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scribendis · 1 year ago

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

Aemond Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, dry humping, p in v sex, semi-public sex, newlyweds being horny, little bit of profanity, breeding kink if you squint really, really hard Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~3,500

Summary: Upon returning to camp from a hunt in the Kingswood, Aemond looks for a way to keep his wife warm on a bitterly cold night.

A/N: Serendipitously conceptualized ages ago but written (very late!) for the first week of the @hotd-bigbang winter word prompts challenge - Fire | Furs | Forest

Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link

The setting sun cast long shadows across the small city of tents that made up the hunting camp in the Kingswood. While the men had spent the day combing the forest for boars, stags, and other game, the women had occupied the main tent. They gorged themselves on cakes and other sweets, all the while indulging in gossip that ranged from the salacious to the downright treasonous.

And, much to the chagrin of the new wife of Prince Aemond Targaryen, they pestered her endlessly about the burgeoning love life of her and her husband. She quickly learned that, to be a woman in the king’s court meant sharing every last, excruciating detail of one’s “wifely duties” so that the others could compare them with their own. So that they could all know whose husbands fucked them the best and complain about their own lackluster experiences.

They questioned her until she was beet-red in the face and one of the older women finally called for an end to her torment. Still, it would taste a lie for her to say that all their titillating conversation about lovemaking had not made her ache desperately for her husband.

But by the time that night finally claimed the sprawling camp, the men had still not returned from the hunt. It signaled to the waiting wives that their husbands would come back without their prize, frustrated and exhausted - and that they would later fall into their beds reeking of wine.

The call of horns and the distant sound of barking hounds was their cue to don their furs and exit the tent to greet the arriving men. The prince’s wife was glad for the fur-lined cloak that her husband had procured for her for just such an occasion as this. She was even more grateful for the garment as she exited the tent only to be met with the sting of the cold night air on her cheek. The women elected to wait for their husbands by the bonfire that raged in the middle of the camp, its light their only source of warmth as frost began to settle on the Kingswood.

It was easy for her to spot her husband among the group of riders, his long silver hair unmistakable in the light of the rising moon. Whatever otherworldly quality his Valyrian features gave him seemed amplified tonight - and it made the sight of him astride a horse even more odd to her. Were her husband any other lord of the realm, his approach on horseback would not have seemed out of place. But Targaryens were no horse riders. Still, Aemond effortlessly commanded the steed beneath him, his mastery reminiscent of the way he would handle a dragon.

As the crowd of riders began to disperse, her eyes remained fixed on her husband. Amid the thundering of horses’ hooves and the raucous laughter of the noble lords, Aemond's attention, too, was solely focused on her. The intensity of his gaze only intensified her excitement, eliciting a gentle flutter in her belly.

With grace and ease, Aemond slipped off of the horse’s back. A waiting servant took his leather riding gloves from him, but Aemond could very well have let them fall to the dirt for as little attention as he paid to anyone but her.

Aemond was always loath to indulge in any public affection, aside from the occasional hand at the small of his wife’s back or a brief touch upon her cheek. Even now that he was reunited with her after such a long day apart, his restraint came in the form of a soft kiss brushed against her temple and nothing more. But the way that his arm wrapped around her and his hand dared to wander much lower than her waist - and the way his eye held hers so intently - told her just how much he had missed her. How much he needed her.

Given Aemond’s usually stoic demeanor, she had never thought that he would be needy, but he had proven to be just that in the few weeks since they had been wed. They had already made love in the depths of the palace library more times than she could count, and discovered countless other hidden places throughout the Keep where his hands had found their way up her skirts and his lips had left marks on her neck. Some mornings, he would forego training altogether to stay in bed with her with his face between her legs or his cock buried inside her.

And he had not heard a single complaint from her yet.

“Ābrazȳrys, your skin is cold to the touch,” Aemond commented, a hint of concern lacing his soft voice. His lips lingered at her temple for a moment longer before he withdrew, taking one of her hands in his. “As are your fingers.” (wife)

She smiled. His own hand was as warm as ever. “I am no dragon like you, dear husband. The cold night air chills me to the bone.”

“And the furs I gave you do not suffice?” he asked, quirking a brow.

She shook her head. “Nor the bonfire.”

Aemond hummed, his displeasure at such an assurance quite clear. He brought her fingers to his lips, blowing warm air on them before kissing them. “Come, jorrāeliarza. I have another idea for how we might offer you some warmth on such a cold night.” (beloved)

Still with an arm drawn around her, he swiftly guided her around the bonfire and, to her surprise, past the royal tent where food, wine, and music awaited them. She glanced over her shoulder questioningly at the entrance to the tent, from which poured an inviting golden light, but Aemond seemed determined on his path.

“Aemond, are we… not going inside?”

A smirk tugged at his lips, and she noticed a mischievous twinkle in his eye as they passed a flickering torch. “I thought I would spare you any further conversation with the ladies of the court.”

“And I thank you for that, dear husband,” she said with a laugh, her words falling from her lips in fleeting clouds of mist that looked like she was breathing smoke. “But I do not think–”

Aemond stopped them in their tracks and turned to her, staying any further words by sweeping in to press his lips firmly against hers. “Lykirī.” (Be calm.)

Once freed from his bruising kiss, she stood, dazed, for a moment before any further thoughts could come to her - something that her husband had certainly noticed given the grin that spread across his lips. She pushed him away playfully with a little scoff and an over-exaggerated look of annoyance that drew a rare chuckle from him.

“I am not one of your Targaryen dragons,” she protested, drawing her furs tighter around herself. “Those… dragon commands won’t work on me.”

Aemond leaned in to meet her at eye level, offering an arm to her that she took. “But it did work, did it not?”

She was still none the wiser about their destination as her husband quickly guided them beyond the boundaries of the camp and toward the treeline. The leaves had taken on stunning hues of red, orange, and yellow, a sight that she had marveled at from within the wheelhouse on their way into the Kingswood that morning. But in the cover of night, that beauty was lost to the pitch-black darkness. Not even the light of the moon could permeate the thick canopy of trees, leaving the forest an endless void.

She did not fear the darkness, only the occasional sound of a twig snapping or the call of some unknown creature. As husband and wife disappeared from the sight of the camp, she found herself clutching onto him more tightly.

“Aemond, where are we going?” she whispered as though speaking at full volume would topple one of the mighty trees.

“Patience, jorrāeliarza.”

“What if there are wolves out here, Aemond–”

“There are no predators in the Kingswood. And, if there were,” Aemond turned to her and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, “do you think that I would let them harm even a single hair on your head?” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before releasing her. “Do not worry. We can stop here.”

She glanced around, seeing the pleasant glow of the camp in the near distance and nothing but darkness everywhere else. “Here?”

“I thought, perhaps, you would want to be a bit further from camp…” he purred. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see him lean in. One of his hands reached up to pull her furs aside and his lips found her neck, warm and soft as they began to kiss her skin. She felt his hum vibrate against her pulse point, where her heartbeat fluttered wildly. “Given how loud you can be, dōna ābrazȳrys.”

A gasp left her and her head tilted away from his lips, begging silently for more. Tomorrow would call for yet another dress with a high neckline, she thought.

“I’ve… I’ve not heard that one before…” He regularly called her all manner of names in High Valyrian. She often found him muttering to himself in his ancestral tongue. One night, he had even spoken it in his sleep. She knew a small handful of words, but only those few. “What does that mean?”

“Sweet wife,” Aemond breathed against her neck, leaving a bit of warmth behind before his lips captured hers once again. “You taste sweet tonight, too.”

“It must be the… the wine, I think,” she gasped. “Or the lemon cakes…”

But the growing hunger inside him was not for the sweetness of cakes or Arbor gold.

He kissed her more deeply this time, lips coaxing hers apart to taste her tongue for himself. His hands fell to her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh to draw her body against his. And, in doing so, he finally offered her the warmth he had previously promised her - one that not even the hottest bonfire could provide.

As his fingers began to deftly ruck up her skirts, she felt her skin prickle. At the same time, an entirely different kind of heat began to spread through her until it found its familiar place between her legs. Moaning softly into their continued kiss, she dropped her hands to the closure of his trousers, where his obvious arousal strained against the dark fabric.

“Gods, Aemond, you're so hard and I've barely touched you," she breathed against his lips. “Did you miss me?” But she knew the answer, and how pleasing it was to know just how badly she had been missed that day.

His only reply was a grunt that rose in his throat as his hands slipped beneath her smallclothes and all but tore them from her. Despite the rough, calloused spots on his palms and fingers, his warm touch was a balm against the cold night air. In a swift, almost aggressive motion, he lifted her by her arse so that she had no choice but to envelop his hips with her legs. It taunted her, the feeling of his hard cock pressing against her wet entrance. His trousers were a tedious, unwanted barrier between them.

Their passionate embrace only became more heated as Aemond pinned her to the trunk of one of the trees and his body pressed firmly against hers. She squirmed, inadvertently causing friction between her clit and his still-clothed hardness that was too delicious to keep a moan from stuttering past her lips.

“It would seem that you missed me as well, jorrāeliarza,” he rasped with a playful smirk. Teasingly, he rolled his hips against hers to coax another one of those sweet sounds from her. “Come on. Take what you need.”

She needed no further convincing, as great as the ache between her legs had grown. Her grip on the collar of his longcoat tightened and she took over, rocking her hips against his at a slow, but steady, pace. Each gasp and moan that left her lips billowed from them in a smoke-like mist, until she tucked her head into the crook of her husband’s neck and the sounds became muffled against his throat. He smelled of horse and sweat and, if she searched for it, the soap he had used the night before. But he tasted divine as her lips began to pepper open-mouthed kisses against his skin.

Judging by the trembling breaths that she felt against her hair, this teasing was just as pleasurable for her husband as it was for her. His own grip on her arse tightened, as though he was fighting to hold on. Knowing him, he wanted only the satisfaction of spilling himself inside her.

But his own torture would not go on for much longer, as her rutting against him was quickly bringing her to the brink of release. Her pace quickened, desperate as she was to reach it. Finally, the pleasure inside her began to unfurl and its warmth spread through her. From head to toe, it enveloped her completely as though she had been submerged into a hot bath.

It was exactly as Aemond had promised. In the grips of her climax, the frigid air mattered little, if at all.

Gasping for breath as she came down again, she pressed her lips to his and he received her kiss greedily. No doubt he was desperate for his own release after watching her come apart - and how could she refuse him?

“You know,” she began as her hands fell to his trousers once again. Only, this time, her fingers made quick work of the closures. “Earlier, all the women wanted to know how good you are in bed.”

Their gazes locked and, even in the darkness of the forest, she could see the almost animalistic desire in his one good eye. But as desperate as he was to be inside her, he seemed almost equally as intrigued by her words. She freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and took it into her hand. Her simple act of stroking him once was enough to draw a low groan out of him.

“Fucking gossips,” Aemond replied huskily. His lips drew close to hers but did not quite meet them. “Do I wish to know what you told them?”

She grinned. Her fingers guided his cock to her slick entrance but stopped there momentarily. “I told them–” Her words were cut off by a moan as he buried himself inside her quickly and without warning. “Oh, fuck…”

“Oh, fuck?” Aemond repeated teasingly, raising a brow. “Am I so bad at it, jorrāeliarza?” The smug look of satisfaction on his face belied any attempts at fooling her into thinking that he believed that to be her true confession earlier that day.

Too impatient, he began to move his hips against hers - and she met each of his slow, steady thrusts with movements of her own. Misty air surrounded them amid their shared panting, both of them relishing in the sensation of becoming one again after such a long day apart.

She allowed her head to fall back against the tree, where strands of her hair began to tangle in its rough bark. But she hardly noticed or cared at all, especially as her husband’s lips reclaimed her neck and his hot breaths swept along the contours of her jaw.

“Ābrazȳrys.”

She became so lost in the carnal pleasure of his cock sliding in and out of her that Aemond’s voice barely reached her. It did not help at all that his pace began to quicken as the heat between them grew to a simmer. The cry of pleasure that left her mingled with the sounds of the forest, joining the nighttime symphony of hooting owls and the rustling of the crisp underbrush.

“What did you tell them?” Aemond pressed. His own composure was starting to fail him and his words came out strained.

A breathy laugh left her. He always purported to care little about what the members of his father’s court thought of him. But, evidently, that sentiment did not extend to his wife and her opinions.

She placed a hand on his cheek to pull his lips to hers, kissing him deeply as pleasure began to coil inside her anew. “I told them,” she panted, her eyes opening to meet his, “that my husband is not the one riding the largest dragon in the world.”

Whatever Aemond had expected her to say, it clearly was not that. For a moment, his hips stilled and he looked as stunned as the ladies had been when she had uttered those same words that morning. One of them had even spilled a full cup of wine down her pale blue dress as she stared at her like some startled animal.

“My, my…” he purred.

But his look of shock fell away just as quickly. Replacing it was a ferocity that she had never seen from him before. A hunger that her words had awakened inside him which only she could satiate. There were no more soft words of love, or the usual names he called her while making love to her. His fingers dug almost painfully into her hips and he resumed his movements against her.

Aemond quickly built up a brutal pace, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her toes curl inside her shoes. Any thoughts or complaints about how bitterly cold it was outside had been long forgotten, drunk as she was on the intensity of the pleasure he was fucking into her her. Even her moans began to leave her in choked gasps and broken mewls that, if anyone in the hunting camp heard her, would have sounded no different than the calls of some creature of the forest.

She could feel it, the straining of her muscles and the tightening of her insides. The tremble that overtook her as she hurtled toward the edge along with him. She felt like a handkerchief being squeezed of water, and he would not stop his tightening of her until he had wrung her of every last drop.

Her eyes fluttering, she leaned in to capture Aemond’s lips in a kiss that he did not reciprocate in his own carnal pursuit of release. “Aemond…” “Mm-mm,” he chided, his tone gruffer and far lower than she had ever heard it. “I want to see you.”

One of his hands released its grip on her arse and moved to the nape of her neck to hold her firmly and ensure she could not look away. As he watched her, he groaned deeply in his own fight to hold on until he could get precisely what he wanted.

And it only took three simple words from him to finish her at last.

“Cum for me.”

Like a dam breaking, all the building pleasure that had been twisting inside her released. Coaxed by the continued pounding of his hips against hers, it spread into every extremity as her body shuddered and her cries of ecstasy filled the dense, frosty air. The fluttering of her walls around him soon spelled the end for him, too. With a few more ragged thrusts, he found his release inside her.

His eye squeezed shut. His lips, kiss-swollen, parted. And then, a certain look of peace overtook him.

Although still lost in her own haze of pleasure, she watched him closely - and she decided that he had never looked more beautiful.

They remained in their loving embrace, neither one wanting to pull away from the other just yet. Her, with her legs still encircling his hips, and him, with one hand holding her up and the other at her neck. Aemond pressed his forehead to hers and his thumb began to caress her cheek tenderly.

She hadn’t spoken of these moments to the women of the court that day. About how her husband could fuck her within an inch of her life and, immediately thereafter, treat her with such affection and softness. With such devotion in each caress of his fingers and every soft word he uttered.

Their breathing soon began to slow once again and the world around them finally came back into view. Smiling, she brushed the tip of her nose against his before kissing him so deeply that he hummed in surprise. But he reciprocated earnestly, slowly setting her back down on the ground but never quite letting her go.

“We should return to the camp,” Aemond said as he re-adjusted her furs on her shoulders. “I would not have you catch your death out here in the cold, jorrāeliarza.”

A sweet grin spread across her lips, but something wicked glistened in her eyes. “Oh, but my husband has already given me all the warmth I require.”

#sneaky self reblog

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scribendis · 1 year ago

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#sooo true bahaha #writing stuff

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scribendis · 1 year ago

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

Aemond Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, dry humping, p in v sex, semi-public sex, newlyweds being horny, little bit of profanity, breeding kink if you squint really, really hard Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~3,500

Summary: Upon returning to camp from a hunt in the Kingswood, Aemond looks for a way to keep his wife warm on a bitterly cold night.

A/N: Serendipitously conceptualized ages ago but written (very late!) for the first week of the @hotd-bigbang winter word prompts challenge - Fire | Furs | Forest

Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link

And he had not heard a single complaint from her yet.

She smiled. His own hand was as warm as ever. “I am no dragon like you, dear husband. The cold night air chills me to the bone.”

“And the furs I gave you do not suffice?” he asked, quirking a brow.

She shook her head. “Nor the bonfire.”

“Aemond, are we… not going inside?”

“And I thank you for that, dear husband,” she said with a laugh, her words falling from her lips in fleeting clouds of mist that looked like she was breathing smoke. “But I do not think–”

Aemond stopped them in their tracks and turned to her, staying any further words by sweeping in to press his lips firmly against hers. “Lykirī.” (Be calm.)

“I am not one of your Targaryen dragons,” she protested, drawing her furs tighter around herself. “Those… dragon commands won’t work on me.”

Aemond leaned in to meet her at eye level, offering an arm to her that she took. “But it did work, did it not?”

“Aemond, where are we going?” she whispered as though speaking at full volume would topple one of the mighty trees.

“Patience, jorrāeliarza.”

“What if there are wolves out here, Aemond–”

She glanced around, seeing the pleasant glow of the camp in the near distance and nothing but darkness everywhere else. “Here?”

A gasp left her and her head tilted away from his lips, begging silently for more. Tomorrow would call for yet another dress with a high neckline, she thought.

“Sweet wife,” Aemond breathed against her neck, leaving a bit of warmth behind before his lips captured hers once again. “You taste sweet tonight, too.”

“It must be the… the wine, I think,” she gasped. “Or the lemon cakes…”

But the growing hunger inside him was not for the sweetness of cakes or Arbor gold.

It was exactly as Aemond had promised. In the grips of her climax, the frigid air mattered little, if at all.

“Fucking gossips,” Aemond replied huskily. His lips drew close to hers but did not quite meet them. “Do I wish to know what you told them?”

“Ābrazȳrys.”

“What did you tell them?” Aemond pressed. His own composure was starting to fail him and his words came out strained.

A breathy laugh left her. He always purported to care little about what the members of his father’s court thought of him. But, evidently, that sentiment did not extend to his wife and her opinions.

“My, my…” he purred.

And it only took three simple words from him to finish her at last.

“Cum for me.”

His eye squeezed shut. His lips, kiss-swollen, parted. And then, a certain look of peace overtook him.

Although still lost in her own haze of pleasure, she watched him closely - and she decided that he had never looked more beautiful.

“We should return to the camp,” Aemond said as he re-adjusted her furs on her shoulders. “I would not have you catch your death out here in the cold, jorrāeliarza.”

A sweet grin spread across her lips, but something wicked glistened in her eyes. “Oh, but my husband has already given me all the warmth I require.”

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scribendis · 1 year ago

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I’m not a perfectionist, but finding a typo or a grammatical error in my own already-published fic is like stepping on a Lego honestly

#FOR REAL #this shit does psychic damage I swear #writing stuff

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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I'm getting back to this lovely reply far too late, but thank you so much for your kind comments and thank you for reading! c:

𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚

Daemon Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, profanity, these two are SO horny, dirty talk, p in v sex, size kink ish, breeding kink ish, just a little bit of throat grabbing Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~5,100

Summary: Mere months after their wedding, Daemon left his young bride to join the War in the Stepstones. His victory and subsequent return to King's Landing three years later meant that his wife would never spend another night alone in their bed.

A/N: I hope all my Daemon girls out there enjoy! This one's dedicated to you! Also, this is barely proofread and not beta'd. Lordy help me. Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link | Wattpad link

Mini HV glossary for ~future reference: ābrazȳrītsos - little wife ñuha dōna - my sweet issa - yes

Prince Daemon Targaryen had not been her father’s first choice of husband for her. It had, in fact, been the lord’s intention to marry her - his youngest child and only daughter - to King Viserys following the death of his queen. The prospect of such an arrangement brought her immense pride, for her house would benefit greatly from the wealth and status that would follow. But, by the time their wheelhouse finally passed through the gates of King’s Landing, the marriage between the king and Lady Alicent Hightower had already been set in stone.

The king had thus suggested that she wed his younger brother instead, a prospect that her lord father balked at at first. Prince Daemon’s reputation certainly preceded him. No man called the “Rogue” anything had any right to take his precious daughter to wife. But when the Rogue Prince placed a wreath of flowers on her head and proclaimed her the Queen of Love and Beauty upon winning the tourney held in celebration of the king’s wedding, her betrothal to him was all but assured.

She allowed herself to be wooed by him and his devilish smile, feeling herself falling harder and harder for him each time she caught his gaze from across rooms and banquet tables. There could be one hundred people between them and their eyes would always seem to find one another. His, more often than not, studied far more than her pretty face, trailing downward to her ample breasts or the curve of her waist.

She had been told that Daemon was no great lover of dancing, but he offered his hand to her during every occasion that had musicians in attendance. And that hand found itself, more often than not, wandering dangerously past her hips as they moved about the dance floor. She was blissfully unaware of the fact that the prince would fuck his fist each night afterward at the thought of the places his hands had touched and what they might look like once he tore her clothes from her body.

It was no wonder, then, that Daemon made certain that she fulfilled her wifely duties as soon as they were wed. He was barely able to make it through their wedding feast without whisking her away to finally claim her. But that night, he ensured that the entire Red Keep knew exactly whose wife she was.

In those first days of their marriage, she felt that she hardly left their marriage bed. When her presence was required at court, she walked with such an ache in her thighs and between her legs that she wished she could lounge about in bed all day. Each morning, without fail, their shared chambers still held the warm, musky scent of their coupling from the night before. It lingered on the sheets and on her skin throughout the day, only encouraging her husband’s desires further once he returned to her side.

But their time together, it turned out, would be short lived. She and Daemon had hardly been married for three moons before Lord Corlys Velaryon’s invitation to join his house in the War for the Stepstones brought him hundreds of leagues away from her. Daemon could not refuse, for the potential glory of battle - his greatest chance to prove his worth to the realm - was a far more alluring prize than even his beautiful new wife. The kiss goodbye he gave her before climbing on the back of his dragon tasted bitter on her tongue.

She did not see her lord husband for three years. Life at court became a lonely thing. She was without children to care for or a husband to tend to. What she had was a husband whose actions in the Stepstones seemed to ripple all the way back to the Red Keep. To her. Slowly but surely, she watched her image deteriorate from that of a prince’s wife to that of a social pariah. How ashamed she must have been of her husband, the other ladies would whisper when they thought she was not listening - and, sometimes, when they knew that she was.

Their shunning of her only worsened as news continued to trickle in about the rising victory of the Triarchy. She would sometimes linger outside of the Small Council chambers and trail after Ser Tyland Lannister in search of any information he had regarding her husband. Toward the end of the war, none of his news was good. She had come to accept that she would awake any day now a widow at the tender age of one and twenty.

Until the morning that her maidservant burst through her door and all but shook her awake, uttering what, to her, was a garbled mess of words in her half-asleep state. But she did process enough to know one thing: Daemon had been spotted returning to King’s Landing.

She rarely wore the colors of her husband’s house, opting instead for her own house colors. But today, as she followed the crowd into the throne room, she wore a striking dress of blood red the same hue as her husband’s dragon, Caraxes, and a necklace of rubies to match. Today, she was once again a Targaryen bride.

She caught the eyes of some of the women who had spent the last three years lambasting her for her husband’s deeds. For his failures. She barely regarded them as she pushed past, her head held high and a smirk painting her lips. But, briefly catching the shocked look on Lord Beesbury’s wife, which somehow made the old woman look even more like a pigeon than she already did, she felt validation run warm through her veins. This would stop their wagging tongues.

In her place near the front of the throne room, she and everyone else watched Daemon approach the king. She had hoped but not suspected that he would find her among the crowd, so when his eyes flickered to her for a fleeting moment, she felt warmth radiate down her entire spine.

Though he had looked away to address his brother, she did not take her eyes off of him for even a second. His silvery-blonde hair, now cut short, gave her an admirable view of his face and neck. Though obviously kissed by the sun, his skin also bore other changes. Forehead creases and other new wrinkles, likely from frowning or stress or both. A mottled, pink scar painted the right side of his neck and disappeared below his armor. She dreaded to think about just how far it went and how many others lay beneath his clothes.

Truthfully, their time together before his departure had been so brief that she could not quite put her finger on all of the ways in which the war had changed him physically. From where he stood, the light pouring in from one of the high windows behind him highlighted a small scar just beside his right eyebrow. Did he have that before? She could not remember just now.

There would be plenty of time for her to relearn her husband’s body anew, just as he would hers. She did not realize how lonely a place the marriage bed could be with her husband so far away for so long. All she could hope was that he would still find her pleasing after their years apart.

Their reunion, it seemed, would have to wait, for the king was eager to whisk Daemon away from the eyes of the court following his return. Her disappointment meant little when measured against the wishes of the king, even though the ache in her heart felt all too real as she watched the brothers ascend the steps out of the throne room.

She fielded several congratulatory remarks and other words of praise for her husband from those around her - the very same individuals who had spent years speaking naught but ill about him, whether to her face or behind her back. But she had known all along that Daemon would prove them wrong.

The dispersing crowd soon filtered out of the throne room, with some individuals most assuredly sharing whispered words of gossip with their neighbors and others simply wondering when the celebratory feast would be held. She was one of the last to exit the room, a dizzying mixture of anticipation, relief, and disappointment churning in her stomach.

So when a hand caught her by the throat and another by her upper arm as she ascended the stone steps into the hallway, she was taken completely by surprise. She hardly had time to let out a frightened gasp before a familiar voice breathed into her ear.

“Will you not welcome the prince home from war, my lady?”

Her fear washed off of her just as quickly as it had come. Heaving a sigh, she smiled. “Daemon.”

He turned her on the spot so they were face to face, his hand moving to hold her by the nape of her neck so she could not pull away. But she would not have done so even if he had not held her in such a way.

“Gods, you scared me,” she continued. If he could only feel the way her heart was racing in her breast at his little stunt.

His bottom lip stuck out in a feigned pout. “And here I thought my dear wife would be excited to see me.” He placed his forefinger beneath her chin to tilt her face upward, his violet eyes studying the planes of her face as though he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

“She is.”

A satisfied grin tugged at Daemon’s lips at the warmth of her remark, though he did not release her from his embrace. Rather, he pulled her closer and leaned down to claim her lips for the first time since his departure. To kiss him felt so familiar, yet also like a distant dream of a time long past. He allowed his lips to linger, savoring the moment as though they did not have dozens of onlookers watching them.

“Should you not be with the king?” she murmured against his lips but felt him smirk.

“I have had to look at my brother’s ugly face since before I can remember,” Daemon replied, running his hand down the length of her spine until it came to rest in the small of her back. “I would rather have a moment alone with my pretty wife.”

That he had forgotten her or, at least, his burgeoning feelings for her during his years in the Stepstones had been a great worry of hers. He had been all too enthusiastic to leave her side and partake in the war to begin with. She often thought that, should he return one day, the two of them would be no more than strangers to one another. That whatever spark that had ignited between them in the early days of their marriage would have long since burned out.

But she recognized the look in his eyes as they roamed her face and continued downward, along the exposed line of her collarbone and shoulders before going even further. They ravaged her form as they had on all those evenings both before and after they were wed. He was entranced by the way her crimson gown enhanced her womanly shape. No doubt, he was toying with the thought of tearing it from her body right here and now, and reclaiming what was his for the entire court to see.

The mere prospect of such an act sent heat rushing through her lower stomach that pooled between her legs. She hadn’t worn her smallclothes beneath her gown today, remembering how tedious her husband had always found the extra barrier to be. He would have discovered that, if only he would have taken her by the hand and led her to their quarters.

“You heard what I told my brother,” Daemon continued, his breath feather soft and warm on her cheek. “About the title they bestowed upon me in the Stepstones.”

“King of the Narrow Sea,” she whispered, feeling her mouth go dry as she watched the violet of his eyes become consumed by black. “But… you gave your crown to His Grace.”

Daemon clicked his tongue as he would in disappointment at a child. “Would my wife not have me be her king?”

Gods, she began to ache with need at such a question. She knew he noticed every flutter of her eyelashes, every rise and fall of her breast, every lick of her lips. He was an animal playing with its food, enjoying the act of teasing her. Testing her to see if she had missed him.

“She would.” Her reply came out hoarsely, which only made the wicked smile on his lips widen further.

“And that would make you my queen,” he cooed as their noses brushed against one another. “Queen of the Narrow Sea.” His thumb moved slowly along the line of her jaw until it found the soft spot just beneath it where her pulse was hammering against her throat and pressed lightly.

She swallowed hard. “Queen of… of rocks and crabs and sand,” she said in jest, a paltry attempt at distracting herself from the now unbearable ache between her thighs.

Daemon chuckled shortly. “But my queen nonetheless.” His lips moved to her ear to deal their final blow. “Do not think that I have forgotten the sweet sounds of your moans, ābrazȳrītsos,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble like that of a dragon’s echoing throughout the Dragonpit. “Or the even sweeter taste of your cunt.”

She could not stay the soft whimper that fell from her lips. Her body practically trembled with unfulfilled need - three years of it. What a devil her husband was for inflicting such torment on her, and in clear view of every nobleman and servant who walked past.

And he was even worse for withdrawing from her completely and regarding her with a saccharine grin, though the dark lustfulness in his eyes belied his sudden pleasantry.

“My brother unfortunately demands my company just now, ñuha dōna, but rest assured…” He looked her up and down hungrily once more before stepping around her in a single languid step. “I shall be treating you like a queen tonight.”

Her eyes scanned the page of the open book that was draped across her lap, but the words may as well have been written in Lhazareen. She had gone over this page a dozen times but retained nothing, plagued by thoughts of her husband as she was.

The sun had long since set and here she sat, alone, by the fire waiting for him. Of course, the king was not to be denied his brother’s presence and she knew that Daemon was certainly basking in the attention and praise that was being showered on him. But she would still hold him to his promise.

Having given up on her paltry attempt at reading, she rose. Her bare feet carried her restlessly back and forth across the cool flagstone floor of the bedchambers that her husband had not slept in for three long years. With every turn, her eyes flitted to the door as though she could will it open with her mind alone.

“Seven hells, Daemon,” she sighed.

She had not sated her own desire after her husband had left her wanting earlier, so the anticipation of their reunion this evening had only continued festering inside her throughout the day. It gnawed at her now, an itch that only he could scratch.

What could she do to prepare for him, she wondered? There was no use in changing into a nightgown that would only end up on the floor. She had no wish to drink herself into a haze that would rob her of the pleasures of their lovemaking. In the end, she decided to perch herself before her vanity and remove the jewels adorning her neck, ears, and fingers. They would only get in the way.

It was when she dipped her head to unclasp her necklace that she heard the heavy wooden door push open. Her eyes immediately snapped to the mirror in front of her, only to see her husband already leaning against the far wall, admiring her. The mere sight of his lips curled into a half smirk was enough to send a rush of heat through her lower belly.

“Do you require assistance with that, ābrazȳrītsos?”

Daemon did not wait for an answer before he pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered over to her. Sneakily placing something on the cushion beside her, he took his place behind her and lifted his hands to remove her necklace.

“Red was always so becoming on you,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, admiring the color of the rubies against her skin before carelessly tossing the necklace onto the vanity. “You were destined to be a Targaryen bride.”

Her eyes fell closed as she felt his lips move downward to press to her neck. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His words were a soft hum against her skin. “I have something to give you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. With her eyes closed, she could hear the rustle of his tunic as he turned. Smell the sweet aroma of wine on his breath. Feel the warmth of his arms enveloping her. Then, there was the cool touch of metal on her forehead and the sudden weight of something in her hair. His fingers gathered the long strands of hair that she had already unbraided and brushed, pulling them to one side of her neck. Once again, his lips found her ear.

“Open.”

She found her image in the mirror again and beheld his gift to her. A circlet cast in what she assumed was Valyrian steel with glittering rubies mounted along the front of the band. It fit her head perfectly and complemented the color of her hair in a way that no other accessory ever had before. When she reached a hand up to touch it, Daemon caught her fingers and brought them to his lips.

“Oh, it’s beautiful…” she breathed. The smile that lit up her features elicited one of his own. “This is what kept you, isn’t it?”

A look of pride flashed in his eyes. “My queen deserved a crown.”

She turned around in her chair to face him, her smile gone and her brow furrowed. The gesture was a lovely one, but it would be an insult to Queen Alicent for her to ever wear this publicly. And she had already spent the last few years as an outcast at court; she would never take risk worsening the others’ view of her. “Daemon, I-I couldn’t possibly wear this. Not at court…”

“Then wear it for me,” he crooned, slowly smoothing his hands along the warm skin of her exposed shoulders. “And nothing else.”

She couldn’t bear it any longer or deny her burning need for him. He could ask anything of her and she would submit. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it.

“How… how do you say ‘queen’ in High Valyrian?” Her voice was but a breath, trembling and full of lasciviousness.

Daemon smiled crookedly. “Dāria.” His thumb brushed across the spot on her neck where he could feel her hammering pulse, just as it had earlier. “Ñuha dāria.”

She knew enough of his mother tongue to know what that meant.

My queen.

“And ‘king?’” Her throat felt painfully dry, now.

He leaned forward, his gaze reflecting a mixture of playfulness and possessiveness. “Dārys.”

She watched as what little was left of violet in his eyes was overtaken by the black of his pupils. His hand at the side of her neck squeezed slightly. His nostrils flared. And, all the while, he wore the same half-smirk on those lips of his that she wanted to kiss every last inch of her.

“Say it,” he growled.

“Ñuha dārys.”

Their lips crashed together in a devouring kiss far more passionate than the one they had shared in the hall that afternoon. Daemon easily lifted her into his arms and bore her toward their bed, just as he had on the night that they were married. He did not break their kiss for even a second, not to breathe or to utter soft words of yearning and love. They had so much lost time to make up for and tonight would only be a start.

With barely any care for the intricately sewn gold buttons that trailed down the back of the dress, his hands began to rip the garment open. He tore at the red fabric with the ferocity of a beast while his tongue danced with hers. They were caught in a swirling storm of desire and longing, heat and passion - and they were perfectly content to let it sweep them away together.

Buttons scattered across the flagstone floor to be lost forever underneath the heavy furnishings, and soon her dress joined them as it fell in a heap beside their bed. Daemon’s roguish smirk returned when his hands cupped her bare arse and pressed her against him.

“It’s hardly befitting of my queen to strut about the palace without smallclothes like a common whore.” He bit down gently on her bottom lip and relished in the soft mewl that rose in her throat. “Any man could…”

As his voice trailed off, she felt his fingertips ghost over her hip before moving to her center and sliding into her wet heat. His fingers curled inside her immediately, expertly finding her most pleasurable spot as though it had not been years since he had last fucked her. A stuttering, wanton moan left her, only encouraging him to continue.

“...take advantage.”

Daemon coaxed her back onto their bed, never pulling his hand away from where, with rapacious speed, he was already bringing her to the brink of the most carnal pleasure. But as she pushed herself up onto her elbows in search of his lips, he pulled back.

“Uh uh,” he hummed. “Look at me, ābrazȳrītsos.” He no longer wished to kiss her, choosing instead to watch her with the same darkened eyes as he had earlier. He saw it all. The way her half-lidded eyes struggled to stay on his, the way her brow twitched and furrowed, the way her neck strained with effort.

And she was ablaze beneath him, the dragon’s touch inside her reigniting a fire that she had not felt in so long. The warmth of it began to spread through her as his fingers swiftly brought her to her release, which spread through every limb until it consumed her like a wildfire in the countryside.

There was a grin of satisfaction on Daemon’s face when she opened her eyes again. To him, no sight could have been better than that of her beneath him, breathless, with flushed skin as she lay in the haze of her release. And to her, the image of him licking her wetness from his fingers with such lecherous desire in his eyes could have finished her once more.

He sat back on his haunches to remove his doublet and tunic, which joined her gown on the floor as though they may as well have been dirty rags. She barely had time to study his bare torso, scarred and more muscular than it had been when she had seen it last, before he was upon her again. When he leaned over her to kiss her, her own hands took over and began to fumble at the closure of his breeches.

“My poor little wife,” he rasped, “left without a husband to fill her all this time.”

Her lips curled into a sly grin that she knew he could feel against his lips. “Perhaps I have taken a lover in your absence.”

“Name the man and I shall have his head.” Daemon spoke in jest, she knew, but she also surmised that a certain level of sincerity lay beneath his words. Any man that would dare touch the wife of the Rogue Prince would incur his wrath. “Nay, his cock, and he may live out the rest of his days as a eunuch. Perhaps I will have him sent away to become an Unsullied or a priest of Boash.”

He watched her face intently as her trembling fingers finished their work at his breeches. She had already been brought to pleasure but the sight of his thick, hard cock emerging from his trousers as she pushed them down renewed that same need inside her like an ember that had been rekindled into a blaze. A memory bloomed in her mind of when she had first laid eyes on his manhood on the night of their wedding and how she had doubted that it could even fit inside her. She found herself considering the same thought now.

“O-on the contrary,” she managed, dotting her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. “I have had to pleasure myself.”

“Oh?” Daemon’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted as his hand lifted to her chin to hold her gaze so she had no choice but to see his lust. “I would have you show me sometime, ñuha dāria,” he purred with voracious need. “But for the rest of tonight? You will not cum anywhere but on my cock.”

He took her firmly by the hips, his calloused fingertips digging into her skin as he pulled her with him so that she straddled him. And then, in a brief moment of tenderness that barely concealed his near-animalistic desire, he twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. “Know this: your cunt shall never go unfilled again. And perhaps I will put a babe in you, now that I am home.”

“Please.” Her voice, though barely a whisper, was heavy with want.

“Issa, ñuha dāria.”

Daemon pulled her hips down so that she sank onto his cock, too impatient to give his wife any time to adjust after three years apart. A soft whine left her at the sudden fullness, the way he stretched her as though he had claimed her maidenhead for a second time. He did not let even a second go to waste before he began to guide her movements atop him. She was at the mercy of his hands, which demanded her pleasure and the closeness of her body without remorse.

What he need not demand was the sweet cries of ecstasy that passed her lips, which filled their bedchambers and, likely, spilled into the hall outside of their door. They felt almost sinful to listen to and, yet, were the most beautiful sounds that he had ever heard.

“Gods… Daemon…” she moaned, her body arching into him. She had spent so many nights whispering his name into the darkness of their bedchambers as she brought herself to release at the thought of him. But to have him beneath her, inside her, around her once again was pure bliss.

At the sound of his name on her lips, Daemon pressed his face between her breasts and groaned hoarsely. “That’s it, ābrazȳrītsos,” he panted against her flushed skin, his fingers moving further to grasp her by the arse and pull her closer.

It would not be the gods that would make her cum tonight; it would be him.

She could feel it, the pleasure beginning to tighten inside her. She was at his mercy, lost in the feeling of him bucking his hips up into her and the sensation of his lips at her breasts. It felt impossible that one should experience such rapturous delight as this. In every touch and every choked growl that left him, she could sense that he felt exactly the same.

“Daemon, please–” Her words left her as a high-pitched squeak, signaling to him just how close she was to falling over the edge. Her body began to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of his hips. Her hands flew to his upper arms, grasping and almost pushing, as if to try and escape the wave of pleasure that was fast approaching.

But he would not let her go until it consumed them both.

With his hands still at her hips, Daemon pushed her backward until she was buried in the soft blanket that had been so perfectly laid atop their bed mere moments ago. His body sunk into hers, taking over from her previous ministrations atop him as her hands anchored themselves to his shoulders. He rutted into her like an animal, starved as he had been of her body for the last three years.

She felt herself shudder when his lips planted kisses along her jawline and moved up until they found her mouth. He swallowed every desperate moan that left her, the taste of them growing sweeter and sweeter the closer she came to her peak.

Her walls began to clench around him, her breath hitching with his every thrust. Any words she may have uttered only coiled at her throat, her thoughts meaningless as the building pleasure finally unfurled inside her. He held her steadfastly as she came around him, his touch her only lifeline as the heat and delirium ravished her completely.

“Cum with me,” she gasped against his lips. He would have kept going, brought her to another peak before finishing, but her soft plea was enough to end him, too.

“Fuck…” he groaned, thrusting into her one final time as he spilled himself inside her.

And when their shared pleasure had passed, her vice-like grip on his shoulders released. The light touches of her fingertips traveled across his back, feeling each new scar that he had acquired in the Stepstones. But he relished in her gentle touch after so many years of war, and allowed himself to collapse against her.

The weight of his body was soothing, his warmth a balm for her lonely heart. Their breaths slowed and, soon, the only sounds in the room came from the fireplace opposite their bed. It crackled and burned, its radiant heat intermingling with the lingering warmth of their coupling.

Daemon eventually lifted his head again and reached a hand up to straighten the circlet that had half fallen off of her head in their final throes of passion. He paused to admire the sight of her, still in a daze and wearing a sleepy smile on her lips. He kissed her once more and, when he withdrew, she saw that his eyes had regained some of their earlier hunger.

“Do not think that I am finished with you, ñuha dāria.”

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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Thank you so much for your insanely kind words! I'm so, so glad that you enjoyed the fic! c:

𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞

Tom Bennett x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ childhood friends to lovers

Warnings: angst, period-typical sexism, Tom being a jerk, profanity, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, loss of virginity, creampie, slight possessiveness? Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: 5,200+

Summary: She and Tom Bennett have been next-door neighbors and friends since they were children, but she's been waiting for years for their relationship to develop into something more romantic. Following an argument they have one night, Tom finds a way to make things right with her.

A/N: First fic on my new writing blog, yay! Hope you all enjoy :) Dividers by @saradika

“Sit still.”

Tom squirms beneath her gentle touch regardless, the sting of the alcohol against his bleeding wound nearly unbearable. He swats her hand away and she sits back in her chair with a heavy sigh.

“Fucking hurts, alright?” he grumbles and wipes his left eye as blood begins to trickle from the sizable gash across his eyebrow. The way he pouts his lips would normally send a warm flutter through her stomach, but not this time.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” She leans in again, delicately dabbing at the wound despite him trying to jerk away from her touch. Her own brow is furrowed and her lips drawn into a thin line.

How many times have they sat in this exact spot across from one another in his family’s kitchen? How many nights has he come home from the pub and dragged his feet past his own front door to stand below her window, throwing stones until she appears? Ever his guardian angel, she’s spent every one of those nights tiptoeing down the stairs, avoiding each spot that creaks, and taking a deep breath before throwing open the door to see what sort of trouble he’s gotten himself into this time.

She’s bandaged knuckles, fetched ice for black eyes, and cleaned enough cuts for a lifetime.

And tonight she’s had enough.

“What have you got your knickers in a twist for?” Tom asks bitingly. “You’re not the one who looks like they’re crying blood right now.”

She sighs. “I just… wish you’d grow up already, Tom.”

Not Tommy, like she’s called him since the day they met when they were four years old. No. It’s Tom whenever she’s cross with him.

She can’t remember a time before Tom was in her life. One of her earliest memories is of her scraping her knee in the back garden and him struggling to carry her inside to her mum. They’ve been almost inseparable ever since. Even as they’ve grown and their interests have diverged. Even as he’s struggled with the loss of his mum. Even as he’s become a bit of a tearaway and the police have come to his door more and more frequently.

It’s always been her and Tom.

Except in the ways that it hasn’t.

As he has developed from a little boy to a gawky adolescent to a handsome young man, her love for him has grown beyond mere friendship. When her girlfriends all started getting asked out on weekends - to the cinema, to the pub, to the dance hall - she held out hope that she would hear the same from Tom. But she never did.

He’s gone round with girls sometimes, flirting and taking one or two on a proper date. Nothing’s ever stuck and he has never had anything serious, but, each time, it’s chipped away at her heart all the same.

Perhaps she isn’t pretty enough, she’s wondered. No other boys have ever shown an interest in her. Or, perhaps they’ve all thought that she and Tom are something that they aren’t. He’s got something of a reputation among the local boys for his temper, after all. Too many of them have already felt the sting of his punches to play with fire by asking out his girl.

Because she’s always been his girl.

Tom has said so ever since they were six. “You’re my girl. You know that?” he said to her one day as they sat together in a tree eating ice lollies he’d nicked from the corner shop. And that nickname for her had stuck over the years. It’s one she’s heard every time she opens the front door and sees him leaning against the brick wall joining their two houses. When he beckons her to break her curfew and join him for a walk around town in the middle of the night. When he gets in trouble and he needs her.

She may be his girl, but she isn’t his.

“Grow up?” Tom repeats.

“Yeah. Grow up,” she sighs. “I can’t keep doing this with you if you’re gonna keep going ‘round winding people up and getting into trouble. You know I’d do anything for you, but… I’m not gonna be your babysitter forever.”

Tom pulls away from her, yanking the bloody washcloth out of her hand, which hovers in the air for a few moments before it settles in her lap.

“Is that you talking? Or your mum and dad?” His tone becomes particularly nasty upon mentioning her parents. They used to dote on him when the two of them were little, like he was the son they’d never had. But they’ve come to despise him. They think he’s a bad influence. Unfit to be her friend, let alone anything else. She’s spent the last few years defending him until she’s turned blue in the face.

“I can speak for myself, you know.” She stands, pushing in the wooden chair back so that it scrapes loudly against the floor. “And I’m sure as shit more grown up than you.”

He’s sitting with his head tilted back in a pose that exposes his neck. The soft, flickering fire dances off of his skin and profile in a way that she could have stared at for hours if she wasn’t so bloody frustrated with him. Swallowing hard, she turns to the sink to wash her hands furiously.

“Oh, yeah?” he starts, clearly annoyed, and she braces herself for the cutting words to come. She knows she’s exhausted the little bit of his already short temper that remained after his altercation at the pub. “Let’s see. Twenty-three year old girl. Still lives with her parents and shares a room with her little kid sisters. Works in the family shop stocking oranges, shilling newspapers, and selling lollipops to snot-nosed kids.”

“Tom…” She’s heard enough. She throws him a look that tells him to stop, but he’s still draped backwards in his chair with the washcloth over his eyes.

“She spends her days doing exactly what mummy and daddy tell her like a good girl should instead of ever thinking for her bloody self. And she can keep on pretending she’s a kid so she doesn’t have to face what goes on in the real world. Did I miss anything?”

“And what do you know about the real world?” she snaps. She would have laughed if she didn’t have tears in her eyes. “At least I have a job. Unlike one of us who’s spent more time in a jail cell these past few months than out of one. I’m helping my family. Supporting my family. That’s one hell of a lot more grown up than whatever the fuck it is you’re doing with your life.”

In the firelight, she sees Tom’s jaw clench and unclench in the way it does when he’s getting truly stroppy. It’s a cue she’s learned to notice over the years, just as she’s learned to drag him - sometimes physically - away from certain situations before he can get into trouble. But his irritability has never been directed at her before. Not like this.

“Ah, yes, the spinster daughter helping out her parents.” A vindictive smirk begins to spread across his lips. “How noble of you.”

She opens her mouth to say something, anything, in response but the painful lump that rises in her throat stifles her. Perhaps if he could see the look on her face, he’d know he’s gone too far. But with the crimson-stained washcloth shielding his view, he can’t see the way her entire body has stiffened like a prey animal that’s been cornered.

“Must feel good to know that you’re toiling away at the shop while every single one of your girlfriends is married with a family of their own. And how, soon, there won’t be anything left of you for a man to want. But at least you’re helping your family.”

A hand flies to her face to cover her mouth as a sob bubbles up from inside her chest. It’s the final confirmation she’s needed to know, once and for all, that Tom has never seen her as an object of his desire. That her love for him will always be unrequited and that, maybe, no man will ever want her. If only he could know how much it hurts her to know that.

She waits for another scathing remark from him but she reckons he’s gotten in every insulting word he’s wanted to when he falls silent.

“Be a darling and fetch us a bandage?” Tom eventually asks in a tone that’s far too casual for the tense atmosphere in the room. He’s never been one to say ‘please,’ but he doesn’t even pull the washcloth away from his face to look at her when he asks. And there is certainly no apology for the hurtful things he’s said.

Still in tears, she scoffs and grabs the roll of gauze she found in the first aid kit earlier. Instead of bringing it to him, she lobs it at him from across the kitchen. “You don’t always have to be such an arse,” she chokes out.

It’s nights like these when she wonders why she puts up with him… aside from the fact that she is so hopelessly, unequivocally, and completely in love with him. Even though it’s crystal clear to her, now, that he doesn’t feel the same.

“Bandage yourself up, Tom.”

When she storms out of the kitchen and toward the front door, he jerks forward in his chair in shock but doesn’t try to stop her. And that makes her feel the worst of all.

She is exhausted the following day when she is tending her family’s shop, the humble general store that everyone on their street shops at. She spent most of the night crying into her pillow, angry and hurt and conflicted as she was over everything that had happened in the Bennetts’ kitchen.

She is the only member of her family left to man the store by late afternoon, once her mum leaves with her sisters to begin preparing dinner and her dad has to start his evening shift at the factory. As closing time approaches, there’s only a mother and her young son left in the store. She is busy sweeping behind the counter as she listens to the boy beg his mother to buy him a packet of boiled sweets that’s caught his eye.

She has her back turned when she hears the telltale jingle of the bell above the door, signaling the entry of another customer. She sighs, hoping that whoever it is won’t take too long. If she’s lucky, they’ll have their shopping done before the mother manages to pull her son away from the candies and make her own purchases.

But when she hears a basket being placed on the counter behind her and turns to see the woman, she finally notices the other patron and her heart sinks.

Tom is milling about the store with his hands in his pockets, whistling softly to himself. Of course he knows that she’ll see him. But she prickles at the mere sight of him and almost forgets to ring up the woman’s groceries. As she punches the totals for each item into the till, she notices out of the corner of her eye that Tom keeps glancing at her. She hates that she can feel her cheeks grow redder each time he does.

“Thank you, missus. Come again,” she says with a tight smile once the woman pays. But her paltry attempt at a smile fades quickly as Tom steps up to the counter and places a can of peaches in front of her. She only looks at him for long enough to flash him a dirty look before she turns away to resume sweeping.

“Hey, you not gonna help me? I’m a paying customer.”

Cheeky arsehole.

“You’re allergic to peaches, Tom,” she says, barely glancing over her shoulder at him.

But she sees him extend a hand to slide the can a little bit closer using his fingertips. Scowling, she quickly rings up the purchase. No eye contact. No smile. The sooner she gets him out of here, the better.

“That’ll be 30p.” She speaks flatly above the ding of the till. “Would you like a bag?”

Tom’s eyes narrow and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Ooh, the service here isn’t very friendly, is it? Think I’m gonna have to speak to the owner.”

Usually, she would play along with this type of banter, but she isn’t in the mood for it today. She takes the money from him and gives him a receipt. “He isn’t here,” she says as she slams the till shut again.

“Good.” Tom leans on the counter with a wink and a smug grin that fails to elicit her usual giggle.

“We’re closed,” she says, taking her apron off and hanging it beside the others on the wall. “Thank you for your purchase, sir.”

“Sir?” Grinning crookedly, he raises his eyebrows and winces. Clearly the cut to his left brow is still painful. At least he’s made an attempt to bandage it himself after she stormed out last night. Though, maybe he got Lois to do it for him, since he can’t seem to do bloody anything for himself. She reckons he probably has a massive headache, too, though you’d never know it by the way he tends to mask his pain beneath his cheeky attitude.

Tom starts rolling the can of peaches back and forth across the counter, clearly uninterested in leaving. But there’s an air of discomfort emanating off of him. He glances down at his hands. His lips purse. He taps his foot on the laminate floor.

“Tom, I have to close the shop and get home for dinner,” she eventually says, stepping from behind the counter to tend to her remaining cleaning duties. She’s too busy and has too much to do for his nonsense tonight.

“Why do you think I came by now instead of earlier?”

“Because you sleep all day?”

The sound of the can rolling behind her stops. “I wanted to talk to you… and I knew you’d be here alone.”

“Well, congratulations. You’ve talked to me. You can go home now. Or to the pub or wherever else,” she says bitterly as she starts wiping down the counter beside him.

Tom’s hand catches hers, his long, slender fingers wrapping around it tightly. She looks down and sees the cuts on his knuckles from his pub fight and all the hurt of their argument the night before comes flooding back to her. But he doesn’t let her pull away.

“Please.”

Her lips part in surprise. She’s still upset with him. But that one word - the one she’s never heard him utter - sends the walls she’s built up crashing down.

“I’m sorry,” Tom continues, leaning in so his face is close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. “About what I said last night. How I treated you. I was completely out of order.” She can tell that he’s just smoked a cigarette before entering the shop, likely to calm his nerves. She’s never been allowed to smoke and never dared, even when they’re alone. But it means that she associates the smell with him. That, and the aftershave he uses. The one he’s never been able to afford and always knicks from the chemist.

“I… said some unkind things, too...” she admits softly. Despite his own hurtful remarks, she knows that she let her own anger and frustration get the better of her. But Tom shakes his head. He won’t let her apologize.

“Nah, you were just fed up with me. And how can I blame you?” His gaze falls. “Even I wouldn’t put up with me. But you? You’re heaven sent.”

She feels her heart flutter in her chest. It’s things like this that he says to her that always gets her hopes up, only to send her crashing down to earth again. But it’s so easy to fall for him… even if it hurts.

“You’re more mature than I’ll ever be,” Tom continues, looking almost guilty about it. It’s something else she’s never seen from him. Maybe Lois knocked some sense into him last night after hearing their row from upstairs. “I’ve never deserved you. And I especially don’t, now.”

His hand in the small of her back pulls her even closer despite his words.

“But I… just couldn’t go on, knowing I’d upset my girl.”

My girl. There it is again.

She turns her head away with a sigh. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that any more,” she grumbles.

“Why not?” He looks at her, confused.

She shrugs sadly, still avoiding his gaze. “Cause we aren’t kids any more and… I’m not your girl.”

Tom takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger to make her look at him again, his touch surprisingly gentle. “But you are my girl.” His thumb sweeps across her bottom lip. “Always have been… and always will be.”

She thinks she must be dreaming when he presses his lips to hers. It’s her first kiss. She knows he knows it is. It’s something he’s teased her about before, even offering to “borrow” the classroom rabbit to give her someone to kiss when they were about ten.

He’s gentle at first, but soon his tongue demands entry into her mouth as his arms wrap around her. Through her blouse, she can feel the warmth of his hands in the small of her back. She melts into him, embracing every millisecond of the kiss she’s waited so long for.

His hands move lower and she gasps against his lips. But before she can protest, he seamlessly lifts her by her bum and places her on the counter beside the till so they’re at eye level with one another. It feels such a delightfully forbidden, wicked thing to be here in this passionate embrace with him. Here, on this counter where she just sold apples and butter and flour to that young mother. Where her dad set the daily bunch of newspapers early this morning. Where she stands, day in and day out, serving customers with a sweet smile.

She’s dazed by the time Tom pulls back to let her breathe and, judging by the sly grin on his lips, he knows exactly what he’s done to her.

“Why do you think I’ve scared off any bloke who’s ever shown an interest in you?” he asks as his eyes study her lips, enjoying the way they look, kiss swollen and coated in his saliva. “Couldn’t have my girl dating anyone else.”

She blinks a few times while her brain struggles to formulate some kind of response. “Wh-- Then… why have you never asked me yourself?”

“It’s like I said.” He lifts a hand and tucks her hair behind her ear in an intimate, affectionate gesture. “I’ve never deserved you.”

She takes his hand in hers as his touch lingers at her cheek, pulling it to her lips to kiss his palm. “That’s not true, Tommy.”

Tom clicks his tongue, frowning. “Yeah... it is. But maybe I could. One day.”

He leans in to capture her lips once again and hers meet his as if drawn to him magnetically. They kiss again and again, hungrily, after being starved of one another for so many years. It’s head-dizzyingly wonderful and far surpasses anything she could have ever imagined.

“I wanna be better for you,” he murmurs, a promise breathed against her lips between kisses. “I’m sorry I haven’t been. I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

“Tommy…” She doesn’t want to hear any more of that, not right now. Right now, the hammering of her heart in her chest and the heat pooling between her legs tell her that all she wants is him.

The heaving of her chest only quickens as she feels his hands slowly move up her thighs, taking the hem of her pale blue skirt with them. Their eyes meet and, in his, she can see him wonder if she’d like him to stop. How could she, when she’s daydreamed about this exact moment? Touched herself more than a few times and pictured his face when she fell over the edge?

“Please, Tommy,” she whispers before claiming his lips once more.

His fingers find the waistband of her sheer tights and hook beneath it to slide them down along with her knickers. He goes painfully slowly, letting his fingertips enjoy the softness of her skin for the first time. The moment he finally rids her of the garments, he steps back in between her legs and buries a hand in her hair to hold her lips to his. The other finds its way beneath her skirt once again and his fingers soon run through the wetness between her legs.

Tom smiles against her lips and she feels her skin prickle.

“Bloody soaking…” he mumbles in amusement. But his fingers continue upward, knowing that they’ve found her bud when she lets out a stuttering gasp against his lips. He doesn’t tease her for long - only until she begins to whimper and squirm beneath his touch.

She’s left gasping when he pulls away entirely, suddenly feeling cold in the absence of his body pressed against hers. But she watches him drop to his knees in front of her and dip his head forward to begin lapping at her bud. She’s in shock at first as he pleasures her with his tongue, but soon a delicious warmth begins to build inside her.

She doesn’t even care that, given how expertly his tongue teases her, he’s probably done this to more than one girl before. Because he’s doing it to her. Right here. Right now. And she could die happy like this, with his head buried between her legs.

Tom grants her a momentary reprieve from the intensity of his attention at her bud when his head bobs forward and she feels him drag his tongue along her slick folds. Even better, she feels the soft hum that leaves him as he tastes her for the first time, a sound full of such wanton satisfaction that she knows she must taste like heaven to him.

But when his lips move upward again to close around her bud, suckling eagerly at it, she can no longer contain the moans she’s been choking back. Her hands grasp the edge of the counter tightly and her head falls back, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath she takes. Her back arches, seeking more of him - and Tom is eager to give.

The feeling of him pressing two fingers inside her is the beginning of her undoing. He curls them into her in rhythm with the movements of his lips and tongue, causing her body to tense and tremble as he sends her hurtling toward her peak. She feels her insides tighten unbearably before finally giving way, sending warmth tingling through her core and into every limb. His firm touch at her hips is the only thing tethering her to this earth. It allows her to fully let go. She melts into him and the unimaginably exquisite pleasure he has wrung from her.

And it’s his name that falls from her lips as she comes down again.

Tom stands, studying her carefully in the wake of her climax. Her knuckles are still white from gripping so desperately onto the counter. Her chest is rising and falling as she fights to catch her breath. Her body slowly relaxes again and her eyes open, only to see him watching her with a look of smug satisfaction glimmering in his eyes.

Grinning crookedly, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Cheeky arsehole, she thinks yet again. She might make that his new nickname from now on.

“Christ,” he says in a low, husky tone. His hands return to her thighs, slipping beneath her skirt once again to push it back up toward her hips. “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”

She feels her lower stomach flutter again. There is no response that she can form on her tongue after what he’s just done to her. She’s basking in a warm haze following her peak, like she’s been submerged into a hot spring in the valleys of paradise itself.

“But I’m not done apologizing yet.” Tom leans in and kisses her like she’s the only woman on Earth. She feels him smirk against her lips. “Unless you’ve forgiven me already and I can get out of your hair. Leave you to your chores.”

The sound that leaves her throat is somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. “Don’t go,” she begs, perhaps too enthusiastically. “I mean… you aren’t forgiven yet, Tom Bennett. You’re not going anywhere.”

His hands disappear from her hips. “Good.” She hears the clinking of his belt being undone and the zip of his trousers. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

“Me, too,” she breathes.

His eyes, with irises that are nearly black with desire, trace her every feature. This is far, far more than an apology; it is a culmination of years of unspoken attraction and longing and love. And it is love. He’s loved her all this time and she never saw it. Perhaps he’s felt the same. Left wondering and hoping that, maybe, she could love him, too. How naive they’ve both been.

“I’ll be gentle,” Tom whispers as the clefted tip of his nose brushes against hers. She’s so brimming with need for him that a helpless little whine leaves her at the feeling of his fingertips trailing up her thigh once again. “Couldn’t bear the thought of hurting my girl.”

His head dips into the crook of her neck and suddenly his mouth is ghosting over her skin, his nostrils taking in the smell of her. All that’s there is the powdery smell of her soap. She hasn’t worn any perfume today; she doesn’t even own any. Perfume is for young women who go dancing on the weekends and ladies of leisure who drive by in their fancy cars and wives who want to excite their husbands.

His lips finally find purchase on the delicate spot just below her jaw, where they can feel the soft fluttering of her pulse. It’s where he stays as she feels him brush the head of his exposed cock against her wet entrance before pushing inside. The sharp, initially painful stretch of his entry draws a squeak from her, but he is sure to go slowly for her. She squirms, so his hand moves past her hip to settle against the little dimples in her lower back, holding them together as he nestles completely inside her.

They still for a moment, the quiet calm of the empty shop disturbed only by their shared panting. Her, from the fullness she suddenly feels and him, from the tightness and heat that envelop his cock. She is unsure of when she had raised her hands to his shirt and balled the fabric in her fists, but she is certain that she’s ruined the perfectly crisp, clean ironing job that Lois did on it this morning.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tom pants, his breath hot on her skin.

“You, too.” Her own voice stutters across his temple.

The feeling of him beginning to move his hips against hers, of his cock cock sliding in and out of her, is so foreign to her. And yet, as Tom settles into a steady, gentle rhythm, she knows that this is how it should be. He is the only one she ever wants to feel like this, rocking into her with his arms enveloping her and his lips kissing her neck with lecherous hunger.

Through the shop windows, she sees people walking by on their way home for the night. If even one of them dared to look through the glass, they would see the two of them entwined in their passionate dance. The shop owner’s daughter and the neighborhood delinquent. What juicy gossip that would make.

She begins to meet each one of his thrusts with ragged, needy gasps, her hand snaking around his shoulder until it comes to rest at the nape of his neck. Her fingers dig into his skin and she feels him groan roughly against her throat in between his desperate pants and soft grunts of effort. He’s hitting that spot inside her that his fingers had curled against moments ago, but with the force of his hips driving into hers, it elicits a feeling that is entirely more exquisite.

“Tommy–” she sighs, her thighs beginning to tremble as warm pleasure begins to build inside her. “Tommy, kiss me.”

Not a single second passes before he follows her command, his lips crashing against hers like he will never kiss her again. If possible, they hold one another tighter as their ascent begins. His hand at her lower back tightens almost painfully against her skin. She’s thankful that it’s a spot that will be covered by her clothing come tomorrow. The spots on her neck that he has kissed and sucked at will be a different story.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Tom breathes against her lips, his voice strained with effort. “Say it.”

It’s then that she knows she’s found heaven with him. At first, all that comes from is a soft, impassioned moan that hums against his lips. But as that moan gives way to more desperate sounds of pleasure, rising and rising and rising in pitch as his thrusts continue to bring her closer to the edge, she manages to utter the two words he wants to hear most.

“I’m yours.”

His movements speed up as they begin to crest that hill together, her soft assurance all he needed to reach his peak with her. As his breathing grows heavier and his body begins to stiffen against her, she feels the wave of pleasure crash over her. It sweeps her away, causing her walls to flutter and clench around his cock just as they had his fingers earlier. And he finds his own release, spilling himself inside her with one final thrust of his hips.

The air around them fills with their muffled, broken moans and heavy panting as the last bits of pleasure dissipate and they are left, arms still wrapped around one another with little intention of letting go. And once the sounds of their coupling die down once again, the silence of the shop is interrupted only by the occasional blaring of car horns outside.

Her nose nuzzles against his cheek, feeling the soft warmth of his skin. She feels his eyelashes brush against her brow as his eyes open once again, his gaze entirely different than it had been mere moments ago. And it’s one she’s never seen from him otherwise.

His eyes, now back to their usual blue, hold in them tenderness, vulnerability, devotion. It’s a look she’s seen the couples in romance films give one another when they’re just about to profess their love for one another. Love.

Tom kisses her one more time, not out of desire or passion, but with such affection that she feels her head spin. And her smile is all he needs to know that all is forgiven.

“My girl,” he whispers.

#comment reblogs

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scribendis · 2 years ago

Note

Thank you for your recommendation! I'm glad you liked my Tommy fic so much! 💖

📖 Fic rec time! When you get this, reply with three fics that you've read and loved to pieces, then pass on to at least five other people who read fics. Let’s appreciate fic writers and their amazing stories 💖

The first day of Tom Bennett-mas feels like a perfect time for Erin's Favorite Tom Bennett Fanfics: Electric Tommy Boogaloo~ And I can't just pick three, so here are five:

Mechanic Tom by @mypoisonedvine

If I Didn't Care by @scribendis

Something Borrowed + the entirety of Best Intentions by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Tell Me You Missed Me by @adragonprinceswhore

To Be Strangers by @helaelaemond

#i don't even know how to tag this!#lovely tumblr users

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed this!

Daemon giving his wife what she deserves is just *chef's kiss*

𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚

Daemon Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, profanity, these two are SO horny, dirty talk, p in v sex, size kink ish, breeding kink ish, just a little bit of throat grabbing Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~5,100

A/N: I hope all my Daemon girls out there enjoy! This one's dedicated to you! Also, this is barely proofread and not beta'd. Lordy help me. Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link | Wattpad link

Mini HV glossary for ~future reference: ābrazȳrītsos - little wife ñuha dōna - my sweet issa - yes

“Will you not welcome the prince home from war, my lady?”

Her fear washed off of her just as quickly as it had come. Heaving a sigh, she smiled. “Daemon.”

“Gods, you scared me,” she continued. If he could only feel the way her heart was racing in her breast at his little stunt.

“She is.”

“Should you not be with the king?” she murmured against his lips but felt him smirk.

“You heard what I told my brother,” Daemon continued, his breath feather soft and warm on her cheek. “About the title they bestowed upon me in the Stepstones.”

“King of the Narrow Sea,” she whispered, feeling her mouth go dry as she watched the violet of his eyes become consumed by black. “But… you gave your crown to His Grace.”

Daemon clicked his tongue as he would in disappointment at a child. “Would my wife not have me be her king?”

“She would.” Her reply came out hoarsely, which only made the wicked smile on his lips widen further.

She swallowed hard. “Queen of… of rocks and crabs and sand,” she said in jest, a paltry attempt at distracting herself from the now unbearable ache between her thighs.

And he was even worse for withdrawing from her completely and regarding her with a saccharine grin, though the dark lustfulness in his eyes belied his sudden pleasantry.

“Seven hells, Daemon,” she sighed.

“Do you require assistance with that, ābrazȳrītsos?”

Her eyes fell closed as she felt his lips move downward to press to her neck. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His words were a soft hum against her skin. “I have something to give you.”

“Open.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful…” she breathed. The smile that lit up her features elicited one of his own. “This is what kept you, isn’t it?”

A look of pride flashed in his eyes. “My queen deserved a crown.”

“Then wear it for me,” he crooned, slowly smoothing his hands along the warm skin of her exposed shoulders. “And nothing else.”

She couldn’t bear it any longer or deny her burning need for him. He could ask anything of her and she would submit. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it.

“How… how do you say ‘queen’ in High Valyrian?” Her voice was but a breath, trembling and full of lasciviousness.

Daemon smiled crookedly. “Dāria.” His thumb brushed across the spot on her neck where he could feel her hammering pulse, just as it had earlier. “Ñuha dāria.”

She knew enough of his mother tongue to know what that meant.

My queen.

“And ‘king?’” Her throat felt painfully dry, now.

He leaned forward, his gaze reflecting a mixture of playfulness and possessiveness. “Dārys.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“Ñuha dārys.”

“...take advantage.”

“My poor little wife,” he rasped, “left without a husband to fill her all this time.”

Her lips curled into a sly grin that she knew he could feel against his lips. “Perhaps I have taken a lover in your absence.”

“O-on the contrary,” she managed, dotting her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. “I have had to pleasure myself.”

“Please.” Her voice, though barely a whisper, was heavy with want.

“Issa, ñuha dāria.”

It would not be the gods that would make her cum tonight; it would be him.

But he would not let her go until it consumed them both.

“Cum with me,” she gasped against his lips. He would have kept going, brought her to another peak before finishing, but her soft plea was enough to end him, too.

“Fuck…” he groaned, thrusting into her one final time as he spilled himself inside her.

“Do not think that I am finished with you, ñuha dāria.”

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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Thank you! c: The Daemon girls deserved a good dicking down 🤭

𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚

Daemon Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, profanity, these two are SO horny, dirty talk, p in v sex, size kink ish, breeding kink ish, just a little bit of throat grabbing Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: 5,100+

A/N: I hope all my Daemon girls out there enjoy! This one's dedicated to you! Also, this is barely proofread and not beta'd. Lord help me. Dividers by @saradika

Mini HV glossary for ~future reference: ābrazȳrītsos - little wife ñuha dōna - my sweet issa - yes

“Will you not welcome the prince home from war, my lady?”

Her fear washed off of her just as quickly as it had come. Heaving a sigh, she smiled. “Daemon.”

“Gods, you scared me,” she continued. If he could only feel the way her heart was racing in her breast at his little stunt.

“She is.”

“Should you not be with the king?” she murmured against his lips but felt him smirk.

“You heard what I told my brother,” Daemon continued, his breath feather soft and warm on her cheek. “About the title they bestowed upon me in the Stepstones.”

“King of the Narrow Sea,” she whispered, feeling her mouth go dry as she watched the violet of his eyes become consumed by black. “But… you gave your crown to His Grace.”

Daemon clicked his tongue as he would in disappointment at a child. “Would my wife not have me be her king?”

“She would.” Her reply came out hoarsely, which only made the wicked smile on his lips widen further.

She swallowed hard. “Queen of… of rocks and crabs and sand,” she said in jest, a paltry attempt at distracting herself from the now unbearable ache between her thighs.

And he was even worse for withdrawing from her completely and regarding her with a saccharine grin, though the dark lustfulness in his eyes belied his sudden pleasantry.

“Seven hells, Daemon,” she sighed.

“Do you require assistance with that, ābrazȳrītsos?”

Her eyes fell closed as she felt his lips move downward to press to her neck. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His words were a soft hum against her skin. “I have something to give you.”

“Open.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful…” she breathed. The smile that lit up her features elicited one of his own. “This is what kept you, isn’t it?”

A look of pride flashed in his eyes. “My queen deserved a crown.”

“Then wear it for me,” he crooned, slowly smoothing his hands along the warm skin of her exposed shoulders. “And nothing else.”

She couldn’t bear it any longer or deny her burning need for him. He could ask anything of her and she would submit. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it.

“How… how do you say ‘queen’ in High Valyrian?” Her voice was but a breath, trembling and full of lasciviousness.

Daemon smiled crookedly. “Dāria.” His thumb brushed across the spot on her neck where he could feel her hammering pulse, just as it had earlier. “Ñuha dāria.”

She knew enough of his mother tongue to know what that meant.

My queen.

“And ‘king?’” Her throat felt painfully dry, now.

He leaned forward, his gaze reflecting a mixture of playfulness and possessiveness. “Dārys.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“Ñuha dārys.”

“...take advantage.”

“My poor little wife,” he rasped, “left without a husband to fill her all this time.”

Her lips curled into a sly grin that she knew he could feel against his lips. “Perhaps I have taken a lover in your absence.”

“O-on the contrary,” she managed, dotting her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. “I have had to pleasure myself.”

“Please.” Her voice, though barely a whisper, was heavy with want.

“Issa, ñuha dāria.”

It would not be the gods that would make her cum tonight; it would be him.

But he would not let her go until it consumed them both.

“Cum with me,” she gasped against his lips. He would have kept going, brought her to another peak before finishing, but her soft plea was enough to end him, too.

“Fuck…” he groaned, thrusting into her one final time as he spilled himself inside her.

“Do not think that I am finished with you, ñuha dāria.”

#comment reblogs

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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Hey all! I've been very, very slowly making progress on a couple of WIPs from my list. The first was already in my WIPs but just so happens to be perfect for the @hotd-bigbang winter prompts challenge, so I'm really excited about that! The second weaseled its way into my brain recently and may completely shatter my heart into a million pieces by the time I finish it.

❖ 𝐮𝐩��𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ⏤

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 — Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader ❖ Upon returning to camp from a hunt, Aemond seeks out his new wife for some much needed alone time in the forest. (smut)

𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮 — Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) x Sweetheart!Reader ❖ When Billy's former sweetheart is killed in the Blitz, a familiar face appears to accompany her to the other side. (angst, fluff)

#fic updates #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fics

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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Hello! We are back with another fandom challenge. To celebrate the arrival of Winter, this quarter's creation event will be inspired by keywords for the season.

December 4th - Fire | Furs | Forest

December 11th - tbc

December 18th - tbc

December 25th - tbc

What is this?

To inspire people's creativity we host a month long prompt event once a quarter. Each week a prompt will be posted and creatives can use it for inspiration for fics, gifs, artwork - anything you'd like to make!

Please make sure you tag @hotd-bigbang and use the tag "hotd winter prompts 23" to ensure we can find your creations and reblog them.

You do not have to use all three words for your creation - use as few or as many as inspire you. You don't have to participate every week - choose as many as you'd like, and there's no hard deadline - i.e. if by December 11th, you've not created anything for December 4th's prompt, you can still create for that prompt if you'd like to. However, we will be making a round-up post on January 15th for all creations, so if you miss this date then your work will not make it onto the list.

All are welcome to participate. Please don't hesitate to send an ask if you have questions.

Happy creating!

#hotd big bang #wow! guess I'm bumping up my Aemond/wife reader smutty rendezvous in the woods to this week!

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚

Daemon Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, profanity, these two are SO horny, dirty talk, p in v sex, size kink ish, breeding kink ish, just a little bit of throat grabbing Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~5,100

A/N: I hope all my Daemon girls out there enjoy! This one's dedicated to you! Also, this is barely proofread and not beta'd. Lordy help me. Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link | Wattpad link

Mini HV glossary for ~future reference: ābrazȳrītsos - little wife ñuha dōna - my sweet issa - yes

“Will you not welcome the prince home from war, my lady?”

Her fear washed off of her just as quickly as it had come. Heaving a sigh, she smiled. “Daemon.”

“Gods, you scared me,” she continued. If he could only feel the way her heart was racing in her breast at his little stunt.

“She is.”

“Should you not be with the king?” she murmured against his lips but felt him smirk.

“You heard what I told my brother,” Daemon continued, his breath feather soft and warm on her cheek. “About the title they bestowed upon me in the Stepstones.”

“King of the Narrow Sea,” she whispered, feeling her mouth go dry as she watched the violet of his eyes become consumed by black. “But… you gave your crown to His Grace.”

Daemon clicked his tongue as he would in disappointment at a child. “Would my wife not have me be her king?”

“She would.” Her reply came out hoarsely, which only made the wicked smile on his lips widen further.

She swallowed hard. “Queen of… of rocks and crabs and sand,” she said in jest, a paltry attempt at distracting herself from the now unbearable ache between her thighs.

And he was even worse for withdrawing from her completely and regarding her with a saccharine grin, though the dark lustfulness in his eyes belied his sudden pleasantry.

“Seven hells, Daemon,” she sighed.

“Do you require assistance with that, ābrazȳrītsos?”

Her eyes fell closed as she felt his lips move downward to press to her neck. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His words were a soft hum against her skin. “I have something to give you.”

“Open.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful…” she breathed. The smile that lit up her features elicited one of his own. “This is what kept you, isn’t it?”

A look of pride flashed in his eyes. “My queen deserved a crown.”

“Then wear it for me,” he crooned, slowly smoothing his hands along the warm skin of her exposed shoulders. “And nothing else.”

She couldn’t bear it any longer or deny her burning need for him. He could ask anything of her and she would submit. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it.

“How… how do you say ‘queen’ in High Valyrian?” Her voice was but a breath, trembling and full of lasciviousness.

Daemon smiled crookedly. “Dāria.” His thumb brushed across the spot on her neck where he could feel her hammering pulse, just as it had earlier. “Ñuha dāria.”

She knew enough of his mother tongue to know what that meant.

My queen.

“And ‘king?’” Her throat felt painfully dry, now.

He leaned forward, his gaze reflecting a mixture of playfulness and possessiveness. “Dārys.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“Ñuha dārys.”

“...take advantage.”

“My poor little wife,” he rasped, “left without a husband to fill her all this time.”

Her lips curled into a sly grin that she knew he could feel against his lips. “Perhaps I have taken a lover in your absence.”

“O-on the contrary,” she managed, dotting her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. “I have had to pleasure myself.”

“Please.” Her voice, though barely a whisper, was heavy with want.

“Issa, ñuha dāria.”

It would not be the gods that would make her cum tonight; it would be him.

But he would not let her go until it consumed them both.

“Cum with me,” she gasped against his lips. He would have kept going, brought her to another peak before finishing, but her soft plea was enough to end him, too.

“Fuck…” he groaned, thrusting into her one final time as he spilled himself inside her.

“Do not think that I am finished with you, ñuha dāria.”

#AAAHHH DAEMON IN THE TRAILER BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE #self reblog #got too excited and deleted my other self reblog oops

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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❖ UPDATE: the fic is now available here!!! ❖

It's been a positively hellish week for me, so writing on my Daemon x Wife!Reader oneshot - 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚 - has been much slower than I would have liked. Buuut... here is a little (unedited, bleh) snippet of the fic to tide everyone over?

❖ TW for mentions of smut (lol it's a smut fic, sooo)

It was no wonder that Daemon made certain that she fulfilled her wifely duties as soon as they were wed. He was barely able to make it through their wedding feast without whisking her away to finally claim her. But that night, he ensured that the entire Red Keep knew exactly whose wife she was. In those first days of their marriage, she felt that she hardly left their marriage bed. When her presence was required at court, she walked with such an ache in her thighs and between her legs that she wished she could lounge about in bed all day. Each morning, without fail, their shared quarters still held the warm, musky scent of their coupling from the night before. It lingered on the sheets and on her skin throughout the day, only encouraging her husband’s desires anew once he returned to her side.

#fic updates

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚

Daemon Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, profanity, these two are SO horny, dirty talk, p in v sex, size kink ish, breeding kink ish, just a little bit of throat grabbing Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~5,100

A/N: I hope all my Daemon girls out there enjoy! This one's dedicated to you! Also, this is barely proofread and not beta'd. Lordy help me. Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link | Wattpad link

Mini HV glossary for ~future reference: ābrazȳrītsos - little wife ñuha dōna - my sweet issa - yes

“Will you not welcome the prince home from war, my lady?”

Her fear washed off of her just as quickly as it had come. Heaving a sigh, she smiled. “Daemon.”

“Gods, you scared me,” she continued. If he could only feel the way her heart was racing in her breast at his little stunt.

“She is.”

“Should you not be with the king?” she murmured against his lips but felt him smirk.

“You heard what I told my brother,” Daemon continued, his breath feather soft and warm on her cheek. “About the title they bestowed upon me in the Stepstones.”

“King of the Narrow Sea,” she whispered, feeling her mouth go dry as she watched the violet of his eyes become consumed by black. “But… you gave your crown to His Grace.”

Daemon clicked his tongue as he would in disappointment at a child. “Would my wife not have me be her king?”

“She would.” Her reply came out hoarsely, which only made the wicked smile on his lips widen further.

She swallowed hard. “Queen of… of rocks and crabs and sand,” she said in jest, a paltry attempt at distracting herself from the now unbearable ache between her thighs.

And he was even worse for withdrawing from her completely and regarding her with a saccharine grin, though the dark lustfulness in his eyes belied his sudden pleasantry.

“Seven hells, Daemon,” she sighed.

“Do you require assistance with that, ābrazȳrītsos?”

Her eyes fell closed as she felt his lips move downward to press to her neck. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His words were a soft hum against her skin. “I have something to give you.”

“Open.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful…” she breathed. The smile that lit up her features elicited one of his own. “This is what kept you, isn’t it?”

A look of pride flashed in his eyes. “My queen deserved a crown.”

“Then wear it for me,” he crooned, slowly smoothing his hands along the warm skin of her exposed shoulders. “And nothing else.”

She couldn’t bear it any longer or deny her burning need for him. He could ask anything of her and she would submit. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it.

“How… how do you say ‘queen’ in High Valyrian?” Her voice was but a breath, trembling and full of lasciviousness.

Daemon smiled crookedly. “Dāria.” His thumb brushed across the spot on her neck where he could feel her hammering pulse, just as it had earlier. “Ñuha dāria.”

She knew enough of his mother tongue to know what that meant.

My queen.

“And ‘king?’” Her throat felt painfully dry, now.

He leaned forward, his gaze reflecting a mixture of playfulness and possessiveness. “Dārys.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“Ñuha dārys.”

“...take advantage.”

“My poor little wife,” he rasped, “left without a husband to fill her all this time.”

Her lips curled into a sly grin that she knew he could feel against his lips. “Perhaps I have taken a lover in your absence.”

“O-on the contrary,” she managed, dotting her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. “I have had to pleasure myself.”

“Please.” Her voice, though barely a whisper, was heavy with want.

“Issa, ñuha dāria.”

It would not be the gods that would make her cum tonight; it would be him.

But he would not let her go until it consumed them both.

“Cum with me,” she gasped against his lips. He would have kept going, brought her to another peak before finishing, but her soft plea was enough to end him, too.

“Fuck…” he groaned, thrusting into her one final time as he spilled himself inside her.

“Do not think that I am finished with you, ñuha dāria.”

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scribendis · 2 years ago

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Shout-out to fan-fiction writers who don’t or can’t write the 50k fan-fictions, because of a lack of focus or motivation, or mental illness.

Shout-out to fan-fiction writers who don’t or can’t write smut, but are still lumped into a group that is almost expected to write smut.

Shout-out to fan-fiction writers who can’t update chapters frequently for maybe a multitude of reasons, and get messages daily from people asking for “their” new chapter.

Shout-out to fan-fiction writers who aren’t big name fans and hardly get ten kudos or one comment on their fan-fictions.

Shout-out to fan-fiction writers who stay up all night editing and rewriting and don’t get much attention on their work no matter how much they feel like they promote their writing.

Shout-out to fan-fiction writers who don’t write a lot and are constantly asked to write more but can’t for whatever valid reason they have.

Shout-out to fan-fiction writers who have the courage to post their writing online and only have it publicly made fun of for grammar or poor characterization.

Shout-out to fan-fiction writers for writing their fan-fiction, posting it online, and continuing to do it no matter how much or little attention they get, and constantly improving as a writer with every upload.

You all rock.

#writing positivity c:

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