#A Brazen Crown

[ogrillion]

It’s on the front page! 😃

[skxrbrand]

Chaos is stubborn and invasive, a weed fit only to be plucked. It spares neither flesh nor stone nor timber...nor metal. And though the Bloodthirster knows it not, the curiously un-melted crown on his horn is...different. Suffused with fury of Khorne, laced with red lines of fell energy.

No longer gold, but brass.

[dreammfyre]

the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of the marriage between your mother Rhaenyra Targaryen and your father Daemon Targaryen. Always the most rebellious and difficult of all, temperamental, impulsive. However, weak before the temptation to possess your older brother, the crown prince Jacaerys Velaryon, a knight par excellence, the opposite of you. But no one in Dragonstone imagined that you shared much more than dragon's blood.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister). Jacaerys aggressive and dominant. Smut. Based on the second season of House Of the Dragon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This was a suggestion left anonymously in the messages, so I invite you to leave yours. Thanks for reading.

The empty room was so quiet that you could feel your thoughts could be heard all over the place. The full moon illuminated the dark sky, standing out against the stars that night where everyone was resting in their chambers, but you were unable to lie in your bed, much less fall asleep without having nightmares. The Stone Table was where everyone met daily to discuss strategies for the war that was being unleashed in Westeros, but now that empty place was strange, so much silence and loneliness. The extinguished embers did not illuminate the tabletop, you touched the stone expecting to burn, however, it was totally cold.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice entered the place. You turned immediately finding Prince Jacaerys, your older brother and heir to your mother's throne. "Sister... it's very late."

"I know, you should be resting." You replied walking towards him.

"It's a bit complex lately." He took the luxury of joking, in response you smiled without much encouragement. "May I know what you're doing here?"

"Not much. Seems to me you're not the only one who doesn't get any rest." You lifted your shoulders casually. "Any news on your rounds?"

Jacaerys shook his head in disappointment, pacing around the table resting his hands on the handle of his sword without taking his eyes off you, analyzing your presence carefully, as if silently judging you. You rested your hands on the stone of the table relaxing your body on your arms, but your head couldn't stop scheming hundreds of thoughts and bloody imaginary scenarios regarding the war.

"Cole's army is getting bigger and bigger and we don't have a damn clue about anything." You said with a tense jaw. "And about my father..." you sighed deeply without looking your brother in the face "no word from him for days."

"That's not your fault." Jace tried to make you feel better with repeated kind words, but your guilt was growing and the anguish of the approaching war wouldn't leave you alone. "Daemon is not the priority."

"That idiot should be here, on the island, with his queen and his children." You whispered angrily. Then you looked up resolute in your decision. "I'll go see him tomorrow."

That didn't sit well with your brother.

"Don't talk nonsense, Visenya." The heir scoffed. "You can't go to Harrenhal alone, it's too dangerous and we don't know if the way is clear."

"You think I'll arrive by land alongside Daemon's imaginary army?" you sneered in the same condescending manner, a brazen gesture that made Jacaerys' blood boil. "I will ride Vermithor's back at dawn and arrive before the sun peaks. I will return the same day with news before the queen."

"That's a lousy idea!" Your brother exclaimed angrily. Grabbing your arm with brute force, forcing you to look him. "How can you even think of traveling alone to lands we don't know if they are enemies or allies?"

"We need to move fast before they come for us, Jacaerys." You squirmed under his grip feeling his fingers bury into your pale skin. "Do you intend to wait for my father to return?" you managed to break free from his grip with difficulty, Jacaerys ran a hand through his wavy hair desperate not to talk sense into you. "Because you may take a seat, I will not be accompanying you."

"Visenya, please understand the magnitude of your stupidity." He begged, chasing you from side to side. Your brother knew how impulsive you were, and how hard it was for you to get an idea out of your head, no matter if it was good or bad and in this case it was a rather dangerous one. "What happens if you cross paths with Vhagar in the skies?" The prince raised his voice to you demanding and imperative trying to intimidate you, anyone passing nearby could overhear your discussion. You turned your back to him, you didn't want to look him in the face out of embarrassment because deep down you knew his words were true. "You have no business there!"

"I have no business here either!" you exclaimed with the same intensity. You were temperamental by nature and now you were blowing off steam. "I'm tired of staying cooped up on the island, waiting for others to figure things out! I'm a dragon rider, and I'm constrained by these walls."

Your brother understood that feeling better than anyone, he grabbed you by both cheeks, covering your face with his firm hands.

"I know how you feel, Visenya. Believe me, but walking out at the first impulse is not the solution, don't you understand?" You put your hands over his, looking at him intently. You wanted to nod to answer him the question he asked you, but you were mesmerized in his nearness and his breath hitting your face. "Stay here, with us." He watched you carefully without letting go, losing himself in the sense of his pleas to look at you closely, you were so beautiful in any light no matter how dim, a Targaryen through and through with bright, intense violet eyes of long white hair like your parents. Jacaerys couldn't help but stare at you, the half-open lips tempting him to taste you, trying not to lose what little composure he had left. "With me."

You possessed the ethereal beauty of your mother and the complex character of your father, Daemon Targaryen. Under your little ethics and impulsiveness you did not think if it was a coherent idea and you threw yourself to kiss the thick lips of your brother who reciprocated instantly, none of them reasoned, they only moved to the rhythm of the kiss where their moist lips brushed anxiously. Your brother's hand on your waist took you by surprise, more so when he pressed you against his body bumping you against his chest and cornering you against the table.

"Go to sleep." Jace scolded you making an attempt to stop kissing you, but you kept reaching for him. "This isn't a good place."

With a smile you ignored knowing the only way to stop the situation was for you to go to your quarters and you didn't feel like leaving. You grabbed her hair tangling your fingers in her chestnut curls, Jacaerys strength intimidated you, but it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Don't go to Harrenhal." He pleaded leaving kisses on your neck, tracing a wet path over your skin taking advantage of inhaling your scent. "Do it and I promise I will warm your bed every night."

You felt a shiver run down your back at his offering, Jacaerys kept leaving kisses until he reached your collarbones uncovered by the neckline of your dress. His warm lips made your heart beat faster, you grabbed him by the face stopping him.

"Would you do that for me?" you asked with dangerous innocence, watching his glossy swollen lips.

"Do you really doubt it?" he answered against your ear, then brushed his nose against yours slowly, you left a short kiss on his lips almost by instinct, so tender and unexpected that you heard a laugh come out of the prince.

"I'll think about it." You whispered touching his chest, playing with the textures of the fabrics, his agitated breathing gave him away, having you close was a personal challenge for the prince. It was a lie, you weren't going to think about it, you just wanted to give him what he needed to hear to stay with you.

Jacaerys' big hands began to take hold of your body squeezing you tightly making you gasp, then you lifted your chin giving him access to your neck, the kisses there unsettled you in a special way and only your brother knew it, taking advantage of your weakness, listening closely to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his breath was much better. Everything about him you liked, and you were missing him lately. The pressure and uncertainty of the war had taken your head elsewhere, you had abandoned each other for valid reasons, but at that second you just wanted to give yourself to him one more time.

You stood on your tiptoes to gain a little more height reaching for his ear, your brother tensed at the delicate touch of your hot tongue against his lobe, you licked delicately knowing that it turned him on, he confessed it to you one night and you never forgot it. A deep moan of satisfaction came from his throat, then carefully, you lowered one of your hands straight down to his pants, positioning yourself over his hard member that was pressing against the fabric.

"This is not the best place." Begged the prince resting his forehead on your shoulder. "We are in a sacred place, you know?"

You cared little for his insistence or decency when you only wanted to shout his name, though you knew Jacaerys was asking you to stop for the sake of not failing in duty, not because the desire wasn't there. No one understood the reason why Rhaenyra did not cancel the stupid engagement between Lady Baela and the right Jacaerys, no one could deny that they could become blameless kings for the history of Westeros, but there would never be the tension and burning desire throbbing as when the fire was unleashed between you. That first time with a taste of sin, you begging him not to stop, that it was going to become a one-time secret that his parents would never find out, a secret they couldn't help but repeat between your sheets and his, in the hallways and in the library.

Desperate, your brother lifted the skirt of your dress with your help by grabbing your leg and pulling it up to his waist. The mere contact made you moan from the pleasure, you clamped your mouth shut to keep from making noise, you were too sensitive and needy and Jacaerys liked to have you under his control. You were always sarcastic, upset and nasty, just like your dragon, but Jacaerys Velaryon knew how to control you.

"What are you going to do if someone finds out about us?" You asked with bated breath. Deep down it was important to keep the secret guarded to keep it. Jacaerys' fingers stroking between your legs making you jump, clinging to the heir's neck and leaning against the table. "What are they going to say when they find out the crown prince fucking his sister."

His fingers slowly moved up and down, playing with your slimy wetness between his fingers. The mischievous grin on the chestnut's face only reflected the satisfaction of having managed to have you like this, so submissive to him.

"Does it scare you?" he whispered against your moaning lips. With his other hand he gripped the back of your neck tightly, so you wouldn't move. "They're going to find out you're my spoiled sister." Two of his long fingers began to search for the perfect place to insert themselves into you. You stirred under his grip settling in for him, your desperate breathing needing him to finish his work, but he seemed very calm provoking you with his words. "Do you know what they'll call you?" he bit your lip, pulling it towards him. "The heir's whore." His fingers slipped inside you so easily, sliding into your wet insides gushing moans from your chest as you felt him move in and out of you. Jacaerys took your leg his free hand clutching his fingers to your thigh preventing you from closing before him.

At the first loud moan you covered your mouth immediately knowing you were attracting attention, the sensation between your legs was stronger. You squeezed your brother's shoulder getting used to the movement of his fingers inside you.

"Don't yell." He ordered uncompromisingly. He had to kiss you to shut you up, which served you a few short minutes. You were losing your mind, your legs wanted to close but Jace put his foot down to stop that from happening.

"Jacaerys." His name on your lips excited him more than anything else, for it was the tone of desperation that mirrored your desire. To know that he controlled you and you were under his dominion with how arrogant you were, that no knight owned you, that everyone desired you for being Rhaenyra's spoiled daughter, but you were his, no matter an arranged marriage or duty was enough. "Mmh." You ran your hand over your face, desperate to keep silent fighting against your body that was beginning to tremble as his fingers went faster.

But for an ego like Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's it wasn't enough. Listening to you enjoy yourself on the Stone Table where every day they met to discuss war strategies was the most satisfying image to his eyes and he was not going to be able to forget it. The way you moved, dragon-like, the sweetest and most desperate noises came from you, none of the whores he had been with compared to the delicacy of a pureblood Targaryen. A unique and unrepeatable privilege.

When your breathing became erratic and the murmurs incomprehensible swearing you were going to reach that peak, Jacaerys came to a screeching halt chastising you. You opened your eyes in disappointment and fury, your heart leaping out of your chest and your legs damp and trembling.

"Be a good sister," he stroked your cheek with the gentleness you deserve to be treated with. You were trying to listen to him but you were so upset you just wanted to insult him for doing that to you. "Turn around."

Your hair stood up at his tone of voice demanding and conciliatory at the same time. As obedient as ever, just for him, you turned your back to him as the prince busied himself with pulling down his pants that were pressing against the erection he was trying to contain. Your heart wouldn't stop pounding, you could still feel his long fingers inside you and the wait, however minimal, was becoming eternal and torturous. You looked sideways at the entrances of the place without finding anyone, but the truth is that you didn't care if at that moment the queen arrived and found them like that, the euphoria and adrenaline was taking over your body and your reason, the overflowing desire had taken your actions. You felt Jace's hands sneaking up your skirt, careful where to touch, looking for just the right position to enter. He stood behind you, your dress pulled up over your back, the mere touch made you moan. You were so wet it was slipping from your entrance.

"Don't say anything." He told you and you nodded, you were capable of begging if necessary, though deep down you knew he enjoyed it making you obey. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

You closed your eyes as you felt Jacaerys slowly push behind you. You took a breath and tried to relax, you both moaned slowly, the prince tensed his jaw and clenched his teeth to keep from making noise, he stayed still for a few seconds searching for your hips digging his fingers into your skin trapping you in that position, moving you back and forth to better thrust. The rubbing of his member on your walls felt warm and wet, an invasion of your body, you were so used to his size that the sensation became familiar, literally. Some of the pieces of stone you unintentionally threw away, that was going to be a problem for later, because now the noise of their bodies colliding was beginning to consume you. The control he had over you didn't bother you, he gripped you tightly taking over everything. Her hips moved with yours instinctively in a delicious back and forth.

"Like this." You gasped with closed eyes and a satisfied expression. You reached for his hand under your dress and clung to him as tightly as Jace clung to you.

His length pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace, but this time, Jacaerys made sure each thrust was deep by ramming his pelvis into your buttocks.

"What a pleasure to meet again, don't you think?" his question was punctuated by your same panting without stopping moving. You weren't able to answer, your high-pitched moans were getting louder and louder, putting both of you at risk. On the other hand, he was breathing heavily. You had to cover your mouth with your hand, biting your palm to stifle your own moans of pleasure at having him inside you.

You started to stir but you were trapped in his hands, he knew you well enough to know what to do, you turned to look at him finding the heir ramming you with force and speed, his hair fell in curls that moved to the rhythm of his rhythm, when their gazes met for a second he stared at you, your face sweating, your eyes bright with a frown of supplication and red cheeks were enough to have no mercy. Your entrance was tightening at the same time you couldn't breathe, that feeling of a wave invading your insides begging for more desperate to reach orgasm. Jacaerys took your with one hand your waist and with the other your hip, encasing his fingers preventing you from escaping, you were in this together and you had to finish it.

You moved your arm and disarranged the pieces on the board. Now you could hear your brother moaning, cursing you for being his undoing and the greatest of his sins, making you his own feeling the power to mark you and deflower you breaking any tradition that governs the Targaryen nobility. It felt so good that you could confess your love to him just so he wouldn't stop. Luckily for both of you, he didn't stop, the rapid movements and the pressure forming in your lower stomach was getting out of control, the noise intensifying from the collision of your bodies and your knees seemed to lose any kind of strength to hold you up, luckily the table was there to support your body, plus your brother who wasn't going to let you fall. Until you couldn't manage to resist anymore, your orgasm came first like a shiver throughout your body, you closed your eyes tightly and watching you exclaim his name in screams of pleasure ended the infinite torture of the heir that took a few seconds to wait.

"Shit." Your voice hopefully came out of your dry mouth. You had your chest against the weight crushing your breasts, one of your hands intertwined with your brother's who was rebounding behind you.

You both took a second to take a breath and assimilate what you had just done, you had promised not to fall into carnal sin again and that's why the last time was several months ago. You leaned on the table with both hands coming back into yourself with your chest heaving, your brother's hands were still in the same place but he was no longer squeezing you with the same possessive intensity. Your hair was falling on both sides, tousled from the movement and your legs were begging you for a rest.

Jacaerys caught his breath, but his heart had not calmed down at all. His body was still experiencing those chills and that unique tension, he took a step backwards out of your body to get dressed. You immediately felt the fluid trickle down the inside of your thighs, dripping slowly down your hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Jace asked pulling up his pants, his movements a little uncontrolled as the adrenaline was still pumping. You nodded fixing your wrinkled dress. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you both knew what it was, that meant you would have to have tea the next morning.

"Looks like I'll be staying."

Your older brother smiled, fixed his hair pulling it back and moving closer to kiss you again, this time slower and softer, trapping your lips with his so slowly that you relaxed. You took his face kissing him again, his scent, his warmth, his bearing that forced you to lift your chin to reach your mouth, the softness of his lips, it was the most comforting sensation you knew.

"Go rest." He whispered without opening his eyes. Tidying your hair behind your ear.

"Okay." You replied in the same tone, so obedient and submissive before him, kissing for the last time his mouth following your movement. "Good night"

Leaving him was complicated, but you were satisfied with the encounter. As you walked you felt the burning between your legs, a reminder that was to last a couple of days that he had made you his once more, that was the greatest secret they kept hidden, they had forgotten for a moment the war between families, the political problems, duty and order.

Jacaerys Velaryon watched you go, silently picking up the sword he had dropped to the ground. That simple symbol that he was capable of abandoning his duty as prince for you, he staked his honor and his word for taking you. He stayed a while longer tidying up the mess they had created, arranging the pieces of stone in the place that corresponded according to the figure, picking up from the floor some that fell without realizing it. It was he who always assumed the role of responsibility for cleaning up the mess and pretending nothing had happened. How was he going to show up tomorrow at this very spot knowing he had relations with Visenya, the spoiled and arrogant princess, right there?

He only hoped Daemon Targaryen would never discover that his daughter was the heir's favorite if he wished to one day ascend the throne.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

summary: joel fucks you over the kitchen sink.

warnings: 18+ smut. best friends dad!joel x afab!reader. alt universe. unspecified age gap. secret relationship. soft dom!joel. cream pie. w.c. 529

author's note: writing has been difficult lately so i'm trying to write little pieces like this randomly to help get the creativity flowing again. so i apologize if this isn't my best. *runs off into the night*

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

"You better keep those hands on the counter if you want to come," Joel's lips brush your ear with the soft threat. Large, worn hands smother your own against the cool marble, keeping you still yet pliable.

You anxiously peer through the kitchen window.

It's been 10 minutes or so since you left. You made up a white lie about a headache to your friends, excusing yourself from the splashing chaos in the pool, only to find yourself in the arms of your friend's dad, Joel.

It started off innocently with wandering eyes and cheeky comments, which turned into brazen touches and stolen kisses over the last few months. Eventually, you ended up in Joel's bed one lonely night after a rough breakup. You sought solace from your friend, but Joel was the one who answered the door when she wasn't home.

Worry tugs at your nerves, bottom lip pinched hard between your teeth. You silently pray your friends won't realize you're missing and come searching. You wouldn't be able to face them if they saw you bent over the counter taking their friend's dad's cock.

"Where'd you go, sweet girl?" his thumb brushes your lip, pulling it softly from between your teeth. You kiss the warm pad before he pushes it into your mouth, letting you suckle on the digit.

"Stay righ' with me." He murmurs, pressing his broad front against your spine and trapping your body to the counter's edge. "Don' need to be thinkin' 'bout anythin' else 'cept takin' my cock."

Your breath hitches as he grinds his length deeper, nudging his weeping crown at the end of you, forming you around him like a leather glove.

"What if someone sees." You blurt, frantically clutching his wrist when one of your friends looks toward the kitchen window. Thankfully, the sun blinds her view just as Joel flips the two of you out of sight.

A steady arm locks around your waist, keeping you pinned on his thick cock while you're left at his mercy. He uses the support of the counter against his lower back to keep you propped and open for him.

"What'd I say 'bout thinkin', huh?" he snaps his hips, driving his girth between your drenched folds, ruthlessly accentuating his words with each thrust. "Nothin'. But. My. Cock."

A brute hand curls under your jaw and tips your head against his shoulder. His grey whiskers scratch your cheek. "Can feel her creamin' on me, ya know." He grits, tightening his hold on your jaw as your cunt swirls around his girth. "Why you fightin' it? We both know you're exactly where ya want to be, sweet girl."

Your eyes press tight as a wave of untamed arousal shoots from your cunt straight into your brain. Joel smacks his hand over your mouth, barely muting your sounds of carnal bliss as you tumble over the edge, body quivering and writhing in his hold.

"Tha's my good girl." Joel huskily praises. Your fingers dig into his forearm as he picks up speed. He grunts like a wild animal, uncaged and dirty, feverishly fucking into your soaked heat until his cum is dripping down your thighs.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[claymoresword]

The Queen And Her Knight | Chp: 7

Alicent Hightower x Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Wordcount: 4.2k

Pairing: Alicent x Reader

Warnings: power imbalance, angst, fluff, smut, fingering, g!p reader, dialogue heavy, mentions of alcoholism

Note: you asked and after a year i finally delivered! this one definitely moves the plot forward but i also managed to get carried away with the smut somehow lol. if you wish to skip it just keep a lookout for the asterisks

enjoy!

Taglist: @blackbirdv98 @flaiire1805 @alicentfangirl @memarrymilf @thegayassbit-ch @vantestark @hauntedfictionland @livinginafantasysposts @baddie-on-a-mission-xx @evolutionsglory @darthtargnister @dxrewclf @rozmrazaradelfinow @wlwfanfictionss @karsonromanoff

You hold up the crown for all to see. The aged relic is a circlet of valyrian steel, set with blood-red rubies. Although only few remained, the squared cut gemstones were still a captivating sight to regard nonetheless.

The crown was once worn by Aegon The Conqueror – it seems fitting that it now be passed down to his namesake. 

The dragon pit is engulfed in trepidation enough to stifle, as you gently place the crown upon Aegon's head.

It fits like a glove. A reassuring and altogether unsettling prospect.

“Let the Seven bear witness, Aegon Targaryen, is the true heir to the Iron Throne.” A declaration that rattles the silence. Your voice travels far, it ricochets off the towering walls and high ceilings.

You watched as the High Septon assisted the King back onto his feet before bowing at him in respect. 

Your hand firmly resting on the hilt of your sword as you incline your head the same way when Aegon glances at you.

As he shifts his stare toward his mother, Alicent performs a curtsey. Followed by the same from Helaena. 

Aemond holds his older brother's gaze for a moment before inclining his head in respect as well.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second Of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord Of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” The High Septon announces as Aegon turns to face the mass of people watching the ceremony.

“Aegon the king!” You call out, and soon the crowd erupts, loud bursts of shouts and claps, all celebrating their new king.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

While you stood in the dowager queen's bedchambers, your expression twists incredulously as Alicent endlessly fusses at your breastplate. Soon, moving behind you to fasten your white cloak.

“Your Grace, I can manage this on my own, truly.” You insist once more, feeling rather queer. A queen should not be tending to you, in fact it ought to be the opposite. 

Alicent remains determined, and stubborn.

“Hush.” She scolds, and you say nothing else.

“There we are.” She says, smoothing out your green tunic. After accepting the post as Lord Commander, you have since abandoned your own house colors. 

Even the breastplate you have chosen for today was a foreign one, no longer the golden kraken, now intricately carved with the sigil of House Hightower instead. 

Uncanny as it may be, you could not deny that it was beautifully made, and generally easier on the eyes compared to your old armor, it also fits far more comfortably.

You catch Alicent's eyes upon you, now suddenly feeling exposed, by the way she was observing your frame. 

Shameless and brazen; you can't help the way it stirs something within you.

“Alicent.” You snatch her attention abruptly, forcing back your amusement.

“Hm?” The dowager queen replies, lost for a moment. It seems she only realizes she has been caught when your eyes meet. A visible blush rapidly creeps up to her face in a way that makes your heart flutter.

“You seem to be eyeing me like a meal to devour.” You point out, causing Alicent to avert her gaze entirely from embarrassment.

Gods, how desperately you wish to kiss her right now.

“You look exceptional in green,” The queen utters, her hand slips up your forearm.

In truth, her admittance doesn't surprise you. 

Fascinating how she can be transparent one moment and entirely unreadable the next. 

This notion alone draws you in beyond reason. With Alicent, you are always acting on pure desire and instinct. 

She has completely enchanted you.

“Is that right?” You ask regardless, moving closer.

Alicent nods, her bottom lip set in between her teeth. The sight of her like this always drove you mad with the urge to ravage her here and now. 

The older woman instinctively slips her arms around your neck. It takes all of your control to only place a hand on the small of her back and nowhere else, trailing tender kisses along her jaw.

“Do you enjoy seeing me in armor, Your Grace?” You whisper. 

As you part her hair away from her neck, you allow your lips to meet the shell of her ear. Relishing in the way Alicent trembles at your touch.

“I do, very much.” She answers, and as you pull away, Alicent does quite the opposite, leaning in to capture your lips with her own. 

Open-mouthed and eager, she kisses you with enough fervor and passion to leave you aching for more.

You can hardly help the way your hand slips lower to squeeze her rear, pulling her flush against your groin.

Alicent gasps into your mouth at the sensation, now feeling the bulge in your breeches. 

She kisses you once more before pulling away, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck to hide her flushed expression.

“Lord Commander.. you are being terribly indecent.” The queen's tone betrays a playfulness, one that exhilarates you.

“I cannot help it, my queen. You drive me half-mad with want.” You remark, as your hand slides up her back in a languid manner.

Alicent exhales against your neck. She pulls you in even closer, welcoming your touch.

“Be safe today.. return to me in one piece.” The other woman utters, you meet her brown eyes, warm and enticing.

“If the Gods will it, I shall.” Your response is likely less than reassuring, but the dowager queen does not say anything to confront this.

Alicent merely occupies herself by tracing along your features delicately with her thumb. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, unable to hide the smirk that tugs at the corners of your mouth, basking in the attention she is giving you.

“Kiss me again.” You ask, and the queen moves to do exactly that, but a knock on the door causes Alicent to abruptly pull away, resuming a proximity.

The suddenness of her action nearly knocks the wind out of you and your smile quickly dissipates. 

It aches, in truth, having to sneak around like this. You mislike feeling like a dirty secret– the queen's mistress.

Or perhaps her whore.

“Come.” Alicent calls, she composes herself as she straightens out her gown. A heartbeat before her father enters.

Alicent's demeanor shifts in a way you have been privy to in the past. It appears effortless the way her expression sets impassively, her hands clasped firmly over her stomach.

Now she is queen Alicent, again. No longer the woman you had been kissing just moments prior.

Otto has his jaw tightened in a similar fashion, studying you in a way that forces you to shift uncomfortably, despite yourself. “Lord Commander, it is time for us to depart.” He finally utters.

You nod, reaching for your sword belt. “Very good, m’lord.” 

As you fastened the belt upon yourself, you observed as Alicent retrieved what appears to be a piece of parchment from her bedside table. The dowager hands it over to her father, whispering something to him that is intelligible to your ears. 

Even as you move slightly closer under the guise of arming your steel, you are still unable to make out the sudden, and evidently secretive conversation being had between them.

You vow to sate your curiousity and confront Alicent about this later; after you have successfully delivered terms to princess Rhaenyra.

════════════���══════════════════════════════

Your arrival at Dragonstone was expectedly greeted with nothing but asperity– the threat of blood shed felt imminent as you stood on the bridge.

Your army, alongside Otto's, staring down the few men who remain loyal to the Rogue Prince.

Rhaenyra Targaryen has evidently fashioned these men to act as her newly appointed Queensguard.

The notion of an agonizing death looms over all of you as her large dragon remained perched a few feet away. 

Syrax is silent– as if she possessed the capacity to understand the situation at hand.

You could sense the ground beneath you rumble every time the dragon took a breath, sending a never ending chill down your spine.

“You all are traitors to the realm.” Queen Rhaenyra declares, her late father's golden crown perched upon her head.

“King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms. Confess Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne.” Otto pauses, and Rhaenyra only acknowledges the statement with a scowl, before a hardened expression takes over her features once more.

You observed as Daemon scoffed. His grip on his steel continued to advise you to keep a firm hold on your own sword.

“In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your true born son Jacaerys upon your death.” The Hand offers, generous in any other circumstance– if it was not Rhaenyra's birthright that has been stolen from her.

“Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark, and all the lands and holding of house Velaryon.”

“Your sons by prince Daemon, will also be given places of high honor at court. Aegon the younger as the king's squire, Viserys as his cupbearer. Finally, the king in his good grace will pardon any knight or Lord who conspired against his ascent.” Otto finishes, and the rogue prince is quick to retaliate.

“I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken usurper cunt of a king.” Daemon sneers, yet you notice Otto's resolve, he remains unfazed, confident.

One you utterly lacked, in truth. You kept an eye on a second dragon, red and much larger than Syrax, orbiting the sky.

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He wears the conqueror's crown, wields the conqueror's sword, has the conqueror's name. He was anointed by a Septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every single symbol of legitimacy belongs to him.” Otto claims, unwavering.

This works to agitate Rhaenyra enough, her Lord husband appears more than prepared to behead any one of you currently standing before him.

“Then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon. Houses who have also received and are at present, considering generous terms from their king.” The Hand adds salt to an already gaping wound.

“Stark, Tully and Baratheon have all sworn allegiance to me. As have your House, y/n.” Rhaenyra states, addressing you directly, taking you by surprise for a moment before you found the sense to meet her hard stare.

As you remain silent, Rhaenyra continues.

“I understand if you don't recall, you were still suckling at your mother's teats when your father bent the knee.” The Targaryen remarks, whether intended as a jab to your pride, it matters not, as you refuse to feel it.

“But he swore his allegiance to me, nonetheless.”

You shift your weight from one foot to another, hand resting on the pommel of your sword. “I am not here on my father's behalf.” You respond curtly.

“Then who are you here for?” Daemon inquires, he quickly continues before you can conjure a reply.

“Are you so cunt-stricken by that whore you call your queen that you are willing to abandon a sworn oath? Where is your honor?” He taunts, and this time you do feel it, like a lance to the gut.

You open your mouth to respond, but Otto quickly interjects before things get the chance to escalate further.

“Grand Maester.” He calls, extending his arm. Maester Orwyle then passes him a piece of parchment, the same one that you had witnessed Alicent give to her father in her bedchambers.

Your confusion sets in once more as Otto bravely advances forward, passing the same parchment to Rhaenyra.

The queen, in her fury, snatches it from Otto, unfolding it to discover its contents. 

It was only then you noticed that it was not a letter– rather, an illustration. A page torn from a book.

“What the fuck is this?” Daemon curses, ironically sharing your sentiment.

Rhaenyra remained silent as she stared at the page in her hands, her expression still unreadable.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other. She eagerly awaits your answer.” Otto utters, and your face falls once you recognize the tears that escaped Rhaenyra's eyes. 

A sinking feeling that you've been trying to set aside all day, re-emerges, inexplicably, you reach for your sword.

“She can have her answer now stuffed in her father's mouth, along with his withered cock. Let's end this mummer's farce.” The rogue prince hisses, as he unsheathes his steel, you immediately do the same. 

In the next few moments the noise of metal scraping against scabbard charges the air as the rest of your soldiers along with Daemon's draw their weapons.

“Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure of killing him myself.” The prince consort's command is broken by the sound of Syrax shrieking, flailing her body violently.

You flinch, but do your best to ignore the incessant pounding in your chest as you gripped your sword tighter.

Then, by a miracle, Rhaenyra subdues her uncle with a single word. “No.” She declares, Daemon is forced to set down his sword. He does it begrudgingly, and you slowly do the same.

“King's Landing will have my answer on the morrow.” The queen utters sharply before turning away, disappearing through her guards.

You stand frozen in place. 

Somehow, no blood was spilled today. The simple prospect of Alicent's care for Rhaenyra seemed enough for the Targaryen to forsake her own claim to the throne.

It appears you shall return to Alicent safely, as she asked. You should be relieved, and yet you feel nothing of the sort. 

The thought of the dowager queen welcoming you home, with a warm embrace, doesn't fill you with a sense of joy like it usually would.

It only makes you ill.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Since returning to the Red Keep you had chosen to keep away, sequestered in your quarters. Only your thoughts and a flagon of strongwine to keep you company.

You realize that you ought to visit Alicent, assure her of your safety, but still, you couldn't bear it, not today. 

Endlessly replaying the moment in your head, Otto's words pollute your thoughts.

Alicent has not forgotten the love she once held for Rhaenyra, that much is evident.

So where does that leave you? 

You are no longer certain you even possess a space in Alicent's life, let alone in her heart.

She loves Rhaenyra, and you are only a mistress.

You wipe away your tears, it is no use crying, you are simply mourning a fantasy. Queen Alicent is beyond your reach, she always has been.

As you continued to lose the battle to your anxieties, you fail to hear the main door of your bedchambers creaking as it gets pushed open.

Alicent catches you throwing your head back as you emptied the contents of your goblet. Her expression displaying palpable concern as she approaches you.

“Why are you drinking?” She inquires, and you scramble to your feet, perplexed in the way she somehow managed to enter your chambers without you realizing it.

“Your Grace.” You address her, inclining your head as you propped your hand against the back of the chair.

Alicent appears taken aback by your formality, nonetheless she moves to touch your cheek, but halts immediately when she notices the way you recoiled.

“What is the matter?” The older woman asks carefully, studying you with such concern that it weakens your very being.

How could she possibly place you above Rhaenyra Targaryen?

“I was convinced that I was going to die at Dragonstone.” Your voice breaks.

“But you did not, thank the Gods.” Alicent utters in relief, she grabs your arm, still unaware of your true grievance.

“The only reason my men and I were spared was because Rhaenyra commanded it as such.” You state, pausing for a moment to steady your breathing. 

“and, she only did so because of you.” You accuse, and Alicent straightens her back, retracting her hand once more.

You mourn her touch, but force yourself to look into her eyes as you await a response.

When nothing comes, you decide to speak again.

“Do you love her?” You ask boldly, prepared for any response, but the one Alicent gives you is barely anything at all.

“I–” She stutters after a prolonged silence, and you scoff, moving past her to sit on the edge of your bed.

Alicent takes large strides after you, eager to explain herself. 

“Rhaenyra and I, we were children together, we did everything together. She was my closest friend.” The dowager queen starts as she moves to stand directly in front of you.

“Perhaps I was in love, at one point. But that was an entirely different lifetime, y/n. A life I do not even recognize.” She admits, and you finally look up at her.

Alicent tentatively wipes away the tear that managed to escape your eye. 

Despite yourself, your lips meet the palm of her hand as you hold it close to your face.

The dowager queen smiles.

“I am in love with you. Only you.” Alicent reassures, and your heart soars. Whether it is a lie to spare your feelings or a vulnerable truth, you are still thankful she cares enough to utter the words.

For now, that is enough.

“I love you too, so much.” You respond, still gazing up at her.

Alicent's auburn locks fell loosely down her shoulders like liquid fire. Her white nightdress, although modestly crafted, still managed to highlight every delicate curve and dip of her body.

She looks utterly breathtaking. 

The queen snaps you out of your trance when she leans down to meet your lips with her own. A searing kiss that immediately leaves you breathless.

Alicent whimpers softly as your tongue enters her mouth, overcome with an urge to feel her, you place a firm hand on her waist, guiding her to straddle your lap.

The dowager does so with no protest, her knees quickly settling in between your hips on the bed. 

Her core snug against your clothed groin, she feels so warm, so intoxicating.

*

Alicent grinds against your lap instinctively, causing you groan into the kiss. The queen seemingly overtaken with desires of her own, pulls away to begin trailing open mouthed kisses from the shell of your ear, down to your neck.

Your breathing quickens.

“Fuck– I cannot believe how perfect you are.” You say, and Alicent leans back to look at you. She does so comfortably with your firm hand supporting her.

“I am far from it,” She argues, and you are quick to shake your head in disagreement, guiding her close once more by the nape of her neck.

“You have no idea how ready I am to commit treason just to prove you wrong, my queen.” You remark, and the sound of Alicent's giggle fills you with hope for the first time in days, before she connects your lips once more.

**

As the kiss deepens your hand wanders the dowager's frame, almost like second nature, you slip it underneath her nightgown, feeling goosebumps form on her thighs from your touch.

You squeezed her rear, indecently causing Alicent to grind on your lap once more. Swallowing her gasp of pleasure as she does so. 

“Y/n..” She utters against your lips, urging you on.

Soon you glide your hand towards her inner thigh, inching even closer to her core. “Can I?” Your ask is met with an eager nod. Alicent kisses you again, harsh and wanting.

“Touch me.” She says, and you do just that, finding your way to her sex. You begin to add pressure with your palm, causing Alicent's hips to buck against your touch.

She is dripping for you already– meeting your touch desperately. As you continue to move your hand against her sex, Alicent's gasps and mewls grow louder, she results in burying her face into the crook of your neck.

“Gods–” You marvel, kissing her shoulder before prodding a finger at her entrance. 

The queen grips your shoulder tighter, nodding profusely as words continue to fail her. 

You take it as permission to enter her. Doing so with two fingers, your breath hitches at the feeling of her walls contracting deliciously against your digits.

You would kill to feel her do the same around your cock.

“Yes, oh, Gods–” Alicent pants as you continue to pump in and out of her. Less than a minute has passed and it seems she is on the verge of release already, muttering incoherently against your ear.

She squeezes your fingers once more, pulling an involuntary groan from you, she is so wet you can feel her dripping down your hand, causing you to nearly soil your breeches.

“Come, come for me, beautiful..” You coax curving your fingers inside of Alicent, and that is all it took for her to fall apart completely.

She climaxes around your fingers with a cry, the sight of her writhing on top of you was truly the most captivating thing you have ever witnessed. You cock pulses with need, straining painfully against the fabric of your breeches.

Alicent's chest is heaving violently as she meets your gaze once more, her eyes dark amidst her pleasure. 

“Thank you, for that.” She mutters before kissing you deeply, and you can't help but chuckle.

“No, my love, I should be thanking you.” You insist, and Alicent cares not to argue at this moment. Her lips meet the base of your jaw, a confidence overcomes her when she touches your breasts before moving her hand further south, squeezing your cock.

She gapes at the sensation, with a look of palpable arousal that again, nearly causes you to finish right then and there.

“You are so hard..” Alicent remarks in awe, squeezing you harder, earning a guttural noise from yourself.

“Yes, all because of you.” You confer, and the dowager bites her lip to mask her delight.

The sight drove you mad, as it always does. Quickly grabbing hold of her nightdress, Alicent allows you to lift it over her head.

You toss the garment carelessly across the room. Alicent moans anew as your mouth makes contact with her bare and sensitive breasts. You begin licking and sucking as though your life depended on it.

Another shudder of pleasure nearly immobilizes the Alicent before she grips a fistful of your locks, harshly pulling your head back.

She ground her hips again, her weeping sex pressing down on your hard cock.

“Please, I want to feel it inside me. I want to feel all of you.” Alicent pleads, and the prospect alone makes you lightheaded.

You don't plan to deny either of you the pleasure any longer.

Alicent lets out a yelp in surprise as you flip your positions, placing her flat on her back as you quickly remove your tunic, finally fumbling with the laces of your breeches before removing them as well.

The queen's stare falls onto the large shaft in between your legs, she reaches out to touch your cock, but you quickly grab ahold of her hand, pinning it against the bed as you settle on top of her.

Alicent whines in protest, arching her back helplessly, causing your breasts to press up against her own.

“Please,” The dowager queen begs once more, and you smirk with a sense of triumph, in this moment, you truly believe that Alicent is yours to worship and love entirely.

“So impatient.” You tease, placing a chaste kiss against her cheek.

If Alicent aimed to respond, she was not given the opportunity to, as you thrust your hips forward, skillfully sheathing yourself inside of her. 

Alicent releases a strangled moan at the sensation, whimpering like a maiden as she grows accustomed to your size. Her nails dig into your back, she lifts her leg to wrap around your waist, inevitably pulling you even deeper inside of her as you begin to move your hips once more.

“Fuck– oh my Gods..” Alicent curses, motivating you to move harder against her, with every stroke, her cunt welcomes your cock eagerly. Squeezing your girth in a way you've never experienced before.

Alicent eagerly intertwines your hands, the intimate noises of your coupling filling the room. 

You groan with every thrust, feeling dangerously close to your release, you kiss her once before speaking.

“Alicent, I– I won't last much longer.” You admit, and Alicent moans at your words, anxious to witness your release.

“Don't hold back, darling.” She coaxes, letting her leg fall away from your waist, you pump inside of her again and then once more before pulling out.

Alicent continues to hold your hand as your entire body tenses, she watches your strained expression as you reach your peak.

She gasps as your seed spills onto her belly. 

Your breathing grows erratic as you ride out the shockwaves from your release. 

The feeling of Alicent's soothing hand caressing your forearm manages to coax you back to reality.

Alicent chuckles lightly as you collapse next to her, attempting to gain your bearings. 

The queen turns to face you, placing a lingering kiss on your stomach, before doing the same on your chest. 

You smile weakly, threading your fingers through her auburn locks, still feeling as though you are in a dream.

One you never wish to wake from.

“I love you..” You declare, just above a whisper.

Alicent beams, her thumb tracing across your bottom lip. “I love you too, y/n.”

[thought--bubble]

Upon his Brother's Table

Aemond X (Aegon's betrothed Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 1,748

Canon Aemond Master List

Full Master List

MDNI Banners & dividers by @arcielee

*Just a little something i put together for @queen--kenobi 's table sex event. I had to contribute to the petty. It was too good!

Warnings: Infidelity, choking, unprotected P in V, Dub-con. Potential spoilers of future events

Aemond paces back and forth, his heels clicking against the cold stone floor in the council room, his face is flushed, and his composure is nearly gone. Not a look one would usually see on Aemond, but his patience has been pushed to the brink.

"I served him... LOYALLY!" The anger radiates off him in waves as you stay seated, quietly allowing him to vent his frustrations.

"I gave everything for his cause. Would have died for his cause. Almost did die for his cause and this ...... this is how he repays me? By taking from me that which is rightfully mine?"

You flinch as he brings his fists down harshly upon the council table.

You were speechless, shocked by this turn of events. Your betrothal to Prince Aemond at the start of the war was nothing more than a political match. A way for the crown to guarantee that your father's armies and banners would ride for King Aegon II and not the pretender Queen Rhaenyra.

When Queen Heleana perished during the war, you never thought King Aegon would then change your betrothal from his brother, the prince, to himself, though your father was elated. With the deaths of his sons, the King needed an heir, and with you as his betrothed and soon to be wife, it would be your duty to give him one. Putting your family's blood on the throne. A thought that had your father salivating but had the one-eyed prince seething.

You sat disinterested as Aemond hisses in anger, pacing the length of the council table in continuum.

"All of these things are his because of me." The amount of hatred stitched into each and every word that comes from his mouth is evident.

"The red keep is his because of me, the kingdom is his because of me, the throne is his because of me......"

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you. His one violet eye pierces through you, causing you to stiffen in your seat.

"You are his because I dragged him from death's door and brought him here." He clenches his teeth tightly, the muscles in his jaw flexing with the tension.

"And he sees fit to take you from me? As if I lost nothing fighting this war in his name!" He stalks toward you, pulling you up to your feet by the thin material of the front of your dress.

"My prince!" You squeak out in shock at his brazen move.

"I will have what is mine." With a growl, he lifts and tosses you on the table. Papers and other random items scatter to the floor as he climbs up onto the table, hovering above you.

"Your maidenhead was promised to me." He shuffles the layers of your dress up to your hips hurriedly as you lay still beneath him.

You know you should scream, kick, tell him to stop, but a type of morbid curiosity keeps you silent. Your eyes follow his fingers. Making a mental log of each movement they make from rucking up your skirts to the quick movement of curling around your small clothes and the subsequent tug of the material down your legs.

"Will you not try and stop me then?" He huffs as his grip tightens around the flesh of your thighs.

"I believe you are a good man, Prince Aemond. I do not believe you will go through with this. Thus, there is no need to fight. " You portray confidence in your words, only the slight tremble in your legs gives away your nervousness, yet the clever Prince Aemond is never one to miss signs such as these, no matter how subtle.

He smirks, it would be beautiful if it weren’t so condescending.

"Then you are more of a fool than I took you to be," he pulls your thighs up around him, resting one on each side of his hips while he leans back on his haunches.

"I am going to take you, my lady. Right here upon my brother's table." He lifts one hand from your thigh and slides it against the sleek treated wood of the table beneath you. "The table that is his only due to my own efforts."

He brings one hand to the laces of his breeches, skillfully taking apart the small knot, keeping them closed and tight to his lithe frame. His other hand remains on your thigh, intermittently squeezing at the soft flesh there.

He grunts quietly as he frees his cock from its confines, slowly pumping himself to full hardness.

"I will not be gentle, so I advise you to hold on."

He reaches down to your heat with his free hand, rubbing your clit with his thumb in rough circles.

You can't help but release a small gasp at his touch.  As your brain was telling you to stop this, to make him stop, your body was betraying you.

Your back arched up off the hard table beneath you, your hips canting into his rough touch.

"We...... should not. " You finally huff out between wanton sighs.

"But we shall," he growls back, removing his hand from your heat and gripping your hips tight, slightly lifting your bottom half from the table and into his lap.

Your eyes slightly roll back when you feel him press the fat, throbbing tip of his cock against your entrance.

"You mustn't!" Even as you say this, you make no moves to get away from him, even as you feel him continue to push into you, splitting you apart in a way that is painful yet satisfying.

"Oh, but I must," he says through gritted teeth, pushing himself further into your clenching tunnel. "A point must be made."

He lets out a low growl as he bottoms out, stilling inside of you. You take this as a small gesture of kindness. He must not want to hurt you. That is, at the very least, a good sign.

As the pain starts to subside and is replaced by an overwhelming feeling of fullness, you move your hips, and he chuckles.

"Ahh, I see you are ready now, my lady" he pulls his hips back his cock sliding effortlessly out from you before he pistons himself back into you, his pace growing more fervent with every thrust.

The sound of skin hitting skin echoes through the otherwise quiet space, the only other sounds being your heavy breathing and the squeaking of the table legs beneath you.

"Tell me, sweet girl," he snarls as he grips your hips tight, slamming into you harshly. "How does it feel to be fucked by the great Prince Aemond? Mighty warrior? Hmm?"

You attempt to focus your eyes on the ethereal man above you, sweet drips down his brow, and his eyes rest on the place where you are so intimately connected.

"I....... I" your words fail you. Only a stutter and moans can be heard.

Aemond licks his thumb before bringing it against your pearl, resuming his earlier ministrations, and chuckles darkly as your legs twitch around him.

"Speechless, I see... it gladdens me to know how grateful you are, that I have allowed you such an experience" his other hand leaves your hip and slides up the length of your body until it rests upon your throat which he uses to hold you in place, thrusting into you ever harder.

Your legs clench around him tightly as a pressure builds in your lower stomach, as unfamiliar as the feeling is you find the stronger it gets, the more desperate you become clawing at the prince attempting to bring him closer to you, to feel more of him on your skin.

"Aweeee," he coos, "and now you beg for me? How darling." His condescending smirk returns as his thrusts get harsher, and the grip around your throat tightens.

"Now thank me," he demands, his hips moving faster and that coiling in your stomach reaching a fever pitch.

"T-thank you!" As the words leave your lips, the coil snaps, and your entire body tenses.

Your back arches off the table as if you are being lifted by something unseen, and the control you have over your own body has been snatched away from you.

 Aemond throws his own head back, gripping your throat tightly as he chases his own end.

"And here is yet another gift I bestow upon my ungrateful brother." his words come out as a hiss, his thrusts getting sloppier and more desperate.

He gasps loudly as his hips still pushing himself into you as far as he can possibly go.

A warmth can be felt spreading through you, a strange yet calming sensation that sees your limbs finally settle back on the hard table beneath you.

As quickly as your calmness came, it was gone, Aemond pulled himself from your body, quickly pulling up his breeches and getting off the table.

As he fixes the strings and his doublet putting everything back into place, he finds you still sprawled across the tabletop, his spend dripping from your abused cunt.

"You need to get up and compose yourself. Someone could enter at any minute." He says gruffly while tossing your small clothes onto your stomach.

You sit at the edge of the table and slide the fabric back up your legs covering the sticky mess he had left behind.

When he was confident you looked presentable, he took a few quick strides toward the council room doors, no doubt making a hasty exit.

"What was the final gift?" The words flew from your mouth before you had a chance to think it through.

"Come again?" He turns back to look at you, his one violet eye meets yours. You see no guilt, no pride, no anger. Indifference is what it looked like. He had returned to that emotionless stoic prince you had seen haunting the halls of the red keep like a specter.

"You said earlier. That you were bestowing yet another gift upon your brother. What was the gift?"

He chuckles again, a smile that actually reaches his eyes.

"An heir, planted in your womb this day, to sit upon the throne I won him." He doesn't wait for any further response from you and opens the door, escaping out into the corridor and disappearing from sight.

Leaving you alone and visibly shaken. Your body is held up only by leaning on your arm that rests upon his brother's table.

To be added to taglist click here

[inkdrinkerworld]

i loveee touchy!bestfriend!james and i personally am not touchy whatsoever except for like a fewww people and idek why i like thinking of reader like that and Sirius and Remus and everyone are like ?? how come you rest your head in james lap and not ours how come you hold his hand blah blah and readers just like idk he’s just so comfy

Omg same!! They’d be so confused

You’d been studying for hours in your bedroom while James, Sirius and Remus had sorted out their own stuff.

You’ve got a midterm coming up and it’s for one of the more confusing topics ever so you’d told the boys not to bug you under any circumstances.

Now, a couple hours later, your eyes are blurry and your stomach is being teased by the scent of what you think is a roast dinner from the kitchen.

Your descent down the steps is anything but coordinated and you’re lucky James had been on his way up when you missed the last step and almost went flying across the floor.

His hand comes to your waist and another around your shoulders to steady you.

“Was just coming up to see if you wanted to have tea with us.”

You nod, in no hurry really to get out of James’ hold.

“Think you should lay down first, angel. You look about ten seconds from passing out.”

Remus and Sirius are setting up dinner in the living room- a bad habit you’ve all got stuck in when you didn’t own a dining table.

Their eyes go wide as saucers as they watch James sit and pull you into his lap. It’s mind boggling to them that there’s not even a hint of resistance on your part.

You hate being touched- you like to be the initiator and sometimes even that is a no-go. Remus and Sirius haven’t had brazen touches like James gets every day.

You lay your head on his broad chest, hearing his heartbeat steadily as you lay there.

“You gonna be able to eat, or d’you want me to pack it away?”

You shake your head, “Don’t move yet Jamie, think I’m gonna fall asleep.”

James nods, kissing the crown of your head- an action that makes Sirius grip onto the plates in his hands a little tighter.

“Fucker thinks he’s so smooth,” Remus mutters as he sets the cutlery down. Sirius nods, eyes on James who appears to be whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“Apparently they both are.” Sirius says, jutting his chin in your direction so Remus can see the way you’re playing with the hair on the nape of James’ neck with a little smile on your face.

[spider-stark]

THE CONQUEROR'S CROWN

Aegon II Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary - After being captured by a member of the Kingsguard on your way to Winterfell, Aegon calls for you in the throne room.

Warnings - light smut, oral, kidnapping, blades/blood, possible hematolagnia, eludes disappointed mom!rhaenyra (absolutely no bashing tho), and obvious incest

Word Count - 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

His tongue traces the subtle curve of his bottom lip, his lilac eyes watching carefully as you waltz into the throne room, escorted by Ser Willis to the base of the Iron Throne. With a slight nod of his head, he dismisses Ser Willis, leaving you to stand alone as the Kingsguard takes his leave. 

You have stood in this very room more times than you could possibly count. Your childhood was spent chasing your brothers around the large stone pillars, studying the intricate weaving of the tapestries adorning the wall, and sitting upon your grandsire’s lap atop the Iron Throne.  

You were born to stand within this room, born to sit the throne standing before you now. If you focused, you almost swore that you could hear your grandsire’s voice whispering in your ear, bouncing you on his leg as he vowed—someday, my sweet little dragon, all of this will be yours.  

But, before it could become yours, it would first belong to your mother—the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.  

And before it could be hers, you would have to kill the cunt that had stolen it out from under her.  

You make a show of leaning into a melodramatic curtsy, playing up the role of his complaisant prisoner, “Your grace,” you practically snarl up at him, a silent challenge gleaming in your narrowed gaze.  

Aegon sucks in a breath before hesitantly lifting his arms, gesturing to himself, “What do you think?” It was not the voice of a king that pierced your ears, but the voice of the same scared little boy you have always known—the one you have always loved.  

A thousand jagged, twisted blades glimmer in the dim candlelight, all of them forged together to create the infamous throne that had started this godsforsaken war. Your throne, your mother’s throne—a throne that he now sat upon.  

While there was no doubt that Aegon lacked the proper cadence, it was undeniable that he looked every bit like the king he pretended to be. Dressed in his finest clothing, woven from a deep-green material so dark that it nearly appeared as black at first glance. A circlet of Valyrian steel rests at his brow, embellished with glittering rubies; the Conqueror’s crown.  

“I think,” you begin, holding your chin high, “that you are sitting in my mother’s chair.”  

The blow wasn’t unexpected, yet Aegon’s jaw still tenses at the venom that laced each and every syllable.  

He knew you would be upset with him—infuriated, actually. But expecting that anger and experiencing it were two very different things.  

He wasn’t used to you being mad at him, and he didn’t like it.  

Forcing himself to swallow back against the sea of emotions rising in his chest, Aegon pushes himself to his feet, careful not to nick himself on one of the jutting blades. He descends the steps with the same impressive swagger he’s always possessed, walking towards where you stood motionless at the base of the throne.  

Your body stiffens at his approach, your muscles tightening, shoulders pulling back, fingers curling into fists. He notices, and you briefly remind him of a cornered animal—captured and awaiting a rescue that may never come, armed with nothing but brazen defiance.  

Stopping less than a few inches from you, he realizes that this must make him the predator of your story. The big bad king, whose first act of war had been to steal away his precious little niece, unwilling to go even one more day without her by his side.  

When he stretches a hand towards you, you’re smart enough not to recoil from his touch as he glides a finger along the fine silk of your skirts. “You wore it,” he mutters softly, admiring the rich green color of your dress.  

“I wasn’t aware that I had a choice in the matter,” you retort swiftly, suddenly aware of the incessant pounding of your heart.  

You hate yourself for wearing this—a gown that wasn’t entirely unlike the ones that the dowager Queen Alicent had worn from your entire life, the ones that had been marred by a color you learned to loathe. 

But when a few handmaidens came pouring into the room in Maegor’s Holdfast where Aegon had kept you imprisoned for the last several days, you felt as though you had no say as they plunged you into a tub of steaming water, scrubbing your dirt-stained skin until it was raw, only to pull you back out and then wrap you in varying shades of emerald.  

He pulls away from the fabric, giving you his usual pouty frown when he asks, “Why would you believe that you have no choice?”  

The sheer innocence of his tone had you grinding your teeth. “Must I remind you, uncle?” He winces slightly, unused to the cruel formality with which you now speak. “Remind you of how you have stolen my mother’s birthright? Or of how you ordered your guard to steal me away, and throw me into the Holdfast? Of how you’re holding me prisoner in some desperate attempt to wound my mother-”  

“I am not holding you to wound Rhaenyra,” her name sounds like poison on his lips, the taste of it vile on his tongue as he interjects, “nor are you here to be my prisoner, niece.”  

Your brows rise alongside your voice as you shout, “Am I not? Then please, Aegon, enlighten me as to why you insist on keeping me here! Tell me why you have torn me away from my family and humiliated me!” You gesture down at your body, to the gown clinging to your curves.  

Aegon’s answer came in the form of a growl, “Because you are mine to keep.”  

His hands shoot to your wrists, tightly gripping your delicate flesh. A flicker of desire burns in his lilac gaze, a look that you are all too familiar with. It pierces through you, and you can do nothing but curse yourself as a warm feeling spreads throughout your body. “And I refused to sit idly by as your family sold my girl to whichever Lord had the biggest fucking army, auctioning you off like livestock so that they might acquire more men to fight in your mother’s war!”  

Disdain laced the word—family.  

He spoke it as if it were a plague, a curse, a weakness. But you didn’t miss the way his breath hitched, hidden emotion catching in his throat. You were his family; he had said so himself, repeating it often during your years spent together, sneaking through halls and hiding in shrouded alcoves.  

You were his plague. You were his curse. And you were his only weakness, the only thing that could be held over him. The only thing that could make him yield.  

It suddenly dawned on you how much it must have bothered him to learn that you were being escorted to Winterfell under the protection of two of your mother’s Queensguard, how infuriated he must have been to find out that your hand had been promised to Lord Cregan Stark in return for his aid. That was why he had sent Ser Willis after you—why he had him kill your mother’s men and bring you here.  

Your mouth went dry as you dug your nails into your palms, unable to will yourself to pull your wrists from his touch. “This is your war, too,” you remind him, your voice softer than you wish it to be, your stare wide but never wavering from his.  

Aegon shakes his head softly, wavy silver locks spilling over his delicate features. “No,” he tells you, releasing one wrist so that he can reach up and brush a finger along your cheekbone, “I have only ever been a pawn in this game, little love.”  

A shiver rolls down your spine as his hand moves lower, his thumb trailing along your bottom lip, tracing the delicate curve.  

“But you,” he drawls, his mouth curving into a lopsided smirk that had your pulse sputtering, “you were always meant to be a queen.”  

His declaration only stirs confusion in your mind. Your brow creases and you blink at him once, then twice. “What is it that you want, Aeg?”  

A sweet sound escapes his throat, a low hum of satisfaction at the simple pet name rolling from your tongue. Your voice was still sharp, still guarded—but all he had needed was that one subtle show of affection to know that you were listening, that you were willing to hear him out.  

His thumb tugs at your bottom lip, pulling it ever-so-slightly and revealing a gleam of white teeth. Sensible enough to recognize that Aegon was supposed to be your enemy now, and not your secret lover, you gnash your teeth at him. The display only makes his grin grow wider, a foolish sense of hunger turning his usually pale complexion to a light shade of crimson.  

“I want to make you queen,” he purrs, letting his touch fall from your face as he lets go off your other wrist, stepping to the side. He sweeps an arm out to one side, gesturing grandly towards the throne before you. “My queen.”  

You feel disoriented, like the room around you is suddenly spinning in circles. A fuzzy feeling settles in your stomach as your gaze flickers from the throne, to Aegon, then back to the throne again.  

The look on your face must be one of pure disbelief, as Aegon appears to be laughing at the shock morphing your features.  

“But…” You take a series of shallow breaths, shaking your head as you force yourself to ignore the throne, turning back to focus only on Aegon. “But my mother is the rightful queen, not me—not yet!” You object, stuttering over your words as they spill out.  

This doesn’t make sense… 

The Greens would never allow this!  

“Queen Alicent,” you sputter out, realization dawning on you, “and your grandsire, they… They don’t know that I am here, do they? They don’t know that you captured me?”  

The pieces began to fall into place in your mind, filling in the gaps of a very long and complicated story. The reason why Aegon had only sent one of the Kingsguard after you, why you had been thrown in the Holdfast rather than the dungeons, why he had waited until the hour of the wolf to finally call for you, having you brought to throne room only once he was certain that it was abandoned for the night.  

Aegon hadn’t just captured you. He had kept you hidden—hidden from Alicent and Ott0.  

He gives a single, gentle nod as he says, “You, my sweet girl, have become my best kept secret,” there’s a certain eagerness in the way he is looking at you, greedy and expectant, as if he were awaiting praise for his scheme.  

“I cannot give your mother my throne, not without risking my own head,” Aegon reaches for your hand once more, and you allow him to lace his fingers through yours, even as you scowl at the possessive language he used—his throne. “But I can give it to you.”  

You feel unsteady as you glance down at your joined hands; his grip was tight, while yours was limp—allowing the show of affection, but not returning it.  

You draw a breath, “And you plan to do this by… By making me your wife?” Nerves had your voice jumping an octave, and you curse the Warrior for not granting you enough strength to maintain an even tone.  

The shift in Aegon’s expression was tenuous, but you knew him well enough to catch even the most subtle changes. You noticed the way his lilac eyes shifted to his feet, the way his bottom lip trembled as his fear of rejection pierced through his chest like a knife.  

It was second nature to want to comfort him, to want to reach out as you used to, brushing the messy waves of silver from his face, reminding him that you wanted him in ways that you could never want another.  

You resist the urge as best you can, but you cannot stop your fingers from finally curling around his hand, squeezing before you can stop yourself. When he looked back up at you, it was with a look of foolish hope.  

“It might be an ignorant plan,” he admits, “but the realm doesn’t need a puppet for a king. It needs you—an iron-willed girl, born for an iron throne.”  

It’s not the right choice.  

And you know that if your mother were here, she would be disappointed in you for considering such a proposal. If Daemon were here, he would cut you down himself, spouting out allegations of treason over your still-cooling corpse. Jace and Luke would hardly be able to look you in the eye, you reckon, if they found out of your feelings for the uncle they both loathed so desperately.  

This wasn’t the right choice, because before the throne should belong to you, it must first belong to your mother, the rightful heir.  

And yet…  

To take the throne now, to take advantage of the opportunity Aegon has offered, would be seizing a chance to deliver the throne to the Blacks. Taking the throne did not mean that you must keep it—only that you might hold onto it until it could be passed over to your mother; only that you might offer her a clear path to it.  

And marrying Aegon…  

Marrying Aegon was the culmination of all your wildest dreams, of all of your secret wishes and most desperate desires.  

“If you wish to say no,” his voice wobbles, his eyes squeezing shut as he prepares himself for your answer; for your refusal. “Then I will allow you to leave. I refuse to deliver you to Winterfell, but I will arrange for a guard to escort you to Harrenhal. I’ve heard word that Daemon has-”  

You refuse.  

Refuse to let him finish speaking, having decided that you had heard more than enough to make your decision, unable to care if it is the right one.  

In a brief moment of reckless abandon, you tug on his hand hard enough to send him stumbling towards you, his bright eyes shooting open just in time to watch as you rise on your toes, bringing your lips to crash against his.  

His muscles went rigid, eyes remaining wide-open as he felt your other hand slip into his hair, tangling your fingers in his messy locks, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp.  

Slowly, he relaxes. Slowly, he melts into the touch that he had missed so much, the one that he had dreamt about every night for the past several months that he had been forced to spend without you.  

Muscle memory kicks in, his body abruptly remembering all of your secret encounters over the years, reminding him of all the little ways that you liked being touched, of all the ways that he could drive you wild.  

He pulls his hand loose from yours, his palm instantly collided with the outside of your thigh. His fingers knot in the silky fabric of your dress, pulling it higher and higher, until he’s finally able to press his palm flat against the warmth of your skin, sinking his nails into the plump flesh.  

“I’ve missed you,” he utters against your mouth, his voice so guttural and delicious that you nearly moan. His other hand slips beneath the fabric as well, ghosting past your abdomen to greedily paw at your chest, “And these,”  

A ragged gasp slips from your lips as he kneads your breast. You pull away from his kiss, your head tilting back and exposing your throat as you indulge yourself in the feeling of his hands roaming against your bare skin. His sweet, pouty lips instantly find their way to your neck, suckling and kissing at the sensitive skin.  

“Greedy,” you chide, the euphoria flooding your veins leaving you breathless.  

“Should I take this as a yes, then?” He croons against your flesh.  

You wish to be bold in your response, derisive, even; but as his tongue glides along the smooth column of your throat, you can’t bring yourself to sound anything other than desperate.  

“Fuck—yes,” you practically moan the affirmation, yanking his hair and making him hiss.  

“In that case,” Aegon’s lips curve into a playful arc, placing another kiss against your throat before saying, “allow me to show you to your throne, my queen.”  

The whine that escapes you when he pulls his touch from your skin is something vulgar, and you don’t miss the smug expression that settles on his face. He’s pleased with himself, and you’re not surprised. After all, he had just barely touched you and you were already writhing against him, your months apart having left you so needy that you were mere seconds from begging him to take you right here on the floor of the throne room.  

Before you can complain, his hand is swiftly slipping back into yours, tugging you up the stairs leading to the throne. When you reach the top, he motions you to sit.  

There is something different about sitting on the throne now compared to when you were a girl—a certain power that warms your veins, sending your blood rushing to your cheeks. There is no time to ponder on the feeling, however; not when Aegon is sinking down to his knees the very moment you settle against the cool steel.  

“What are you doing?” You’re practically panting when you ask the question, your pulse thrumming in your ears as you watch him, intrigued.  

He’s still wearing a smirk when he lifts a hand, plucking the steel circlet from his brow before stretching out his arm and urging you to lean down just enough for him to place it on your head.  

The Conqueror’s crown is nearly too big for you and sits askew, but neither of you seem to care about that as he immediately gets back to work, shoving the delicate fabric of your dress back up your legs.  

“Swearing fealty to my queen,” Aegon finally answers, his lips ghosting against the side of your knee. “Taking care of you,” he continues, peppering light kisses along the inside of your leg, moving at a tantalizingly slow rate until he finally reaches the top of your thigh. “And eating as though I were a starved man.”  

With no warning, he places his lips against your core, his greedy tongue already swiping against your folds. You fight the urge to throw your head back at the sensation of his warm mouth, trying to remain conscious of the jagged blades that surround you.  

You can hardly breathe.  

You can hardly think.  

You can hardly do anything other than gasp as his palms squeeze against your legs, his nails digging into your skin as he forces them apart, keeping you from squeezing them shut as he devours you.  

Shoving one of your legs over his shoulder, his right hand slips from your thigh to begin toying with your entrance, and the way you squirm against his touch only encourages him to shove two fingers inside of you. A lewd sound pours from your mouth, echoing so loudly amidst the throne room that you worry someone might hear and come find the two of you.  

As his thick fingers plunge in-and-out of you, his tongue circling your clit, you grip the arms of the Iron Throne without thinking—a yelp tears from your throat as one of the blades slice into your palm.  

“Shit!” You hiss, the pain in your voice urging Aegon to pause, his mouth shimmering with slickness as he looks up at you, watching as the blood trickles down your wrist.  

His pupils flare, darkness overtaking the lilac in his eyes.  

Reaching up, Aegon mimics your accidental movement, allowing one of the jagged blades to tear into his palm, too. “Hen lantoti ānogar,” he mutters the familiar Valyrian vows as he reaches for your hand, his pronunciation sloppy, but his voice tinged with undeniable admiration, “va sȳndroti vāedroma,”  

(translation: blood of two, joined as one)

He presses your hands together, and his fingers intertwine with yours as the still-flowing blood begins to mix, binding the two of you together in a bond that transcends all else, uniting the two of you in an oath that could never be broken—not by your family, not by war, not even by death.  

Getting lost in his eyes, feeling his blood drip down your arm, you find yourself praying to any God that might listen.  

Not for absolution, disinterested in the thought of receiving forgiveness for the betrayal you commit against your mother by even sitting in Aegon’s presence.  

But for strength.  

Enough of it so that you might be able to play the role of the Green Queen, a gift bestowed upon you by Aegon. Enough of it so that you might grant your mother the victory she desires, the one she deserves. Enough of it so that you might be able to paint the walls red with the vile blood of the Greens.  

Enough of it so that you might become their demise.

a/n - considering that I wrote this while sleep-deprived at one am, it actually turned out pretty alright lmao. still can't write smut but o well.

aegon looks pretty in the new trailer <3

[ogrillion]

A Brazen Crown's final hours

The campaign ends in a few hours! See it here before it is dragged back into the void from which it came.

This game has been the work of three years. I feel very strongly that the universe would like for it to exist. Maybe not in this form! Maybe not even as a fully-commercial product. But its a standalone card game that plays like a TCG and has a third-party license. People deserve to be free of the ever-present feeling of "your favourite things are owned by five corporations", and this game is meant to leave its ownership in the hands of the audience.

If you have seen this game, if you have thoughts about the game or the art or the design, I would love to hear from you so I can figure out how and where this idea needs to go. It might very well just be "to the nearest receptacle" but I don't think this is the end. Yet. Oh well, that's the post.

[the-heartlines]

ablaze

jacela | {e. 1.7k}

just some smutty jacela consummation post their secret valyrian wedding 😌

"My prince," his princess whispers in his ear, sending a shock of pleasure down Jace's spine. He bit his sliced lip dried with blood, remembering how hers had tasted. Bittersweet, twangy with copper and he longed to taste more, which causes him to tense under her hand.

Her hand that has a firm fist wrapped around his cock...entirely. 

"How does it feel, my husband?" Baela repeated, licking her cut lip, eyes mesmerized by her husband's girth wrapped wonderfully within her hand. Jace could only gasp, his thoughts and words leaving him, as he bit into the meat of his tender lip harder when she squeezes around the base of his shaft, starting to milk him slow and steady now.

Baela quickly licked the blood that began to drip from it again, almost moaning when her husband's taste hit her tongue. "Tell me it feels good, Jacaerys." She said breathlessly, her cunt already wet, since the moment she eyed Jace hard and leaking, aching for her touch.

"B-Baela," he groans her name now, his eyes opening, staring straight into hers and he swears he can see the light emanating from her violet eyes, the pure blinding, burning brightness lingering beneath her skin; the depth of her heart and soul staring back at him. It makes his heart race faster, her hand stroke faster over him in tandem.

"Fuck," Jace curses, blushing, bucking upwards when she traces the crown of his cock, spreading his seedy fluids along his length to aid her precise movements. "You fit so perfectly in my hand, Jace. You were made for me. Say it, husband." Jace's stomach tenses, love and lust spiraling inside him like a huge storm ready to break. Her words are a balm for his wounded heart, each syllable sewing him back together, making him whole once more. 

"I n-need-"

You. Is what Jace wants to say but her lips are on his, her mouth stealing his kisses beautifully, sealing tightly to him, never wanting to let go.

"I know." Baela murmurs against his mouth, pressing her forehead to his, smiling stunningly against his lips, before her hand stills and she unwraps it around his length. 

"Wait," Jace whines, biting his lip once more, embarrassed at the desperation in his voice, because he was close; so, so to the purest and holiest ecstasy of his life.

"Patience, my sweet prince," Baela only laughs, playfully chastising him and the sweet sound echoes of his bedchambers, making his heart beat a hundred times faster.

Then her violet eyes are gazing fiercely back at him, full to the brim with a fire that threatens to burn through Jace-both of them-like the most delicious fever.

And Jace wants her to burn him, scorch him, set his skin ablaze, until his bones are anything except ash.

"I have needs as well, my husband." Baela steps away from him and swiftly discards her Valyrian robes, pulling them over her head along with her underthings, until she is as naked as Jace, her copper skin glinting a deeper golden color by the light of the flames. Jace's breath catches in his throat, for he's never seen a sight more beautiful, more brazen, than his wife with her silver-white hair wild and framing her face. The curves of her breast tipped with brown nipples beckon his mouth to them and he's swallowing, salivating with a need to wrap his lips around them, to suck and savor the sweetness of her. "And only you can fulfill them, Jacaerys."

Baela strides towards him gracefully to their bed and Jace hungrily eyes the sway of her hips, the crux of silver-white that matches her curls, that tantalizes him cruelly, hypnotizes him into the most blissful state of silence. His mouth gapes open, drool seeping down his chin, when she climbs astride him, licking the saliva mixed with his blood from his lip and chin, at the same time grasping him by his cock once more, pressing his head into her heat that threatens to suffocate him wickedly. 

"Baela, w-wait!" Jace hisses, but it's too late because she's wrapping her arms around him and sinking her tight, slick cunt onto him in one torturous movement which causes him to thrust all the way inside her, sheathe himself into her body to the hilt, until he's groaning, gasping, cursing at how wondrous, wonderful his wife feels wrapped wholly around him.

"Wife," Jace growls, hugging her breasts to him, placing gentle kisses into the crook of her smooth throat, murmuring his words of praise into her flesh. "You feel exquisite." Baela trembles against him, goose pimples raising along her golden skin, constricting her cunt around him even more and he jerks into her just slightly, barely.

"Oh, fuck, Jace, w-wait!" Baela cries out and Jace pulls his lips from her neck, eyes wide with concern when he sees pain painted onto her face along with tears shiny against her loveliness. 

"My brave princess," Jace presses his lips against hers gently, before his tongue licks away the salt that stains her cheeks, "my brave wife. Let me help you, sweetling. " He snakes his finger in between their bodies clung tightly to one another, joined for always, knowing how to ease his wife's pain, for he is his mother's son. Always observant, an apt listener, learning everything he can.

"Oh gods, Jace." Baela moans when his fingers stroke over her hidden jewel and Jace smirks against her lips when she relaxes her body into his, her body melting into his like lava. "It feels good doesn't it, my wife?" He watches her face relax, contort into one of pure pleasure, eyes opening, lilacs laced with the utmost lust, outlined in love. 

"I love you, B-Baela!" Jace confesses finally when her body lifts off his only to thrust down upon him once more.

"Then fuck me, my love." She hisses into his ear, all her fire and blood coursing through her veins and into him, making him tremble with the utmost need, to satiate and satisfy the dragons awakening beneath the surface.

And this time he meets her half way, with as much passion and intensity that burns through him; for he shall always burn for her, be the other half of her whole, completely, until the end of his days.

"Yes, wife, yes!" Jace cries, a loud sound that echoes off their bedchambers, along with the sounds of their bodies melding, becoming one soul, one heart. 

"Finish in me please, Jacaerys, please." This admission spurs Jace on as he grips Baela to him tighter, one hand pulling her hair back, one hand on the plush flesh of her hip, watching his cock disappear inside her slick heat, eyeing her creamy fluids upon him. His sac tightens at the sight, but Jace wants to see her shatter around him, to drown in the drenched honeyed juices of her cunt. "Fingers, husband. I need more." Baela begs, panting, hips humping against him desperately, and it awakens the feral beast lurking beneath fully, and he yanks on her hair harder, hard enough for his wife to whimper out. "Then use yours, my sweet wife. Touch yourself for me, my brave girl."

"You're cruel, Jacaerys Velaryon." Baela grits out, groaning, beginning to expertly rub over her clit, closing her eyes. But Jacaerys has other plans, latching onto one of her nipples, sucking and nibbling on it lightly with his teeth. "Ah! No teeth!" But her cunt clamps around him tighter so he bites harder, releasing her nipple from his mouth with a lewd pop. "Keep your eyes open, on me, wife." Jace wraps his mouth around her other nipple sucking it between his plump lips, fondling the other bitten one, watching his wife's hooded eyes, her lips part, if to cry out, so Jace bites into her other nipple, tearing a strangled cry from her lips, followed by his name.

"Jace!" Baela shrieks, rubbing over her clit faster and harsher, before she's reaching the highest point of her peak, body shaking, convulsing, clinging on to him for dear life, less she fall, crumble around him. 

So her dragon prince, her husband wraps his arms around him, hugging his princess to him, clinging to his wife for dear life.

"Baela, Baela, Baela," he grunts, against her tender breasts, "give me everything." And she does a second time, flooding him with her release, her honeyed sweetness that  takes and takes everything in him, milking him, and then her lips are on his stealing the breath out of his lungs.

"Yes, yes, sweet husband, now give me your son." Baela pants against his lips dreamily and Jace is the one shouting, gritting his teeth, crying out, convulsing against hers. Because he will give her a son. A son with his father's chestnut curls, with his mother's deep golden skin, with eyes the color of dark amethysts. 

"Our son," he croaks hoarsely against Baela's lips and tears of happiness spring forth from his eyes as the last of his seed is milked from his body, flowing and flooding into his wife's womb. One that will flourish, will bring forth their babe.

They fall onto their marriage bed together, into each other's arms, made whole by their union, their joyous love-making.

Jace's head is nestled in between Baela's chest, listening to her heart beat slow, his fingers lazily stroking over her toned belly, dreaming of it swelling underneath his hand.

"Lucerys," she strokes over his curls and Jace glances upwards, confused at her smiling, satiated face, until the realization dawns on him at what she means. 

"Yes," Jace mumbles, kissing the skin in between her breasts, running his tongue downwards over, dipping the tip of it into her navel, hearing her breath hitch. "Yesss," he says more hoarsely now, mouth watering and nostrils flaring, the scent of both him and her hitting his senses. "Yesss," and then his tongue is languidly licking her folds, tasting, savoring both seed and slick, ravenously beginning to devour the more of his wife's little noises that fill his ears.

And Jacaerys keeps his hand upon Baela's stomach the entire time, cock hardening at the thought of doing this a thousand more times, with his wife's belly swelling, growing with another strong seed. Another son born of fire and blood to replace one loss. Their Lucerys.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

girl dad Raphael ends my life

Read on AO3

-

He's not unaware of the intense gaze on him. He's ignoring it until his little admirer decides what she wants to say. She's patient, he'll give her that, but in the end she's a child and he has lived for nearly two millenia. He will outlast her. He will -

"You are staring, daughter."

Or not. His blasted curiosity gets the better of him. He has folded his hand in this silent game. He has been bested by this beast of his own creation, and from the way she giggles, she knows it.

"Yes I am, father," she admits, brazen as a bull.

"Would you care to tell me why?"

The creature's mother, lounging on a chaise across the room, hides a smile behind the pages of the novel she's reading. Clearly she finds this amusing. Later, he swears, he will show her something he finds amusing.

"Well, I was just thinking..." says the child, resting her chin on her hands. It still shocks him how small they are. Even fully spread, her fingers don't cover the span of his own palms. Looking at her hands stirs his protective instincts, fatherly instincts he didn't believe he possessed until she came crashing into his life. "Your horns are really nice and pretty but I think they would look even nicer if I put some gems and ribbons on them."

His wife disguises her laughter as a cough. Wretch. He raises a brow at his daughter, otherwise keeping his face neutral as possible.

"My horns are pretty, you say?"

She nods emphatically, kicking her feet. "Yep! They're so big and spirally and spikey. I hope mine look like that when I grow up."

He bites his forked tongue to stem the flow of pride and happiness he experiences. Despite his verbose inclinations, his knowledge of a hundred languages both young and old, he can't describe what it's like to be given such free and unconditional love like that; true to his nature, he hoards it greedily, adding to the ever-growing list in the recesses of his rotten soul of the terrible things he would do to keep this child safe and happy. He is the apple of her eye, and he will raze the Hells themselves to stay that way. Of course, she doesn't need to know any of this, not yet, so instead he fixes her with a placid look and says:

"So, what do we do when we have a theory?"

"Test it!" She shrieks, delighted, and hops off her seat to run to her room and grab her things.

"No running in the house!" He barks after her. There shan't be a repeat of the great statue-collapsing-incident, thank you very much. Tav's expression when she looks at him warms the coals of desire in his belly. He leans back in his seat and preens. When his daughter returns, her arms full of jewellery and ribbons (of course he spoils her; no child of his will want for anything) he lets her - just this once, mind - sit on his desk, obediently lowering his head so she can decorate his crown of horns as she sees fit.

Her theory, in his opinion, is proven correct: he looks fantastic.

[narraboths]

[inspired in great part though very obliquely by this iconic piece of fanart]

“You must make a good impression, daughter. And take care of the company you keep.”

She has to keep reminding herself of her father's words, to stand tall and smile, dutiful and pleasant, and not to pick at her nails. It is a royal ball, after all. The first in ten years that Lord Otto Hightower has been graciously invited to, recalled to court and to his seat on the Council. A triumphant, joyful return by all measures.

Alicent, as ever, is ill at ease.

She’s never quite gotten used to the Red Keep during the last of the old king’s reign. It’s a queer place, too young, too great, too foul already. Even now, with its great hall all illuminated, the walls reverberating with the sound of music and laughter, it feels dark, suffocating, the twisted shadow of the Iron Throne looming large on its walls. In Oldtown, there’s wisdom and piety at court, in Highgarden, chivalry and grace. Here, she’s only met with the dragonlords’ lewd, alien splendor.

And she faces it alone.

(There was, once, the princess Rhaenyra, then a scrawny, silver-haired menace. Alicent recalls brief flashes, a wide, toothy grin, her brazen tone, the petulant pout when admonished, the little bronze dragon perched on her shoulders, then later padding after her through the court. The enraptured, curious look of blue-violet eyes, listening to Alicent’s reading. It was long ago. It’s Crown Princess now, a woman grown, and wilder still than the Rogue Prince, or so the whispers that reach the Hightower from the ports say. Dragon’s blood, King Viserys is said to jest. Alicent tries to pay just as little mind to their tales as little Rhaenyra must be thinking about her. There must be graver things for the kingdom’s heir to think about than daughters of disgraced courtiers.)

Time passes slowly. Lords and ladies come to welcome her with their honeyed barbs, lordlings and squires ask for a dance and squeeze her hand too tight, all sweaty and overeager to ingratiate themselves with the newly-made Hand’s daughter. Alicent nods and listens and smiles and charms, always gentle and always delightful as her father would wish, until her cheeks hurt and her face feels like a rigid, half-cracked mask. She feels the court’s cold, prying eyes on her, knows how they must be seizing her up, measuring, judging. A good impression.

Yet there’s something else, too, a different gaze that she sometimes meets, the eyes of a lean, pale figure from across the hall, standing in the circle of a gaggle of courtiers. They follow her with such piercing intensity that she feels her face burn. (In confusion, surely. Embarrassment.)

She takes refuge by a pillar in the end, sinking into its shadow. She doesn’t even realize when she starts picking at her nails again. She only knows that suddenly, there’s blood running down her finger and she hisses in pain, almost tearing her handkerchief in her hasty attempt to cover it.

“You have not changed one bit.”

She flinches, shirks away from the unexpected company – or would, but there’s a hand wrapped around her wrist, gentle but firm, holding her in place. A laugh, low and delighted.

Alicent looks up. Her captor is the pale stranger – a youth clad in the royal red-and-black, a mess of short, silver-white hair framing a handsome face, lighting up with amusement as they watch her stammer and squirm. Not Daemon, not one of the Velaryons, certainly, not…

“I did not use to give you such fright.” They grin at her dazed stare, mischievous and eerily familiar, squeezing Alicent’s hand carefully, pressing the handkerchief just tightly enough against the bleeding scratch. “Not just by seeking you out, that is.”

“Rhaenyra.”

The name is half-sighed, half-choked. The world is spinning. There is so little of the bony, bratty child she once knew in the princeling – princess standing now in front of her, half a head taller than Alicent, wide-shouldered, dashing, that Alicent can hardly believe it. But the princess is smiling even wider now, all bright, brash joy, and that sight itself is more achingly familiar than any superficial mark.

“The Hand has hidden you from us for far too long. I could not yet ride Syrax when you went away, do you remember? She’s large enough now to saddle two.” She’s holding Alicent’s hand, still, drawing it closer to her, close enough that Alicent’s knuckles brush against the buttons of her doublet. It is not strange, surely, the Crown Princess talking to the daughter of the Hand like that. No-one should think that unseemly. “I hope your father does not mean to deprive our court from your presence once again. I should take very dim view of it.”

Her gaze is warm still, but her tone drops strangely deep, enough to make Alicent shiver. She casts down her eyes.

“My father has meant no offense, Princess.”

That earns, startlingly, only a scoff.

“None of that, my lady of Hightower. You know me.”

Alicent’s face burns. “I’ve known you once.”

Rhaenyra lets go of her hand. Alicent’s heart sinks, for a second – then Rhaenyra’s fingers wrap around her chin, instead, tilting her head back ever so slightly, gently, until they are eye to eye once more.

“You will know me again.”

[cambion-companion]

I Hate That I Love You

When the lines become blurred. When carefully laid plans of devils and men run awry, as they so often do.

Raphael x reader/Tav blurb

Ne'er before had Raphael burned. The aching pain of a stunted emotion unrealized, unspoken. One that he raged against.

"Mortals are fodder." He muttered to himself, yet again finding himself thinking of one mortal in particular. The thorn in his side, simultaneously a fragrant blossom within his garden.

He was waiting, hoping they showed up at his doorstep.

He dipped his quill into the porcelain pot of ink, gilded like everything he owned. A drop of scarlet ink splattered like blood on the parchment. "For the crown. For power eternal."

The truth remained at the edge of his mind, held at bay by his own considerable force of will. His conflicting nature raging against itself. Contradicting, overlapping, wanting everything and yet knowing everything would never be enough.

Raphael was pleased with how quickly you sought him out. He had announced his nature and presence to the Madam of the pleasure house. To lure in more despairing souls to feed from. Nothing to do with you of course.

Yet there you stood, brazen and proud, smirking at him as your bright eyes took in his petal-strewn suite. You carried the scent of victory and desperation upon your flushed skin. Raphael was no fool, he felt the tension practically scalding the air between your bodies.

He gave a polite bow, placing a hand over his heart and extending his other to the lavish room. He wished to draw you in by your waist and taste the salt of your sweat with his tongue, mold his fingers against your flesh and draw sweet sounds from your lush mouth.

There would be time for that later. He had lusted after the crown of Karsus for centuries, because of you it was now within his grasp. Soon, you would be as well.

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Death Cloak

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, public sex, fingering, smut, angst, violence, overstimulation, description of murder ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When he saw her among the crowd of masked figures dancing with this strange man, when he noticed his hand shamelessly placed on her naked back, when he noticed that they were conversing with each other between turns, flirting with each other, he thought at first that he would kill them both.

However, he changed his mind when he saw how, as soon as the music stopped, she left this brazen man, like a cruel, beautiful goddess laughing at his pathetic efforts, without even turning to look at him again, heading towards one of the tables.

He felt his manhood throb painfully hard in his breeches at the thought that she had done this to provoke him, that by the thought of him looking at them and what he would do to her she was already soaking wet.

He decided to find out, approaching her slowly between the chatting people, another dance began and the music echoed around him. He stepped behind her, grabbing the jug she was struggling to lift and filled the cup she held in her other hand halfway.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my Lady?" He asked lowly, trying to control himself and not think about the fact that he would gladly fuck her from behind on the table in front of him, taking what was due to him as king and husband.

"Yes, my Lord." She whispered softly, sweetly, her voice trembling slightly. He felt the way she said the words in his cock, which was twitching all over with impatience, he knew she recognised him.

"Dance with me."

She turned over her shoulder and looked at him, her lips parted in disbelief when she noticed that he was clad just like her father's guards, just like when she had met him for the first time. A smirk of satisfaction appeared on his face when he noticed in her dreamy eyes what he had suspected for some time.

She was so fucking wet.

Spinning with her among the couples, holding her shamelessly close to him, admiring her almost defiant gown exposing her naked body, her shoulders and back, everything that belonged to him, all he could think about was that he will fuck her in front of everyone.

She welcomed him inside her with ease, his cock sliding in and out of her with the sticky slap of naked flesh against flesh, her walls soaking wet − he could see that his manhood was all glistening and moist every time he slipped out of her.

He rooted into her with groans of pleasure, holding her by her throat, thrusts of his hips again and again stretching her tight, hot core, his place on earth, a delight meant only for him.

He glanced sideways, at the man standing in the distance againt the wall, at the fool who dared to dream of his wife, and was taken aback to see his hand slipped into his breeches, his gaze directed at her. His cock throbbed hard at the thought that he dared to imagine he was in his place, that he was fucking his wife.

"− look at him − he's fucking himself with his hand while looking at my wife − at my − fucking − wife −" He breathed out into her ear, thrusting into her in a frenzy of anger and pleasure, feeling her muscles begin to squeeze and suck him deep inside her.

He knew she was close, that she was about to come and completely soak his cock − he was twitching inside her with his every desperate, rough thrust.

"− you know he's already dead, don't you? − ah − would you want him to touch you before he died? − for him to root his cock deep inside you just for once? −"

"− n-no − your seed − I want it inside me −" She mumbled with her lips parted wide, panting and moaning with difficulty along with him, her eyes clenched shut. He thought with amusement and relief that she completely didn't care what the man did or wanted, that she only craved him, faithfully begging for his seed as any obedient wife should.

He felt a powerful shudder run through his body as her flesh shook with fulfilment, her walls clenching around him − he came inside her at last, filling her with himself, his face pressed against her hair, taking in her wonderful, familiar scent, her body trembling in his hands.

He released her and slid out of her with a loud splat of his cock against his lower abdomen, all wet from her moisture, his spend mingled with her wetness running down her thighs.

He covered this wonderful, ungodly sight with her gown, recognising with calmness that he was the only one who had a right to look at it, tied his breeches and then moved off disappearing into the crowd, leaving her alone.

He had all night to take care of her and explain to her exactly what he thought of it all.

The man he was hunting was just tying his breeches, wiping his hands in them, apparently wet with his seed − when he noticed him out of the corner of his eye he began to run away as if he had seen a ghost.

He felt like laughing at the sight, amused, taking his dagger, which he always carried with him, out from under his cloak, thinking that he was a mere deviant and coward, that he must keep her wife safe so that he would never worry her with his presence again.

He thought she would be grateful to him for this.

Before he killed him in one of the empty, dark corridors of the fortress, with only the rays of the night moon falling into it, he pulled off his mask and hood, wanting him to know who would take his life.

"− m-my King, I beg you − if I only knew, I would never −" The man mumbled, kneeling before him, shaking all over − he recognised in him up close one of his guards enjoying entertaining himself with female servants instead of concentrating on his work.

"− you touched my wife − you touched yourself watching me take her − painless death is too mild a punishment −" He said softly and calmly, playing with his dagger between his fingers, his blade flashing again and again in the starlight.

"− I beg you, my King, have mercy, send me away from the fortress, just don't kill me − I beg you, I will never look at someone's wife again, I will go to the monastery, I promise, please −" He exclaimed folding his hands as if to pray, as if to make him believe that now he would change, that from this moment on he would never again look at a woman who belonged to someone else.

In one swift, sure movement he slit his throat − his blood gushed onto him, soiling his coat and hands. He caught himself instantly by the neck, falling to the floor, coughing loudly, trying to catch his breath, a gurgling sound came from his mouth.

He grabbed him by his hair forcing him to look at him, and then stab after stab pierced his heart with his blade, slamming his dagger into his flesh like mad, thinking that if thoughts of his wife filled it, he had to destroy it and tear it to pieces.

"− only I have the right to want her − only I have the right to touch her − only I have the right to love her −" He growled in rage, after another stab of the blade the man's eyes rolled back, a huge pool of his blood surrounding them. He let go of him at last, his body fell with a thud to the floor, dead.

He wiped his dagger into his cloak and hid it, breathing loudly through his mouth, mouthful of the sight. He hummed quietly and stepped over him, heading towards his chamber, knowing that she was waiting for him there, bare and wet, that she would fuck him all night once he told her what he had done.

He held her by her hair, pressing her cheek against his bed as he pounded into her brutally from behind, their naked bodies slapping against each other loudly. She moaned and whimpered beneath him, after her third fulfilment completely losing touch with reality, their bodies sweaty from the exertion, his cock soaking wet from his spend and her moisture.

"− what is it? − my little wife has had enough? −" He sneered, speeding up, his other hand firmly squeezing her waist, rooting his cock into her with sure, rough, deep movements of his hips.

"− I − p-please − mghmm −" She mumbled wearily, her lips parted sweetly in a gesture of complete submission, her muscles clenching tightly against his and sucking him wonderfully at his words, his fat cock twitching hard inside her, close to the next fulfilment.

"− for what you've done I should pierce you through with my cock tonight − like I pierced the heart of that fucking bastard with my dagger − again, again and again −" He hissed, speeding up his pace, thrusting deeper into her with each of his words, their bodies slamming against each other faster and faster. She squirmed in protest clenching her hands on the bedding, her thighs quivering from overstimulation in his hand as he opened her weeping cunt on his cock.

"− no − fucking take it −" He growled low clenching his teeth not letting her escape − he heard her whine of pain and pleasure, another devastating orgasm shook her body, her core began to squeeze him from all sides. He sighed loudly and and threw his head back, closing his eye, coming inside her at last, panting hard.

"− that's it − just like that −" He cooed, delighted that as he rocked his hips inside her, little streams of his seed flowed out of her − she was so filled with him that it was leaking out of her.

He slid out of her with a sigh of satisfaction and tightened his fingers on her warm slit at once, not letting a drop of his spend go to waste.

It was all going to stay deep inside her and take root there, his legacy and proof that she belonged to him, to her husband.

He lay behind her with her on his side, still holding his hand between her thighs, the other stroking her hair, trying to soothe her, her whole body trembling in convulsions, her fingers tightening on his shoulder, needing his closeness and tenderness.

"− it's all right now − your King has forgiven you − forgiven you and filled you as any loving husband should do − hm? −" He hummed, placing loud, hot, moist kisses on her bare neck and shoulders, and she nodded, her hand sliding into his, pressing his fingers tighter against her womanhood.

"− I want it all inside me, husband −" She whispered fondly and he felt a wonderful thrill of satisfaction, licking his lips dried from exertion and emotion, swallowing loudly.

"− fear not, my dearest − your husband will make sure that nothing flows out of you −"

They fell asleep in the tender, tight embrace of each other's bodies, their legs and hands entwined, his cheek nestled against her hair.

He slept wonderfully peacefully that night.

It was also because the sarcophagus for his family in the vaults of the temple in which he was crowned, and under which his great ancestors lay, had finally been completed.

Lord Walford had buried his family in a mass grave beneath the keep − they had searched for their bodies for months, but without success. When he had almost given up hope, one of the servants reported an unpleasant smell coming from one of the kitchen cellars.

They had been buried without appropriate respect and he felt relieved to give their souls and their memory proper honour.

He rode on horseback in front of the gathered crowds behind a long procession of coffins amidst a chorus of monks, at once sombre and hopeful, at the very front on an ornate cart lay his father's coffin, followed by those of his mother, Aegon, Helaena and Daeron.

He rode behind them through the streets of the city − apart from the chanting of the monks there was complete silence, the folk looking at them with some kind of reverence, shouting his and his wife's name, calling them just.

He thought, as he followed them on their last journey, that when they were properly buried he would at last have peace, and they could be saved, no longer suffering any humiliation or pain.

They would be free.

He felt shame as his throat tightened at the thought, tears squeezed into his eye, his crown uncomfortable and heavy, weighing down on his head more than ever.

He was consoled by the snow lying around them; he had a feeling that the world was telling everyone in this way that their souls were pure, that the heavens were rejoicing with them today.

In front of the temple he dismounted from his horse, glancing at his wife who had settled down beside him, both of them shivering from the cold, knowing that there were still hours of service ahead of them.

She nodded at him indicating that she was ready, and he felt proud at the thought that, as always, she had stood by his side, witnessing the weakness that others had failed to see in his gaze, not allowing him to fall, to pull down his mask before those who might use it.

He prayed fervently, trying not to think like the others about the cold and the chill, his breath turning to steam in this gigantic stone temple, stopping from foot to foot, trying to warm himself in this way, thinking about what the priest was saying.

When at last it was all over, and coffin after coffin had been brought down to the proper sarcophaguses and enclosed in them, he closed his eyes and breathed loudly, feeling the enormous weight fall from his shoulders, he had the sensation of suddenly becoming astonishingly light.

He returned their reverence and honour.

By the time they returned to the fortress it was already dusk; when his wife informed him that she was tired and would go to bed already he simply nodded, massaging his temple, gazing thoughtfully into the flames, feeling still preoccupied by what had happened.

When he finally joined her bare, embracing her from behind he immediately sensed that something was wrong. She lay dressed in a thick nightgown, her body strangely inflamed and hot, and he had the feeling that she was trembling − he swallowed loudly touching his hand to her forehead, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

She had a fever.

"My love?" He whispered in a trembling voice, gently shaking her, looking at her terrified. "My love, wake up."

He heard her quiet, faint muttering; she tried to open her eyes but her eyelids immediately closed − she began to breathe through her mouth, her body quivering in his embrace, all aflame.

"I'm cold." She mumbled softly. He pressed his lips together, got up from their bed, quickly put on his nightshirt and breeches and opened the door, ordering the guards to summon a medic immediately.

A man entered his chamber after a few minutes − he was the same monk who had treated his wound when he was brought to their monastery as a child.

"She has a fever and is shivering all over." He told him, approaching the bed with him, trying to sound calm, − his voice broke at the end of the sentence, betraying his grief and desperation, his throat squeezed so tightly that he could not breathe.

It was only when his servants lit all the candles in his chamber and added fire to the hearth that he noticed how pale she was, her lips blue, her face flushed with sweat. The medic ordered her servants to be summoned to find out if anything had happened, at the same time placing cool cloths on her forehead.

"Has the Queen complained of anything, been troubled by any discomfort?" The old man asked, rolling up the long sleeves of his worn, old robe.

One of the girls swallowed loudly, looking at them with fear.

"The Queen came back frozen from the temple. She didn't have a coat or gown suitably thick for the weather, suitable for such a ceremony. The decision to perform the funeral was made suddenly and the dressmakers did not have time to sew a new garment for her." She mumbled out in a trembling voice, playing with her fingers, and he looked at her in disbelief.

He had made his decision as soon as his parents' bodies had been discovered, he hadn't considered what she thought about it and whether she needed to prepare for it, whether she had the strength to stand for several hours in the cold, whether she felt unwell and wanted to return to the fortress or hide for a while in the warm chambers of the monks.

He had completely forgotten about her, immersed in thoughts of his family, of those who had passed away, and now she was shivering with fever in his bed. He felt rage begin to boil inside him and licked his lower lip, breathing loudly.

"You let her go out inappropriately dressed?" He hissed, her servants looked at each other horrified, fearing that his reaction would end in death for them.

"Your Grace, we begged her, but she said she was choosing this gown and this cloak, that she would not bring shame to the King, that she must look proper on such an important day, we could not force her." Muttered the other one.

"You fucking fools! I'll hang each of you in turn as soon as…"

"− my King −" He heard her faint, quiet whisper, and looked at her − her eyes half-open, staring at him, her lips slightly parted in effort, her long black curls spread in disarray around her head.

He completely lost interest in his rage and what he was saying to them, approaching her quickly, sitting down beside her on their bed, grasping her hot hand in his.

"− I'm so cold − yet at the same time my body seems to be on fire −" She whispered with difficulty, as if each word she spoke cost her a great deal of effort.

"− you have a fever, my love − brother Albert will prepare a decoction at once, which you will have to drink − rest now −" He said tenderly, stroking her inflamed cheek, wet with sweat, and heard her sigh softly, hugging her face to his hand.

A moment later, her mother walked into the chamber, a long blue robe hurriedly put on over her nightgown, her hair tied in a long braid, her eyes wide, terrified.

"− my beloved child −" She whispered running over to her bed, sitting down across from him, stroking her hair.

They ordered the servants to leave − only he, her mother and brother Albert, who was preparing the medicine on his table, remained inside. He watched in thoughtfulness as her mother tenderly and carefully placed on her forehead and chest the cold cloths, previously soaked in the snow she kept in a basin on her lap, brought by the servants over and over again.

He turned impatiently, looking at the monk, who did not seem to be in a hurry despite the fact that every second was precious.

"− how much longer? −" He asked roughly, the man, however, seemed not at all bothered by his warning tone.

"The onions need to release their juices after being sprinkled with sugar, it takes a while. I also brew a tea of lime leaves, chaste and sage, and add a little garlic, honey, pepper, lemon and ginger. It is necessary to support her body from within, to burn out the plague that has taken hold of her body. A fever is a sign of struggle." He said calmly, squeezing a garlic clove with the side of the knife blade, crushing it into a mush, dropping it then into the cup.

After a few minutes he added the rest of the ingredients and stirred it thoroughly − that smell of it all was foreign and unpleasant, but he trusted him and prayed that it would work.

Brother Albert approached their bed and ordered her mother to help her up to a sitting position so that she would not choke.

"− the Queen must drink this immediately −" He said calmly − her mother took the cup from him, with his help lifting her weakened body higher on the pillows, putting the cup to her lips. She lifted her eyelids slightly, semi-conscious, breathing with difficulty.

"− drink, my sweet child, it will help you −" She said warmly, tipping the contents of the goblet. She took a hard sip and began to cough, shaking her head, shuddering all over, moving away.

He pressed his lips together, breathing hard, furious.

"Leave us alone. Both of you." He said coldly, her mother looking at him in shock.

"I will not leave my child."

"Get out, woman."

She swallowed loudly hearing his tone of voice and stood up slowly, telling him to change the clod cloths every few minutes, handing him the cup in her hand, disappearing after a moment with the monk behind the door.

He sat down next to his wife and squeezed her cheeks in his free hand, forcing her to open her mouth.

"Drink, or I swear I'll force it down your throat." He growled, putting the goblet to her lips. She shook her head, flinching at the smell alone, close to tears, her vision clouded.

"− please −" She whined out like a small, terrified child − he wasn't sure she knew where she was or what was happening to her.

However, he was unable to sympathise with her or express his understanding; all he could think about was that he was terrified, that if anything happened to her he would fall into complete madness and kill everyone around him, including himself.

"− drink − that's an order − you are to obey your King and husband −" He said in a cold, impatient voice, tilting the goblet and holding her tightly so that she couldn't break free even though she tried. She began to swallow it loudly, tears trickled from her eyes down her cheeks, a quiver of terror and disgust came from her throat.

"− just like that − just a little bit more − my good, obedient wife −" He gasped as he tilted the cup all the way down and the last drops spilled out − she cried out loudly as he let go of her cheeks, turning her face away from him, trembling and despairing.

"− shhh, my sweetest − I know −" He hushed her, applying to her forehead the ice-cold piece of cloth he had sunk earlier into the bowl of already melted snow, her whole body quivering.

He covered her tightly with the furs, slipping under them beside her, wanting to warm her with his own body as well, and embraced her, nuzzling her hot cheek into his chest. He swallowed loudly feeling her tremble all over, breathing hard through her mouth, knowing he wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep that night.

"− am I dying? −" She asked quietly in a shaking, terrified voice.

He felt a tightness in his throat at her question, leaned in and kissed the top of her head with tenderness, with devotion, with love.

"I am Death itself, my sweet wife −" He whispered low, at the same time with warm affection and dark coolness, stroking her hair with his hand. "− and I assure you that you will not leave this world before me."

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[chronicmisfit]

Can I get some fish n chips almond latte with extra whipped cream? Thxxx

(extra love for victor)

This was a fun one to write! I decided to go with the First Words soulmate AU for this one!

I found their actual first words btw, and Kate has the same first words for seven of the boys.

Order: Romantic Villain Boys with Soulmate AU

Soulmate AU: First words - The first words they will hear their soulmate say are written on their wrist like a tattoo

Additional Request: Extra love for Victor (I made his headcanons a tad longer)

The words on William’s wrist: “Pardon me, that's mine!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “There you are, milady.”

William finds the words his soulmate will say to him amusing

The funny part is how brazen he assumes she will act when they meet

Kate is confused by the words on her wrist

And a bit concerned

Milady is something that people higher up in the world use to refer to women

IS HER SOULMATE A NOBLE?

William is speechless for a moment when he first meets Kate

But he was right that he is amused.

Kate’s eyes widen when William speaks his first words, knowing that he must have known right before he said them- since she spoke first…

The words on Liam’s wrist: “Oh my-!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “Friend of yours, Will? Does she know about us?”

Liam assumes that she must be a fan of the plays he’s been in.

Any other things it could be…

…He worries about those possibilities when he can’t sleep at night

What if she catches him in the middle of a mission?

What if she’s scared of him?

Kate doesn’t know anyone named Will

But even more concerning is the second question

What does ‘know about us’ mean?

Liam’s worry is confirmed and Kate’s question is answered when they meet

However, Liam is too curious about her to dwell on his concerns

And Kate is too shocked by what she saw to dwell on hers

The words on Harrison’s wrist: “Oh my-!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: "Sorry to spook you, but this is just a rehersal for a play."

Harrison assumes the worst immediately

That his soulmate witnessed him do something wrong

His tragic fate immediately comes to mind whenever he thinks about it

Kate is excited

She believes her soulmate to be an actor

He is proven right, and she is proven wrong

She stutters as she tells her own soulmate that he is lying

Harrison thinks that she probably hates liars since she doesn’t live in the same world as Crown

The words on Elbert’s wrist: “Oh my-!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “It's fine. Are you all right?”

Elbert worries that the reason she said that could be him accidentally using his power on her

That would be like a nightmare for him

Kate is giddy that her soulmate would be so concerned for her even when he doesn’t know her

When they do meet, Elbert almost feels like it’s worse than he imagined

Only almost though, forcing her to see her worse sad memory would surely be worse

Kate is too busy being shocked to be happy about meeting her soulmate

However after the fact, when she learns that he is a noble she is very nervous knowing that he is her soulmate.

The words on Alfons’ wrist: “Oh my-!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “Well, well...! I wasn't expecting a guest.”

Alfons and Kate both don’t know how to feel about their soulmate’s first words.

To Al, those words could be either excitement or shock.

He would prefer it if it were the first one

But he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it were the second.

Kate just has no idea what to make of the first words.

Even worse, after she hears those words she can’t even be sure which face the words go with.

It’s not until after she meets Victor that Alfons speaks again

But Kate recognized the voice immediately.

When Alfons realized Kate was his soulmate, he wished he could use his power on her to make her believe Harrison’s lie

A girl like her shouldn’t be swept into his fate.

The words on Roger’s wrist: “Oh my-!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “Haha, well, I didn't think we'd have a trespasser! She's a naughty lil thing, isn't she?”

Roger is excited to find out what kind of girl would be his soulmate.

Kate has so many questions

Why did she trespass?

Why did he call her that?

Should she be concerned about who her soulmate is?

When Roger realizes she’s his soulmate, he could be described as elated.

He thinks she’s a cute little lady.

Kate however, still is concerned

He has a gun

He is extremely handsome

But he’s also extremely unsettling

The words on Jude’s wrist: “Oh my-!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “Tch... That's why i toldja to lock the damn door!”

Jude doesn’t really care for romance stories

So he never really thought about his soulmate

Ellis did make Jude show him the words though.

Kate is nervous

What will she walk in on?

On days that she got antsy she would walk around the part of London

Specifically where an accent similar to the one in her words can be heard

And she will test doors to see if they’re locked

When they meet, Jude doesn’t react

Ellis looks towards Jude when he recognizes the words though.

When Jude mentions the door, Kate’s eyes widen.

So this is the kind of man she’s soulmates with?

The words on Ellis’ wrist: “Oh my-!”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “Why don't you come over here? there's no escape at this point anyway.”

Ellis is extremely excited to meet his soulmate

He has to make them happy

Sometimes he’ll accidentally bump into strangers, but he’ll apologize profusely

Especially since they didn’t say the words he’s waiting for

Kate is concerned by the words she reads

No escape

No escape from what though?

The answer is obvious once she hears them

Ellis is sad about how they met

Because she must have been scared.

The words on Victor’s wrist: “Yes, Master Victor. That's right.”

The words on Kate’s wrist: “Welcome back, my beloved Cursed Boys!”

Victor is not surprised at the formality of his soulmate’s first words

He is the queen’s aide

Unfortunately, he knows he’ll have to push her away

He has to keep her from being engulfed by the darkness and death around him

Kate is happy that he seems polite, but also worried.

What cursed boys?

That question is halfway answered when she hears the words said.

The cursed boys must be the 8 men she met at the crime scene mere moments ago.

Unlike the other 8, Kate is not the one who speaks around her soulmate first.

So, she gulps then stutters as she says her first words

Upon realizing she is his soulmate, he is both enamored and crushed

Enamored by how beautiful his soulmate is

But crushed that he needs to push her away for her own protection

Maybe it’s selfishness

But he can’t bring himself to turn her away from him just yet

So he makes her stay for a month.

Masterlist

[highvern]

Slay you deserve a million followers for teach me series. Can I request DK or MG kabedon? 🥹 humor or serious or against all odds angst would make my dreams come true you’re amazing

NGL I had to look up what that was and I can only imagine humor but this ended up super fluffy too im sorry for no angst anon 😔

Please accept this as my apology!!!

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom x fem!reader

Genre: humor, suggestive, fluff

Warnings: reader loves a boozy brunch, and they have a dachshund named Mango,

Note: Mayhaps be read as a long long long away epilogue of Teach Me couple

“Damn, you shit with that ass?” You drunkly smile at your boyfriend attempting to shuffle you inside your shared apartment.

When you swat at the curve of plump flesh, Dokyeom rolls his eyes with a groan. He can’t help but smile despite his exasperation with your antics. Bold comments from you has a special way of turning him into a blushing stuttering mess despite years of dating. Something about the brazen way you declare your interest after so much time together sends his heart into orbit, millions of butterflies filling his chest until he is convinced it’ll explode.

But the hallway of your apartment complex at two in the afternoon on a Sunday is not high on Dokyeom’s list of places to be felt up by his girlfriend. Coupled with the knowledge he only has so much time to get you horizontal before you refuse to move yourself, Dokyeom is too stressed to enjoy the usual banter you supply after too many mimosas at brunch with your friends.

The chilled metal door gives way under your combined weight, throwing Dokyeom forward as his feet fail to find their grounding — a firm thud ricocheting through the space under the bounce of his shoulders against the plaster wall.

A smack! echoes in response under your hand landing above his shoulder, pinning a wide eyed Dokyeom underneath your hips as you’re dragged forward by momentum.

“So…do you come here often?”

“To our house?” Dokyeom responds, eyebrows furrowing in amusement.

Crowding into the limit spacefurther, you watch him through your lashes— failing to realize your attempt at coyish allure leaves you resembling a round eyed calf.

Your slow blinks force a guffaw from his lips, shaking your stomach where it touches his own as the crown of Dokyeom’s skull meets the wall behind him.

Pouting as he works through the last of his giggles, you twirl with a huff; nose in the air as you trudge towards the living room.

Mango doesn’t rise from her sprawl across the couch, belly up as she basks in the sun flooding from the glass doors leading to the balcony. Her long golden hair spills onto the couch beneath her oblong body as she watches her parents with little interest.

Tangling your arms around her, you hold her tightly to your chest. “My baby!”

A sharp bark of displeasure answers, followed by your boyfriend gently setting her back on the couch as you sigh forlornly.

“No one in this house loves me.” You wail, stomping your foot while the familiar heat of Dokyeom’s arms curl around your waist once more.

“C’mon babe, let’s go lay down.”

Digging your heels into the ground, you turn to face him. “You love me, right?”

“Always.” Dokyeom smiles, a sweet kiss between your wrinkled brows signing his confession.

“Ew, I have a boyfriend!” You gasp, failing to wiggle out of his grip.

Distracting you in an effort to coral you into the bedroom, Dokyeom plays along. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and he’ll kick your butt!”

“Will he now?” Dokyeom nods, managing to work you out of the living room and down the hall.

“Yeah! And he’s all big and buff.”

“Oh, really? And he’ll fight me for you?”

You sigh once more, “No, he’s too nice.”

“Too bad.”

“I know, he’s really hot when he’s angry.”

Dokyeom fills that tidbit of information away for later, focusing on slipping the tight denim stretched across your hips down so you can sleep comfortably.

“What else do you like about your boyfriend?” He prompts, lifting each leg to free you from the offending garment before gently pushing you to sit on the bed while he works off your shirt.

Arms raised over your head, you eagerly list of the things you love about your boyfriend; a goofy faraway grin brightening your face.

“He’s the best! He’s funny and he’s really sweet and,”

Continuing to prattle on, you don’t notice the way your boyfriend falters under the praise you so eagerly throw his way.

“And Dokyeom is like perfect with kids especially my nieces! I can’t wait until we have kids.”

Kids.

You want kids. With him.

It wasn’t as if it had never been a topic of discussion. You both had been clear from the start that it was a something you’d wanted. But kids and marriage were always a distant goal for you two, nothing to consider for a least a few more years.

But you think about having kids with him. And suddenly he wonders what it’d be like.

Images of babies fill his head; ones with your eyes and his nose, smart like their mom but with their dad’s sense of humor. Bald and perfectly chubby in that cute way only babies are. Then it’s two little girls filling his ears with shrill giggles as he chases them around the living room with your own laughter chiming in from the couch.

Oh boy.

“But we have to get married first. And you can’t tell him I told you but," Comically looking left and right, eyes impossibly round, you drop into a whisper. "I found a ring in the dresser so I think he’ll ask me soon.”

You rock back and forth, feet kicking just above the shag rug as Dokyeom digs up an old shirt from the very dresser he’s had a certain ring hidden in for the past few months.

Finding his voice, albeit shakily, Dokyeom pries for more information.

“If he asks, what would you say?”

A brilliant smile lights your face — blinding in joy, putting all the wonders of the world to shame. You practically glow as you look up at him with so much emotion Dokyeom thinks he might pass out.

“That I’d love to marry you.”