#King of Conquerors

[ydotome]

[buckets-and-trees]

So Black the Darkness Hums

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader, unnamed husband of reader Word Count: 9.1k Summary: Your wedding day is destroyed when your village is raided by the vicious king Steven and his viking warriors. He will lay claim to all he wants, including you.

Content/Warnings: DARK, invoking prima nocta, non-consent/rape, stealing of virginity, explicit smut (oral - male and female receiving, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, anal fingering, anal intercourse, breastplay, overstimulation, orgasm denial, forced orgasms), use of pet name (little bride), dacryphilia, innocence kink, implied breeding kink, exhibitionism, human tribute/trade

Notes: I was struck by the idea of a very mean viking Steve last Thursday, and he would not let me go. Thanks to the encouragements from @biteofcherry, @witchywithwhiskey, and @vonalyn. An unapologetically brutal offering for the ninth week of Chris-mas.

Additional Note: I've gone with the term magnate over chieftan per this source.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You had already made a long walk, dressed in white, towards a man today. But where this morning you had walked happily in the sunlight to your betrothed - the eldest son of the village magnate - now you walk over the flagstones of the village hall to the seat typically occupied by the magnate.

A seat now filled by the brutal and terrifying Steven - warrior and king of an army which had landed on the shores of your village to raid and conquer today.

And conquer they had.

Your white dress, once pristine and flowing, now clings to your skin, damp with sweat and streaked with dirt and leaves. The veil that had adorned your hair this morning lies discarded somewhere in the forest, torn away by grasping branches as you fled.

The memory of your desperate flight from your wedding into the woods plays in your mind like a fevered dream. The screams of the villagers, the clash of steel, the acrid smell of smoke as buildings burned – all of it had driven you and a group of women and children to seek refuge among the ancient oaks. The forest, usually a place of comfort and familiarity, became a labyrinth of terror as you led the group deeper and deeper, branches scratching at your arms and face, tearing at the delicate fabric of your gown. The sounds of pursuit never seemed to fade, no matter how far you ran.

As dusk fell, you huddled together, exhausted, praying to gods old and new that you would not be found. But the gods were silent, and the crunch of heavy boots on fallen leaves had filled their absence. You were all discovered, bound and forced back.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the throne, each step echoing in the cavernous hall. The white gown that once symbolized joy now feels like a shroud.

The smell of blood and sweat permeates the room, a stark contrast to the polished wood and fine tapestries of the hall.

Steven's piercing eyes lock onto yours, a predatory gleam reflecting in their depths like shards of ice. His massive frame dwarfs the ornate chair, his battle-scarred hands gripping the armrests with a strength that could crush them at any moment. A round, wooden shield leans against the side of the throne. He looks both handsome and terrifying, his rugged features perfectly fitting for a fierce Viking warrior king. The intensity in his gaze sends shivers down your spine, making you wonder if he is capable of unspeakable violence or if it is all just an act to maintain his reputation as a fearsome leader. Either way, there is no denying the raw power emanating from him, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from the captivating figure before you.

Your steps falter, but a rough shove from one of Steven's men propels you forward. You stumble, nearly falling at the conqueror's feet.

"So," Steven's voice booms, a mix of amusement and contempt, "you are the bride I've heard so much about."

His face is scarred, weathered by countless battles, but still impossibly handsome, and his eyes gleam with intelligence. You see something there – a flicker that suggests he is not just a brutal conqueror, but a man with depth and complexity.

Dangerous.

"I hear you were wedded to the fine magnate’s son," Steven continues, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "How fortunate that I arrived in time for the celebration."

Your throat constricts, choking back the bitter retort that threatens to escape. You force yourself to square your shoulders and hold his gaze, summoning every ounce of courage you possess.

Steven's eyes narrow as he studies you, his gaze raking over your disheveled form with predatory intensity. He leans forward, the worn leather of his armor creaking with the movement.

"Come closer, little bride," he beckons, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Your feet feel leaden as you force yourself to take another step forward. You are by no means small, but he is so large in comparison that the term ‘little’ would apply to most who come into his presence. The flagstones beneath you are cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the soft grass you had walked upon just hours before, your heart full of hope and promise.

Steven's lips curl into a wolfish grin as you approach. "Tell me," he says, his voice deceptively casual, "were you to be a proper bride for your husband?"

The insinuation in his words is clear, and heat rises to your cheeks. You can feel the eyes of his men upon you, their gazes hungry and leering. You swallow hard, struggling to maintain your composure.

"I was to be a dutiful wife," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steven's laughter booms through the hall, echoing off the stone walls. "'Dutiful,'" he repeats, mockery dripping from the word. "And what duties did you imagine, little bride? Mending his clothes? Warming his bed?"

Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms. The urge to lash out, to scream defiance in his face, is almost overwhelming. But you force yourself to remain still, knowing that any show of rebellion could mean death – not just for you, but for the other villagers as well.

"Whatever duties were required of me," you reply, striving to keep your voice steady.

Steven leans back in the chair. "Tell me, little bride, do you know what happens to dutiful wives when their husbands fall?"

Your stomach churns at his words, but you force yourself to stand tall. "I imagine they mourn," you reply, a hint of defiance creeping into your voice.

The warrior king's eyes flash dangerously. In one fluid motion, he rises from the chair, towering over you. His hand, calloused and rough, grasps your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"Oh, he may have wished for death in battle, but he was merely conquered and imprisoned.”

There’s a small relief, but it’s fleeting as you know this is far from over.

“Dutiful wives plead and bargain what they can to spare their husbands an even crueler fate.”

You tremble with both fear and anger.

“And the bride of the magnate’s eldest son needs to bargain for far more than the fate of only one man.”

Your sink to your knees at Steven's words, now with the fate of your village laid at your hands. Your once-pristine dress pools around you like spilled milk over the cold flagstones. The stone bites into your skin, a sharp reminder of how far you've fallen in just one day.

Tears blur your vision as you look up at Steven, his massive form looming over you like a colossus. The firelight from nearby sconces casts dancing shadows across his face, making his scars seem to writhe like serpents.

"Please," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Spare them. Spare the village. We are simple folk, we have nothing to offer but our loyalty and our labor."

A low chuckle rumbles from Steven's chest. "Getting on your knees is a good start, little bride," he says, his voice low.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation at his words, but you force yourself to remain kneeling. The fate of your village, your family, your new husband – all of it rests on your shoulders now.

Steven circles you slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. His heavy boots echo on the stone floor, each step sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the eyes of his men upon you, their gazes a palpable weight.

"Loyalty and labor," Steven muses, coming to a stop before you. "Those are indeed valuable commodities. But I wonder, little bride, if you truly understand the depths of loyalty I require."

He crouches down, bringing his face level with yours. His breath is hot on your cheek as he speaks. "Your village will serve me, yes. But you... you will be the seal on our bargain. The trophy of my conquest."

Your heart stops.

“And to my earlier curiosity, I shall ask plainly and have you answer me in kind: are you a virgin bride? Untouched? Unsullied?”

You close your eyes and nod.

Any hope you had been harboring that your fate would not turn this way vanishes now.

“A king is entitled, if he so chooses, to invoke the rite of prima nocta.”

Your blood runs cold at Steven's words. Prima nocta - the right of the first night. An ancient, barbaric custom that you had only heard whispered about in hushed tones. Never did you imagine it would become your reality.

"No," you whisper, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it. You immediately regret it as Steven's eyes flash dangerously.

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "No?" he growls. "You dare refuse me? Perhaps you need a reminder of your position."

With a snap of his fingers, two of his men drag in a bound figure, depositing him on his knees off to the side of the hall but in clear view. Your heart sinks as you recognize your new husband, his body littered with cuts and bruises.

"For every refusal, every act of defiance," Steven says coldly, "he will suffer. And not just him. Your family, your friends, you are all of you conquered and my men can hunt through this village to pull any one of them here if it serves me.”

Your eyes well with tears because you do not doubt his resolve.

“You will spare them if I give you my maidenhood?”

He straightens back up to his full height. “I think I could spare your village for at least one night.”

Steven turns to his men, waving a dismissive hand. "Leave us," he commands, his voice echoing through the hall. "But the husband stays. He will bear witness."

The soldiers file out, swiftly acquiescing to their king’s request. The heavy doors slam shut behind them, the sound reverberating through your bones. Now it is only the three of you - conqueror, conquered, and the terrified bride between.

Steven's fingers tangle in your hair, forcing your head back. His other hand works at the fastenings of his breeches. "Show me how dutiful you can be, little bride," he growls.

Steven towers over you, his massive frame blocking out the flickering light from the nearby torches. You can smell the leather of his armor, the tang of sweat and metal that clings to his skin.

Your eyes flicker to your husband, but he refuses to look at you, apparently unwilling to watch. You would not have him suffer, but his refusal to even look your way hurts. You held no silly romantic notions for the eldest son of the magnate, but he was a fine man, good, you had been happy to make a match with him, and you thought there was a growing affection between you.

“Do not look at him, little bride,” Steven growls, impatiently shaking you by the hair. “Why are you looking at him? Look at me. He can not help you.”

You force your gaze back to Steven, your heart pounding. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and cruel triumph. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

"I... I don't know what to do," you whisper, heat flaming your cheeks. It's true - you are a virgin, after all, and the mechanics of what he expects are foreign to you.

Steven's laugh is low and mocking. "Oh, little bride," he says, his voice a rumble. "I'll teach you everything you need to know."

His hand leaves your hair, moving to cup your face. His thumb traces your lower lip, rough and calloused. "Open," he commands.

You hesitate, your eyes darting once more to your husband. This time, his gaze meets yours, and you see the resentment burning in them. It wounds you more than anything this cruel conquering king has done to you so far.

Steeling yourself, you look back up at Steven and part your lips.

His thumb pushes into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. "Suck," he commands.

With trembling lips, you obey, closing your mouth around his thick digit. The taste of salt and leather fills your senses as you tentatively suck on his thumb. Steven's eyes darken with lust, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his free hand working at the laces of his breeches. "That's it, use your tongue."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you obey, swirling your tongue around his digit, your cheeks burning with shame. You try to focus solely on the task at hand, to forget where you are and what's happening. But the sound of your husband's labored breathing, the cold stone beneath your knees, the looming presence of Steven above you – it all serves as a stark reminder of your situation.

The sound of fabric rustling makes your stomach clench.

Steven withdraws his thumb, replacing it with two fingers. They press deeper into your mouth, nearly making you gag. "Breathe through your nose," he instructs. "You'll need to learn this."

Your heart races as you struggle to follow his command, fighting against your gag reflex as his fingers probe deeper. The taste of salt and leather is overwhelming, and you can feel saliva gathering at the corners of your mouth.

"Open your eyes," Steven growls. "I want you to see everything."

Reluctantly, you obey, your gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with lust, a predatory gleam that makes you shiver. With his free hand, he finishes unlacing his breeches, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, fully aroused and intimidatingly large. A whimper escapes you around his fingers, and he smirks.

"Don't worry, you'll learn to take all of me in time."

Steven withdraws his fingers from your mouth, leaving you gasping. His hand moves to grip your hair again, tilting your head back as he positions himself before you.

"Open wide, little bride," he commands, his voice husky with desire.

You hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. The reality of what's about to happen crashes over you like a wave. But then you hear a pained grunt from your husband, and you know you have no choice. Closing your eyes, you part your lips.

Steven wastes no time, pushing himself into your mouth with a groan of satisfaction. The taste is foreign, salty and musky, and you struggle not to gag as he fills your mouth.

"Use your tongue," he instructs, his hand tightening in your hair. "And mind your teeth."

Tears stream down your face as you try to obey, running your tongue along the length of him. Your whole body trembles with fear and revulsion, but his grip on your hair is unrelenting. He thrusts in and out of your mouth, setting a brutal pace that makes you gag and gasp for air.

"You're doing well, my little bride," Steven grunts, his voice thick with lust. "Just relax and take it all in."

You try to comply, but it's a struggle. Your eyes are dripping with tears, overwhelmed from the force of his movements, and you feel like you're choking on him. But you know you have no choice but to endure it or risk angering him further.

As he continues to use your mouth for his pleasure, you feel a sense of detachment wash over you. It's like watching yourself from a distance, your body merely a tool for his satisfaction. You can't believe this is happening – this reality had never even haunted your nightmares.

A sharp pain shoots through your scalp as Steven tugs harder on your hair, pulling your head back even further. You whimper at the sting, struggling against the urge to cry out.

"You make such beautiful noises," he growls. "But I want more from you."

With that, he starts thrusting deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat each time. You choke and gag around him, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now.

But then something changes – he starts moving faster and faster until suddenly he stills inside you with a groan of release. Your mouth is flooded with his release, and you swallow what you can, tasting him on your tongue as he pulls out of your mouth, leaving it feeling raw and sore. A mess of tears, his cum, and your drool drip down your chin and neck as you gasp for air.

Steven's thumb roughly grazes down your cheek, a false gesture of affection. Then he speaks, his eyes moving from you to your husband. "Such a pretty thing," he purrs. "Isn't she?" the question - a taunt - directed at your husband.

He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with both of you. Steven's laughter fills the room as he continues, "They say you are a noble and good man, always treating her right. I bet you would never have asked her to do anything so degrading, may have waited months or years before coaxing her to suck your cock."

You don’t even know how to process what he is saying and how the other man is reacting - or not reacting - to Steve’s words.

“You would never use her.”

Steven’s focus shifts fully back to you.

“But I will.”

A whimper escapes your chest as he roughly grabs your chin.

“I will ruin you and wreck you for my pleasure, and he does not get to see what I will do to you next.”

The other man makes a strangled sound, finally trying to fight his bonds.

Steven laughs darkly. “It may have tortured you to watch,” he says, and then leans down and scoops you up from the floor and into his arms - bridal style to drive the point of his dominance and the humiliation of your special day home, “but not knowing what I do to your bride next will eat you alive for the rest of your days.”

As Steven carries you from the hall, your world becomes a blur of sensations and emotions. The warmth of his body contrasts sharply with the cold dread settling in your stomach. His arms, corded with muscle, hold you firmly against his broad chest, and you wrap your arms around his neck for steadiness as he moves so swiftly. The scent of leather, sweat, and something distinctly male envelops you in such close proximity, making your head spin.

As he carries you from the great hall, you find yourself unable to look away from his face. The flickering torchlight casts deep shadows across his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and cold like the sea in a storm, and it chills your bones. He leans down and steals a fast, ruthless kiss, nipping at your bottom lip, and you look away when he ends it, uncomfortable with the sensation it stirs in your belly.

The corridors of the village hall, once so familiar, now seem alien and menacing. Shadows dance on the walls, cast by flickering torches, creating grotesque shapes that mirror the turmoil in your mind. The stone beneath Steven's feet echoes with each step, a rhythm that matches the frantic beating of your heart.

You pass tapestries depicting scenes from your village's history - harvests, celebrations, battles long past. They mock you now, reminders of a life that seems to have ended mere hours ago.

As Steven carries you further into the depths of the hall, the familiar corridors give way to parts of the building you've never seen before. The air grows cooler, damper, and you shiver involuntarily against his chest. He notices, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Cold, little bride?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, I'll warm you up soon enough."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out his words, to pretend this isn't happening. But the solid warmth of his body against yours, the strength in his arms as he carries you, makes denial impossible.

Finally, Steven comes to a stop before a heavy wooden door. With one hand still supporting you, he reaches out and pushes it open. The hinges creak ominously, and your heart rate spikes as he carries you across the threshold.

The room is dimly lit by a few sputtering candles, casting long shadows across the stone walls. In the center stands a large bed, draped in furs and silks - a stark contrast to the simple furnishings you're accustomed to. You see the ceremonial bridal lace, embroidered with the flower of the magnate’s clan, laying atop the other furs and silks and realize this was the bedchamber intended for you and your husband. The irony is not lost on you - this room, where you should have spent your wedding night and started your new life with your new husband, will now be the site of your defilement.

Steven tosses you onto the bed unceremoniously, and you land with a gasp, your white dress billowing around you.

Steven looms over you, his massive frame blocking out the dim candlelight. His eyes rove over your body hungrily, and you feel exposed despite still being fully clothed. You try to curl in on yourself, to shield your body from his gaze, but he tsks disapprovingly.

"Now, now, little bride," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "don't hide from me. I want to see all of you."

His hands move to the laces of your dress, and you flinch away instinctively. Steven's eyes narrow, and he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand. With his other hand, he reaches for a knife at his hip, brings it up to the neckline of your dress, positioning the cool blade between your skin and the fabric and pulls down swiftly, tearing your dress down the middle. He releases your hands so he can use both of his to finish ripping away your clothing, throwing it to the floor. Your attempts to fight him are easily shunted, and once you’re naked, he presses you back down to the bed, holding the blade of the knife cruelly to your neck, just below your jaw.

“Do not think I will maintain much patience. I will not hesitate to punish if you continue to resist,” he promises. “Understand?”

“Yes,” you whisper, a tear escaping and rolling slowly down your cheek.

“Good," he says, his voice low and husky, "it's time to consummate the arrangement you agreed to fulfill."

He moves away, positioning himself next to the bed. His hands move to the fastenings of his leather armor, slowly removing each piece, then his shirt. The firelight gleams off his muscled torso as it's revealed, highlighting scars that tell tales of countless battles. You can't help but stare, a mix of fear and unwanted fascination coursing through you.

Steven notices your gaze and smirks. "Like what you see?" he taunts.

You quickly avert your eyes.

Steven chuckles darkly. "Don't be shy now, little bride. You'll become very familiar with every inch of me soon enough."

He finishes undressing, his massive frame now fully revealed in the flickering candlelight. Despite your fear and revulsion, you can't help but notice the raw power of his body - all hard muscle and battle scars. He is undeniably handsome in a rugged, dangerous way that makes your heart race with a confusing mix of terror and unwanted attraction.

Steven climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he looms over you. His hand trails down your body, callused fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shiver involuntarily, eyes closing.

"Open your eyes," he commands. "I want you to see everything I do to you."

Reluctantly, you obey, your gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with lust, a predatory gleam that makes you shiver. He looms over you, his muscled body casting you in shadow.

"Please," you whisper, a final, desperate plea. "You don't have to do this."

Steven's hand cups your face. “But I want to,” he growls, “and I always take what I want.”

His lips crash down on yours, harsh and demanding. You whimper against his mouth, overwhelmed by his forcefulness. His tongue pushes past your lips, exploring every inch of your mouth as his hand slides down to grip your breast roughly.

You gasp at the sensation, your body betraying you as your nipple hardens under his touch. Steven chuckles against your lips.

"Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind resists," he murmurs, his thumb circling your nipple teasingly.

His hand continues its travels lower, skimming over your stomach before reaching the junction between your thighs. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his knee wedges between them, forcing them apart and settling himself between them. His fingers find your most intimate place, and you jerk at the unfamiliar touch.

"So soft," he growls, his fingers exploring the apex between your thighs. "And already getting wet for me."

You flush with shame, hating your body's involuntary response, feeling things you’ve never felt before and with a cruel stranger instead of the man you had pledged yourself to, built a budding relationship and trust with through your courtship.

"So responsive," he murmurs against your lips. "And so tight. This will hurt, little bride, but I'll make it good for you too."

His fingers probe deeper, and you cry out at the intrusion. Steven's mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting as his fingers work between your legs. You feel a building pressure, your body responding against your will to his ministrations.

"That's it," he murmurs against your skin. "Let yourself feel it."

Tears stream down your face as waves of unwanted pleasure course through you. Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand, seeking more of the sensation.

Steven chuckles darkly. "So eager now," he taunts. "Are you ready for me, little bride?"

Before you can respond, he positions himself at your entrance. You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, and panic rises in your chest.

"Wait," you gasp. "Please, I'm not-"

But Steven doesn't wait. With one powerful thrust, he sheathes himself inside you. The pain is sharp and immediate, tearing a cry from your throat. Steven groans in pleasure, his massive frame pinning you to the bed.

"So tight," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel even better than I imagined."

Tears stream down your face as he begins to move, each thrust sending waves of pain through your body. You turn your head away, unable to look at him, but his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I told you to watch," he snarls. "I want to see the moment you break."

His pace increases, and you whimper with each brutal thrust. The pain begins to dull, replaced by a strange, burning sensation that spreads through your lower body. Your breath comes in short gasps, matching the rhythm of his movements.

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling with the shock of the intrusion. Steven's hand cups your face, his thumb wiping away a tear that has escaped down your cheek. The gesture is almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutality of his actions.

"Breathe," he commands softly. "The pain will pass."

You try to breathe more evenly, but it feels impossible as he maintains his brutal, relentless pace.

Your body feels torn between pain and an unfamiliar, building pleasure. You hate yourself for responding to his touch, for the way your hips begin to move in rhythm with his thrusts. Steven notices, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

"There it is," he growls, his pace quickening. "Your body knows what it wants, even as you continue to deny it."

His hand snakes between your bodies, finding a sensitive bundle of nerves above where you're joined. You cry out as he begins to circle it with his thumb, waves of sensation crashing over you.

"Let go," Steven commands, his voice husky with exertion. "Come for me, little bride."

Your body obeys even as your mind recoils. The pressure builds and builds until it finally shatters, your back arching as you cry out. Steven groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he follows you over the edge, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is your mingled breathing. Steven's weight presses you into the mattress, his body slick with sweat. You lie there, trembling, tears streaming silently down your face as the reality of what just happened washes over you.

Steven lifts himself onto his elbows, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. "You did well, little bride," he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

The tenderness in his touch and his voice confuses you, but the moment passes because his eyes darken once more as he gazes down at you. "The night is far from over," he murmurs, his voice husky with renewed desire.

He shifts his massive body, moving downward until his face is level with your breasts. His rough hands cup the soft flesh, kneading and squeezing with a possessive grip that makes you gasp. You feel his hot breath against your skin, sending involuntary shivers through your body.

Steven's mouth descends on your left breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he takes it between his lips. He sucks hard, drawing a whimper from your throat. His teeth graze the sensitive bud, sending jolts of sensation through your body.

He alternates between your breasts, sucking and biting with increasing intensity. What starts as pleasure soon edges into discomfort, then pain. Your nipples, sensitive and swollen from his attention, ache as he continues his ministrations. You squirm beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations, but his body pins you firmly to the bed.

"Please," you gasp, "it's too much."

Steven lifts his head, his eyes dark with lust. "Nothing is too much for you, little bride," he growls. "You'll take everything I give you and beg for more."

His mouth returns to your breast, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. You cry out, tears springing to your eyes yet again. The pain mingles with a confusing undercurrent of pleasure, your body betraying you once again.

Steven's hand slides down your body, fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs again. He begins to stroke in slow, deliberate circles, and you feel yourself responding despite your best efforts to resist. You’re shocked at how your dripping hole is aching again already. These sensations are foreign to you and frightening to experience at his hand.

Steven's fingers move with expert precision, building a slow, inexorable tension in your core. His mouth continues its assault on your breasts, alternating between gentle sucks and sharp nips that send jolts of sensation through your body. The dual stimulation overwhelms your senses, leaving you gasping and writhing beneath him.

His fingers quicken their pace, circling your sensitive bud with increasing pressure. The tension coils tighter and tighter, a spring wound to the breaking point. Your hips begin to move of their own accord, chasing the building pleasure despite your mind's desperate attempts to resist.

Steven's mouth moves to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "That's it," he growls, his voice low and husky.

Your body trembles on the edge of release, every muscle taut with anticipation. Just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, Steven suddenly withdraws his hand. You whimper at the loss, your body aching for completion. He lifts his head from your breast, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

“I told you I would ruin you,” he murmurs, “and this is part of your ruining.”

Steven rolls onto his back, his massive frame sprawled across the bed. His eyes, dark with lust, lock onto yours as he beckons you with a crook of his finger. "Come here, little bride," he commands, his voice a low rumble. "I want to feel that pretty mouth on my cock again."

You hesitate, your body still trembling from the denied release. Steven's hand shoots out, gripping your hair and pulling you towards him. "I said, come here," he growls, his patience wearing thin.

Reluctantly, you crawl towards him, positioning yourself between his muscular thighs. His manhood lies semi-hard against his stomach, still glistening with the evidence of your earlier coupling. The sight and scent of it make your stomach churn with a mix of revulsion and unwanted arousal.

"Take me in your mouth," Steven orders, his hand still commanding the back of your head. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Slowly, as if in a trance, you lower your trembling form towards his groin. You can't believe the turn of events that have brought you to this point – from a joyful bride to a conquered villager at the mercy of Steven and his ruthless warriors. The knowledge burns in your heart, but you force it down, focusing instead on surviving this nightmare.

As your lips touch the velvety head of his member, Steven emits a low groan of pleasure. His hand loosens its grip on your hair just enough to allow you some movement. Despite yourself, you remember the way he had thrust into your mouth earlier, how he had seemed to enjoy it when you'd used your tongue. Drawing on that brief flash of experience, you tentatively flick your tongue over his cock. The taste is overwhelming - a potent mixture of his earlier release, your own arousal, and the metallic tang of blood. It's a stark reminder of what's transpired, of your lost innocence.

Steven groans as you engulf him, his hips bucking slightly. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice husky with renewed desire. "Take it all in."

You struggle to accommodate his size, your jaw aching as you try to take more of him. His hand guides your movements, setting a steady rhythm as he uses your mouth. Your tongue teases across the sensitive underside of his shaft, encountering a vein that runs along its length, and you try to apply more pressure there. Steven groans in response, low and guttural, spurring you on.

"That's it, little bride," he grunts, the praise almost an animalistic growl. "Suck harder. Take more of me into that pretty mouth."

You struggle to obey, pushing yourself to take more of his length into your mouth. His hips begin to thrust upwards, forcing himself deeper. You choke and splutter around him, saliva dripping down your chin.

"Relax your throat," Steven commands, his voice strained with pleasure. "Breathe through your nose."

You try to follow his instructions, fighting against your gag reflex as he pushes deeper. Steven's hand tightens in your hair, guiding your movements more forcefully. "Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

You raise your eyes to meet his, your cheeks burning with shame as you continue to work your mouth over him. His gaze is dark and predatory, filled with a hunger that makes you shiver.

"Such a good little bride," he murmurs, his hips starting to thrust up to meet your mouth. "Taking my cock so well. But I think you can take more."

Without warning, he pushes your head down, forcing himself deeper into your throat. You gag and choke, face pushed flush to his pelvis. The taste and scent of him overwhelm your senses, throat struggling at his intrusion, and you feel lightheaded from the lack of air. Just when you think you can't take anymore, Steven pulls you off his cock with a wet pop.

Gasping for breath, you look up at him through tear-blurred eyes. His face is flushed with arousal, his eyes dark, but gleaming with… pride?

“You are such an exquisite, pliant thing,” he says. “It has been too long since I’ve been so well-pleased, so near insatiable.”

Your chest constricts at the praise. You did not want any of this nightmare, but his danger is novel and alluring, the unknown pleasures he’s exacting from your body, guiding you down paths you’ve never explored before - it’s all twisting your body and your very soul, seeping through your veins, a poison you can’t stop now that he’s pierced into you.

He sits up, frames your jaw in both of his calloused hands, and then lewdly licks one cheek and then the other, lapping at your tears. It’s not tender. He’s playing with his prey.

Steven's hands move to your shoulders, gripping them firmly. With a sudden, forceful movement, he flips you onto your stomach. You gasp at the abrupt change, your face pressed into the furs on the bed. His large hands grasp your hips, pulling them upwards as he pushes your upper body down, positioning you on your hands and knees before him.

"Spread your legs wider and present yourself to me," he commands, his voice husky with desire.

Trembling, you obey, pushing your knees out further, lowering your chest to the bed, and raising your hips higher. You feel completely exposed, a new kind of vulnerable in this position, and your cheeks burn with shame. The cool air of the room caresses your most intimate places, making you shiver.

Steven's large hands grip your hips, kneading the flesh of your buttocks, spreading them apart.

"Such a pretty sight," he murmurs.

His thumbs dig into the soft flesh of your buttocks as he spreads you open further. You tense, expecting the brutal intrusion of his manhood, but instead, you feel his beard brush against your most intimate flesh as he presses his mouth to your core. His tongue, hot and wet, slides up the cut of you, and you cry out in surprise. You had been told your husband would couple his manhood with your maidenhood. You had heard the lewd rumors of men using a woman’s mouth for his cock.

No one had ever whispered even a word that a man might put his own lips to your sex, and it’s an onslaught of pleasure you were in no way prepared to experience. The moan you let out is obscene and unrestrained, and you grasp helplessly at the blankets and furs beneath you.

Steven's tongue explores your folds with wicked precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your most sensitive areas. Your body trembles uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the intense sensations. You try to stifle your moans, burying your face in the furs, but Steven's hand snakes up to grip your hair, yanking your head back.

"Let me hear you," he growls against your flesh. "I want to hear every sound you make."

His mouth returns to your core, his tongue delving deeper, tasting every inch of you. His beard scratches against your sensitive skin, adding another layer of sensation to the overwhelming pleasure. Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing back against his face as he continues his relentless assault. You feel his lips close around your sensitive bud, sucking hard, and a cry tears from your throat.

"That's it," Steven murmurs, his voice vibrating against your flesh. "Let go, little bride. Show me how well you enjoy being ruined by your new king.”

His words send a shiver through you, a mix of shame and unwanted arousal. Steven's tongue continues its relentless assault on your cunt, building a tension in your core that threatens to overwhelm you. Your body trembles, teetering on the edge of release.

His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as you writhe against him. The tension within you builds to an unbearable level, and with a final, targeted flick of his tongue, you shatter.

A cry tears from your throat as the waves of ecstasy wash over you. He laps up your juices eagerly, groaning in satisfaction, before he pulls away.

You whimper at the loss, and he chuckles. “Worry not, there is yet more pleasure I will force upon you this night,” he promises.

Before you can catch your breath, you feel the blunt head of his manhood pressing against your entrance. Steven guides the tip of his cock up and down your slit, over your oversensitive bundle of nerves, and you shiver. But it is soon evident he is in no hurry at this next pursuit.

Steven continues to tease you with the head of his cock, running it along your sensitive folds. Up and down, up and down. Slow strokes, sometimes bumping against your clit, sometimes ignoring it, unpredictable in the pattern so you don’t know when the surge will come. Your body trembles, overstimulated and overwhelmed. Despite your mind's protests, your hips shift back, seeking more contact, even though you're still sore from his earlier intrusion.

His fingers dip into your core, pulling from the wetness dripping out of you, and then he swipes them over your tight rosebud, and you gasp. You know immediately what he intends to do next, though you could never have imagined such a thing, and you can not process any sort of reaction against it. Indeed, he presses the tip of one of his fingers against the tight muscle, then insistently pushes through, and your heart pounds in your chest with fear. The foreign feeling is shocking.

Shocking because it should not feel as good as it does.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears of shame and frustration leaking from the corners.

He moves his finger in and out in only a very small motion - not fucking you with the finger, but pressing pleasure there in small, torturous amounts. He resumes the rutting of his cock against your folds, and you begin to openly weep, feeling wanton, confused, but moans accompany your sobs that you cannot hide from him.

He leans over you, his broad chest pressing against your back. His breath is hot against your ear as he speaks. "Eager for more, are we?" Steven chuckles darkly. "Beg for it, little bride. Beg for your king's cock."

You hesitate, torn between your body's desperate need for release and the last shreds of your dignity. Steven's free hand moves to circle around the front of your throat, possessive, threatening.

"Beg," he snarls.

The words stick in your throat, and Steven removes his finger from your tight hole and his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp.

"I said beg," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

"Please," you whimper, the word barely audible.

Another stinging slap lands on your other cheek. "Louder," Steven demands.

"Please!" you cry out, your voice breaking. "Please, I need... I need you.”

He slaps your ass again. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me exactly what you need."

You swallow hard. But you can’t deny betrayal of your body, aching for his touch, for the release only he can provide. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please... fuck me. I need your cock inside me."

A growl of satisfaction rumbles through Steven's chest. "As you wish, little bride."

He shifts and begins thrusting his cock inside your cunt again.

Steven's cock enters you with a single, powerful thrust, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping. He sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deep into your core, your body rocking forward with the force of his movements.

His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The room fills with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, your breathless moans, and Steven's grunts of exertion. The musky scent of sweat and sex hangs heavy in the air.

"So tight," Steven growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "So perfect for your king, the perfect tribute."

You respond to his words, to his touch, clenching around him involuntarily. The friction of his cock against your walls sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, building a familiar tension in your core. He hits a particularly sensitive spot on the front of your walls that has you writhing in ecstasy, and he presses the head of his cock there over, and over. You're overwhelmed by the sensations, the fullness, the way he plays and experiments with your body, until you spasm, thrown over the edge into another orgasm.

Your body convulses as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you weak and trembling. Your limbs feel heavy, your muscles liquid, as if all the strength has been drained from your body. You struggle to stay on your hands and knees, your arms shaking with the effort of supporting your weight.

Steven senses your weakness, feeling the way your body has gone limp beneath him. With a growl of satisfaction, he pushes you down flat against the mattress. The furs are soft against your oversensitive skin, tickling your nipples and sending shivers through your body. You turn your head to the side, gasping for air, feeling utterly spent.

Before your breathing can return to anything close to normal, before you can prepare yourself, Steven’s rough hands are spreading your cheeks, and he rams his cock into your ass. The intrusion rips a tortured scream from your throat.

The pain is sharp and immediate as Steven forces his cock into your tightest opening. Your body instinctively tenses, trying to reject the intrusion, which only intensifies the burning sensation. More tears spring to your eyes as you gasp for breath, though you don’t know how you still have more tears to shed.

"Relax," Steven growls, his voice strained with effort and pleasure. "The more you fight it, the more it will hurt, and I’m not going to stop."

You try to force your body to relax, to accept him, but it's a struggle against your instincts. Steven's hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to move. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pain and an unfamiliar pleasure through your body.

"So tight," he groans, his pace increasing. "You feel incredible."

The friction is intense, unlike anything you've ever felt before. It's not quite pleasure, but it's no longer just pain. It burns, but the fire consumes your whole body. You feel stretched to your limit, filled completely by Steven's massive cock.

His hands roam over your body, rough and possessive, groping at your flesh. You bite your lip, trying to stifle your cries, but it's futile. Each thrust draws a whimper or moan from you, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

Steven's hand snakes around to the front of your body, his fingers finding your sensitive bud. He begins to stroke in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations of his thick cock stretching your ass and his skilled fingers on your clit create a maelstrom of sensation that threatens to overwhelm you completely.

You're only vaguely aware of the sounds escaping your throat - desperate, wanton moans that you scarcely recognize as your own. This may be the first night you lie with a man, but though you are inexperienced, you think it can not be possible to experience any more of the overwhelming pleasure he seems determined to rip from you yet again.

Your body trembles uncontrollably, caught between the pain of the intrusion and the impossible mounting of pleasure. Each thrust sends sparks of electricity coursing through your nerves, building the tension in your core. You've never experienced anything like this before - the intensity, the fullness, the way your body seems to betray you at every turn.

Steven's pace increases, his hips snapping against your ass with bruising force. His fingers match the rhythm, pressing harder, moving faster. You are hurled over another cliff of ecstasy, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, body jerking futilely beneath his massive form. He pounds into you once, twice, thrice more, and on the fourth thrust, he shouts and stills, cock buried inside you, and groans as he empties his seed in your tightest channel.

Finally spent and satisfied, Steven collapses on top of you, his massive weight pressing you into the furs. You feel utterly crushed beneath him, struggling to draw breath, yet there's an undeniable warmth from his body enveloping yours that sneaks unwanted into your bones. His heart thunders against your back, matching the frantic pace of your own. The room is filled with the sound of your mingled panting as you both quest for normal breath.

The scent of sweat and sex hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the earthier smells of leather and furs. Your body thrums with residual pleasure, every nerve ending still singing from the intensity of your coupling. You feel utterly boneless, all strength drained from your limbs.

Slowly, your breathing begins to even out. You become acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - the rough hair on his chest against your back, the way his thighs press against the backs of your legs, his hot breath against your neck, and his lips too close to that tender and intimate space as only a beloved’s should be.

Finally, Steven rolls to the side and off of you, but you are not freed from him as he bands an arm around your waist, resettling you with him. He curls around you, and you resign yourself to being held captive, bound by his thick, corded muscles yet a while longer - possibly until the morning.

Just as you are about to drop off into sleep, he speaks directly into your ear. “I have claimed all of your holes, little bride. You will always know that I had every bit of you first, leaving him nothing.” The words are cruel, wicked, and his voice low and far too intimate.

You take a shaky breath in, and out, and beg for sleep to take you so you do not have to think of how his words haunt you now and will haunt you forever.

In the morning, your body still feels spent beyond its limits, aching, but as you shift and stir, you discover the bed is empty.

Your heart accelerates at this discovery.

Then plummets the next moment as the cruel conqueror speaks breaks the silence. “Get up and get dressed,” he commands from where he’s perched on the windowsill, watching the first light of morning appear.

Your eyes dart around the room, drawn to the scraps of your wedding clothes. “I’ve no clothes to-”

“On the chair over there,” he interrupts and gestures to a pile of clothing and shoes that have been brought in.

You slip out of the bed, trying to ignore thoughts of whether or not he watches you - he has already seen your naked form, so what does it matter?

There is a well-made linen chemise with a fine, blue linen dress to go over it. You hastily slip on the chemise, but as you reach for the dress, you hesitate. The detailing is finer than anything made in your village. This came from him.

“Shall I assist you?” Steven asks, making you jump as he’s silently crossed the room to stand directly behind you.

“No, I can dress myself,” you answer, but it falls on unhearing ears, as he’s already reaching past you for the garment.

He assists in pulling the dress over your head, and his hands roughly tug at the ties of your dress. Then he turns you to face him, and his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

"I've decided your husband will truly be left with nothing," he declares harshly. “After last night, I cannot abide him having you as his bride when clearly you should be mine. His father - the magnate - with the rest of the elders have accepted my bargain to take my men, leave your village, and never return on condition they surrender you to me as tribute.”

You cannot speak, the shock of Steven's words rendering you mute. Your mind reels, trying to process the implications of what he's just said. The village elders, including your own father-in-law, have agreed to trade you away like chattel to save themselves. The betrayal cuts deep, leaving you feeling hollow and abandoned, and yet you know it was likely a choice of little difficulty when weighing the safety of the village.

Steven cups your cheek again in that way that pretends a tenderness that is not there, and kisses you roughly. His lips are demanding, forceful, claiming you once more. The taste of him is now too familiar. His beard scratches against your skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips.

His tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth with a possessive fervor. Your body responds traitorously, a warmth blooming in your core despite everything, and you tangle a hand in his long hair.

Steven breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and conflicted. His eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

"You are not why I came to these shores, but you are mine now," he says, his voice low and possessive. "My little bride, my tribute, my prize."

His words send a shiver down your spine - fear, anticipation, and something else you can't quite name. You know you should be horrified, should be fighting against this fate with every fiber of your being. But after the night you've shared, after experiencing all-consuming pleasures you never knew existed, a part of you - a part you're ashamed to acknowledge - is drawn to the thought of belonging to this powerful, dangerous conqueror.

Steven's hand moves to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he speaks. "We sail with the morning tide and leave within the hour. My men are already loading the ship with supplies - food, weapons, gold. And you, my little bride, are the most valuable cargo of all."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. The reality of your situation crashes over you anew - you're leaving behind everything you've ever known, everyone you've ever loved. Your family, your friends, the life you were meant to have - all of it gone in the span of a single day and night.

"Please," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Let me say goodbye to my family, to-"

"No," Steven cuts you off, his voice firm. "There will be no goodbyes. We leave now. I am your husband, your family. My lands will be your lands, and you will learn to forget. Perhaps all the sooner as you learn to crave the pleasures only I can give and ultimately grow with my child in your womb. Mine completely.”

so... if any of you are still alive, screech for help. I won't be able to help, because I have perished from writing this, but someone else might be able to assist you.

SEQUEL: CEREMONIAL RITUALS

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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[japan0001]

William I France 1066-1087 Armed Forces Founder of the British Royal Family "King of Conquerors"

[fantasydreamland]

Fun Wife

aegon targaryen x fem lannister reader

Summary: (For the sake of the story Aegon never married Helena) You’re betrothed to the new king who is not too pleased about it. He assumes you’ll turn your nose up at the way he behaves and having a wife will just be a nuisance. He quickly discovers how beautiful and fun his new wife is.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, loss of virginity, p in v, public x, getting caught, fingering, oral (f&m), masturbation (m), some fluff, spoilers maybe.

Word count: 4.3k

This is the smuttiest story I’ve written so enjoy lol

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“I do not wish to marry.” Aegon says firmly.

The small council meeting had dragged on and everyone, especially his mother, had been pushing for him to marry as soon as possible. Amongst themselves they decided on a bride as if he weren’t even there. He was the king and he should be able to choose when and whom he marries. He did not want to marry some Lannister girl he had never met. And he certainly did not want to marry so soon.

“She is an excellent match Aegon. You must marry.” Alicent insists.

“This is the best way to solidify our relationship with the Lannisters.” Another said.

“I am the king.” Aegon said stomping his foot like a child. “If I do not want to marry right now I should not have to.”

“Yes, Aegon. You are the king.” Alicent says in a calm tone. “And that is why you must marry. You need to produce strong heirs as soon as possible.”

Aegon lets out an obnoxiously loud sigh. He knew his mother was right. He would have to marry but at least he could avoid his wife if he wanted to and just visit her chambers occasionally to try for an heir. He loathed the idea of it all.

**********

A couple weeks later you arrive to kings landing. You were filled with excitement of your wedding, of becoming queen of the seven kingdoms. You had been warned by multiple people of Aegons depravities but it did not phase you. If anything, it made him more intriguing.

Aegon watches from a window waiting for your arrival. He did not want to greet you right away but wanted to see what you looked like. His breath catches when he sees you exit your carriage with your bright blonde hair and beaming smile. He was caught completely off guard. He had obviously hoped you would be attractive, but he never expected you to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

As gorgeous as you were he was still annoyed with concern that you would be uptight and judge him. He did not expect a happy marriage but he could not help but picture the beautiful bright haired children you would make together.

**********

You finally meet at dinner. Aegon could no longer avoid you. He stood from his chair when you entered the room and walked over to greet you.

“Your grace.” You curtsy low. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, my king.” You smile brightly at him and hold your hand out to him.

You were even more breathtaking up close. He was surprised by how genuinely happy you seemed to meet him. Your (e/c) eyes sparkled brightly at him making him forget to respond until your eyes darted around awkwardly, your hand lingering in the air.

“Forgive me.” He clears his throat. “The pleasure is all mine, lady Lannister.” He smirks as he kisses your hand and holds eye contact. He swears he could see a flicker of fire behind your eyes.

You give a blushing smile as he lets go of your hand. Everyone begins to sit down to dinner. Alicent sat across from you while your father was beside you, and Aegon sitting on your other side at the head of the table. Alicent made most of the conversation, asking you various questions. Aegon watched you as you talked, seemingly intrigued to learn about you, but he never spoke a word or asked any questions. Alicent found it strange that her usually loud mouthed son was being so quiet.

When supper finishes everyone begins to leave to their chambers for the night.

“Aegon?” Alicent begins, “Why don’t you escort lady Lannister to her chambers.”

“Certainly.” Aegon nodded, the idea exciting him.

You simply smile and take Aegons arm as he leads you down the hall in an oddly comfortable silence, neither of you sure what to say. When you reach the door to your chambers he kisses your hand.

“Goodnight, my betrothed.” Aegon smiles.

“Goodnight, your grace.” You smile back as you curtsy. “I know this was perhaps not how you planned to be wed… but I promise to be a good wife to you, my king.”

Your words touch Aegon and the way your eyes connect you both feel an undeniable spark. He says nothing else but smiles and kisses your cheek before he leaves to his own chambers.

Aegon pleasured himself to the thought of you that night. He never expected to be so infatuated with his new bride to be but you were the definition of perfection. Now he could not wait be wed to you and bed you. The thought of what you looked like under that dress pushes him to the edge as he groans out your name.

**********

The day of the wedding quickly came and you were both filled with excitement. Aegon smiled ear to ear during the entire ceremony. Once you pledge your love to one another you seal the marriage with a kiss.

The moment your lips touch you instantly feel transported to another world where you are the only two people that exist. The only thing that matters in this moment is you and him. Your eyes connect in an intense gaze once your lips part. The cheer of the crowd snaps you out of your daze before Aegon leads you to the feast.

The feast was fun and lively as everyone enjoyed the food and drink. Aegon drank his fill of wine but still asked for your hand to the dance floor. Your drunken bodies pressed together as you danced, causing your heart to race.

“Your cheeks are so red.” Aegon says teasingly as he brushes your cheek with his fingers.

“Oh, yes, well… likely all the wine.” You blush, causing your cheeks to darken even more. “The wine and… you.” You say lowly.

Aegon smirks and places his fingers on your chin, turning your head to the side.

“I quite like the sight of you looking flushed, my queen.” He whispers against your ear causing goosebumps on your skin.

“My king…” You breathe, trying to remember you were not alone but in the middle of the dance floor.

“Hm?” Aegon hums against your skin and lightly kisses your neck.

His eyes meet yours and he also comes to remember how many eyes were on the both of you.

“I want to go to bed.” You say quietly.

“Oh, are you tired?” He says with a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“No.” You whisper, looking at him with fire in your eyes.

His smirk returns and he takes your hand before leading you out of the feast. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat as he led you down the halls to your shared chambers.

You enter the room filled with nerves as you approach the large canopy bed. Aegon comes up behind you and begins kissing your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He wanted to take his time with you but the wine fueled his desperate desire to have you. He had been with many women but he has never wanted anyone this badly.

He begins unlacing your wedding gown while pressing the occasional kiss to your shoulder. You just stand there, letting him have his way with you. Your breath grows heavy as he gently pulls off your gown and it falls to the floor, leaving you only in your thin shift.

You turn to face Aegon and he slowly scans your figure. His eyes linger at your chest before he meets your eyes, staring at you like you were a glass of the finest wine he was about to drink every last drop of.

Aegon pulls off his wedding clothes until he’s left in just his trousers. He captures your lips again and leads you toward the bed. He moves his lips to your neck as he slowly pulls off your shift, leaving you completely bare for him.

“My king…” You whisper as your fingers lightly pull at the hem of his pants.

“Aegon.” He mumbles against your skin.

“Aegon…” You say shyly as your eyes meet again.

“Not so fast, little one.” He moves your hand off his pants. “I need you to be ready for me first.”

You give him a questioning look as he gently pushes you back onto the bed until you’re laying flat. He climbs on top of you and grinds his covered hardness against your bare core, making you whimper. He kisses down your neck before moving down to your breasts where he takes his time licking, sucking, and rubbing your sensitive nipples as you squirm under him.

“Have you ever… touched yourself?” Aegon asks in a whisper.

You nod, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Good.” Aegon smirks.

He kisses down your stomach and settles between your thighs. You groan with anticipation as he kisses and nips at your inner thighs. He stops to watch your face as his fingers lightly graze over your most sensitive area. You gasp as he continues to make slow circles with his fingers.

“Does that feel good, wife?” He says almost arrogantly.

You could only moan in response and he chuckles. He removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth to taste you. Your entire body lights on fire from the sight. Just as you are about to beg for more his mouth is on you. You gasp even louder as your hands find his hair. You had never felt anything like this. It was nothing compared to your own fingers. He slowly slides one finger inside you and you scrunch your eyes from the pressure.

“Does that hurt, my love?” Aegon asks, kissing your knee.

“No.” You breathe. “Don’t stop.”

He smirks and begins to move his finger in and out slowly, causing you to arch your back. He continues expertly working his tongue on you as he slips in a second finger. You yank harder onto his hair as your breath grows heavier. He groans in response and the vibrations against you bring you to the edge. You let out a long moan as you reach your peak.

Aegon strips off his pants and your eyes widen at his size. Before you have time to overthink he lines himself up at your entrance. He asks if you’re ready before slowly sliding into you. Aegon groans loudly from how tightly you clench around him. It takes all of his strength not to start fucking you hard like a common whore. You are so much more special to him, his wife, his queen, his heart.

You breathe heavily through the pain as Aegon moves slowly in and out of you. As soon as the pain begins to fade you crave more of him. You pull him closer against you and whisper for him to go faster. He speeds up slightly but the movement is still agonizingly slow for what you craved. It was agonizing for him too, to be this gentle with you until you were ready.

“Aegon…” You groan in frustration. “Please… just fuck me.”

Aegon does not hesitate before he begins pounding into you. You could tell how much he had been holding back. Moans fill the room as you both get closer to the edge. You wrap your legs around his hips forcing him deeper into you.

“Gods, you are so fucking tight.” Aegon groans in your ear.

His words spur you on and you dig your nails into his back as your second orgasm begins to creep up on you. Aegons thrusts become sloppy as he reaches his own peak. He did not want to finish before you but the feel of you was too overwhelming.

“My love, I think I’m gonna-“ He pants.

“Me too.” You moan.

Your words trigger his release as he thrusts deeply inside you and moans loudly against your neck. This draws out your own orgasm and you finish in sync as you hold him tightly to you.

He remains inside you and your eyes meet.

“I think I am in love with you, (y/n).” He whispers, brushing your golden hair from your face. He never thought he would say that to anyone.

“I think I am in love with you, Aegon.” You smile widely.

Aegon places a kiss to your nose before rolling off of you. He pulls you in close for a cuddle and wraps his arms around you. You sigh peacefully, but as you begin to doze off you feel something poking against your backside.

“I am not finished with you yet.” Aegon whispers in your ear, creating goosebumps on your skin.

**********

You wake the next morning as the sunlight peers through the window. You look up to your handsome new husband peacefully asleep and press a kiss to his chest. He stirs in his sleep and you press another kiss to his stomach as an idea crosses your mind. Your clothes still laid discarded on the floor from last night. The only thing covering his now hardening manhood was a thin sheet. You gently pull the sheet down and reveal him in all his glory. You watch his face as you lightly grasp him with your hand. He quietly moans and squirms under your touch but does not wake.

You continue to watch his unconscious reactions as you place a kiss to his tip, then a lick, then a suck. Finally, you take him fully into your mouth and he groans as he finally wakes up. He looks down at you with surprise in his heavy lidded eyes. You smirk up at him as you continue to work your mouth on him. He threads his fingers through your hair and gently pushes your head further down. The gagging sounds you make quickly pushes him to the edge. You swallow his release as his fingers tighten in your hair and he groans your name.

“You are incredible.” Aegon huffs, still panting.

You giggle at him while you take a sip of wine. The sheet now hung low just barely covering him.

“I am not finished with you yet.” You wink and lean forward to kiss his lips.

Aegon cups your cheek and deepens the kiss as you move to straddle him. You grind against him through the sheet between you. You moan against his mouth when you feel that he’s already hard again.

You quickly pull the sheet down and he gasps into your mouth as your fingers wrap tightly around him. You hold intense eye contact as you slowly slide down onto his cock, watching every face and noise he makes.

You move your hips testing out this new position and Aegon groans and reaches up to grab your breasts. You grind faster along him and you both begin to moan louder. He grabs your ass to aide your movements, his fingers hold on so tightly they were sure to leave bruises.

You get closer and closer to the edge before Aegon sits up slightly and starts pounding into you. He relished at the sight of you above him. Your perfect tits bouncing as your beautiful pleasure etched face let out desperate moans for him, he had never seen a more heavenly sight.

He presses his fingers on your most sensitive spot and you cry out as you come undone for him. He fucks you through your orgasm before quickly finding his own.

You collapse onto the bed beside him, both panting heavily. Aegon turns to you with a boyish grin on his face which you could not help but find adorable.

“You are incredible.” He breathes.

“You said that.” You chuckle and brush his snowy hair from his face.

“I meant it.” He leans up and kisses you.

The kiss was meant to be quick but you pull each other closer again as your tongues dance together. Aegon pulls back with a pained expression.

“I wish I could stay here all day with you.” He says looking at you with pure adoration. “Really I do.”

“I know.” You softly kiss his lips. “But the king has important matters to attend to, I understand.”

He presses a final lingering kiss to your lips before leaving bed and getting ready for the day.

**********

You did not see Aegon for the rest of the day as he attended important matters. By the time he joined you in bed you were fast asleep. He slipped into the sheets quietly before pausing to admire you. The way your hair and milky skin seemed to glow in the moonlight made you look completely ethereal. He watched you as your breath lightly rose and fell. He could not believe how head over heels in love he was in a marriage he had nearly refused.

The next morning Aegon was gone again before you woke. You sigh and get dressed before going out to search for him. You hadn’t had a moment to speak for an entire a day now, and you were also missing him in other ways.

Aegon was alone in the small council room focused on a pile of parchments in front of him. His head shoots up when you knock on the open door and his firm expression quickly softens.

“My love… what are you doing here?” He puts the papers down and stands from his chair.

“I have not seen you since yesterday morning. I simply miss my husband.” You shrug as you walk over to him with a smile.

“I have missed you too wife.” He pulls you in close by the waist and you wrap your arms around his neck.

You press your lips to his and the kiss quickly becomes urgent and wanting. Aegon lifts you up onto the table and kisses you deeper as his tongue dips into your mouth. His hardness pressing against your core makes the need for him unbearable. You begin to pull at the laces of his pants.

“My love wait… we should not do that here.” Aegon murmurs against your lips but makes no attempt to stop you. “The doors are wide open.”

“I don’t care.” You respond in a raspy voice that lights a fire in him.

He kisses you again hard and begins frantically pushing up your skirts. You finish unlacing his ties and release him from his trousers. He wastes no time lining himself up to your entrance and plunges deep inside you causing you to let out a yelp.

“Shh.” Aegon smirks against your neck.

You bite your lip as he quickly pounds into you, legs dangling loosely around his hips. There was no time to ease into things when someone could walk by the open doors at any moment and catch you both in such a state. Although you did not actually want to be caught, the thrill of it made your heart race. You feel your peak coming faster than ever before.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Aegon rasps in your ear.

“Gods, Aegon I’m-“ His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm overcoming your senses.

He quickly covers your mouth as you cry out against his hand, still alarmingly loud given the location. Your orgasm triggers his own and he grunts into your neck as he comes deep inside you. You quickly come down from the table and fix yourselves as you’re still catching your breath.

Nearly seconds after Aegon tucks himself back into his pants a member of the small council enters the room. Had they come in only a minute ago you would have been caught.

“Your grace, my queen.” They nod to you both. “I had matters to discuss with you, my king.” He glances to you, a silent way of asking you to leave.

“Yes, of course.” You say as you excuse yourself from the room.

You turn back to Aegon as you head to the door and you realize his hair is now a mess from your activities. He gives you his devilishly handsome smirk and you give a smirk back before leaving the room.

**********

You tossed and turned, unable to sleep. It was nearing the hour of the wolf and Aegon had still not returned to bed. You huff as you throw on a robe and go off in search of him. He was not in the small council room where he spent most late nights. You were beginning to worry until you heard his laughter echo down the hall. You followed his loud voice to the throne room where you see him sitting leisurely on the iron throne and drinking with some men.

“Ah! My beautiful wife!” He exclaims when he sees you.

The gentlemen mumble “my queen” to your arrival. You simply look at Aegon unimpressed and cross your arms.

“Uh oh gentleman.” Aegon smirks drunkenly to the other men. “It seems my wife is upset with me. You best give us some privacy.”

The men chuckle at Aegons antics before leaving you alone in the room. Aegon looks to you with a smirk still painted across his face, unphased by the stern look on yours.

“Why do you look so serious, my love?” He says teasingly.

“Do you have any idea how late it is?” You walk towards him sitting on the throne, arms still crossed in front of you.

“I am afraid I simply lost track of time, my darling.” Aegon shrugs as he takes another drink of wine.

You scoff at his response.

“Fine.” You shrug back. “I will just return to bed then… alone.”

You turn to leave the room with annoyance burning through your veins. Aegon quickly stands and grabs your hand. He pulls you to him and wraps his arms around your waist so you could not pull away, although you try briefly.

“You shall not return to bed alone, my darling.” Aegon says as he kisses your neck causing goosebumps along your skin.

“You did not seem to care for me a moment ago… while you drank and laughed with your friends.” You tried to hide the desire laced in your angry tone.

“On the contrary.” Aegon pulls back to look at you. “I was telling them all about my beautiful new queen.”

He begins to kiss your neck again and you could not help but melt into his arms.

“My bold queen.” He kisses your chin. “My kind queen.” He kisses your cheek. “My perfect wife.” Finally, he captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

You do not hesitate to kiss him back, the desire for him burning within you. He parts your lips and when you think he is about to lead you back to your chambers he swiftly picks you up and leads you over to the iron throne.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a panic as Aegon places you down on the throne and gets on his knees in front of you.

“What does it look like I am doing?” He smirks as he pushes the skirts of your robe and nightgown up to your waist.

“Aegon we cannot-“ The words die on your tongue when his tongue is on you.

He quickly gets annoyed with the crown slipping from his head so he yanks it off and places it on you. He smirks at the sight of you, legs spread in front of him, sitting on the iron throne with his crown sitting upon your head. He places a kiss to your knee before diving back into you.

Your hands bury into his white hair as he expertly licks your bundle of nerves. You try not to make too much noise but soft moans pour from your mouth. He slips his fingers inside you and you cry out too loudly before slapping your hand over your mouth.

Suddenly, a rustling of armour pulls you out of your daze and a knight appears before you. You tap on Aegons shoulder rapidly and he stops his actions and looks to the knight.

“I- Please, forgive me your graces...” The knight stammered as he averted his eyes away from where Aegon still sat on his knees in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” Aegon demands.

“Forgive me, your grace. I heard a scream and came to investigate.” The knight responds, his eyes still on the ground awkwardly.

“Well, that is understandable.” Aegons tone softens. “However, in the future if you hear screams of that nature you can assume that is just the queen.” He say arrogantly.

You playfully slap Aegon on the shoulder.

“Yes, your grace... I will not make that mistake again. Forgive me.” The man bows and rushes out of the room still keeping his eyes to the floor.

“Well that was mortifying.” You say as you go to stand, your heart still racing.

Aegon shrugs and firmly holds your hips in place. “Please excuse the minor interruption, my queen.”

He places a quick kiss to your lips before dipping his head back down again. It takes you no time to come undone as he eats you like a man starved and pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Oh… gods!” You do not bother to hide your moans this time as you reach your peak.

Aegon does not cease his actions until you push him away from overstimulation. He looks at you with his classic boyish grin while his face glistens from your essence. You lean forward and capture his lips again, tasting yourself on his tongue. When you pull back Aegon cups your cheek and looks into your eyes deeply.

“You are the most perfect wife I could have imagined.” He places a kiss to your lips. “A fun wife.” He smirks.

You smile at him and place a kiss to his forehead. He moves to stand before lifting you up and carrying you all the way back to your chambers. You spend the entire night making love. Your heart felt so full with hope of a fun future with your new husband.

—

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[vhaenaera]

[ THE CONQUEROR ]

[whodied66]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘴

"King aegon I and his sister wives queen visenya and queen rhaenys"

[hisfavegirl]

Duty And Desire - Aegon I Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : As you stood in the shadow of your duties, Aegon began to notice the smallest things about you—the way your eyes flickered when you thought no one was watching, the quiet strength you held within yourself. His words, when he spoke to you, lingered longer than they should have, making your heart race with a mixture of confusion and longing. But what began as mere moments of attention soon blossomed into something far more complicated. He was no longer just your king, and you were no longer just his wife. In his presence, the walls you had built around yourself began to crumble, and the desires you had long buried inside began to surface.

Word Count : 7.4k

Aegon I Targaryen Mastetlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The laughter that fills the chamber is soft yet genuine, a rare moment of peace between the three of you. Rhaenys lounges beside you, her head resting in her hand as she watches you with a knowing smile. Visenya, ever poised, sits behind you, her fingers weaving through your hair with the skill and precision she applies to all things.

“You have been patient,” Rhaenys murmurs, her voice carrying the warmth of an elder sister who has always looked after you. “More patient than most would be in your place.”

Patient. The word makes something stir within you. You had been patient, waiting in the shadows while Aegon ruled, while his other queens shared his nights and bore him children. You had never demanded his attention, nor sought to claim what had never been freely given.

Visenya, quiet yet always watching, speaks next. “Aegon notices more than you think,” she says, her fingers tightening slightly around your braid as if to ground you. “He is not blind.”

You blink, turning slightly to glance at her over your shoulder. “If he notices, he does not show it.”

Rhaenys laughs, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Oh, little sister, you are clever, but in this, you are blind. The dragon may be slow to stir, but once he does, he does not turn away so easily.”

The thought lingers, curling around your mind like a whisper of prophecy. Aegon has never sought you out, never claimed you as he had his other wives. And yet, Visenya and Rhaenys speak as if something inevitable looms on the horizon.

“You think he will come to me?” you ask, almost hesitant to give voice to the question.

Visenya hums thoughtfully. “I think he already has.”

You frown, confused, but Rhaenys only smirks, as if she knows something you do not. You do not press them for answers, but as the night fades into morning, their words stay with you, curling like embers waiting to catch fire.

The morning air is crisp, the distant roar of dragons filling the skies as Rhaenys and Visenya take flight. You watch them disappear into the horizon, their dragons nothing more than specks against the vast sky. Unlike them, you remain on the ground, where you have always been—watching, waiting, but never truly seen.

You turn away from the sight, intending to return to your chambers when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Come,” Aegon calls, his voice steady yet carrying an unmistakable command.

You hesitate for only a moment before following the sound of his voice. When you step into the dining hall, you find him already seated, a feast spread before him. His silver hair gleams under the morning light, his presence filling the room with an aura of quiet authority.

Wordlessly, you take your place beside him. The weight of his gaze is heavy, but you do not meet it. Instead, you keep your eyes lowered, focusing on the meal before you. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. You can feel him watching you, as if searching for something in your expression.

“You are quiet today,” Aegon finally speaks, his voice softer than before.

“I have little to say,” you reply simply, keeping your tone even.

He exhales sharply, as if amused by your defiance. “And yet, when you are with our sisters, your tongue is sharp enough.”

You glance at him then, finding a hint of something unreadable in his violet eyes. He is studying you, as he often does when he thinks you do not notice.

“If you wish for conversation, husband,” you say, voice carefully measured, “then you must ask the right questions.”

Aegon hums, leaning back in his chair. “Very well, then. Tell me—will you come to my chambers tonight?”

Your breath catches for the briefest moment, but you recover quickly. You should have expected this. You are his wife, after all. It is your duty to obey.

But you do not answer immediately. Instead, you hold his gaze, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps something more.

“Do you ask this as my husband or as my king?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon tilts his head slightly, as if considering your words. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles—a quiet, low sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You are not like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Visenya would command me. Rhaenys would tease me. But you… You always make me think.”

You lower your gaze once more, unsure of how to respond.

Aegon leans forward then, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. “Come to me tonight,” he says again, but this time, it is not an order. It is an invitation.

You do not answer. Not yet. But as you rise from the table, his words linger in your mind, curling around you like a flame waiting to consume you whole.

The candlelight flickers softly, casting golden hues across your chamber as you sit by your vanity, hands delicately folded in your lap. Your heart thrums an uneven rhythm beneath your ribs, anticipation curling in your stomach like a coiled serpent.

“Bring me the best,” you had told your handmaidens earlier. And so they had.

A gown of the finest silk drapes across your form, a deep shade that flatters your complexion. Your hair is carefully arranged, each strand in place, cascading in soft waves down your back. The scent of the most fragrant oils clings to your skin, a subtle mixture of jasmine and amber, meant to entice.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

What am I doing?

It is not as if this is your first time in Aegon’s presence—he is your husband, after all. And yet, the weight of tonight feels different. He had not ordered you to his chambers; he had asked. The difference, however slight, sends your thoughts into disarray.

A soft knock at your door pulls you from your reverie, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggles.

Your eyes narrow even before the door swings open.

Visenya and Rhaenys stand before you, their faces alight with amusement, their matching violet eyes gleaming as they take in the sight of you—adorned and waiting.

“Oh, sister,” Rhaenys purrs, stepping into your room without invitation, her golden hair catching the candlelight. “You look like a bride on her wedding night.”

Visenya smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Technically, she already had her wedding night. But I suppose it does not count if the groom never visited her bed.”

Your face heats instantly. “Must you both be so insufferable?”

Rhaenys twirls a lock of her hair, her grin widening. “We only came to check on you, dearest sister. Imagine our delight when we found you like this—dressed as if awaiting a lover.”

Visenya raises a brow. “Which, I assume, you are.”

You scowl, turning away as you fuss with the bracelets on your wrist. “Aegon asked me to come to him tonight.”

Rhaenys gasps in mock surprise. “Did he ask, or did he demand?”

You hesitate. “He… asked.”

That earns a genuine reaction from both of them. Visenya pushes off the doorframe, and Rhaenys tilts her head, intrigued.

“Interesting,” Visenya murmurs.

“You sound surprised,” you note, glancing at them.

Rhaenys folds her arms, considering. “Our dear brother, Aegon does not ask for things, sweet sister. He takes. For him to ask you to come to him… that is something new.”

You try not to let their words affect you, but a small, treacherous part of you holds onto them.

“So, tell us,” Visenya presses, her smirk returning. “Do you intend to go?”

You glance at the mirror, at your own reflection—the way the candlelight softens your features, the way the gown clings to your form. You think of Aegon, of his gaze lingering on you at breakfast, of the way his voice had softened when he spoke.

“I—”

Before you can answer, another knock sounds at the door. This time, it is not accompanied by laughter.

Your handmaidens scramble to open it, revealing a messenger dressed in the black and red of House Targaryen. He bows slightly before speaking.

“His Grace awaits you.”

Silence stretches in the chamber.

Rhaenys bites her lip, barely holding back a delighted smile. Visenya simply watches you, her expression unreadable.

Your heart pounds.

“Well?” Rhaenys teases. “Shall we escort you, dear sister? Or will you find your own way?”

You take a steadying breath and rise from your seat, smoothing out the fabric of your gown. You do not need an escort.

You walk past them, your head held high.

Let Aegon wait.

The door looms before you, the carved dragon sigil of House Targaryen illuminated by the soft glow of torches lining the hallway. You inhale slowly, willing your heart to steady.

Behind this door, your husband awaits.

Your fingers curl slightly against your gown as you steel yourself. You have shared meals, exchanged polite words, stood beside him in court—but this, standing outside his chambers in the dead of night at his request, is different.

The air is thick with anticipation as you finally lift your hand and push open the heavy door.

Inside, the chamber is warm, the glow of the fire casting long shadows along the stone walls. The scent of burning wood and aged parchment lingers in the air. Your gaze lands on Aegon immediately.

He is seated by the hearth, one leg stretched out lazily, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. The firelight flickers across his bare chest, his tunic hanging open, revealing the lean muscles of his torso. His silver hair is slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it more than once.

His violet eyes lift to you the moment you step inside.

You see the way they move—slowly, deliberately—drifting from your face down the curves of your body, tracing the fine silk of your gown, lingering at the delicate swell of your waist before traveling lower. You feel the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch.

A shiver runs down your spine, though whether it is from the warmth of the chamber or the intensity of his stare, you cannot say.

You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter a single word, Aegon moves.

He rises from his chair with unhurried ease, his tunic slipping further off his shoulder, exposing more of the smooth, pale skin beneath. His steps are soundless as he approaches, closing the distance between you in mere moments.

Then—click.

The sound of the door locking behind you sends a jolt through your chest.

Aegon stands before you now, mere inches away. He does not touch you, not yet, but his presence alone feels overwhelming, like standing too close to a flame.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You hesitated outside my door.”

You swallow. “You heard me?”

“I always hear you.”

The words send a different kind of warmth through you.

Aegon leans in, his breath fanning against your cheek. “Why did you come?”

You know why. You know what he expects to hear. But something about the way he asks—the way his voice lowers, rich and smooth—makes you pause.

“Because you asked me to,” you admit softly.

He hums, as if pleased by your answer. “And if I were to ask something more of you?”

Your breath hitches, but you do not look away. “That depends on what you ask, husband.”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “I think we both know what I want from you.”

His fingers reach up, brushing against your wrist, a touch so light it is almost a whisper. Your pulse quickens.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” Aegon murmurs, his voice a low purr. “Will you give yourself to me tonight?”

Your breath is steady, but your heart is not.

Aegon’s fingers are slow as they work on the delicate buttons of your gown, each one undone with an excruciating patience that sets your skin aflame. His eyes, violet and piercing, do not leave yours—not even for a moment.

“You say it is your duty,” he murmurs, his voice like silk laced with something darker. “But is that all this is to you?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

“I am your wife,” you say, though the words feel small in the space between you. “It is my duty to—”

He exhales sharply, cutting you off. “Duty.” He repeats the word like it offends him. “I did not summon you to fulfill an obligation.”

Another button undone. Then another.

“I want all of you,” he continues, his tone lower now, rougher. “Not just because you must. But because you want to.”

You shiver at the weight of his words.

Aegon’s fingers brush against your collarbone, tracing the newly exposed skin with a featherlight touch. His warmth seeps into you, making your breath hitch. He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an expression that is unreadable.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” he murmurs, leaning in so that his lips hover just above the shell of your ear. “Do you want this? Do you want me?”

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

You could lie. You could tell him what he expects to hear, what a dutiful wife should say. But something about the way he looks at you—hungry yet patient, demanding yet restrained—makes you hesitate.

You have watched Aegon from the shadows for so long. You have seen him fight, drink, command armies, laugh with your sisters. But now, here, in the quiet of his chambers, you see him as something else. A man who, despite his crown, wants not power, but you.

Your hands, trembling yet determined, lift to his chest, pressing against the exposed skin there. You feel his heartbeat beneath your palm—steady, strong, waiting.

“I want this,” you whisper.

His breath stirs against your cheek. “Say it again.”

You meet his gaze, your voice steadier this time. “I want you, Aegon.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, and then his hands are on you—not rough, not hurried, but firm. He peels the silk from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms, pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your bare skin, but you barely register it.

Aegon lifts a hand to your face, cradling your jaw as he studies you, as if memorizing every inch of you.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “And tonight, I will make sure you never forget it.”

And then, finally, he kisses you.

Aegon cradles you in his arms as if you weigh nothing, his grip firm yet gentle as he carries you toward the massive bed draped in silk. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the hunger in his kiss, the restrained desperation that has been brewing for so long.

The moment your back meets the soft bedding, he hovers over you, his body pressing into yours, yet he does not rush. His thumb brushes over your cheek, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this," he murmurs, his voice thick with something unreadable.

Your breath catches. "Aegon-"

He silences you with another kiss, slow and deep, drawing the air from your lungs. He kisses you as if savoring every second, as if this moment is something sacred to him. When he pulls away, his violet gaze is darker, filled with emotions you cannot name.

"You are the only one who has never demanded anything from me," he says, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. "Not power. Not a crown. Not a child. You have given me nothing but your presence, your quiet loyalty—" He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. "And yet, you are the only one I have ever wanted."

Your heart clenches at his words. You had always been the overlooked wife, the quiet one, the one people whispered about because Aegon had never called for you as he had his other wives. You had assumed it was because he did not desire you, that you were merely a political arrangement, a piece on the board of conquest.

But now, here he is, looking at you as if you are the only thing that matters. Your fingers trail over his tunic, tracing the exposed skin of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. "If you wanted me, why did you wait so long?"

Aegon smirks, but there is something almost vulnerable in his expression. "Because I was a fool," he admits. "Because I did not want to ruin you." He leans closer, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. "You are not like the others. You are not meant to be caged or conquered."

Your breath shudders at his words. "Then what am I meant for?"

His fingers slide down your arm, his grip tightening slightly. "For me," he whispers. "You were meant for me."

A silence falls between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths.

Then, slowly, His fingers skim over your bare skin, eliciting a gasp from your lips. He watches you, his gaze never straying, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

"You are mine," he murmurs, his hands framing your waist. "Say it."

Your throat is dry, your pulse wild, but you manage the words. "I am yours"

A satisfied hum leaves him. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "And I am yours," he confesses, as if it is a secret only meant for you. "Tonight, I will prove it to you."

As soon as Aegon pushes into you, a sharp pain spreads through your body, and a soft cry escapes your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body struggles to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion. Aegon stills above you immediately, his breath ragged, his hands framing your face with unexpected gentleness.

"Shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your damp cheek. "I'm sorry, love. I know it hurts." His voice is rough, thick with restraint. "Breathe. Just breathe, sweet girl."

Tears well in your eyes as you cling to him, your body trembling. It is too much, too overwhelming, but Aegon does not move. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses along your skin, whispering soothing words against your ear.

"You are doing so well," he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over your sides. "So perfect for me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will the discomfort away, trying to focus on the warmth of his body against yours, the way his hands never stop moving, never stop comforting you.

"Tell me what you need," he says softly, his lips ghosting over your temple. "I'll do whatever you ask of me."

You hesitate, then exhale shakily. "Just... give me a moment."

Aegon nods, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers intertwine with yours, holding your hands tightly as if anchoring you to him. The pain begins to dull, slowly replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your limbs. You shift slightly beneath him, and Aegon groans, his control slipping for a brief second before he catches himself.

Your name leaves his lips in a desperate whisper, his hands tightening around yours. "Gods, you feel-" He cuts himself off, exhaling harshly. "Tell me when."

You swallow, meeting his gaze. His violet eyes are darker than you have ever seen them, filled with longing and something deeper, something raw. He is waiting, holding himself back for you.

A flicker of courage sparks in you. You nod. "Now."

Aegon curses under his breath, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before he moves, slow and careful. The pain still lingers, but there is something else now-a heat coiling in your stomach, a sensation unfamiliar yet not unpleasant.

"That's it," Aegon breathes, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. "You're taking me so well."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepens his thrusts, still gentle, still measured, but more confident now. A soft gasp leaves your lips as the pleasure begins to build, overtaking the pain. Aegon notices, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he kisses your jaw, your neck, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"You like that, don't you?" His voice is husky, teasing. "I can feel you squeezing me, little wife."

A whimper escapes you, and Aegon groans, his movements growing slightly more insistent. His hand slides down, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer.

"You were made for me," he breathes, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it."

Your head feels light, your body burning beneath him, consumed by the sensations he is giving you. "I-" You swallow hard, your voice trembling. "I was made for you."

Aegon growls in satisfaction, his lips crashing against yours. He drinks in your gasps, your moans, his pace quickening as he chases the pleasure that coils between you both.

"'I'll never let you go," he vows against your lips. "Never."

Aegon grips your hips tightly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice is low, possessive.

"Don't hold back," he murmurs. "I want them to hear you. I want them to know you're mine."

Your cheeks burn at his words, but before you can protest, he moves-faster, deeper, his thrusts becoming more demanding. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, and he groans in approval.

"That's it," he praises, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you closer against him. "Let them hear who you belong to."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as pleasure overtakes you, your body trembling beneath him. You try to muffle your sounds against his neck, but Aegon isn't having it. He grips your jaw, tilting your head back so he can see your face.

"Say my name," he commands. "Louder."

You barely recognize your own voice as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Aegon groans, his own control slipping.

His movements become rougher, more desperate, as if he can't get enough of you.

"You feel so perfect," he rasps. "Like you were made for me.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he curses under his breath. His forehead presses against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he drives you both closer to the edge.

And then—he finds it. That spot inside you that makes your entire body jolt. Your head falls back against the pillows, a broken moan escaping you. Aegon smirks, his grip tightening.

"There," he growls. "That's the spot, isn't it?"

You can only whimper in response, the pleasure overwhelming. Aegon's pace grows relentless, chasing your release with singleminded determination.

"Come for me," he urges, his lips brushing against yours. "Let go."

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your back arches, your voice raw as you cry out his name. Aegon follows moments later, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he buries himself inside you, claiming you completely.

For a moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Aegon brushes damp hair from your face, his gaze soft despite the hunger that still lingers in his eyes.

"Mine," he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. "And I'll never let you forget it."

You looked at aegon hesitantly, the question you wanted to ask was too risky. he opened his eyes and realized that you were watching him "What do you want to ask sweet wife?"

Hesitantly you murmured, "Are you not satisfied with me?" your voice is less than a whisper.

Aegon blinks at you, momentarily stunned by your question. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. His golden hair is tousled, his skin still warm from the intimacy you just shared.

"Not satisfied?" he repeats, his voice thick with disbelief. He studies your face, searching for the source of your doubt.

You avoid his gaze, feeling foolish for asking. "I just... I know with Rhaenys and Visenya, you wouldn't stop. I heard the servants talk about it." Your fingers play with the fabric of the sheets, unable to meet his eyes. "But with me, you just stop. I just-"

Aegon cuts you off with a deep chuckle, his hand cupping your cheek, tilting your face to look at him. "Do you truly think I would have stopped if you had asked?" His smirk is teasing, but there's something more in his gaze-something raw, something possessive. "Or do you think you could have even found the words to ask me to?"

Heat rushes to your face as the memories of the night flood your mind. No, you hadn't asked him to stop. You hadn't even thought about it. From the moment he touched you, all logic had left your mind, leaving only the overwhelming desire to have him closer, deeper, forever.

Aegon's thumb brushes against your lower lip. "I've had many nights with them, yes," he admits, his voice quieter now. "But none like this." He leans in, his breath warm against your lips.

"With them, it was duty. An expectation." He presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth before whispering, "But with you... gods, with you, I couldn't stop even if I wanted to."

Your breath catches at his words, at the intensity of his confession. Aegon had never spoken to you this way before-not as a husband merely fulfilling an obligation, but as a man who had wanted you, who had lost himself in you.

His lips trail along your jaw, his voice growing husky. "Tell me, my queen, did you want me to stop?"

You shake your head without hesitation, and Aegon chuckles darkly. "| thought so."

He shifts on top of you again, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. "And if you still have any doubts," he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, "perhaps I should remind you just how much I want you again."

His hands move, his touch reigniting the fire between you, and you realize that you will never again question whether Aegon Targaryen desires you.

You could feel him holding back, "You don't need to hold back Aegon" He freezes at your words, his hands stilling against your skin. His violet eyes darken, his brows furrowing slightly as he searches your face. The muscles in his jaw tense as if he's holding something back, something raw and dangerous.

"You don't understand," he murmurs, voice rough. His fingers tighten on your waist, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you grounded. "If I let go, if I take you the way I truly want, I might break you."

You shiver at his confession, at the sheer restraint he has been holding onto this entire time. Aegon Targaryen, your husband, the conqueror, the dragon-he is afraid. Afraid of hurting you.

But you are a dragon too. You have been raised among them, molded by their fire, and you are not fragile.

You cup his face, your thumb grazing the scar that runs along his cheekbone. "Aegon," you whisper, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "I know what I'm asking for. I know who you are." Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently. "I am not some delicate thing that will shatter under your touch. I am your wife. And I want you-all of you."

Aegon's breath shudders. His hands tremble as he grips your hips. His restraint, his control —it's hanging by a thread.

"You say that now," he mutters, his voice strained, his forehead pressing against yours. "But when I take you the way I want-"

"Then take me," you interrupt, your lips brushing against his. "Show me."

Aegon lets out a low growl, his patience finally snapping. His mouth crashes against yours, consuming you with a hunger that has been caged for far too long. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the shift instantly-the loss of restraint, the unraveling of his carefully controlled passion.

"You asked for this," he warns, his voice a deep rasp against your ear. "Don't beg me to stop later."

You meet his eyes, fire burning in your own. "I never will."

Aegon groans, something between reverence and possession. Then, he moves, his grip unrelenting, his body pressing you down into the mattress as he claims you without hesitation, without holding back.

You gasp, arching against him, your fingers clawing at his back as he takes what is his— what has always been his. Aegon kisses you fiercely, swallowing your cries as he moves with a desperate need that shakes through both of you.

"Mine," he growls against your skin. "You are mine."

And for the first time, there is no hesitation, no fear. Only fire. Only you and him, burning together.

Aegon's laughter rumbles deep in his chest as he watches you writhe beneath him, his grip on your chin firm but not painful. His violet eyes burn with something primal, something possessive, and the heat of it makes your breath hitch.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his thumb stroking your lower lip. "So beautiful, so perfect like this. My little queen, coming undone beneath me."

You whimper his name, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he moves with deliberate, punishing thrusts. Each one sends shockwaves through your body, making your mind hazy, your vision blur.

Aegon chuckles darkly, leaning down to kiss your forehead, his lips soft against your overheated skin. But his next words send a fresh shudder through you.

"I want my heir in you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I want to see you swollen with my child, to watch you carry the blood of the dragon inside you."

Your breath falters, a soft moan slipping past your lips at his claim. He watches your reaction closely, smirking at the way you tremble beneath him.

"Do you want that, sweet wife?" he taunts, slowing his movements to a deep, languid pace that has you gasping. "Do you want to give me my heir?"

"Aegon-" You whisper his name like a prayer, your fingers curling into the sheets, your body arching into his.

"Say it," he demands, his grip tightening on your waist, his breath warm against your lips. "Say you want to carry my child."

Your heart pounds, your mind swimming in the overwhelming sensation of him-his heat, his strength, his desire. And when you finally find your voice, you give him what he wants.

"Yes," you breathe, your eyes locking onto his. "I want it, Aegon. I want to give you an heir."

Aegon groans, his control snapping completely as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his body moving against yours with renewed intensity. His hands roam possessively over your skin, his touch branding you as his own.

"You are mine," he growls against your lips. "And soon, the whole realm will know it."

Aegon watches you, mesmerized by the way your body moves beneath him, how your breasts bouncing with every thrusts he gave you, how your lips part as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, your nails digging into his arms as he drives into you with a pace that leaves no room for escape.

"Gods," he groans, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, how perfect you look beneath me."

You barely register his words, your mind lost in the overwhelming pleasure he's giving you. But Aegon isn't done yet. His hands grip your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he slows his thrusts, dragging out each movement with a teasing precision that has you whimpering.

"Open your eyes, sweet wife," he commands, his voice rough, edged with desperation.

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze-wild, filled with fire, with something deeper, something that shakes you to your core. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

"You always ask why I won't let you join the war," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your parted lips. "It's because I can't lose you."

Your breath catches, his words sinking in even as your body trembles beneath him. His grip tightens, his eyes burning into yours.

"I can fight battles, I can burn cities, but if i were to lose you-" He shakes his head, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. "I would lose myself."

Your hands cup his face, pulling him down for a kiss, slow and deep, pouring everything you feel into it. Aegon groans into your mouth, swallowing your sighs, his body claiming yours completely.

"You belong to me," he whispers against your lips. "And I will never let anything take you away from me."

And with that, he thrusts into you one last time, his body tensing, his grip on you bruising as he finally finds his release, pulling you over the edge with him.

He collapses against you, his breath heavy, his heart pounding wildly against your own. And in the quiet after, as he holds you close, his arms wrapped around you like a shield, you know that there is no place safer than here, in his embrace.

Aegon's breath hitches as you slowly lift yourself onto his lap, your thighs trembling from exhaustion, but you ignore it. Rhaenys's words echo in your mind-Aegon likes it when you take control. And now, as you straddle him, his hands resting uncertainly on your waist, you see the truth in it. His violet eyes widen slightly in surprise, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come.

Instead, you lower yourself onto him, taking him in inch by inch, and a deep groan rumbles in his chest. His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging into your skin as if to steady himself.

"Gods," he breathes, his head falling back against the headboard. "You're going to be the death of me, sweet wife."

A small, breathy laugh escapes you as you place your hands on his shoulders, your fingers tracing the muscles there, feeling them tense beneath your touch. You move slowly at first, rolling your hips experimentally, and Aegon's response is immediate—a low, strangled moan, his hands sliding up your back before gripping your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with amusement, but also something deeper— something desperate.

You meet his gaze, your cheeks flushed, your breaths shallow. "You do too," you whisper, testing your power over him by shifting your hips again. His whole body tenses beneath you, his nails pressing into your skin.

His laugh is rough, almost breathless. "I do." His hands trail down to your hips, guiding your movements now, his patience slipping away as he urges you to move faster. "Take what you want from me, my love. I am yours."

The way he says it-so open, so raw-sends shivers down your spine. You move with newfound confidence, chasing your own pleasure, and Aegon watches you with something akin to awe. His hands never leave your body, touching you wherever he can, like he's memorizing you, like he needs to feel you to believe this moment is real.

"You look divine," he murmurs, his voice strained. "Like a queen sitting on her throne."

You whimper at his words, at the fire in his eyes, and he groans when you clench around him in response. His head falls forward, his lips finding your throat, his teeth grazing your skin before he kisses the spot tenderly.

"I should've taken you like this from the start," he mutters, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "Should've let you ruin me."

Your heart pounds at his confession, at the way he surrenders to you so completely. You lean down, capturing his lips with yours in a slow, deep kiss, and Aegon swallows your moans, his arms wrapping around you as if to fuse your bodies together.

He's close now-you can feel it in the way his cock start twitching inside of you, in the way his grip tightens, his breath growing heavier. And when you finally tip over the edge, calling his name like a prayer, he follows immediately after, his arms holding you close as he loses himself in you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You simply rest against him, your foreheads touching, your breaths mingling. Aegon's fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, his hold on you possessive yet tender.

"You are my undoing," he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. "And I would let you ruin me over and over again."

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you curl against his chest, and for the first time since your marriage began, you feel like you truly belong to him-not just as his wife, but as his equal, as the only one who could ever bring the mighty Aegon the Conqueror to his knees.

Aegon moves swiftly, his strong hands gripping your waist as he flips you onto your back. A surprised gasp escapes your lips, but he silences it with a deep kiss, his body pressing down against yours, molding you into the mattress beneath him. His warmth surrounds you, his presence consuming every inch of your being.

He pulls away just enough to meet your gaze, his violet eyes burning with something primal, something possessive. "Mine," he murmurs, his voice rough yet tender. "Say it."

You shudder beneath him, your hands sliding up his arms to grasp his shoulders. "Yours, Aegon. I'm yours."

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, satisfied with your answer, and then he moves -slow, deliberate, sinking himself back into you as if to claim you once more. You arch into him, your nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure roll through you.

"Gods," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "You feel-" His words cut off as he thrusts deeper, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He shudders, his lips grazing your skin. "So perfect. So fucking perfect."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, wanting to feel all of him. He grunts at the movement, his pace faltering for a brief moment before he grips your thighs, anchoring himself to you.

"I've waited for this," he confesses, voice hoarse with need. "For you." He lifts his head, his nose brushing against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Do you know how long I've dreamed of this, of you?"

Your heart stammers at his words, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. You press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering, "Then take me, Aegon."

A guttural sound escapes him, something between a growl and a moan, and he does exactly that. He moves with purpose, with possession, as if trying to engrave himself into your very soul. His hands roam your body, memorizing every dip and curve, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch.

And as the pleasure builds, as the world outside this bed fades away, you whisper to him again and again, "I love you, Aegon."

His movements slow for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening slightly as if caught off guard. Then, a soft, almost reverent smile spreads across his lips, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep it steals your breath.

"I love you too," he murmurs against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

And with that, he drives into you once more, worshiping you, claiming you, making sure that from this night forward, there will be no doubt in your mind-you belong to him, just as he belongs to you.

Aegon watches you with hunger in his violet eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he drives into you relentlessly. Your body arches, seeking more of him, your hands clutching his shoulders like a lifeline. Every thrust steals the breath from your lungs, every movement sending you spiraling further into oblivion.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So beautiful like this-mine to take, mine to ruin."

Your lips part, a broken moan escaping as his hands roam your body. He knows exactly where to touch, where to press, where to make you lose yourself completely. You're drowning in him, your senses overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth, the sheer dominance of his presence.

"Aegon-" His name falls from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling.

He chuckles darkly, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer, deeper. "Say it again," he commands, his breath hot against your ear.

You obey without hesitation, your nails digging into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. "Aegon-please-"

He growls at your desperation, his pace growing rougher, more desperate. His hands slip beneath your thighs, lifting your legs higher so he can bury himself even deeper.

The sensation is too much, your body trembling, your head thrown back as you come undone beneath him. His gaze locks onto your face, mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way your eyes squeeze shut in pure bliss. "Gods, you're perfect," he rasps, his movements never slowing.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach. A gasp leaves you as he presses his chest against your back, his lips tracing the curve of your neck. His hands slide down your body, gripping your waist as he enters you again, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through you.

Your fingers grasp at the sheets, your voice breaking into breathless cries. "Aegon-"

"That's it," he groans, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Let them hear you. Let them all know who you belong to."

Your mind is a haze, your body nothing but fire and sensation. He's relentless, pushing you further, pulling you under until you're lost in him completely. Your world narrows to the feeling of him, the sound of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise.

When you shatter again, it's with his name on your lips, his hands holding you close, grounding you even as he takes you apart. And as the pleasure fades, as your body melts into his, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing circles against your skin.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your ear, his voice softer now, filled with something deeper, something more. "And I'll never let you go."

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see it-love, raw and unguarded, shining in his violet eyes. A slow smile curls on your lips as you whisper back, "I was always yours, Aegon."

Aegon's arms tighten around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles over your stomach. His touch is almost reverent, as if he's memorizing the shape of you beneath his hands. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his grip lingers as if he's afraid to let go.

"I should have taken you sooner," he murmurs, his voice tinged with something between regret and longing. "Should have claimed you the moment you were mine."

You turn slightly in his embrace, your fingers reaching for his hand, gently lacing your fingers with his. "You have me now," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "And I will give you what you want, Aegon. I will bear your children."

A sharp inhale escapes him, his arms tightening instinctively as he buries his face against your shoulder. His lips press against your bare skin, lingering there, his exhale warm and shaky. "You don't know what that means to me," he admits, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual arrogance.

"Sleep, my queen," he murmurs against your ear, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your stomach.

You sigh in contentment, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Goodnight, my king."

And as your eyes flutter shut, you know this is only the beginning.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow

[athenasarahsstuff]

Who else saw this scene rewind it a few times to make sure this was baddie Aemond Targaryen. Raise your hand!! 🙌

[helaenarts]

“His reign began with blood and ended in blood as well”

King Maegor I Targaryen

[charliemwrites]

Ok ok I have to work on my backlog of fics BUT

Thinking about usurper king Price on an uncontested conquest of an entire continent. No one knows how he does it, but one day a kingdom is standing independent - the next, its bearing his coat of arms.

(He’s got a team of his most trusted warriors. One goes in, gathers intel and allies and plans, takes down all the key players and opens the doors for Price’s army.)

He’s a good ruler in the sense that he is EFFECTIVE. Brutal and cruel, short tempered and occasionally unpredictable. But overall, he has solid infrastructure, flourishing economy, and trade deals for goods from other continents that are mostly trying to appease him. It’s incidental that most everyone fears him. Deeply. They have good reason for it.

Reader’s kingdom is on the far side of the continent, with two much larger and more robust countries between. They’ve just allied together, so there’s actually some hope that they’ll be able to stop Price’s conquest at the halfway point.

(He knows that, but it’s much easier to force convince cooperation with nowhere to run. Feeling protected breeds complacence, it’s really all too simple it’s like they WANT to be at his heel.)

He’s taking special care with this one, goes himself as a new hire to a paranoid king’s royal guard. The other king is foolish, prideful, nothing but nepotism in his court and corruption at every turn. Almost all of his advisors are happy to turncoat for coin or promises of station in the new regime, one by one.

(Key word: almost. There are only a few, he can count them on one hand, but they’re loyal not to the king. They’re loyal to his heir.)

For all of his many, many faults the current king cares deeply for you, his heir. Who price is assigned to guard with his false identity. Who becomes your shadow, not from duty (as you might assume) but obsessive fascination.

(You’re just so good. An idealist, an optimist, an altruist. All terrible, damning things for a leader to be. Poor thing, you’re not suited to ruling. You’ll tear up that soft heart on hard decisions and necessary sacrifices. You’ve overcorrected your father’s negligence by caring too much. Price is doing you a favor by taking over.)

For as sweet and benevolent as you are, you’re also whip smart and strong-willed. Have to be to get anything done in your father’s circus show of a court. Truly the only thing between the people and careless greed of the rich and powerful, but you wear that responsibility as well as any crown.

And you’ll put yourself between Price (your guard) and citizens that just want to shake your hand, or offer you sweets out of well-earned devotion. He loses track of how many times you scold him for the coldness he’s so well known for. Or how often you snip at him for voicing his opinions about your legislation (not that you ever tell him not to share them, he notices)

(He imagines that pouty face melting away beneath moans of pleasure. Your tiara slipping off while he bounces you on his cock. That smart mouth wrapped around his cock, or crying his name. You’re gorgeous and clever and so fucking contrary for all that you are infuriatingly kind - he takes pleasure in being the only one to provoke you so.)

and when the time comes, your father and all his useless advisors slain, blood on the same gold that bought their own slaughter, he has you brought before him.

There’s steel in your spine even with tears running down your face and you lift your chin when you tell him he’s no king. Not to you, no matter whose flag decorates the ramparts. That the only way you’ll kneel is by force and it would only prove he’s not fit for a throne.

You’re beautiful and heartbroken but defiant in a way that makes his blood run hot and he adores you. Adores you so much that he can’t bring himself to cut you down, as he has with all royal families he’s usurped. No, not when you have so much potential. When you are the only part of the old regime worth salvaging.

He doesn’t, however, feel the same for your younger sibling - who takes after you with all the attitude but none of the grace (or his favor).

A life for a life, he bargains. The former king’s son in exchange for you - belonging to him now, that is. He doesn’t need your loyalty, but your compliance is convenient to sway the people towards submitting without bloodshed. And isn’t that better? He could raze the fields and streets to cement his rule, but you love your country too much to sacrifice it for your own pride. Not when you can do something to convince him otherwise, even this.

Besides, anything worth having is earned, he knows - and your heart will be his greatest possession.

[knight-of-flowerss]

Sorry but this is 100% Aegon's favourite meme of all time

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

Rereading the Sunlit Man and I am cracking up at the idea of the Cinder King reading about the Blackthorn's war crimes and Dalinar's "Unite them" and making that into a messed up bucket list "wow this guy is right I should set fire to people who disagree with me and I should unite everyone under my banner by force! this conqueror gets it!" Somewhere in the cosmere/ the beyond Dalinar's ghost is very disturbed. Cinder King's kicking his feet doodling fiery hearts around the blackthorns name not knowing that if they ever met he would be obliterated in an instant. Nomad has every right to laugh in this guy's face. Imagine being on the run for 300 years and then some guy with glowing red eyes on some tiny planet in the middle of nowhere quotes your old boss at you and asks your old boss would be proud of him. And then has the audacity to break an oath around a rosharan.

[buckets-and-trees]

There was a tradition at Vikings weddings (or maybe it was for all Nordic medieval) that the bride was given kittens, because they were symbol of goddess Freya. You know where I'm going with this ask, right? 🥺👉👈 Kittens from viking Steve? 🥺🥺🥺

Ceremonial Rituals

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 6.7k

Content/Warnings: DARK newly established relationship - kidnapped wife; explicit smut: rough sex, unprotected vaginal intercourse, insemination; use of pet name (little wife, little bride)

Notes: Takes place within a week after So Black the Darkness Hums (Come Down from Battle would take place a month or so after this).

Previous Part | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Six mornings after being ripped from your home, warm water envelops your aching body as unfamiliar hands move across your skin. Two women, their faces stern and focused, scrub at your flesh with soft cloths, working suds of soap over your skin. Their touch is not unkind, but there is no warmth in their eyes when they glance at you—only a wary curiosity.

Five nights passed at sea since you were ripped from your home. 

The voyage had been mercifully brief but miserable with your unfamiliarity of the churning sea that had you retching over the side of Steven's longship while he laughed and called you his "delicate flower." The warriors had sung and drank through the journey, celebrating their successful raid while you huddled beneath furs in Steven's private quarters, your body aching from Steven's relentless claiming of your body each night. He'd taken you in every way imaginable, a few times gently, more often rough, always leaving you confused by the pleasure he forced from you despite your circumstances.

You close your eyes against the memories of those nights at sea, the taste of salt on your lips, the rhythm of the waves beneath the ship matching the rhythm of his body against yours. You had learned quickly that resistance only made him rougher, more determined to break you. When you yielded, sometimes his touch would soften, and those moments of gentleness were almost more confusing than the brutality.

Five nights at sea, and then a late arrival after dark the night before. Steven had lifted you onto a horse waiting for him and brought you nearly straight to his bedchambers where he’d fucked you, then allowed you to sleep - a genuine rest without the rocking of a ship. Then just after dawn, he’d ushered you out of bed and into the hands of these two women for bathing. 

"Keep still," the younger woman mutters as she works a comb through your tangled hair. Her strong fingers work methodically, untangling knots with practiced efficiency. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting. 

From their actions and a few of their murmured words to each other, you gather they're preparing you for some kind of ceremony. A formal introduction to Steven's people, perhaps.

"Stand," commands the older woman, her silver-streaked hair bound in complicated braids. She helps you from the wooden tub, wrapping you in soft linen that feels like a luxury after days at sea. 

The younger woman approaches with an undergarment garment of creamy white, richly embroidered with silver threads along the neckline and sleeves. The fabric is finer than anything you've ever worn, even your wedding dress.

"Arms up," she instructs.

You comply, allowing them to slip the garment over your head. The fabric settles against your skin like water, cool and smooth. They cinch it at your waist with silken ties. 

The younger woman leaves the room, saying she’ll be back presently. 

The older woman begins working oils into your hair, the scent of lavender and something spicier filling your nostrils. Her fingers move with practiced precision, weaving small braids at your temples before gathering them back. You wonder if this is how Steven's people prepare all their captives, or if you're receiving special treatment as his tribute. 

The door creaks open on iron hinges, drawing your attention from your somber thoughts. Two women enter the chamber—one balancing a wooden platter laden with a modest breakfast of bread, cheese, and sliced apples, while the other carefully carries a small woven basket from which tiny mewling sounds emerge. 

Your curiosity momentarily overcomes your apprehension. "What is that?" you ask, gesturing toward the basket as the woman sets it near the hearth.

“From the king.” She pulls back the cloth covering, revealing four tiny kittens tumbling over each other—one mostly black, one orange, and one with mottled gray-white-and-tan fur. “As is tradition,” she adds.

Before you can fully process this unexpected gesture, the younger woman who had been helping you bathe returns. Your breath catches as you see the gleaming white fabric draped over her arms. It's unmistakably a wedding gown—more elaborate than the one you wore just days ago, with intricate silver embroidery matching your undergarment, and small blue stones sewn into the bodice that catch the morning light.

"The king requests you wear this," she says, her eyes watching your reaction carefully. "The ceremony begins at midmorning." 

Your heart plummets and while there is yet the smallest of swoops in your stomach as understanding crashes over you. The bathing, the oils, the fine undergarment, the ceremonial gift of kittens—all of it suddenly makes terrible sense. Steven doesn't mean to merely present you as his captive or concubine.

He means to marry you. Today. Now.

"No," you whisper, the word escaping before you can stop it.

The older woman's hands pause in your hair, her expression softening for the first time. "It will be easier if you do not fight," she murmurs, so only you can hear. "The king has chosen you. That is... rare."

You swallow hard, fighting back tears. "I was already married. In my village—" 

"That marriage no longer exists," the younger woman interrupts firmly. "King Steven has claimed you. What came before means nothing now." 

The older woman resumes braiding your hair, her fingers gentle despite her words. "My name is Helga," she offers quietly. "I have served in this household since before Steven was born. The girl is Astrid, my granddaughter." 

You meet Helga's eyes in the polished metal mirror before you. There is kindness there, but also resignation. She has seen many things in her years of service, you realize. Perhaps even other women in your position. 

"Does he... does he do this often?" you ask, your voice barely audible. 

“No, you are the first woman he’s ever brought back.”

Astrid approaches with the gown, her expression neutral. "Arms up again."

You comply mechanically, too numb to resist as the heavy fabric slides over your head. The dress settles around you, surprisingly light despite its elaborate embroidery.

"Eat," Helga says, pushing the platter toward you. "You'll need your strength."

You take a small bite of bread, though the taste of it doesn’t register in your mouth. Your stomach churns with anxiety, but you force yourself to eat, knowing Helga speaks true about needing strength.

One of the kittens, the orange one, tumbles from the basket and pads across the floor to bat at the hem of your new gown. Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips as you watch its playful antics. 

"They are a traditional gift," Helga explains, noticing your interest. "Of course the king would send kittens for the new queen, to bring fertility and protection to the household as is customary for any new bride." 

"Queen?" The word feels foreign on your tongue, impossible. 

Astrid nods as she arranges the folds of your gown. "King Steven has no wife. He has had women, yes, but never a queen. You are to be the first." 

The implications of Astrid's words leave you reeling. Not just a captive or concubine, but a queen. Steven's queen. The thought is as terrifying as it is bewildering. 

"Why me?" you whisper, more to yourself than to the women attending you. 

Helga's weathered hands pause in their work, her eyes meeting yours in the metal mirror. "That is for the king to say," she replies carefully. "But I have known him since he was a boy at his mother's breast. I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looked at you last night or this morning."

Your cheeks burn, remembering the intensity in Steven's gaze during your nights together. The mixture of cruelty and desire, possession and something else—something you cannot name. 

The orange kitten pounces on your gown's hem again, tiny claws catching in the delicate fabric. You bend to disentangle it, grateful for the momentary distraction. The tiny creature purrs as your fingers brush its soft fur, and for a fleeting second, the simple pleasure of touching something so innocent calms your racing thoughts.

"It is time," Astrid announces, glancing toward the window where sunlight now streams fully through the leaded glass. A distant horn sounds, its deep note reverberating through the stone walls of the chamber.

Helga secures a silver circlet atop your head, nestling it among the intricate braids she's woven. "A queen must look the part," she murmurs, stepping back to assess her work. 

Your reflection in the polished metal is that of a stranger—a woman adorned like nobility, her eyes haunted with memories of another life. The white gown, with its silver embroidery and blue stones, transforms you into someone you barely recognize. Is this truly to be your fate? To be queen to the man who destroyed everything you once held dear? 

"The orange one seems to have chosen you," Helga observes as the kitten winds between your ankles, purring loudly. "A good omen. The goddess Freya sends her cats to women of strong spirit."

A knock at the door silences further conversation. Astrid opens it to reveal two warriors in gleaming armor, their expressions solemn. 

"The king awaits his bride," one announces. 

You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. Whatever ceremony awaits, whatever life stretches before you as Steven's queen, you will face it with dignity. Not for him, but for yourself. The tiny orange kitten mews plaintively as Helga gently returns it to the basket.

The warriors escort you through stone corridors adorned with tapestries depicting battles and hunts. Servants pause in their work to stare as you pass, their expressions ranging from curiosity to pity. 

You are taken to a clearing at the edge of the forest. There are many people assembled, but it’s the natural and wild beauty of the place that steals you breath away. There are wildflowers everywhere, and you can see snow-capped mountains in the distance, so different from the rolling hills of your homeland.

Sunlight filters through the ancient trees that encircle the clearing, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. At its center stands an enormous oak, its massive trunk gnarled with age, branches reaching skyward like outstretched arms. Beneath it waits Steven, transformed from the brutal warrior you've known into something more regal—a king in truth, adorned in finery that complements your own. 

His tunic is deep blue, embroidered with silver that catches the light with each breath he takes. A heavy cloak drapes his broad shoulders, and atop his head sits a simple crown of polished silver. His eyes find yours immediately, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.

The crowd parts as you approach, their murmurs rising and falling like waves. You recognize the hard, weathered faces of Steven's warriors mingled with—those of villagers, craftspeople, and servants. Some appear curious, others wary, but all watch with rapt attention as you're led toward Steven, wondering about the foreign bride their king has brought home. 

A wizened old woman waits beside Steven, her white hair flowing loose over her shoulders, adorned with feathers and bones. Her eyes, milky with cataracts, seem to see through you rather than at you.

Steven extends his hand as you draw near, his expression unreadable. You hesitate, heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. To take his hand is to accept this fate, to acknowledge yourself as his queen. To refuse before his people would surely bring consequences you dare not contemplate. 

Your fingers tremble as you place your hand in his. His grip is firm, warm, drawing you closer until you stand beside him beneath the ancient oak. The old woman begins to speak in a language you don't understand, her voice surprisingly strong despite her age. You catch only fragments of meaning—words about bonds, strength, and the joining of two souls.

Steven's eyes never leave your face as the old woman speaks. The intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with awareness. For the first time, you notice a different quality in his eyes—not just possession or lust, but something deeper, more complex. But it’s gone in an instant, quickly masked when he realizes you've noticed.

The ceremony continues, the old woman producing a length of intricately woven cord. She binds your hands together—your right to Steven's left—the symbolic joining making your heart race with the finality of it. The cord is soft against your skin, dyed in shades of blue and silver that match your wedding attire. 

"This binding joins not just flesh, but fate," the old woman says, switching suddenly to the common tongue. Her accent is thick, but her words are clear enough. "What the gods have brought together, let no mortal tear asunder."

Steven's hand tightens around yours as the old woman produces a small silver knife. She pricks first his finger, then yours, pressing the wounds together so your blood mingles. The sharp sting barely registers through the haze of unreality surrounding you. 

"Blood of his blood," the crone intones. "Flesh of his flesh. Two souls bound by the ancient ways." 

The crowd murmurs their approval, the sound rising like a wave around you.

"You are mine now," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "My queen. My bride.."

Before you can respond, Steven kisses you, a claiming, his kiss thorough, but it’s the dangerous grip of his hands at your waist that has you trembling - something none see, but you feel.

The crowd erupts in cheers and shouts as Steven's lips claim yours, the noise washing over you like a physical force. When he finally releases you, your head spins—from lack of air or the sheer enormity of what has just happened, you cannot tell. The binding cord is ceremoniously unwound from your joined hands, but the symbolism remains, invisible chains now linking you to this man, this conqueror.

"Smile, little bride," Steven murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "They expect their new queen to look pleased."

You force your lips into what you hope resembles joy, though your heart pounds with a mixture of fear and confusion. 

"Come," Steven says, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of command. "My people wish to celebrate their new queen." 

He leads you through the throng, his large hand firmly clasping yours. People bow as you pass, some reaching out to touch the hem of your gown for luck. Their faces blur together—a sea of strangers who are now your people.

The festivities are already underway, musicians beginning to play, the people laugh and sing, some raise horns of mead in celebration. A feast has been prepared, you realize, as servants begin bringing forth platters of food to tables set up at the edge of the clearing. 

Steven guides you to a table set on a raised platform, ornately carved chairs positioned at its center. The place of honor for the king and his new queen. As he seats you, his hand lingers possessively on the small of your back, a subtle reminder of your position. 

"Eat," he commands, gesturing to the array of unfamiliar foods being laid before you. "You'll need your strength for tonight's celebrations." 

The implication in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You reach for a piece of bread, if only to have something to do with your trembling hands. The food is rich and abundant – roasted meats, fresh fish, cheeses, fruits, and breads sweeter than any you've tasted before. Despite your churning emotions, your body betrays you with hunger after days of sea sickness and meager rations. 

As you eat, Steven leans close, his beard brushing your ear. "My people approve of you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that only you can hear. "They see your beauty, your strength. You will make a fine queen."

You swallow your bite of bread, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I know nothing of being queen to your people." 

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, somehow both predatory and amused. "You will learn. I will teach you our ways, as I've already begun to teach you other things." 

Heat rises to your cheeks at his implication, memories of your nights together flashing unbidden through your mind. You look away, focusing instead on the celebration unfolding before you. Warriors drink and boast of their exploits, young women dance to the music of drums and pipes, children dart between the tables, snatching treats when their elders aren't looking.

People approach to offer congratulations and gifts—intricate jewelry, finely woven textiles, weapons of exquisite craftsmanship. You accept each with a gracious smile. It was not they who stole you from your home. 

As the celebration wears on, a strange feeling settles over you. These people—Steven's people—treat you with a deference you had not anticipated. Their eyes hold curiosity rather than malice, and some of the women offer shy smiles as they present their gifts. You realize it’s unlikely they know how you came to be here, that their king took you by force from another life.

"You're quiet, little bride," Steven murmurs, his hand coming to rest possessively on your thigh beneath the table. "Are your thoughts still with your village?" 

You tense at his touch but force yourself to remain composed before his people. "I'm merely... overwhelmed," you answer truthfully. 

Steven studies your face, his blue eyes searching. "You will learn to love it here," he says with no room for argument. "Our lands are rich, our people strong. And you..." his fingers trace a path up your thigh, "...will want for nothing as my queen."

You suppress a shiver at his touch. "And what of my duties as queen?" you ask, hoping to divert his attention from the intimate caress. "What will be expected of me?" 

Steven leans back, taking a deep draught from his ornate drinking horn before answering. "You will oversee the household, settle disputes among the women, bear my children." His eyes darken at these last words. "Strong sons to carry my bloodline." 

The thought of bearing his children sends a confusing mix of emotions through you – fear, resignation, and something else you dare not name. You take a sip of mead to hide your expression, the sweet liquid warming your throat. 

Your eyes fall on a group of children playing near the edge of the clearing. They chase each other, laughing, carefree in a way you can scarcely remember feeling. One small girl with wild blonde hair catches your eye and waves shyly.

"The feast will continue until nightfall," Steven says, following your gaze. "But we need not stay that long."

Your stomach tightens at his implication. Despite all he's already taken from you, despite the nights on his ship, the thought of the wedding night still fills you with a mixture of dread and a burning you do not wish to acknowledge.

"More mead," Steven commands a passing servant, who hurriedly fills each of your cups at the royal table. 

As twilight approaches, the celebration grows more boisterous. Warriors compete in feats of strength, their muscles glistening with sweat as they heft logs and stones to impress the crowd. Women dance with increasing abandon, skirts swirling as they weave between fires that now burn bright against the darkening sky. 

You've slowly nursed many cups of mead as pressed on you be Steven for hours, the sweet honey wine making your head swim pleasantly, dulling the edges of your fear, but as you’ve dutifully eaten throughout the day and not drunk too swiftly, you feel you still have most of your wits about you. It is something else that truly affects you - Steven’s hand has not left your thigh, occasionally venturing higher in a possessive caress that each time sends unwanted flares of heat through your body. 

"It is time," Steven declares suddenly, rising to his feet. The crowd falls silent, all eyes turning toward their king. "My bride and I thank you for your celebration, but now we must consummate our marriage." 

A raucous cheer erupts from the gathering. Several warriors pound the tables with their fists. "To the king and his bride!" someone shouts, and the crowd roars even louder. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as Steven pulls you to your feet. The crowd's cheering grows louder, more insistent, as he leads you away from the feast. Some of the men call out crude suggestions that make your cheeks burn, while women toss flower petals in your path—a strange juxtaposition of vulgarity and tradition that leaves you dizzy. 

"Must you have announced it so boldly?" you whisper, struggling to keep pace with his long strides.

Steven glances down at you, amusement playing across his features. "It is our way. The consummation is an important part of the ceremony." 

"We have already..." you begin, then falter, unable to speak the words aloud. 

"Yes," he agrees, his voice dropping to a growl that sends shivers down your spine. "But not as husband and wife." 

The walk back to the great hall feels both endless and too swift. Steven's hand remains firmly at the small of your back, guiding you through torchlit corridors. Servants bow as you pass, their eyes carefully averted. The sound of celebration fades behind you, replaced by the echo of your footsteps and the thundering of your pulse in your ears. 

You recognize the door to Steven's chambers—your chambers now, you suppose. Two guards stand at attention outside, their expressions impassive as they open the heavy oak door. Steven leads you inside, and your breath catches at the transformation of the room. During your brief glimpse this morning, it had been merely a bedchamber—impressive in size and furnishings, but ordinary. Now it glows with dozens of candles, their light dancing across walls hung with tapestries of rich blues and silvers that match your wedding attire. The massive bed has been strewn with fresh furs and linens, and scattered with petals of blue wildflowers. The air is heavy with scents of beeswax, pine, and something sweeter—perhaps meadowsweet or lavender.

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, and you flinch at the finality of it. You are alone with him now—your captor, your king, your husband. 

Steven moves to a table that holds a flagon of wine, fruits, and honey cakes—sustenance for the long night ahead. 

His back to you, he speaks, "You performed well today, little bride.”

"Thank you," you murmur, uncertain how else to respond to his strange compliment. Your fingers trace the intricate silver embroidery at your sleeve, needing something to occupy your hands. 

Steven pours deep red wine into two goblets, the liquid catching the candlelight like blood. When he turns to face you, his expression has changed—the public face of the king replaced by something more primal, more intimate. More dangerous. 

"Come," he says, extending one of the goblets. 

You cross the room as slowly as you dare, taking the offered wine. Your fingers brush his, and even that small contact sends a jolt through your body. The wine is rich and heavy on your tongue, warming your throat as you swallow.

"Are you afraid?" Steven asks, watching you over the rim of his goblet. 

The question catches you off guard with its directness. "Would it matter if I were?”

Steven's eyes narrow slightly at your question. He sets his goblet down on the table with deliberate care, the soft clink of metal against wood echoing in the quiet room. 

"Yes," he says finally, surprising you with his answer. "It would matter." 

He steps closer, and you resist the urge to retreat. His hand rises to your face, fingers tracing your cheekbone with unexpected gentleness. 

"Fear has its purpose," he continues, his voice low. "It keeps us alive, makes us cautious. But there are different kinds of fear." His thumb brushes across your lower lip. "The fear of a warrior before battle is not the same as the fear of a child in the dark." 

You take another sip of wine to steady yourself, to buy time before responding. "And what kind of fear do you think I should have, my king?" 

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "The kind that quickens your pulse and makes your hands tremble." His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in the intricate braids Helga had so carefully arranged. "The kind that heightens every sensation, makes every touch more intense."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the scent of him—leather and pine and something uniquely male—filling your senses. His proximity affects you in ways you wish it didn't, your traitorous body responding to him despite everything. 

His hands move to the silver circlet atop your head, removing it with careful precision. He places it on a nearby table, the metal catching the candlelight with a soft gleam. Your heart pounds as his fingers begin to work through your elaborately braided hair, unraveling Helga's careful work with methodical patience. 

"Do you know why I chose you?" Steven asks, his voice a low rumble as he frees the last braid, allowing your hair to fall loose around your shoulders. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice. 

"When I saw you in that wedding dress, fleeing through the forest..." His fingers trail down to trace your jawline. "Most women would have hidden, cowered. But you led others to safety. There was fire in your eyes even as my men dragged you before me."

His eyes search yours now, as though seeking that same fire. You stand perfectly still, afraid that any movement might break this strange moment of honesty between you. 

"And then," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "when I took you to my bed that first night, you fought me in ways no one has dared in years. Not with weapons, but with the defiance in your eyes, the tension in your body even as it betrayed you with pleasure." 

You look away, shame burning your cheeks at the reminder of how your body had responded to his touch. His fingers grasp your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. 

"Look at me when I speak to you," he commands, though his tone lacks the harshness you've come to expect. "A queen must never lower her eyes, not even to her king." 

"Is that what you want?" you ask. 

His eyes darken as he looks at you. "I want a queen who knows her place."

The gentleness vanishes in an instant. Steven's hand suddenly tightens in your hair, yanking your head back with brutal force. His mouth crashes down on yours, teeth clashing, nothing like the ceremonial kiss shared before his people. This is possession, pure and raw.

"Enough talk," he growls against your lips. "You are my wife now, and I will claim what's mine."

In one swift motion, he tears at the delicate fastenings of your wedding gown, the sound of ripping fabric filling the chamber. The beautiful silver embroidery that had caught the light so elegantly now lies in tatters as he roughly yanks the garment from your body.

"Did you think marriage would soften me?" Steven snarls, shoving you backward toward the bed. "That a ceremony would change what I am?"

Your back hits the furs, and before you can recover, Steven is upon you, his massive frame pinning you down. His mouth crashes against yours in a brutal kiss that has nothing of tenderness in it. His teeth catch your lower lip, the metallic taste of blood blooming on your tongue. You gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same ruthless determination he'd shown in conquering your village.

"I may have made you my queen," he growls into your mouth, "but never forget who you belong to."

His hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, leaving no part of you untouched. The thin undergarment provides little barrier to his exploration, and soon that too is torn away, leaving you naked beneath him. 

"Mine," he snarls against your throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. "Say it." 

You remain silent, a last, desperate act of defiance. His hand finds your breast, fingers pinching your nipple with painful intensity. 

"Say it," he demands again, twisting harder. 

"Yours," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. 

A triumphant gleam lights his eyes as he releases your nipple, his hand sliding lower across your stomach. "Again," he commands. 

"I'm yours," you repeat, the words burning like poison on your tongue. Yet beneath the bitterness lies something else—something you dare not examine too closely. 

Steven's eyes flash with satisfaction. "Yes," he growls, "mine to take, mine to pleasure, mine to rule." 

His mouth descends to your breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before his tongue soothes the sting. Despite your resistance, your body responds to his touch, as it has ever since the first night he claimed you. Your back arches involuntarily into his caress, and he chuckles darkly against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you.

"Your body knows the truth even when your mind rebels," he murmurs, his breath hot against your dampened skin. 

His hands push your thighs apart roughly, settling his weight between them. You can feel him hard against you, still clothed while you lie naked and vulnerable beneath him. The disparity in power is evident, but that’s not why you’re unhappy he’s still clothed - you want to feel his flesh pressed against your flesh. 

The realization startles you, this unwanted craving. Your fingers find the fastenings of his tunic and begin to work them open. Steven's eyes widen slightly at your unexpected boldness, then narrow with renewed hunger. 

"Eager, little bride?" he taunts, but allows you to continue undressing him. His tunic falls away, revealing the muscled torso you've come to know intimately during your nights at sea. The candlelight plays across his skin, highlighting scars both old and new—a map of battles won and lost. 

Your fingers trace one particularly jagged scar that runs from his shoulder across his chest. "How did you get this one?" you ask, surprising yourself with the question. 

Steven's hand covers yours, pressing it flat against the raised flesh. "A Saxon blade, three summers ago. I killed the man who gave it to me and six of his companions." 

His admission s no surprise, yet still makes your blood chill. 

His voice holds no remorse, only pride in his lethal skill. You wonder how many men have fallen to his sword, how many villages like yours have suffered under his raids. Yet here you are, naked beneath him, your body responding to his touch despite everything he's done. 

"Does that frighten you?" Steven asks, his eyes studying your reaction. "To know you lie with a killer?" 

You meet his gaze steadily. "I've always known what you are." 

Something flickers in his eyes—approval, perhaps, at your honesty. His hand leaves yours to continue tracing the path of the scar, fingers trailing down his chest to the waistband of his breeches. 

"And what am I?" he challenges, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. 

"A warrior," you answer. "A conqueror." 

“Your husband,” he says, guiding your hands to the laces of his breeches. 

"My husband," you repeat, the word still foreign on your tongue as your fingers work at the laces. The fabric parts beneath your touch, revealing him, hard and ready. 

Steven's eyes darken at your words. "Say it again," he commands, his voice rough with desire. 

"My king," you repeat, louder this time. Something shifts between you in that moment - not submission exactly, but acknowledgment. This is your reality now, whether you chose it or not. 

His hand cups your face, the touch unexpectedly gentle despite the ferocity in his eyes.

"And what does a wife owe her husband?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your body.

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze. "Her loyalty," you answer carefully. "Her obedience."

"Yes," he agrees, his thumb tracing your lower lip. 

"And what else?”

"Her body," you whisper, the words sending an unwelcome heat through your veins.

"Good," Steven growls, his approval darkening his eyes further. "And will you give your king what he is owed?"

Your heart hammers against your ribs as you realize this is no mere question—it's a test. Not of submission, but of understanding. Of acceptance. The wine and mead from the feast swim in your head, but not enough to blur the reality of your situation. This is your life now. This man—conqueror, king, husband—is your future.

"Yes," you answer, the single word sealing your fate more surely than any marriage ceremony.

His eyes flash with triumph, but also something else. He sheds his remaining clothing with efficient movements, then looms over you once more, gloriously naked, his body radiating heat in the candlelit chamber. Your eyes travel the landscape of his form - the broad shoulders, the muscled chest tapering to narrow hips, the powerful thighs. A warrior's body, honed by battle and hardship. 

"Look your fill," he murmurs, arrogance coloring his tone. "All this belongs to you now, as you belong to me."

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers tracing patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breath catches as he moves higher, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, you can't help the small sound that escapes your lips.

"So wet for me already," he taunts, his fingers circling your sensitive bud with practiced precision. "Your body betrays your true feelings, little bride." 

You turn your face away, eyes squeezing shut against the building pleasure. It's not fair how easily he can manipulate your responses, how thoroughly he knows your body after a handful of nights. 

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "I told you a queen must never lower her eyes, and certainly not when I have you like this." 

Reluctantly, you obey, meeting his intense gaze. His hands slide beneath your thighs, lifting and spreading them wider as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, hot and insistent. Despite everything, your body responds to his touch, growing slick with need.

"Tell me what you want," Steven demands, his voice husky with desire.

The words stick in your throat. To voice your desire feels like the final surrender, an admission you're not sure you're ready to make. Yet your body betrays you, hips shifting restlessly, seeking the friction he denies you.

"Say it," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "I want to hear you beg for your king's cock."

"Please," you whisper, the word barely audible.

Steven's hand grips your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firmly enough to demonstrate his power. 

"Louder," he commands, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "I want to hear you, wife." 

"Please," you say, your voice stronger now. "I want... I want you inside me." 

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Steven's face. "As you wish, my queen." 

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. Your body, already accustomed to him after the nights at sea, accepts him more easily now, though his size still stretches you to your limit. He groans in satisfaction, his hand releasing your throat to brace himself above you.

Steven sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper than the last. His hands grip your hips, positioning you perfectly to take all of him. The bed creaks beneath your joined bodies, the sound mingling with your gasps and his grunts of pleasure. You find yourself clinging to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he drives into you.

"Is this what you wanted, little bride?" he growls against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "To be fucked by your king on your wedding night?"

"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from you by a particularly deep thrust that hits something exquisite inside you. The shame you felt at your responses has begun to fade with each passing night in his possession, replaced by a hunger that frightens you with its intensity.

His rhythm never falters, each powerful thrust driving you closer to the edge. One of his hands slides between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arches at his touch, a cry escaping your lips. Steven's mouth crashes down on yours, swallowing the sound as his fingers work in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me, wife," he commands, his voice strained with his own approaching release. "I will have you shatter around my cock."

The command in his voice triggers something primal within you. Your body obeys before your mind can protest, pleasure crashing through you in waves that leave you gasping and trembling beneath him. Your inner walls clench around him as you peak, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest.

Steven groans in satisfaction, his pace becoming erratic as your inner walls clench around him. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his release filling you as he groans your name—not "little bride" or "wife," but your actual name, the sound of it on his lips strangely intimate in this moment of abandon.

For several moments, the only sound in the chamber is your mingled breathing. Steven's weight presses you into the furs, his body slick with sweat against yours. You should feel crushed, should want to push him away, but there's a strange comfort in the solid weight of him—an anchor as your life has been untethered from everything you knew before, in an ocean of unknown future. 

Though he's buried to the hilt in you, Steven's hand still clutches your hip in a bruising grip, his breathing ragged against your neck. The candlelight flickers across his sweat-slicked shoulders as he finally stirs, pressing his lips to the tender spot beneath your ear in an unexpectedly gentle gesture. 

"Mine," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. The possessive word should anger you, but instead sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine. 

He shifts his weight, pulling out of you with a slick sound that makes your cheeks burn. Instead of rolling away, he gathers you against his chest, one muscular arm banded around your waist as if afraid you might flee. His heartbeat thunders against your back, gradually slowing to a steady rhythm. 

"Your people seemed pleased with their new queen," Steven says after a long silence, his fingers absently stroking your lower back. 

"You did well today," he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. "My people are impressed by their new queen."

You remain silent, unsure how to respond to praise for a role you never sought. Steven draws a finger beneath the line of your jaw, gently forcing your chin to look up at him.

"You will learn to love it here," he says, and though his tone is soft, there's an undercurrent of command. "This is your home now. These are your people."

"And if I don't?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. 

Steven's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening at your question. For a moment, you fear you've pushed too far. Then his expression shifts, something almost like admiration flickering in his gaze.

"Then you will pretend, until the pretense becomes truth," he says simply. "You are no longer a village maiden, but a queen. My queen." His fingers trace idle patterns on your bare shoulder. "And queens must sometimes do what is necessary, regardless of their personal feelings."

You consider his words, the pragmatic truth in them. What choice do you have but to adapt to this new life? Your old one is lost to you forever.

"I'll try," you whisper, the words more honest than you intended. It's not submission exactly, but acknowledgment of your reality. You cannot change what has happened, can only move forward in this strange new life. 

Steven's expression softens slightly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "That is all I ask."

And then he presses your face up to meet his hungry lips, devouring yours again in a kiss.

And when he breaks it for a moment of air, he adds an ominous, "For now," before demanding to drink more from your mouth.

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SEQUEL: Fierce Affirming Sight of Sunlight

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[ladydreamfyyreee]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 “𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧, 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 & 𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐬“

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍!!!🙇🏻‍♀️

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧!!!🙇🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

[goldensunflowe-r]

My Pinterest feed is whole Targaryen aesthetic!

[vhaenaera]

[ King Maegor Targaryen ]

I saw this and thought it would fit him, head injury.