

"Io," he whispers, pulling away from the wall until they can both stand upright. He thumbs away her tears as they come. "I–Maybe I was mistaken in leaving."

She balks, shaking her head. "Don't say that. You had to. I see the difference in you. There is no blame for you to shoulder. We cannot say our circumstances would be any different."

"Then I am here now. You have me." Another thing he isn't certain how to define, but it is true nonetheless.

Io leans into his neck, her ears turned back and nearly flat. "I want to give you the same, but where do I begin?"

"You need only give what you're able to give. "No further." yes? Unless you speak it." She feels right, tucked into him like this. He presses a kiss against her hair, and that is right too. But reality and all its wrongness closes in: the night will not last forever. They must part sooner rather than later and return to their respective places. "You should get back before you're missed."

She deflates with a sigh as they finally let the night air rush between them. "I suppose you're right."

They right themselves as best they can, straightening clothes and smoothing hair. He picks up her discarded cloak, dusting debris from it before throwing it around her shoulders. For a blessing, there are spares for the stablehands by the entrance, something Estinien can use to cover his soiled trousers until he's in his room.

They pause by the door, just out of sight of the street beyond. The chocobo have barely acknowledged them since they slipped between the hay bales.

Io presses her hand to his cheek. She opens her mouth as if to say something but decides to keep the thought to herself. Instead, she kisses him a final time, a faint thing that hangs between them even after they part.

Even after she leaves into the night, a moment or two before he closes the stable door and makes his way to his bed.

He sleeps. He wakes. And even then, she lingers.

#azia writes #longing's favorite season #ffxiv #io/estinien #misery au #aaaaaaaaand that's all for now!!!#they're wild for this tbh but i love the chastity line SO. i'm sharing

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runby2 · 2 years

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because a lot of reblogs recently have been talking about how to unmask - I want to share my journey with unmasking.

I used to think I had to act professional all of the time and copy other's personalities to kind of blend in. That is because I had it in my mind that I had to "grow up" - I had decided that my autistic traits were too childish. They would get me bullied. "They were not something others should have to look up to if I am trying to make an art career online." I decided no one would take me seriously like that. I had to change.

So I began trying to copy others and define myself from what I saw was most popular. Youtuber voices, fictional characters, etc. This lead to me engaging in many discourse communities that were isolated and , did not matter. In my mind, I had to make a point and say things that mattered to people, so I made my entire online identity about solving issues that were not commonly spoke about. In places that were only frequented by 100 some people.

This goes on for years until I meet my partner Lark. She asks me "Why do you act like this?" Genuinely. I realized at the moment that what I was saying really didn't matter. I was parroting online lingo and typing like I was writing in e-mail format. I explained I felt childish when I didn't force myself to act like that. Like what I had decided a brave adult person was. I thought I had finally become strong enough to build an online career. I realized I was all wrong when it came to who I wanted to be vs who I was becoming. I stopped engaging with those communities.

Cut to a year later, Lark has moved in with me. I'm having some sort of identity crisis. I'm happy in one version of myself, and in the other I feel like I'm suffering and like I have to force bravery. I'm forcing myself to feel emotions so I can identify with them. I feel like I've been split in two.

Lark asks me why I don't accept both parts of myself as "me" - I explain it feels like I'm putting on a role around different people and scenarios to a point I no longer identify with that part of me.

Lark explains to me what a face is. A mask. I notice I hated the positive version of myself. The positive version of myself was too naive. Too childish. Too prone to age regression. The positive happy version of me spoke in a high pitched voice. This version of me was not a me that I wanted to be. It scared me. I felt vulnerable and weird and annoying.

Accepting that part of me was unmasking. I let myself be around people who loved me no matter what version of myself I was in. I realized not everyone who really cared about me could tell when I unmasked, because they liked it when I stimmed, chirped, info dumped, spun in circles and hopped around like a cat, acted "cringe".

But what was also important was realizing when I did act bold and "adult" I didn't have to force it. It was still me. It would come naturally. I shouldn't have to change myself entirely or hyper analyze myself and how I act. Identity is fluent, and I need to love myself and all of my masks I have been forced to take. Integrating all of that into the self you have learned to hate all of these years is how you begin to "unmask" and love your true self.

#autism #unmasking

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redheadspark · 2 years

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Hello Darling! I saw your promp Fall and came here to send you a hug and to tell you that I have been seeing your stories and they are very good! Congrats!

I was wondering could you do it number 17 and 28 for Benedictine Bridgerton x female reader?

Thank you so much💗

A/N: Awww thank you! I'm so glad you like my work! I would love to write this request for you! Thank you for requesting it, anon!

Undercover

Summary: Benedict wants nothing more than to be in bed with you all morning long.

Warnings: Just some snuggles and fluff got Benedict on this one :)

17. Cuddling Close to Keep Warm

28. “Are you blushing?” / “I’m just cold.”

Benedict knew his wife would be sleeping soundly when he left to go get a drink in the early hours of the morning, his throat so parched that he had to get some water. He shivered as he got out of bed, throwing on the trousers that were left askew on the ground next to the shared bed and placing the blanket back over the bare shoulders of his sleeping beloved. You looked so calm in deep sleep, long eyelash across the cheeks that were tinted from being in the sun, the long braid that got messy over night from you constantly moving about, the particular freckle on you collarbone that Benedict always kissed.

You were a masterpiece, even in deep sleep.

Benedict rushed to drink two glass of water, feeling much better and ready to be back in bed with you. You both had noting to do that day that seemed to be coming within a few hours, no appointment to attend or meetings to be a party to. So Benedict was going to make sure you both had a lazy day, deep in bed and with only each other to hold and embrace.

He walked back to the bedroom, poking his head in and noticing that you were stirring a bit. With no hesitation, he moved across the room to take off his trousers, slipping back under the cool sheets and feeling your body cling to you within an instant.

"Where did you go?" You hummed, still having your eyes closed and sleep was evident in your tone of voice. Benedict wrapped his arms around you and simply touched your forehead with his lips.

"Only for a drink of water, my love. Go back to sleep," He replied back to you, "Hopefully I wasn't going for too long,"

"You took the warmth with you," You explained, "When you got out of bed I woke up to call for you....but you were looking rather dashing in only your trousers,"

Benedict grinned widely, looking down at your sleeping form and seeing a hint go redness along your cheeks and collarbone. You were always the shyer one in your relationship, more of a wallflower and an observer whereas Benedict was aloof and charismatic with his voice. Yet he never minded with you: the soothing nature you brought to him was enough for him to be won over by you.

He made it his mission to make you blush in anyway he could since he thought of your as stunning with blush dusted cheeks and a flushness on your skin. He would say the right words, or show more skin that he should when you two were alone. All to see you walls come down for him.

It worked every time.

"Are you blushing?" Benedict had to ask you with a smirk. You shook your head, though there was no evidence of your being embarrassed from how Benedict asked you.

"I'm just cold," you replied in a huff, "You took the warmth when you left the bed,"

"So sorry, darling. Let me warm you," Benedict replied in a chuckle, you rolling to have your face smothered into his neck and his arms around your back within an instant. HIs body heat was inviting, you sighing in relief as he got the sheet over the pair of your again and the comfortable silence was in the room.

Benedict could hear the first signs of the morning with the larks chirping high in the trees, the sky started to tint orange and red with the rising sun beyond the mountains, and the smell of the morning dew along the tall grass outside the window.

A new day was on the horizon, but you and Benedict can enjoy a few more hours in your bed

The End.

Fall Prompt Round Two

#benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #fanfiction #writing #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fandom #luke tohmpson fanfiction #luke thomspon

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 5 months

Text

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 15

Chapter 14.5

The next morning, Ciri and Rhaenyra made their way to Aemma's room, where you were already in there, tending to the babe.

Ciri was wearing a dress Rhaenyra had picked out for her, a mix of red and black to reflect the colors of House Targaryen. For the time being, no one outside the small council knew who Ciri really was.

As a cover, she was to be referred to as Lady Ciri, the daughter of a wealthy silk merchant from Novigrad. Her father was currently establishing trade in King's Landing and Ciri was invited to stay in the Red Keep as the king's ward and Rhaenyra's new companion. If anyone should ask about her father's whereabouts, Ciri would simply answer he would be on a trip to also establish new trades in Dorne.

You turn your attention to the door when it started to open, half expecting it to be Aemma's father coming, and to your relief it wasn't. "Ciri, princess," you greet, "what brings you here?"

"Is it true?" Rhaenyra asks, "my cousin's gift, the dragon's egg? I heard it hatched."

To answer her question, the baby dragon appeared from where she was laying, and perched herself on your shoulder as you bounced Aemma up and down. The dragon gazed at your daughter almost as if she was playing the babe's guardian.

"Is that a baby dragon?" Ciri asks. Rhaenyra smiled and nodded, "it is. My cousin has her own dragon, this is wonderful. I knew I had chosen the right egg for her."

"You...chose the egg?" you look at the Targaryen princess, surprised. "I found my uncle looking at the eggs we had available back at the dragon pit," Rhaenyra explains, "the one I had picked for Aemma came from the same clutch as the egg I had chosen for my late brother. Strangely enough, I never noticed it before."

"She's awfully cute, the dragon," Ciri admits, "will I be able to pet her?" "You can try," you say, "but so far, she doesn't seem to let anyone near her or Aemma. She'd probably keep me away if I wasn't needed to tend to my daughter."

"Sounds like she has already bonded with her future rider," Rhaenyra smiles, "I did not expect the egg to hatch so quickly, though."

"How long does it usually take?" Ciri asks. "Oh, it's hard to tell," Rhaenyra admits, "if I'm being honest, half of the dragon eggs ever hatch at all. It's especially rare for one to actually hatch in the babe's crib." "What do you do if that turns out to not be the case?" Ciri questions as she observes Aemma's dragon and figuring out the best way to pet the creature.

"You either hatch one yourself," Rhaenyra answers, "or you wait and bond with an already grown one in the dragon pit. Maybe later today, I can introduce you to my dragon, Syrax."

Ciri reached her hand out to Aemma's little dragon, touching her back and rubbing it a little. To your surprise, the dragon did not growl or even try to bite Ciri's hand; if anything the dragon seemed to enjoy this attention.

Then to everyone's surprise in the room, the dragon turned and jump towards Ciri, who flinched, but relaxed when the dragon settled on the girl's shoulder.

The dragon still kept her gaze on Aemma as she remained perched.

"Fascinating," Rhaenyra states, "she seems to have taken a liking to you too, Ciri." Ciri pat the top of the dragon's head as the dragon made small chirping noises.

"Does this little one have a name yet?" Ciri asks. "No names just yet," you admit, "Dae- uh, Aemma's father had yet to pick one for her."

The baby dragon chirped some more, rubbing herself against Ciri before jumping and perching herself back on your shoulder and rubbed her little head against Aemma's.

"Maybe we could name her after you, Ciri," Rhaenyra suggests. "You want to name the dragon Ciri? Or Cirilla?" Ciri frowns a bit, looking at the dragon. "What about....Cirillia?" Rhaenyra says after thinking it over, "not quite Valyrian, but it sounds like it. I think it's a perfect name for this dragon."

You think about it, "I think it sounds like a lovely name," you pet the dragon on the head, "Cirillia."

"Then from this day forth, that is what this dragon shall be called," Rhaenyra announces, "I shall inform my uncle when he returns from Driftmark."

"Your uncle isn't here?" you ask, a little surprised. "He left King's Landing earlier today," Rhaenyra tells you, "Apparently some business with Lord Corlys."

"Oh," you say, feeling internally relieved, but you don't let your expressions betray it. It didn't change fact that you were practically a prison in this place, but at least you wouldn't be running into Daemon anytime soon.

"Were you hoping to see him?" Rhaenyra asks. You weren't sure how to answer that without the princess suspecting what was really going on, so you give her this answer, "I, uh, was just surprised he left so soon."

Before anything could be said, the doors open once more. A servant walked in, a little surprised to see the princess here, "the uh, Lord Hand, princess, my Lady, my Lady."

On cue, Otto walked in. You sigh in slight annoyance.

"His Grace as requested that the...Lady (y/n), and...her daughter to the Throne Room for an audience," he announces, looking to see the dragon perched on your shoulders. His facial expression refused to betray exactly what he was feeling in this moment.

"I better put on something nice then," you say, standing up and handing Aemma to the servant, "she better put on something nice as well."

"I'll inform the king myself of (y/n)'s impending arrival," Rhaenyra says, taking Ciri by the arm, "shall we?"

You walk out of Aemma's room, and to your dismay, Otto followed you. You cross your arms, making yourself ready for whatever venom he was about to spew towards you.

"Well go on then," you say, "whatever it is you have to say, Lord Hand, just say it."

"Oh, what could I possibly say at this point?" Otto asks rather sarcastically, "You left, under the impression you would never come back again. You gave me your word, that you would never return, that you and...your child would remain on the Continent, on your homeland. I seemed to remember contributing in helping you afford passage back to where you came from."

"If you wish for reimbursement, I'll give you your coin back when I get the chance," you deadpan.

"Not at all," Otto deadpans back. You stop so you could look the man in the eye, "I never meant to come back here, Otto. I had no control over that. I had no control over the prince finding out about Aemma and him coming to the witchers' keep on dragonback to bring me and my daughter back here. I had no control over Daemon threatening to burn down the place and everyone there if I AND my daughter did not return to King's Landing with him."

"How noble of you," Otto sneers, "you chose to break your word over the lives of mutant sell swords. Give me one reason why I shouldn't tell the king the real reason why you left. That everything you had told him was a lie." "Oh, you can try," you laugh lightly, "Ciri certainly did. No one believed her, except for you, what makes you think they'll believe me?"

Otto sighed a bit in annoyance; he knew you were right about that, but that did not make the situation anymore irritating for him.

At this moment, it felt like the Hand was losing his influence over the king, and recently it seemed he would be unable to control the princess as well, something he realized after her trip to Dragonstone to confront her uncle, which prevented the bloodshed that would've ensued.

"Look, I don't like this anymore than you do," you continue, "but this is where we are now, and we'll both have to come to terms with this. And if you still feel threaten by Aemma for whatever reason, I highly doubt you will be for much longer. Your daughter, it seems, has become the new queen while I was absent, and it indeed looks like she will be producing more heirs for the king, heirs that will also become your grandchildren. I'm betting you've been praying that her first child will be a boy."

Otto was about to form a rebuttal, but you stop and realize you were at the doors to your room, "if you'll excuse me, Lord Hand, I must make myself more presentable for my audience with the king. And it is rather rude to keep His Grace waiting."

You shut the door in front of Otto, a smug look on your face from this temporary victory as you head to the wardrobe to pick out a dress.

While dressing yourself, you wonder if you could somehow use Otto to help you, Aemma, and Ciri out of Westeros and back to the Continent. He's made it clear how much he despises you and vice versa, he's REALLY made it clear he wants you gone.

However, after the man's last attempt to "help" you, it didn't seem likely he would be willingly anytime soon.

In addition to that, Aemma would become part of the royal family now, and Otto is loyal to the king. If you tried to escape and take Aemma with you, you wouldn't know for certain if he would either help you, or stop you from escaping.

After you put on your dress, check your hair and makeup, and spritz a little perfume, you walk out of your room and head to the Throne Room.

--------------Throne Room----------------

Before you walk in, the same servant you had given Aemma to was there by the doors, you daughter in her arms.

Cirillia was on the ground, gazing on the servant rather menacingly, something you found a little cute since this was a baby dragon attempting to make threats.

You giggle a bit and take Aemma into your arms. Cirillia moved towards you and jumped up to perch on your shoulders.

You pat the dragon on her head with your finger and walk into the Throne Room.

Viserys stood by the Iron Throne, crown on his head. Alicent stood by one side and Otto on the other.

Rhaenyra and Ciri stood to the side next to Alicent, and members of the small council, sans Lord Corlys were present as well.

Daemon was nowhere to be seen, confirming that he and the Lord of the Tides were definetely in Driftmark.

"Step forward, Lady (y/n)," Viserys commands, which you obey.

The king approaches a scroll in his hand, containing the king's seal. He hands to you, and you accept.

You were a little surprised Cirillia didn't growl at the king, but rather made some chirping noises.

You manage to keep Aemma in your arms as you unroll the scroll and read it aloud, "by order of His Grace, Viserys, first of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm, do so forth proclaim that Aemma Waters, the daughter of Prince Daemon and the lady (y/n) shall be acknowledge as true born-" "and from this day forth shall be addressed as Princess Aemma Targaryen," Viserys finishes for you, "In spite of the way my niece came to be in this world, I will not be so cruel as to turn her away from this family," he looks to the dragon on your shoulder who was still watching Aemma, "especially when the gods have deemed my brother's daughter worthy of a dragon."

You give the king a small smile; even though this proclamation did essentially trap you even more in this place then you already were, at least Aemma would be well cared for and protected, "thank you, your Grace," you say, "this is...a most gracious gift. You truly are a kind and generous king."

Viserys made a small smile in return before addressing the small council, "you will all acknowledge my niece from now on as Princess Aemma," he says with a stern tone, "she is part of the royal family now, and will be treated accordingly. Should I hear of any mistreatment or slander upon my niece, I will have their tongue. Am I understood?"

The small council members nod and acknowledge the king's command.

Ciri had a concerned look on her face when she looked you in the eyes, while Rhaenyra smiled wide, pride that her cousin was officially part of her family.

The ceremony was thankfully small and short.

It was late in the afternoon when you were allowed to take Aemma back to her room, who was starting to get a little cranky at that point, indicating it was time for her nap. You rock Aemma lightly as you carried her to your room.

When you walked in, you notice the servants were busying themselves about, packing various items about.

"What...what's going on?" you ask, feeling confused by all this.

"The babe's- uh, I mean Princess Aemma's things are being packed for hers and your journey to Dragonstone on the marrow," the servant answers.

"What?!" you exclaim, eyes widen by this sudden announcement, "I wasn't- why am I going to Dragonstone?"

"He didn't say why," the servant answered. "He?" "Prince Daemon, my lady," the servant explains, "his last order before he set for Driftmark this morning."

Chapter 16

Masterlist

#ciri #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #the witcher #viserys targaryen #otto hightower #alicent hightower

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