#Faithful Servant On The Wait | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brokenmenswhore · 2 months

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I need more stuff with poly!maraudersxreader spicy stuff🤭

i am but your humble servant 🙇‍♀️

mean | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, & sirius)

summary: the boys get jealous seeing you with a study partner, and you reap the consequences when you tell sirius he was being ‘mean’

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex, use of the word daddy twice

a/n: is my sirius favoritism showing too much or no

────── ☾ ──────

“I don’t think I’ll ever actually understand this class,” you said, the library study session beginning to take its toll.

“You’re getting it!” Evan encouraged, “we just need to work on it a little bit more.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I think after four hours, I either get it or I don’t,” you replied.

“I don’t mind the time,” Evan said, “especially when I get to spend it with you.”

Your three boyfriends could hear every single word exchanged between the two of you, being that they were seated only two tables away, and the second they heard Evan’s statement, Sirius jolted upwards from his chair.

“Sit down,” Remus instructed, “what are you gonna do? Kill him in the middle of our entire year?”

“Yeah, Remus, I just might,” Sirius responded, but still sat back down, eyes never leaving the two of you.

“You have to trust her, Sirius,” James scolded.

“It’s not her I don’t trust,” Sirius said, nostrils flaring in a rage.

Evan was sitting much closer to you than the boys were comfortable with, but they had to trust that you would shut him down if he overstepped.

“Yeah, this has at least been fun!” you told Evan, “but I think I’m a lost cause. This library is beginning to feel like an asylum.”

Evan shrugged, “I mean, we could change the scenery if that’s the problem. There’s usually not anyone in the fifth year potions classroom after the midday class. It would be quiet, and we could be alone and really focus.”

Evan shifted his chair even closer to you, placing an arm around the back of your chair, and leaning closer to you.

“That’s it, I’m gonna kill him,” Sirius said, standing up and reaching your table before Remus or James could keep him at bay.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sirius spat, hands on the table as he leaned in, standing across from you.

“Studying?” you replied as Evan backed off.

“Studying,” he mocked in a high tone, “tell him he better get the fuck away from you if he wants to continue breathing.”

“I’m right here, Black, if you have a problem, say it straight to me,” Evan retorted, standing up to meet Sirius’s eye level.

“Ok, Rosier,” Sirius cleared his throat, “I have a problem with you attempting to feel up my girlfriend and then get her alone. I also have a problem with the lack of bruising on your face.”

“Sirius!” you and Remus scolded in unison, the other two boys now next to Sirius, ready to pull him back if he decided to lunge.

“I didn’t do a single thing,” Evan protested, “but if you’re so insecure that you think studying means she’ll cheat on you, maybe she never really liked you in the first place. She could do better anyway.”

Sirius went to jump over the table, but Remus and James held onto one arm each, holding him back as Evan laughed.

“This is not worth it,” Evan told you, “I’ll see you around.”

“Evan, I’m sorry-“ you tried to say as he walked away, your attention turning to Sirius. You were angry with him for the way he was acting, but his fury far outweighed yours.

Remus and James dropped their grip on Sirius when he calmed down. Sirius glared daggers into you. “Just studying, eh?”

“We were just studying until you tried to attack him,” you retorted.

“Go to the dorm room now before I decide to make you feel sorry right here. We’ll meet you up there.”

“But I still-“

“Now.”

The rage in Sirius’ voice was not something to take lightly. When he was mad, making him angrier often ended badly. You retreated to the dorms, seated cross-legged on your bed with a textbook open as you waited for your boyfriends to arrive.

The door to the dorms swung open so hard that the door slammed open against the wall. All three of your partners entered the room, Sirius stomping straight over to you and wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Had a fun day toying with other boys, huh?” he asked.

“Sirius, please, I really was just trying to study,” you pleaded, eyes finding Remus and James and searching for help, “you guys should know that I would never do that to you.”

“I know, baby,” Sirius’ voice weakened, his anger breaking at your pleas, “I’m just mad someone else tried to take what’s mine.”

“I think he was trying to make us jealous, too,” Remus added, “and it worked.”

“Is that what the big issue is?” you asked for clarification, “you’re all jealous?”

“He got really close to you,” James responded, the candor in his voice hurting your heart.

“I’m yours,” you said, grabbing the wrist around your throat, “I’m all of yours, and yours only, you know that.”

“We know,” Sirius said, “I’m just so mad. I can’t calm down.”

“You need to release the energy, Sirius,” James said, “you’re never gonna get past this if you don’t.”

Sirius looked into your eyes, and you gave him a slight nod, signaling to him that he could use you to release the energy. He had a lot of pent up rage from the earlier incident that he needed to let out. He needed to remind you, and himself, that you were his.

Sirius crashed his lips onto yours, a hand still on your throat as he pushed you back against the headboard.

Remus threw the textbook in front of you onto the floor, pulling your legs from their position until they were out in front of you. He kissed up your thighs until he was under your skirt, kissing on top your underwear as you let out a small moan into Sirius’s mouth.

Remus moved your underwear to the side, immediately diving in between your folds with his tongue, causing you to gasp. Sirius pulled away from your mouth, allowing him to hear the noises you made. You whined as Remus shoved his tongue into your soaking wet hole, the intrusion catching you off guard.

“Shit, Remmy,” you whimpered.

“Gotta remind you who you belong to, dove,” James spoke, taking a seat on the bed next to you, “you remember?”

“I’m y-yours, shit, James, all yours,” you whined as Remus continued to fuck you with his tongue, your hand taking its place on his head, fingers entwined in his hair, holding him in place.

“No fair,” Sirius pouted, “why do you get to hear her moan your name when I’m the one who got mad in the first place?”

“Y-ou were mean,” you explained, breathing heavy, making talking difficult as ever, trying to give Sirius the reason you weren’t focusing your attention to him, despite your better judgement.

Remus heard you and immediately stopped his assault on your core. You tried to push his head back down in desperation, but he took your hands off of his head, pinning them to your sides.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Sirius questioned, tone low and dark.

“Nothing,” you answered, hoping they would let it go but knowing better.

“I was mean, huh? I don’t deserve to hear you moan my name then, is that it? You think you’re so big and powerful, punishing me because I was mean?” Sirius was growing angrier and angrier, his rage overtaking him again.

“I- I’m sorry,” you tried to backtrack.

“No, no, it’s too late for that now. If you think I don’t deserve to hear you, then I won’t do anything that constitutes a noise. You don’t want me, then so be it.”

“No, please, I do, I want you, please-“

“Tell it to James,” Sirius cut you off. He was mad at you for talking back to him, and mad about earlier, but he was strictly doing this to punish you. He knew you loved how he fucked you when he was mad, and he was threatening to deny you what you wanted.

“Jamesie, please, tell him that I w-“

“Uh uh,” James tutted, “you’re with me now, not Sirius. You don’t get to have him now.”

You pouted, tears threatening to spill as you looked up at James. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead before your lips, distracting you with his mouth before a hand lifted up your skirt and traveled beneath the waistband of your underwear, finding its home on your pearl.

James began to rub in circles, eliciting a moan in the kiss.

“Remus, I think you can go back now,” James spoke.

Remus kept your hands pinned at your sides but shifted downward, tongue reentering you as James rubbed you off, the feeling of two different men on your core driving you insane.

Sirius slumped down on a chair a few feet away, lighting a cigarette as he watched Remus and James overstimulate you as they held you down.

“Jamie, please,” you moaned.

“Please what, dove?” James asked, beginning to touch any part of your core he could, the pleasure becoming too much to handle.

“Please let me come,” you begged.

James looked at Remus, who made eye contact with him, but never left you alone. He shoved his tongue in and out of you, curling it upwards once inside, eyes focused on James as he waited for any signal to stop.

James, however, was always the nicest to you in the bedroom. Though he knew Sirius and Remus would usually stop now, he was making the call, and he hated denying you your pleasure, even if you were being punished.

He leaned in and kissed you, his touch quickening and hardening as Remus continued to taste as much of you as he could, causing your climax to hit you without warning. You squealed and moaned into James’s mouth, legs shaking as Remus licked up any remnants of your high before pulling away from you and standing up.

You attempted to catch your breath as Sirius took one last drag of his cigarette, extinguishing the flame and walking over to you, your cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm down.

“See, you didn’t need me, did you?” Sirius taunted.

“I-“

“Still don’t want me?”

You furiously shook your head no. “No, nonono, I want you, please, I need you,” you begged.

“Even though I’m so fucking mean?” he spat, intentionally working himself up to an angry place again.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you replied, using the name for him that you knew he couldn’t resist.

Sirius growled, tugging on his jeans and crawling over you, lightly kissing your neck before meeting your gaze.

“Beg for me,” he demanded.

Your heart was beating so hard it made your chest sore. “Please, daddy, I want you.”

“I think he’s earned hearing his name, sweetheart,” Remus spoke from beside you.

“Please, I need you so bad, Siri, I-“

The second you spoke his name, Sirius pushed your skirt up to your waist and your underwear to the side, inserting his entire length into you in one quick motion, a move he loved to use when he was punishing you for something. Though he had been inside of you plenty of times, he was too large to simply just start fucking you without a warm up, unless, that is, he was purposefully being mean.

You let out a high pitched moan at the intrusion, always forgetting just how deep his cock hits within you.

He then pulled almost his entire length out of you before slamming it back in, your body jolting upwards at the feeling of his hips snapping against yours. He started to fuck you, fast and hard, leaving no time for you to adjust to him or his size.

“Siri, fuck,” you moaned.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “you’re all mine. You fucking belong to me.”

All three boys were possessive of you, but knew you ‘belonged’ to all three of them, not just one. However, when Sirius was mad, the other boys didn’t matter. They knew he needed to feel like you were his and only his. All the boys needed that one-on-one intimacy at times, but Sirius craved it all the time, and sometimes Remus suspected that he really did wish you were all his.

“It’s too much, can’t- I c-“ you started to plead, but Sirius didn’t care, continuing his ruthless pace that nearly had your head slamming upwards into the headboard with each thrust.

“You can, and you will,” Sirius spoke, “you’re all fucking mine. I don’t even want anyone else near you. You’re gonna take it like a good girl so that everyone can hear who you belong to, understood?”

You nodded, taking a moment to process that you had to speak. “Yes, Siri.”

“Good girl,” he said, one of his hands grabbing your throat as he snapped his hips at an almost violent pace.

“Siri, please, I’m gonna c-“

“You know you’re supposed to wait until he comes,” Remus reminded you, “or else it just isn’t fair.”

“B- but- I-“

“No buts,” Remus said, running a thumb over your cheek to collect the tears that were now falling, “you wait until Siri is ready, and then you come with him. He deserves at least that much.”

Your walls were clenching around his cock, and you fought desperately not to come. You knew you were supposed to wait and come in unison with whoever was fucking you, but you were overstimulated, and Sirius’s possessiveness was hot.

“That’s right, baby, you gotta wait,” Sirius cooed, “my girl only comes when I say she can. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Siri, I’m yours,” you responded, your hands grabbing desperately at his shoulders to steady yourself, “all yours.”

Sirius ran a hand over your body, scanning every inch of you as he fucked you. “All mine,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to you.

Sirius’s thrusts began to become erratic and sloppy, his high approaching as his clock twitched inside of you.

“You gonna come with me, love?” Sirius asked, and you whined in response, signaling that you were ready.

Sirius tightened his grip around your throat. “Come for me,” he commanded, “for me and only me.”

Your walls clenched around Sirius one last time as you came around him, one final “Sirius!” leaving your lips as you did.

The feeling of you coming around him caused Sirius to reach his high, his final few thrusts sharp and deep inside of you.

He took a moment to collect himself and catch his breath before pulling out of you.

“You remember who you belong to now?” James asked, sweetly repositioning your skirt over you to allow you modesty as you calmed down.

“Mhm,” you began to feel tired, “I’m all of yours.”

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targaryen-dynasty · 9 months

Text

YOU‘RE THE ONLY THING I PRAY FOR. (1/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT — MINORS DNI; NON/DUB-CON, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle & niece), blasphemy, taking of virginity, female reader

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: Part 1 is here! At the anon that has requested it: thank you so much for this. I hope it lives up to your expectations.

Daylight has first appeared when you break your fast, completely dressed and ready to start the day by paying a visit to the Grand Sept. It’s one of the rare days the queen does not accompany you for your morning prayer as her queenly duties have called for her even before the first light. But you bask in the rare solitude her absence grants, looking forward to the time you get to spend all by yourself.

A carriage waits for you as you walk down the steps of the Red Keep leading into the courtyard, the door already opened and a servant anticipating for you to get in.

“And where might you be going so quickly?” You know the voice that pierces through the silence of the morning, and are not surprised when you turn around to spot your uncle approaching. He’s clad in a white tunic and black breeches, looking as though he has just gotten out of bed.

Bobbing a small curtsy, the slight bow of your head does little to hide the surge of warmth that spreads to your cheeks, trying to suppress the nervous smile his presence always coaxes from you.

It could be mere happenstance that you two meet right when you’re about to leave the keep, but something deep inside of you tells you he’s more than familiar with your morning routine.

“I was just heading to the sept to pray, uncle,” you reply, your eyes locking with his as he creeps closer.

The smirk that grazes his features at your words sends a shiver down your spine because it doesn’t mean any good; it never means any good. “And what is it that you pray for exactly, sweet niece?” he asks in a playful tone, raising a brow. His head cocks to the side, and he sizes you up briefly. “Does a princess such as you pray for love? Pray for a husband?”

Despite the rush of embarrassment you feel when he makes his comments, you can’t deny the truth in them. “I pray for many things…” you trail off, pressing your lips into a thin line and contemplating if you should elaborate further. But the ultimate act of piety is to be honest, genuine, and you know it’ll surprise him more than a snappish remark. “I pray for the love of my family, as well as my own. Though I must admit that what I pray for most is to be married one day, and provide my husband with a healthy heir.”

He must have noticed the way your eyes trail up and down his tall frame throughout your little lecture, despite you having your neck craned to meet his gaze, because his brow doesn’t seem to lower at all, staying in its exact position as he’s seemingly impressed by your words and your honesty. However, there’s also a pregnant pause following them, and you brace yourself for whatever taunting or derogatory comment might follow.

“Might I join you?”

The question catches you off guard, and causes you to tilt your head sideways.

Pious isn’t a term you would use to describe your uncle. If he believed in anything, he’d merely worship the Gods of Old Valyria and would not follow the Faith of the Seven. Nevertheless, you’re thrilled he even considers accompanying you to the Grand Sept, because you’re certain he’s never seen it from inside.

“I would be honored by you joining me, uncle,” you say, smiling softly. “I would not have to pray alone.”

“It would please me greatly, niece.” His eyes run over your form, lingering a little longer on your middle, clearly taking in your curves and attire. The dress you wear is completely different to the ones your younger sister usually wears, and comes closer to the gowns the queen dons nowadays. It’s modest and covers you completely, basically from head to toe.

Mayhaps that’s where he sees the challenge.

You briefly nod your head, and take his hand as he offers to help you into the carriage, climbing the steps before sitting down on one of the upholstered seats. You make note of how warm and unexpectedly smooth his hand is when you let go of it, having expected it to be calloused and somewhat rough from all the riding on dragon back and training with the sword he does.

Daemon takes his seat next to you, and it’s evident you have all of his attention with him not tearing his eyes off of you once. What you don’t know is that he’s always found a liking in you. You’re sweet and innocent, demure even, and the complete opposite to Rhaenyra.

More oft than not you make your uncle feel as though you really do not deserve an unvirtuous man such as himself, just as your father has told him back when Daemon had asked him to grant him your hand in marriage. You’re a girl that has never taken a man’s touch before, innocent in both mind and body – a vision obviously tantalizing to many men of court.

He looks over you once more. You feel his gaze burning into your skin regardless of how badly you focus on what you see passing on the outside of the wheelhouse, and you can’t deny that you would love nothing more than to learn of what’s occupying his mind.

The ride to the sept isn’t too long, and shared in silence thick with tension. When the carriage comes to a stop and a servant opens the door, you rise from your seat and climb down the steps. Your hands are clasped in front of your body on the way into the Grand Sept, closely followed by the looming presence of your uncle.

And you immediately feel at peace when you walk through the heavy doors held open by several guards, breathing in the scent of incense and relishing in the quiet it brings. Though there is no reason for you to feel flustered with the company of your uncle, having grown up around him, your heart still feels as though it beats too fast, pounding against the confines of your ribcage.

The truth is, you have not prayed for any husband – you have prayed for him to become your husband. And every single one of your prayers resolved around the wish for him to join you some day. The Grand Sept is your home port, giving you a sense of safety and being the place you always return to. And what could be better than sharing this feeling with the person your heart and body long for?

You nod subtly toward the few septas and novices that cross your path on the way to the large stone altar in the center of the sept, attempting to not draw too much attention to you and the prince that trails closely behind.

Rolling one of the thin vestas between your index finger and thumb, you carefully set it alight with a candle that’s already lit before you proceed to light your own. The small piece of wood is extinguished with a soft blow of air, and you brush your fingers over the sheet of wax that covers the gray marble beneath, watching the sea of lights in front of you.

“Have you been in the sept before, uncle?” you ask, innocently. It might seem like a witless question, but is completely fair considering you have never really seen him pray before.

You are not oblivious to just how different you are from your own kin, for neither your father, uncle nor sister frequent the sept, let alone pray before they break their fast or eat their supper.

When they’d ask you, you’d say that the contrast between you and Daemon is the most blatant, closely followed by the differences you and Aemond have. Though your younger half-brother, more oft than not, resolves to praying, you know it’s just to please his devout mother.

If anything, you most resemble Alicent, despite not sharing the same blood with her. She has taken you under her wing as your mother died birthing your late brother, strengthening your very being with her own faith.

Daemon chuckles at your question, following after you to the stone altar. It’s an easy game for him to pretend to be pious, having resorted to colder measures many times before. “I will admit that I do not frequent the sept as much as you. It’s just…,” he trails off, looking around the room and taking in the architecture. “... not exactly to my liking. I much prefer the worship of the Old Gods of Valyria.”

Just like you have thought. It’s tempting to worship and follow the customs your very ancestors have set up and believed in, bringing you closer to what ties you to the family whose love you always pray for. But where were these Gods when you needed them most?

“But doesn’t everyone in King’s Landing worship the Seven? Do you not think them worthy of your devotion?” you ask, cocking a brow as you slowly sink to your knees. You still look up at him, but already fold your hands to prepare for the prayer.

Daemon watches you carefully, no, he blatantly stares at you, taking you in and watching you on your knees from his level of height. It’s exciting, to say the least. “Oh, I do not consider them unworthy, they have been worshipped in Westeros for centuries, but you can not expect me to deny my heritage, niece.”

It’s your heritage as well, and it includes the customs that would allow for you to wed the man you have always longed for. That is, if you were not betrothed already.

The marriage to Jason Lannister, like your father has requested, is the most fitting option, you know. It’s no match made out of love but rather a political arrangement, and doesn’t heed your own wishes.

He’s no more a man that deserves you than your uncle, though the prospect and thoughts of marrying Daemon do excite you more. Perhaps this excitement stems from the suppressed desire of wanting the opposite of your pious nature, something that would make you feel alive as much as riding Silverwing does.

But your uncle isn’t interested in taking you to wife. His late wife died a few moons ago, and if someone has always had his attention and favor, it’s your younger sister, Rhaenyra.

Flashing you a tight-lipped smile, he approaches one of the pews close to the altar and sits down. You focus on the candles in front of you and fix the flames of them to watch them dance, calming you down and bringing you back to the matter at hand; your morning prayer.

But under the intensity of his stare, you find it incredibly difficult to focus on your wishes and steady your thoughts, and you rely on the Seven for their guidance. The direction in which your thoughts stray is improper and silently proscribed by the people of the realm, and you haven’t spent all of these mornings in the sept to let it all go to waste with the foolish wish to follow your House's customs.

Lowering your head, you quietly speak your prayers and plead for the Seven to see you in good favor before them despite the sins that may come upon you in the future.

Your uncle, on the other hand, only now realizes that this is the best time he could wish for to get you alone, all by yourself with no one to interrupt. And as the wait for you to finish your prayers doesn’t stop to pass agonizingly slowly, he’s overtaken by his urges and begins to quietly approach you.

You’re in the midst of your prayer when you feel a sudden presence in your space. Opening your eyes, you spot him sinking down on his knees right next to you, his broad shoulder brushing yours in the process, pressing against your frame.

He’s so close to you that you feel the warmth emanating from him despite the layers of clothing. “You have been so faithful to the Seven,” he whispers with a rasp, keeping his eyes neatly trained on you. “It is only right that they finally grant you something in return…”

There are goosebumps prickling on your skin at his words, the sensation even raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

Despite growing up around him, you have never shared such close proximity with him before, at least not since you can remember. It feels so intimate, and the way in which he speaks makes it more than obvious that it’s plain profanity.

Daemon is clearly taking advantage of your piety, and twists your words and beliefs into something much more impure.

But it seems that your body renders what your mind doesn't. It knows what he is up to even before you can grasp it, and you suddenly notice the uncomfortable way your smallclothes cling to the apex of your legs, a cold moisture making the linen sticky.

You can’t speak, far too absorbed in his presence, and barely notice that he’s slowly inching towards you, until the tips of your noses brush against each other.

Daemon is not moving closer, basking you in a sense of feigned superiority that gives you the impression that you’re the one in control. If you’re about to kiss, it’s because you want to do so, at least he’s making you think that. But by the Seven, how badly you want to kiss him.

You’re the one to close the gap between you and press your lips firmly to his. You feel the warmth of them against yours, and are overtaken by a haze. You have never expected this to be the result of your joint visit to the Grand Sept, and you feel as though you're melting with a jolt of heat – until a cloud of panic washes over you.

Pulling back with a gasp, you topple over on your arse, grateful for the space it puts between the two of you. You bring your fingers to your lips, touching them as if you mean to prolong the feeling of his lips on yours.

“I-I do not wish to be a prude, but…” you try to deny his advances. You don’t know where to look, eyes frantically flickering to the ground, the ceiling, and even checking if anyone is around to see what has happened.

Daemon licks his lips with a sigh, and you see him contemplating his next moves, the silence making your heart pound in your ears. “You’re a pious woman,” he raps, or rather just states the obvious.

And then he slowly stalks closer again, only to bury a large hand in the hair at the back of your head, using the grip to bring you closer to him again. “Why have the Gods made me love a pious woman?”

You’re holding onto his shoulders, not sure if you want to draw him impossibly closer or push him away. Your wide eyes carefully study his features, before he leans in and starts to press kisses to the side of your face that leave you whimpering and mewling.

Daemon has his strong arms wrapped around your frame to pull you flush against his chest now, and you’re squirming and panting, trying to get away from him while his hands make quick work of pulling and tearing at the skirts of your dress already.

“Un-Uncle… not here, please,” you try to protest.

He brings a hand to your cheek, turning your face so it’s easier for him to capture your lips in a heated kiss again. It takes all the strength you can muster to pull away from him, not just physically, but mentally. The long suppressed part in you is at an all time high, aching for nothing else than him.

“We-We can’t,” you stammer, completely out of breath. “Not here.”

“I do not see why not, niece,” he all but growls. “Do you not want the Seven to witness how I worship you?”

The words make your face grow hot. The thought of the Seven watching over you is taboo and wrong, but it also makes it a lot more exciting. It has been an idea you have long desired, and to hear it spoken out loud from his own lips makes a thrill of excitement course through your veins.

“B-But I-I have never–” your voice is reduced to a whimper, the despair audible.

Daemon paws at your hips, and brings his face closer to press open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. “I will worship you in a way they have never experienced, I can promise you that,” his husky voice is muffled by your skin, and all you can do is blush in return.

He backs you against the column of the altar behind you, trapping you so he can use both his hands to snake beneath your gown and tear at the linen undergarments you wear, reducing the barrier that stands between him and his most prized possession.

“Uncle, Daemon, please… the sept is not the right place for this.”

“I'll decide where I take you,” he growls once again. It’s the first time your name slips past his lips today, spoken in such a condescending manner that immediately makes you bow to his will. “And if I wanted to take your maidenhead right in front of your father, then so be it.”

You push at his chest, but at the same time melt against his sturdy frame when his lips claim yours. The fabric of his tunic is pinched so tightly between your fingers that your knuckles start to blanch from the force, acting as the means to an end to distract you from the shame you feel at giving into him so easily.

Daemon bows his head forwards to nuzzle his nose along your cheek, his breath hot as he speaks. “You’re such a dutiful woman, always praying for a husband and a life filled with children. Why not pray for me? Would that not be the most honorable of outcomes?”

You can’t think for yourself, swept up by his words, his charms and his possessiveness. He’s brought you to the edge, and you can’t find yourself able to resist.

“Uncle, I–”

“Be quiet,” he cuts you off.

So lost in his overwhelming presence, you hardly register him undoing the laces in the front of his breeches, only just lowering them enough for him to free his hard cock. Once that’s done, he lays you onto the cold floor, and positions himself between your legs, which brings you close enough to his cock to feel it prodding against your cunt.

You can’t breathe, not when you’re basically smothered by his weight, pinning you down to the ground and not allowing you to move. There’s no chance for you to meet his gaze, for he’s far too distracted to keep his eyes locked on one position only.

“You’re a dragon, sweet niece,” he grunts. “That cunt of a Lannister would not know how to handle it… let me take care of you.”

You release a shuddered breath when the tip of his cock meets the resistance of your tightness, forcing your body to go rigid. But despite that, Daemon is able to ease himself inside of you. It takes him a few seconds to fill you to the brim, taking his sweet time to allow you to adjust to each other.

And you sure do.

He pushes inside at an agonizingly slow pace, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein of his cock. When his hips are still, your tight walls slowly accommodate his impressive size. But even then Daemon already knows he can’t keep this up for long, for your cunt is squeezing him so tightly, he is sure he’ll spend himself too quickly for his own liking.

It takes you a moment, but as you feel him twitching, briefly brushing the sensitive spot inside of you, your stiff muscles seem to thaw. You arch your back against him, melting into the warmth that radiates off him.

A quiet whine leaves your lips that prompts him to meet your gaze. “That’s it,” Daemon coos softly, a slight strain in his husky voice. He brings a hand behind your head to support it and make it a bit more comfortable for you, lifting it off the hard ground.

Bowing his head forwards, he captures your lips in a gentle kiss. It is languid, tender even, but doesn’t lack any passion. There’s a burning inside of you, and you feel completely filled to the brim, yet it’s not as uncomfortable as the first few seconds have been.

Perhaps it’s the possibility of being caught by your own kin or other nobles, or being defiled by him so openly, but you can’t seem to get enough. No, you don’t even mind if anyone sees you, not when all you’ve prayed for finally comes true.

“I thought you were a pious maiden,” he rasps, immediately giving in to the pleasure and his urges, “not one that enjoys sin as much as this.”

Though your face is contorted in both pleasure and slight discomfort, you keep your eyes open and locked with his, carefully studying his face. “I–I think the Seven would want me to be happy… would they not?” you don’t state it, you ask, silently needing his reassurance and asking for guidance.

As he notices the hidden meaning behind your words, he flashes you a sly grin, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I believe as much.”

Daemon starts to thrust into you, coaxing one whiny moan after the other from your parted lips. The pace is slow, and you can tell by the way he has his jaw set that it takes a whole lot of restraint for him to keep it that way. You know he’s an experienced man, having heard lots of stories about him and his conquests, and you appreciate him practicing patience with you.

“Fuck, I-... you were made for me,” he groans against the side of your face, merely propped up on his forearms to not put too much weight on you. The feeling of his breath fanning over your skin, and the sounds he makes vibrating against it, ignite a fire in your veins you haven’t felt before.

“You were always meant to be mine, but your father is too dull to see it.” Light kisses trail over your jaw and the side of your neck, meaning he can’t see the color his words bring to your cheeks.

Entangling your fingers in his short, silver strands, you just rest your hand there to keep yourself grounded, until one particular thrust that seems a bit rougher than the others has you eventually tugging on the tresses not-so-gently. The action pulls his head back and exposes his throat to you, and it’s far too enticing to not to lean in and press your lips to the bump in the front of it. Daemon groans at that, and, in response to his cock twitching and throbbing inside of you, your walls clench around him.

You haven’t been touched by a man before, even rarely by yourself, and thus you’re not quite familiar with the pressure that builds inside of your body. It has the grip of your legs around his waist tightening and your toes curling, but other than that you’re not quite sure what to expect.

“Good girl, taking me so well,” he grunts, spurred on by the way your walls squeeze and choke his cock, clearly knowing you’re close to your peak. His praise goes straight to your head, and you whimper in return, stammering a ‘th-thank you, uncle.’

“Wet my cock, little niece, make a mess for me,” he all but commands, a dominant edge to his voice that has you shivering.

Far too lost in the pleasure his body grants you, you hardly notice him driving his hips into yours with more fervor and determination, an approving ‘mhhh’ and stutters of his name escaping your lips.

It probably is a vague guess, but Daemon’s mouth claims yours with newfound hunger as your peak washes over you in an ambush, effectively drinking down every wanton moan and whimper that has threatened to leave them.

Something akin to fire spreads through your veins which prompts your leg to tremble uncontrollably, locking around his waist. Your walls flutter and convulse all over him, and white, hot pleasure clouds your vision.

Only when the tremors slowly subside does your uncle tilt his head back. He watches you in awe, studying the drowsy expression on your face though the pistoning of his hips hasn’t stopped. And he won’t stop, not even when you’re no more than a quivering and whimpering mess beneath him, and you’re very close to turning into one.

He cups your chin, pinning your head to the ground as he increases the pace of his thrusts again, using your relaxed state to chase his own peak.

It feels overwhelming, a different kind of aching suddenly burning between your legs, and you try to squirm away, but his grip on you is as adamant as he’s relentless.

“I shall spill myself inside of you,” he grunts, “would you like that? Do you want my seed in your belly?”

All you can whimper are incoherent words, but are still aware enough to not be too loud. Daemon takes the benefit of the doubt and settles on a whiny yes, far too enticed by the thought of you going round with his child.

He can’t hold himself back any longer with the repercussions of your peak driving him to his own, practically bursting as he spills his seed. His hips falter as he topples over the edge, his twitching member spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls.

But there’s not really any time for you two to dwell in the bliss, not when Daemon gathers himself so quickly to get back on his feet. He fixes his attire, straightening his tunic and redoing the laces of his breeches before he helps you up.

You perturbedly look around, breathing heavily, and smooth out the skirts of your dress. Being unsteady on your feet, you shift your weight from one leg to the other and grimace at the wetness that spreads between your thighs at the lack of smallclothes to gather it. His seed seeps from your swollen cunt down your flushed skin and makes you overly aware of the claim he has asserted over you.

You’re too stunned to speak, your mouth opening and closing without any words leaving your lips. Knowing he was a rogue, you would have never thought of your uncle doing such things, even less of yourself.

“I-I–”

“We will keep this between us,” Daemon interrupts, figuring what’s plaguing your mind.

The act of sin between you two has been so improper, and you’re certain your father would force you to become a Silent Sister if the word of your act would spread around court. So, it’s slightly calming to know you can rely on your uncle to protect your reputation and care for your safety.

You nod and swallow thickly. “I-I hope so?”

The silence between you in the carriage on your way back to the Red Keep is thick with tension, and though Daemon helps you climb down the steps before he leaves to attend his princely duties, something does not sit right with you.

And only when you hear a knock on your chamber’s door around the Hour of the Owl do you figure that the feeling was right. Maester Mellos stands opposite of you, a goblet whose content is unknown in his hand. He hands it over, and you feel your blood run cold at his words.

“A tea, princess. From the king. It will rid you of any unwanted consequences.”

YTOTIPF Taglist: @cherriescream @ajthefujoshi @kiliskywalker666 @marihoneywk @beebeechaos @angelwonie @hangmanscoming @clarap23 @schniiipsel @princessak @aliveafterparadise @juhdoche

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rationaliity · 5 months

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desperate | wolf ! gallagher x f. bunny ! reader

oh god WHAT is wrong with me ?? your faithful servant, miya. tags : hybrid gallagher & reader, power play, leg humping, begging / whining / crying, finger fucking ( this is in like every fic of mine can you tell i have a thing for fingers deep - nvm ) dirty talking, breeding kink, unprotected sex, degradation ( he calls you desperate and a bitch once each ) fingers in mouth, desperation, being horny on main honestly, and an improper way of drinking soulglad, female anatomy, feminine petnames used

" h-hah- please, " you begged, grinding helplessly against gallagher's leg, your clothed little cunt pressed against the maroon fabric of his pants, your hands holding onto his thigh garter for support.

gallagher knew exactly what you had wanted this entire time, he was just choosing to ignore you on purpose. and what did you did instead of being a good little girl ? you decided you wanted to be a selfish, horny brat that couldn't even keep your hands to yourself. you'd been touching him all day, your lips on his neck, your fingers playing with his loose, wrinkled tie, your body pressed against his, and he could feel the warmth of your pussy against his thigh, making him growl under his breath.

" if you're gonna be that fuckin' desperate, doll, then just hump my leg like a good little bunny, " he'd told you, his voice venomous as he had watched you hesitate for a moment, before dropping down slightly onto your knees, pressing yourself against his leg as he rested against the bar, your cute face twisted in pleasure as you finally got some type of friction exactly where you had wanted it.

his hand gently caressed the side of your face, his thumb ghosting over your pretty bottom lip, before pushing into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue. you sucked diligently on his finger, your lips wrapped around it lewdly as you batted your long lashes up at him, your long bunny ears flopping a little as you tilted your head, innocently aware of what you were doing to him. his free hand reached for something on the counter, popping the tab of a can of soulglad with experienced precision.

" open, " he commanded, yet he didn't give you time to actually listen to him before his thumb in your mouth forced your mouth open, hooking into the soft, gummy part below your tongue. you stuck your tongue out, your eyes locked onto his tired, downturned eyes as he poured the carbonated drink into your waiting mouth. no matter how fast you swallowed the sweet drink, it still spilled out of your mouth onto your bodies below, absolutely ruining your shirt and getting his pants wet, too. " so messy, all f'r me ? " gallagher teased as he sat the can back down on the counter, watching you as you nodded, your wet and sticky lips wrapping around his thumb again, sucking at his finger before biting on it gently, your teeth grazing against his calloused skin.

" what do you think you're doing ? " he snarled a little, pulling his thumb out of your mouth so that he could grab your chin, forcing you a little closer to his face as he bent down to get in your face. you backed down almost immediately, whimpering softly underneath his gaze. " what ? 'fraid of the big, scary wolf now all of a sudden after you already provoked him ? i haven't even fucked ya yet 'nd you're forgettin' your manners. bad little bitch bunnies like you don't even get to hump my leg. "

gallagher grabbed you by your hair, forcing you off of him and up onto your feet as he picked himself up off of the counter. he spun you around, forcing you to bend over the bar, your ass pressed against his crotch as he grinded against you, making sure that you could feel how excited you made him as your little bunny tail wagged happily. " this what'cha want so much, huh ? you want me to fill ya up ? get ya all big 'nd round with my pups ? "

as he spoke, his free hand worked to pull your pants off of your body, causing you to gasp as the cold air hit your warm, wet pussy. his fingers dipped into your folds for a moment, testing your readiness, earning a whimper from your pretty lips, which turned into a sharp gasp as his grip on your hair tightened, forcing your head back. slick coated his fingers as he fucked them into you, your whimpers for more falling on receptive ears. " m-more.. plea- please- "

" so fuckin' desperate, " gallagher mumbled under his breath, his hand unbuckling his belt, barely shrugging off his pants just enough that he could pull his hard cock out. there was no time to take off clothes, not when you needed him so badly you were practically on the verge of tears. " gonna give ya what'cha want, 'kay ? gonna fuck this pretty little pussy until you're so sore. "

you knew he'd make good of this promise, too, as he pushed into you with such force that you cried out, your legs shaking underneath you, your hands grabbing at the edge of the counter for support as he fucked his cock into you mercilessly, not caring if his size was too big for you. he filled you up completely, the head of his cock hitting the entrance to your womb with each snap of his hips as he bullied his cock into you.

" n-nghh, it- it's s'good, " you moaned, your ass bouncing back against his hips, bouncing in tandem with each thrust so your hips met with each precise thrust. his forced your head back with his hand in your hair, making you look up at the ceiling, your eyes rolling slightly. you were his to use, you were gallagher's to fuck his pups into until you were both satisfied. at this point your feet had been completely taken off of the ground, the only thing keeping you up was your grip on the table and his body pressing against yours.

" god, you're so fuckin' tight, " gallagher hissed out, his other hand against your hips, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your skin as he held you against him, making sure that he bottomed out inside of you with each thrust before pulling all the way out and thrusting it all back in. " you want my pups, yeah ? gonna let this dog fuck a few cute little pups into your needy little cunt ? you're gonna look so cute pregnant. "

you whimpered, drool dripping down your chin as he fucked you dumb, feeling that pressure build within your lower tummy, becoming far too much for you to try to ignore anymore. you needed to cum, and you needed to cum now. " c-cum- gon' cum- please- " you begged, and he knew that you couldn't hold on much longer, but neither could he.

" come on, then, " gallagher commanded, groaning as you clenched around him, your body working with his to bring both of you to orgasm at the same time. you were gripping onto him like a vice, and there was no way he was going to be able to pull out. he was going to fill you up, fill you entirely with his cum. " 'm gonna cum, doll. get ready, i'm gonna make you a mama, " he grabbed your hips with both of his hands, forcing you down completely onto his length as he fucked you through his orgasm, his cock throbbing as he painted your inner walls with so much cum that it spilled out around his cock still inside you and onto the floor below.

" such a good girl for me, " gallagher whispered, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss onto the nape of your neck, his body pressed against yours completely. " we can go one more round, yeah ? gotta make sure it takes. "

#honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #honkai sr #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail smut #gallagher #gallagher hsr #gallagher x reader #gallagher honkai star rail #hsr #gallagher x reader smut #gallagher smut #x reader smut

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luveline · 1 year

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I love Bombshell reader x Spencer so much !! But I wanna take it back to wayyy early days and see how they’d interact in season 1 or 2? Or maybe even how the Lila Archer situation would play out if she was around? Much love to you and you’re page and I understand if you don’t want to write this ask :)

tysm ♡ fem

Hotch, for the record, liked you for the open BAU position more than Elle. It's Gideon who's not fond of you. Your flirtatious attitude isn't conducive to teamwork, or something, as though you aren't a professional. Gideon just doesn't like sharing his genius protégé with you.

"I don't have to tell you to be on best behaviour?" Hotch asks.

"No!" you say, really, really meaning it. "When Greenaway gives up, I'll be waiting. Until then, I'm your faithful servant, I won't do anything to disrupt you."

You're not sure that Hotch totally believes you, but he ushers you off with a street cop to meet Reid and Morgan at the set of your stalkee's upcoming production. You're wide-eyed but eager —seeing the boys again never fails to make you happy, even if the setting is completely unfamiliar to you.

"Morgan!" you call lightly. He's easily recognisable, and he's been hitting the gym, a wall of tight muscle in his charcoal suit. "Hey!"

Morgan grins at you but raises a finger to his lips. You accept his pat on the shoulder and follow his line of sight. Spencer stands with a coke bottle in hand, talking to your stalkee, the gorgeous and illustrious Lila Archer. She's the new belle of Hollywood, and she's smiling at Spencer like he has a real chance. He should have a real chance. You know he's a priceless sweetheart, you just didn't realise other people could tell.

"What's he doing?" you ask, laying your shock on thick to hide the real insecurity. He doesn't even know you're here but he's breaking your heart. "I thought he had a little more loyalty."

"You don't mind sharing with me, do you?" Lila asks, taking Spencer's coke for a quick swig.

"No," he says immediately.

She passes him back his drink and unrobes, exposing the long, perfect lengths of her arms and legs before she walks a circle around him. He has stars in his eyes.

Morgan waits for her to take her place in the sand, swinging his arms over the desk. "Are you sharing with us, too?"

"Shut up," Spencer says, stopping short when he notices you at Morgan's heel. "Y/N. What are you– when did you get here?"

"I couldn't let you guys have all the fun." You cover Morgan's arm with a perfectly kept hand. "Hotch asked me to come. Didn't even have to beg! And now I get to spend time with my two favourite heavyweights."

"Funny," Spencer says.

"He's defensive today," Morgan assures you, his smile smug and catching.

You test the waters. "Not too defensive, I hope," you say, opening your arms.

Spencer tucks his coke bottle against his chest and hugs you obligingly. He's warm and he smells like coffee grounds, his hand wide as he pats your back.

"It's nice to see you," you say. Then, with less good intent, "I missed you, Dr. Reid. Did you miss me?"

"Don't," he says.

"I'm serious." You pull away from him, checking over his face. "You've been taking care of yourself, I can see. Where are your glasses?"

"I got contacts."

"And you look so good," you croon, rubbing your hand briefly down the front of his chest. You'll miss the glasses dearly.

Spencer laughs and grabs your wrist. You have to be careful with Spencer, because the very last thing you want to do is give him attention he doesn't want; the point of your affections isn't to make him uncomfortable, the opposite. He needs confidence. "You have the bone structure of a male model," you continue.

He rolls his eyes and moves you bodily out of the way by the hips, wandering off to who knows where. Morgan gives you a knowing look as he leaves, shaking his head at your flustering.

"What?" you mutter, pretending to watch the goings on of the director rather than meet his eyes, "I'm not made of stone."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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whispereons · 1 year

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Oracle!Reader Part 14

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 13, Part 15

Warning as usual. There is blood and gore in this chapter!

Staring up at the Archon parading around in human form, you lick your lips and note how even those minor injuries were healed. Your body aches with phantom pain, some wounds healed too rapidly.

"I don't mind answering some questions, can I get your name first?"

A small smile plays at his lips as his hand is held out in front of you. "My name is Zhongli, I'm the Funeral Parlors consultant. It would be a pleasure to hear yours, outlander."

So he is aware of your origin, well at least partly aware. If he's not going to pull any punches then why should you? Besides if it all goes wrong, you can blame it on the bloodloss that you're still recovering from.

"I'm Y/N, and you're correct that I do not originate from this world. You must not be a normal person either, in fact you look identical to this statue. This one portrays Morax the Geo Archon, but I'm sure you know that, Rex Lapis."

Getting a good look at the statue from your proximity, it was obvious that Zhongli was Morax. You could make the excuse of it being game logic on why no one makes the connection, but that wouldn't work anymore. Maybe the statues are imbued with power that prevents anyone from this world to recognize the similarities?

"So it seems you are more knowledgeable than the traveler was when they arrived here. I should have known considering how the Electro and Geo particles surround you with zeal. Perhaps Teyvat is charmed by the features you share with the Holy One."

His step forward and angled head to look you in the eyes have you staring at glowing amber hues. The red eyeliner and outlined iris make it uncomfortably clear how intensely he's examining you.

"The curve of your lips, a stature so familiar, you resemble the creator so much. Teyvat must be bewitched and awed by an individual so alike as you. If only I could see your face in it's full visage, only then would I know for sure..."

Anyone would feel flattered or embarrassed with how seriously Zhongli studies you, but dread is the only thing you feel. You know that behind those honey-coated words is a trap just waiting for you to spring.

Too bad for him; the last thing you plan to be is predictable.

"My, my what a compliment! A devout and faithful follower like yourself is comparing me to the creator? You should pray for forgiveness to the merciful creator. I'm a servant for them, just in a different league than you. My connection with them is strong enough that Teyvat graces me with qualities alike yet inferior to the Everlasting One."

Zhongli returned to his perfect posture at your words, the flash of envy couldn't hide. "Oh?" Narrowed eyes and a lofty tone that encourages you to smile wider. "And what position could an outsider like you hold?"

"Well, as an Oracle of course! Really, just how dumb are you? An outlander that is incredibly knowledgeable of the Creator? It's painfully obvious." There's no reaction to your test insults, which is fine that wasn't the last you had in store.

"I'm from the world that the Creator is recuperating in. It's due to that, that I can speak to them much more freely than everyone here. Even Teyvat pales in comparison. That's why Teyvat is so attached to me, my aura is overwhelmed by the creators."

Honestly, you had Chongyun to thank for that one. You weren't sure how you were supposed to explain the whole Teyvat clinging to you without sounding repetitive. But if Zhongli was that easily fooled, he wouldn't be one of the victors of the Archon war.

"Then enlighten me on why the glorious creator would need an Oracle of your caliber to spread their word. Surely that's the least you can do." He's fully dropped that faux-polite tone in contrast to the technically proper speech.

"Gladly! It's become common knowledge that the elemental monsters and animals have started to act strangely. Add in the leylines that change from out of control to perfectly calm in a matter of minutes or weeks. These are all signs of the Creator's upcoming appearance! They need to be sure of who in this vast land they can properly trust."

"That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen. A wily and fresh child like you wouldn't do the best job." Hard like stone, Zhongli refused to even blink at your words. A god like himself would never falter after thousands of years spent perfecting his worship.

But did he really have to insult you at the same time?

"So you refuse to believe it because of my supposed inability to properly carry out any duties assigned to me? You don't even know all that I had done to arrive here! Surely you should know just how rough the waters were..."

The hand that covers your mouth does a poor job of covering the sly smile. Zhongli stares at you in silence, the wind swaying around the floating chunk of rock that you both stand on.

"Just what are you trying to imply?" His voice is as soft as a whisper but cutting like the sharpest steel.

"Why explain it when I can show it?" Silently rejoicing at such a convenient set up, you peer into your bag and grab the item you've been saving.

Shimmering brightly in the harsh glares of the sun is Beisht's scale, still in pristine condition despite your perilous journey since that day you got it from the sea-leviathan.

It feels like ages ago. Just how much time has passed since you arrived on Teyvat? How much more time will you spend in situations like this? Weeks? Months? YEARS?

The existential dread is quickly pushed away by your beaming smile at Zhongli's reaction to the singular item. The rocky exterior finally breaks at the proof of your 'abilities'. His lips part at the bright teal color and he blinks incredulously at it.

Really, how could you pass up the chance to rub it in?

"Surely a human of my caliber would be capable of this much. I mean, a perfectly intact scale from a leviathan that managed to avoid the whole Qixing that isn't dyed in blood? Child's play for a servant specifically chosen by the Creator. I never doubted the creators' choices!"

Holding the scale in front of you, you smirk at the man with as much snark as you hold in your heart. "The same can't be said for you, Mr. 'That still doesn't explain why you in particular were chosen.' Because the Creator is capable of choosing anyone they want, for whatever reason they desire."

Silence envelopes the area as you stare at him, a beat passes with no movement until a gruff chuckle leaves him.

"The more you speak, the closer I come to a conclusion." Recovering quickly, Zhongli's gloved hand rises to tap his mouth contemplatively. "You're either something far worse than I've seen in a long time, or a hope for the Creator's return."

That white outline around his iris seems to spin with the malicious joy that he refuses to show. It's like his body screams that he'll either enjoy your presence or your destruction. Nerves and anxiety grip your heart but ignoring it has always worked better for you.

"Maybe I can say the same thing about you considering your past, but I see you still aren't convinced. And how could I ever let you, one of the longest standing worshippers, have doubts about me? So tell me, were Beisht and her husband devout or sacrilegious beings?"

The answer he'll say is obvious, not only because you hold such a confident stance showing that you know the answer but because of Zhongli himself. A noble dragon that willingly bows to someone would feel ashamed at the thought of resorting to lying to boost his own pride.

Quite ironic how you hold so much trust in his answer due to the acolytes' faith in the creator. The same faith that led you to this position, and the same thing that'll keep you from ever exposing the truth of your identity. A constant force preventing them from meeting their 'beloved' creator.

"You met Beisht in the flesh, there's no doubt that she is solemn and serious in her worship. The same can be said for Osial, it was one of the few things I could agree with the leviathan. Even still, I'm the superior believer. After all, I'm the one who is left after all this time."

"Yet I met Beisht before you."

The scoff and know-it-all tone he used pricked at your nerves long enough to cause an annoyed response to slip out. Unfortunately, that seems to be what Zhongli was baiting for as he laughs, the low sound making the rock platform tremble.

"That's if you're even an Oracle. You may be from that world and even heard about Teyvat from the Creator, but for all I know, you could have been banished here for us acolytes to execute. Whether it be for avenging the Creator or entertaining them."

Damn, it was almost scary how fast he turned the situation around. But how could you falter now? Getting tongue-tied at such a crucial moment would be a pathetic way to lose your life.

"And what will you do if I truly am an Oracle? When the creator's return is delayed months, years or even decades due to your rash actions, what will you tell the creator when confronted with the consequences of your own actions?"

"Then you should work hard enough to prove to skeptics like myself. To put blind faith in whatever is dubbed the creator's is a fool's belief. Temptation and sin ravage Teyvat from the long drought of the Creator's presence."

For a split second, sorrow clouded his eyes. He's hiding something. It’s important and you can feel it in your soul. The only thing that really stains his and Venti's reputation is their war with Khaenri'ah. It must be connected to that.

But it's too early to try digging in for information on that. He doesn't even believe you to be the Oracle, how could you possibly get that out of him? What if he's under a contract and must stay silent on the matter?

Lost in his memories, Zhongli doesn't realize how your face pinches in frustration. You'll have to get his approval as the Oracle before you can even-

Oh.

Oh, why didn't you realize this before?

A grin spreads across your face as you circle in on the heart of the problem and the perfect way to fix it.

It's not that Zhongli doesn't believe you to be the creator's Oracle, he just doesn't want to believe it! He's envious: envious of why a random outlander like you got such a nice position in comparison to him who probably spent most of his life molding himself to the creators standards.

All that's left is to reel him in and you know the perfect way how.

"Prove myself? I've done plenty to prove myself, but what about you?" Mockingly, you tilt your head as your empty gaze peers into Zhongli's eyes, digging deep into him. He focuses back on the conversation at your shift in tone.

"If anyone should have to prove themselves, it should be you." This time it's you who takes the bold step forward. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? And try to keep in that temper too so that I can finish my words. A dragon your age should know such simple things."

"As Morax you were quite powerful, though a brute to be completely honest. Still, you knew your limits well and paired up with the Lord of Dust before the Archon War, who served as the 'brain'. Tell me, just how did it feel when you found her as nothing more than a statue that day?"

Your words have a strong effect on the imposing man, his fist trembling at the mention of such a beloved god, one whose death still pains him. Paying no mind to his pain you ask the monumental question.

"Just how much resentment do you hold against the Creator for her death?"

A hand slams you against the Statue hard enough to bruise your skin. It doesn't squeeze around your throat but there's no need to as the Geo begins to petrify your legs, locking you in place. The Statue is in a constant state of healing in defense to the bruises on your neck.

"Just what are you trying to imply by saying that?" Cold and apathetic is the voice that flows from the stoic man. It's what you would imagine Morax would sound like before Guizhong taught him how to care for humans.

"C'mon, that's the second time you've asked me that. Don't make me speak the obvious-" A shuddering gasp leaves you as he tightens his grip. But it's gone just as fast; a flock of birds tackle Zhongli.

You can only watch in shock as what was only 4 to 5 birds grow to become at least 15 birds of all kinds attacking him. The throbbing of your neck being healed as the Geo instantly releases you is overshadowed by Zhongli swatting at the birds as he takes continuous steps back.

But that's all it took for Zhongli to fall off the edge as the birds flew away cawing happily. Standing and staring at the spot where Zhongli fell off in shock, you begin to chuckle. It grows to a giggle before you're laughing hysterically as you buckle to the ground. Loud peels of laughter ring around the area as you hold your stomach from the ache of laughing so much.

To think Teyvat took the initiative to help you out for once. Why couldn't it do it sooner? Was it only after gaining some power from activating a new nations statue of the seven that it could? You couldn't focus on the question anymore as the look on Zhongli's face when he fell came to mind again.

The sight of his eyes blown wide and a split second of pure panic sent you straight back into a fit of laughter. The ground far below you shakes as a Geo pillar constructs a bridge high enough to reach the stone you sat on.

The sound of footsteps make you open your eyes and giggle at the sight of a disheveled and annoyed Zhongli. Annoyed is still an improvement compared to his enraged state earlier. With giggles slipping out, you stand back up and laugh louder at his appearance in full view.

His hair was pulled out of his rattail with his earrings nowhere to be seen. Bits and pieces of the weaker cloth of his suit were missing, giving him a poor look that didn't match his flawless posture. The red marks and light cuts only added to the joy you feel at his expense.

"Are you finished laughing, Y/N?"

"For now at least. I would suggest buying a new set of clothes but I don't think you have the mora for it!" Zhongli only lets out a long-suffering sigh as you crack up again.

You would be scolding yourself for not taking the chance to escape while he was away but it was better this way. You didn't need the information about Khaenri'ah, it was nice to know but the information wouldn't help you live.

The main reason you stayed was because running away would prove Zhongli right to be suspicious about you. It would let him know that you're scared and have something to hide. Plus, that would mean having to escape Liyue the same way you did Ei, just in a worse situation.

That's not something you want to repeat.

"Alright I'm done laughing." You say while wiping off the budding tears from the corner of your eyes. Zhongli sends you a look that screams that he doesn't believe you but you shrug it off.

"Really, that question was more of a test if you will. My main job is simply to see who the Creator can trust. Your relationship with the Creator beyond that is between you and them."

The calm and peaceful tone you use is such a contrast to the one you used earlier that Zhongli is clearly apprehensive. Paying it no mind you continue to speak.

"If you truly want a reason to at least try and believe me to be the oracle even if you don't fully believe me, then I'll give you one. I'm sure you still have the stone dumbbell from Guizhong that you've never been able to open. I know how to open it."

Those last words have Zhongli staring at you intensely as you gaze off into the distance. The Dragon-Queller tree is visible through the fog with its glowing blue branches and yellow leaves.

"How?" He breathes out, scared to trust but scared to lose this opportunity too.

"It requires a naturally grown glaze lily cultivated by the Creator. That's because it requires a 'pure' glaze lily and the only one who can grow such a thing at this day and age is the Creator. All the natural glaze lilies have died after all."

Zhongli's shoulders slump at your words. It seems he started to let his guard down after he fell off. He must no longer view you as a threat or, at most, an annoyance. That's okay with you, underestimation is the most useful viewpoint they could have for you.

"Should I even make an attempt to ask you why it can only be unlocked with that? You're only telling me this as a last resort to keep you alive, correct? Even if I told you that I would keep you alive without that information, you wouldn't believe me. As childish as you may be, foolishness does not seem to be a quality you hold."

"That may be true, but if you really want an answer to that first question then I'll tell you." You look over to lock eyes with him and smile. It conceals every sneaky and vicious thought you hold. "I have no clue. The Creator instructed me to use it as a last resort, if you want that answer then try praying. Perhaps you'll get an answer."

You would like to know the answer to the stone dumbbell too. After all, you only made up the solution! Seeing as Zhongli spent all these years after Guizhong's death, failing to unlock it, it's a good bet that it'll never open.

It's silent as you both get lost in your own thoughts. Unlike before it wasn't tense, it was more comparable to the silence you would spend alone in your apartment. The nights you would only be accompanied by the thoughts of the 'what-if' situations. Thoughts that would only stay thoughts just as the past would be just that, the past.

Wanderer learned that the hard way too. You wouldn't let yourself hold so many regrets before your inevitable death. Even in Liyue you weren't truly safe, so wouldn't it be best to speak to Zhongli while you still could?

"I have questions about Khaenri'ah… Well, the better way to put it is that the Creator has questions about them. It's one of the few things that they mourn the most. A whole nation devoted to worshiping solely the creator, destroyed by the Archons that swore their life and loyalty to the creator. So will you explain it to me?"

His eyes fill with the same sorrow you saw in him earlier. It seems you were right in guessing that his line on blindly trusting things labeled with the creator was connected to Khaenri'ah.

"I have spent all my years after that day asking for forgiveness, for some way to atone. It was one of the few contracts that I did not properly balance in equivalent exchange. I regret signing it, not for myself but for my beloved God."

"So it's a no."

"It's an agreement not to speak of it."

"Then don't speak about it." Zhongli seeds you a questioning glance as you mischievously smile at him. "Just listen to my words and don't look away. I'm quite sure nodding and shaking your head doesn't count as breaking your silence."

A huff of amusement leaves him at your solution. His eyes close with his lips curling into a small smile. He nods his head in acceptance, not having the drive to poke holes into your stubbornness.

You were quite confident in the conclusions you've drawn so far. Genshin Impact was nearly the sole reason you were living back on Earth. Family and friends were nonexistent, you had given up hope on making any new connections as well. The only thing you did when you weren't home was work and your work made you be everything but yourself. So combining everything you know from the game with everything of the cult that you've learned thus far shouldn't be too hard.

"When the Archon War broke out, I'm sure most of you were merely looking to keep your people and nation alive. The original design of having the gods powered solely on their people's worship paled in comparison to Celestia's offer of power by obtaining a spot in a group of seven. At the end, you all had a choice. Accept your spot by accepting a Gnosis, or go against them similar to how the Dragon King once did."

Zhongli perks up at the mention of the Dragon King. Not many people know about the original Dragon King. Most people assume it's Azhdaha when in reality, the original was a far greater dragon.

"You all must have been quite against it. The only God you would all bow under would be the Creator who had left before those events to sleep in my world, yet Celestia probably whispered to you all that it was allowed on Teyvat because it was approved by the Creator. That the Gnosis was a reward for all your hard work and as Celestia was the first descender, all of you accepted it.”

The way he begins to stare at you is invasive, like he's just dying to jump you to get every bit of knowledge you hold on the topic. He's starting to suspect you.

"Yet when Khaenri'ah was revealed to exist years afterwards, everything was thrown into confusion. I'm sure you and the other Archons were fine with their presence as Khaenri'ah worshiped the Creator, but was Celestia?"

A sly smile creeps upon your face at the memory of when it was revealed that Khaenri'ah wasn't the first civilization to be turned into hilichurls. No one liked Celestia so you had no problem pinning almost all the blame onto it.

"I'm sure they were enraged, especially as Khaenri'ah grew more and more bold with their inventions. Gold in particular was quite dangerous seeing as she not only created life but also Durin and the Golden Wolflord. And even that was unintentional!"

You laugh cheerfully as Zhongli chuckles in surprise at your words. Had you successfully deterred him? Probably not, but he hasn't stopped you so you'll keep going till the end.

"Celestia ordered you all to aid them in destroying Khaenri'ah but you all refused. How could any of you harm a nation so devoted to the creator even if they refused to worship Celestia or the Seven? But that Gnosis you all accepted comes with a price. A price that serves as leverage and a control device."

The thoughts of what Beisht told you on how Celestia had caused them to forget the original way of worship resurfaced. Celestia was just too suspicious for that to be the only thing they had done. It would take a lot more than that to force the Archons to listen to them.

"That Gnosis was like a drug. It gave you all so much power, tasting and making you feel like you're on top of the world! Just for it to come crashing down when the unpleasant side effects hit you. It corrupted you all like poison forcing you to wage war against Khaenri'ah. My best bet is that it was like mind control. What do you say?"

He looks at you with a blank expression, as if trying to see the secrets you hid in your soul through your eyes. But there's no response from him, not even the occasional nods that he was giving before.

"Well if it was mind control, perhaps it made you believe that Khaenri'ah had plans to overrule the Creator and create their own human god. Or maybe it made them out to be traitors to the creator. Perhaps both? That doesn't really matter, what does matter is that only after the war was in full throttle were you all brought back to your senses."

You didn't have any proof of that last part, it just seemed like something Celestia would do. Not only to prove their superiority but also force the Archons to put their best effort in defeating the people of Khaenri'ah to save their nations.

"After the war ended, you all wanted to get rid of it but Celestia wouldn't allow such a thing. Even if you most likely tried to find some loophole, Celestia doesn't play nice. It would make sense if they threatened to give a punishment similar to what they had done to Khaenri'ah. So long as none of you destroy or throw it away, they'll leave you all be,”

Venti was a god, no matter what fans said, there was no way he would lose to Signora. It made more sense if that was his way of 'handing' it over to the Tsaritsa. There was also Nahida who threatened to break her Gnosis to one-up Dottore. That was always funny, you would kill to have witnessed that in person.

"Of course none of you would actually use it or even desire it in your vicinity. Everyone wins when the Tsaritsa uses her various methods to acquire the gnosis'. And thanks to the traveler appearing during that time, Celestia was probably too busy freaking out over that to pay too much attention. For a while at least."

Finally looking back to Zhongli, you smiled proudly. "I must be pretty close right? At no point did you laugh at me like you did with Alice so I'll take that as a good sign. And even if I'm wrong, everything will be solved when the Creator descends."

Stretching to loosen the tension in your back, you applaud yourself for the brilliant thinking. It's not like anyone can actually fake gold blood for long when even hair dye didn't exist yet. You're basically leaving all these loose ends to the you that would be believed to be the Creator. Which is never going to happen!

"Would the Creator scorn me for asking you once again if you're truly an oracle?"

"I'm sure the glorious creator would be fully justified in doing so, but I'll scorn you in their stead.. And don't get it twisted, it's not because of your feelings concerning Guizhong's death. It's how you, by your own negligence, offended the Creator!"

An utterly baffled expression paints his face at your accusation. Unrelenting, you point your finger at him with a serious face that you haven't shown him till now.

"Did you really believe that the creator wouldn't realize? Just how little you changed from that brute of a dragon that saw humans as plentiful yet insignificant as dust? To think that you believed yourself to be comparable to the primordial dragons."

Zhongli stiffens at the mention of the primordial dragons. After all he is the prime of the Adepti who's exuvia is a dragon, not a primordial dragon. Wouldn't it be fun if he held some sense of inferiority when compared to the primordial ones?

Zhongli sits on the ledge of the rock with his elbows on his legs and his hands covering his face. It was time. He would question just what you were talking about and you'll explain the elemental sacrificing that he forgot. That'll be the end and he'll have no choice but to support you!

Smiling knowingly you approach him and lean down to see behind the shadow casting over his eyes. Your eyes twinkle victoriously as his breath leaves a cloud from the crisp air.

"I should have known that the creator would not forgive me for failing to arrive on time."

What?

"How could I have been beaten to that shooting star by that astrologist? No matter who may have been her master, I failed to arrive on time."

Zhongli sulks there as he continues rambling to himself on 'missing' the shooting star due to his old age. Was he seriously talking about how you lost him the first time to Mona?!

Memories come back of you using the last of your wishes on his banner and being greeted with Mona instead. The first 50/50 you lost and was forced to use nearly all your primogems to get him. A fact that you never let Zhongli forget through your adventures.

Just what would he do if he knew how you always switched to a different character whenever his idle starts to play? Would he sew his lips together in repentance? That must be the difference between a true believer and a fake believer...

Holding back a sigh you begin brainstorming on how you were supposed to bring the conversation back to the sacrificing. Zhongli is too lost in his own head as he begins to continuously blame himself for any mistake he could have made.

"Being unable to answer the travelers' questions must have worsened their view on me too."

"That and how you were willing to let Liyue flood if they couldn't defeat Osial."

"Human life may be precious but they're as numerous as the dust that make up stone. I would rebuild Liyue for the rest of this long life until I cultivate a nation that I could humbly present the creator with."

"Then shouldn't the creator just grind you down and raise a different Adepti to their exact liking? You should work hard to be exactly what they desire to be truly loved."

"Are you saying that the Creator loathes me?" He finally looks away from the sea of clouds to stare at you. Sparing him a glance, you listen to him grow more panicked by your silence.

"Do they wish to see me crumble and be reabsorbed into the earth for my mistakes, for my sins? Was it the way I mechanically went through the motions of worship for the few years after Guizhong's death? Or does my benevolent god crave me and my nation to fall for aiding in the destruction of Kh-?"

Abruptly Zhongli grasps at his chest where his heart lays as he coughs. More out of politeness than concern you rub his back as fluid flies from his lips to his closed fist.

The thick inky plum colored fluid stained his fist with droplets of crimson swirling within it. His coughing fit slows to a halt as his hand slowly releases the clothing over his heart. Harsh breathing and a shallow pained groan is all that can be heard as he cleans himself up.

“Pardon me-”

“Was that a warning from Celestia or a side effect if you get too close to speaking?"

"The implication is the same no matter what it may be from." He whispers as you begin to move back to return his personal space. Yet his now ungloved hand is what wraps around your grass stained sleeve.

"Now answer my question." Determination and a barely concealed unruly emotion simmer beneath his composed surface as he asks. "As an oracle, tell me what I have to do to earn their forgiveness. What must I reap to begin repenting for the sins I sowed?"

Eyes widening at the sight of the disheveled man, you stare at him quietly. The messy hair, cut up clothing and grip tight enough to keep you still all while being careful not to bruise.

Hook, line and sinker.

"Is that a question for me to answer? Am I the god that you wronged? If you wish to communicate with the creator yourself, then there is a way. A method to begin regaining the pebbles that make up the mountain of trust you once shared with them."

You grab the arm that connects to his hand wrapped around your own and pull him up. He obeys the silent command and stands up, his gaze never faltering from your form. Silent and towering like the mountains he's created, he simply listens.

"Celestia has hidden more from you than you originally thought. But I'm sure you already know that. Offer yourself to the merciful creator and they'll surely hear your pleas of forgiveness. Whether they forgive you or not is up to them."

Releasing your hold on him, you turn to survey the area. Now where could you have him perform the sacrifice? His free hand comes to rest on your shoulder for your attention.

"What must I offer of myself? My blood? My body? If need be, I'll even be willing to offer my life. My life is worthless without them. I'm nothing more than a grain of mineral if not for them."

"There's so many things you can offer, but if you want to make the most impact, then you'll offer up your body parts. Your life may be precious but just how much longer do you have left?"

"Then will the private temple I have built for them work? We can head there immediately." He points south to the sole unnamed mountain in Minlin. You vividly remember unlocking the teleport waypoint there.

"The only way I'll know is when I see the interior. I'll meet you there Zhongli!"

Pulling yourself away from his grasp, you close your eyes and calmly imagine what the scenery around the waypoint looks like. The rocky feel of the floating stone changes to a lush green beneath your feet. Opening your eyes you're greeted with a valley of viridescent brustles with degraded stone ruins at the edges.

"To think that the Creator even allowed you access to the waypoints. They must treasure you greatly." He appears at your side in a matter of minutes. His tone has a hint of longing and bitterness.

It's sweet like the flavor of a childhood candy that you would sneak behind your parents backs. Almost sweet enough to make up for the starvation you would face later on as punishment.

"Instead of focusing on that, why don't you show me that private temple you created? As the Geo Archon, I hold high expectations for you."

"This temple is the one I created for me. If you want the glamorous shrine built for the mass and appearance then you're better off viewing the public one that the Qixing now control."

He walks down the hill until the grass is tall enough to cover his calves. You follow behind him and stare blankly at the plain that is covered with a healthy amount of tall marigolds. Just as you're about to repeat the question, the earth begins to rumble.

It starts with just one stone rising from the ground, until it multiplies into a roof like structure. You watch in awe as a temple surges out of the mountain with the slightest bits of dirt falling off it.

Stone of high quality and clearly careful upkeep shines with small cracks from the passage of time. Gold, silver, and bronze layer the nooks and crannies of the pillars that keep a roof over the doorway.

Marveling at it, you follow Zhongli into the temple... He couldn't kill you in it, right? Surely you could still teleport even if he locked you in it… Teleporting without using the map might not work due to the focus and effort it required, but doing it with the map has never failed you yet.

The inside was even more impressive; statues of all kinds surrounded the hallway. It was you, always you, just in different poses, clothing and materials. From thin robes crafted entirely from Cor Lapis, to suits made of Noctilucous Jade.

Arriving at what seemed to be the main room, you're greeted with a huge statue comparable to the public one in Inazuma's plaza. Sunlight bathed your statue from the skylight above it.

Your body was made of Cor Lapis decorated in an Archon-like robe made from Noctilucous Jade. A fresh Glaze Lily sat in your palm as Silk Flowers adorned your head in a crown like structure. You sat on a blue stone throne that seemed to grow brighter as you approached it. The sleek yet dense mineral looked like the magical crystal chunks you would give to the blacksmiths.

"Be careful to not venture too close to that one, the elemental energy may leave it to join you." Zhongli warns as he steps into the middle of the room. Smiling casually to hide your amazement, you head back to him.

"What an impressive statue, the Creator is feeling quite pleased with the display but still wishes to see your true remorse." Digging into your bag, you brought out the ceremonial knife and the handbook you took notes on.

"Go get the softest cloth and lay it on the ground. This ritual is simple, you'll cut off whatever part of your body you wish to offer, pray, and wait for a response. If 10 to 20 minutes pass with no response, then you can leave it at that or offer more in hopes of a response."

Closing the book and shoving it back into your bag you offer the knife to Zhongli. He looks up from where he laid the gilded gold fabric to stare at the knife before letting out a drawl laugh.

"That knife will do little to my scales, Y/N. A ceremonial item is to be bathed in liquid gold to be used so I have more than enough weapons that can actually cut my skin."

Scoffing, you stuff the knife back in as he leaves and returns with a variety of weapons. The largest was an ax that smelled faintly of blood. Was it used to sacrifice someone not too long ago? The thought makes you uncomfortable, yet you're no longer alarmed at the thought.

My, have you changed.

You move to stand away from the center closer to the exit. Zhongli's bare hand turns to a pattern of black and amber hues. Shedding his thick coat, his flexed muscles in draconic form are left in full view.

If you were back on Earth, you would have killed to view this. An Archon’s skin was something the majority of the players wished for, for quite a while. Even now, you would love to see his true Archon form, but the thought of actually living was far more tantalizing.

Rolling up his sleeves, he chooses a sword and examines it carefully. Without fear he raises it high and slices downwards cutting his hand off cleanly. The ruby liquid sprays onto the floor as the droplets drip off his sword and dismembered limb simultaneously.

It doesn't matter how many times you witness or smell blood, it still disgusts you. The only blood you truly cherished in shedding was the one that left that man's body when you stabbed him in that cold alleyway.

His hand lands onto the expensive textile with a wet thud as the ivory bone sticks out. Zhongli lays the sword down gently resisting the urge to groan in pain. Gritting his teeth he returned his attention and gaze back to you. You, who stayed in perfect position ahead of him, clad in gems and minerals carved by his own hand.

Closing his eyes, his lips followed the adored pass time of praying with intensity. Too lost in his regret, joy, and infatuation his words slipped out clear like the perfectly carved jewels he’s crafted for you.

"My god, my god. For I have sinned against you so. The mistakes I cannot fix or change, I pray for your forgiveness." Your unmoving, unchangeable eyes stared at him with an expression so familiar to him, one who worshiped you in this temple for centuries.

"From allowing myself to be tricked, to the lack of devotion I felt to you in Guizhong's death and finally with how I treated a servant of yours with disdain. Envious, I am envious to an extent that I shouldn't hold to my righteous god like you. Even now I still haven't broken the habit of referring to you as 'my' god."

Once again, just like the first time, Teyvat seems to overwhelm you with his feelings. You stare at his back as his lips murmur the words of devotion without an end in sight. Silently, you accept his offering, this first one was only to put the last nail in the coffin of you being an oracle.

The sky darkens as Zhongli's hand crumbles into a pile of primogems that dissolve into the air. Blue and purple stars dance across the sky as a lone gold star makes its way closer.

You didn't plan to always accept his offerings. After all you did lose a 50/50 to him and was forced to put up with his paranoid possessiveness in regards to your creator self. Shouldn't you make him lose a few times to even the score?

The gold star shines brighter and bigger as Zhongli gazes at it with a smile purer than anything he's ever felt since his creation at your hands. It flies through the window enveloping him and the whole room with a beaming light.

--------------

When his eyes open, the skylight shows the sunny sky but he can already feel his connection to you stronger. The brilliance you bore shines beautifully in him like a star he wished to keep hidden for only him to see.

It worked, it worked! There is no need for him to be wary or envious of you for claiming to be so close to the creator anymore. In fact, you were a sign specifically designed for someone like him. A sign that the creator had not grown complacent in simply watching Teyvat, you were now showing interest in coming back soon. And through you, he can find out details about the creator that were kept secret all these millennia.

A wide and joyful grin is bared with obsession tangling within it. He turns his head to where you stood and his smile drops abruptly when all he's greeted with is an empty spot.

He built this temple for him and the creator to enjoy in privacy due to his possessive nature born from his dragon lineage, yet the sight of Y/N who up and vanished after fulfilling their duty struck his core like the abyssal gunk that used to constantly corrupt his body.

You may have left, you may think that he wouldn't treat you, a fellow devoted servant well due to his earlier behavior. And he understands that, he truly does but that simply means he has to rectify his mistake before it's too late. You were a mere human while him, a god.

Finding you before any terrible consequences from his mistakes won't take too long.

-------------------

Unaware of the dragon's changing tune, you eye the Dragon-Queller tree from outside the temple with interest. After all the work you've done thus far, indulging yourself with a nice close up of the magnificent landmark would be a good treat for yourself.

This one took a while and it was edited by the same jerk. I really hope all the work was worth it and that the next part can be done faster. But as my college is starting this early Sep, it might be even longer. Genshin's lore is a hot mess so I tried my best to keep it simple while touching on the important parts. All the lore I put in is almost completely accurate. If you don't include the sagau parts. If your name is italic then that means I couldn't tag you. I manually put everyone so hopefully this fixes the notifications problems. Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife, @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0

#whisp's amateur work #genshin impact #genshin sagau #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #yandere sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau oracle au #genshin cult au #sagau cult au #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere zhongli #sagau #yandere morax #yandere rex lapis

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error4343 · 8 months

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Questions

CW: gore & blood It all will end where it began - at Snake Meadow Hill Church Love letter for @zzoupz John loves you AU

Don't be afraid, preacher. I hear His voice loud and clear now. He's welcoming you. And so do I. It's our last opportunity to talk before my Ascension. So ask, don't make Him wait

What you want to ask about?

John You don't recognise my face, Miller? I'm John Thomas Ward, a servant of His, just like you. I condemned myself to God since young age and, under guidance of father Garcia, learned true ways of preaching and serving His will. I was priest of false church before you, cowards, threw me away from God's home. But I hold no anger.

Snake Meadow Hill Church Too predictable, isn't it? Sentimental even. I was thinking the same when we moved here. Still, this place more fitting than anything: it's cradle of my own faith.

What you want to ask about?

Horned twins Ah, will-o-wisps. You're not the first whom they brought here. My apologize if they caused you any trouble. I couldn't deny them their fun.

"Him" I see. You forgot for whom you've been praying to. Don't be ashamed: you're not the first or last one to went astray. Recall: Him is above, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. If only you weren't so afraid, you would hear His voice though mine.

What you want to ask about?

Lisa Pearson Made not for caring His will on her shoulders, but for guide us towards it. A sinless lamb, iconographer, send to us long ago even before I knew my destiny. She was closer to absolute pureness that anyone of us could get. She was the one whom Initiation you interrupted, but it doesn't metter now. Everything went according to plan. She's with Him now, speaking with us from above.

The Ascension The Ascension isn't some bloody mess as you describe in church guidelines. It's delicate, precise process of hard work. And in the end - He grands His blessing. Firstly, one must clean themselves from any sin. For each sin there's way of redemption. Not just penance: for pride, lust and warth - mortification of flesh, for greed - poverty of monkhood, for envy - condemnation to another, for gluttony - everlasting fest, for sloth - work. Cleaning can take years… But you will know when you're ready.

Then comes the Ascension. No need to describe - you about to witness it. Participate, even.

Oh, how nice of you were to visit us today.

#faith the unholy trinity #faith the game #faith game #faith john ward #john ward #john loves you au #art #my art #cw: gore #cw blood

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livelaughlovesubs · 19 days

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Make me your god, I can give you everything~

Wuwa boys + hierophilia!! Plot: they worship dom!gn!reader as their god

Warning: hierophilia, blowjob (implied), hair pulling, clothes sniffing (implied), dacryphilia

Nini!rant: I hope I included all of them? Also I’ll not write for yuanwu cuz I have absolutely no clue what his character is like, and lingyang bc he looks and acts childish. Anyway, I’m not up to date with the game, so the character’s personalities might be a bit off :(

Aalto

- He’d be the puppy kind, a very smart himbo (?)

- a loyal follower of yours, believes you are a being above since you are so graceful and divine

- you could do no wrong, and he’d believe your every word, he’s bound to your voice

- obeys everything like a good servant, even though he’d be a bit cheeky just for the sake of it

- he likes doing stuff that involves personal stuff of yours, like doing the laundry, cleaning your chambers

- should you trust him with your stuff? Well he definitely won’t steal it but maybe sometime else?

- “want me to do this? Oh, lord…! Well, anything for my deity~”

- could be a little demanding at times, begging and asking for a reward if he did something well (or thinks he did)

- “god, please give me some of your blessings?”

- overall a fun good boy

Chalcharo

- he is loyal, like really loyal, and faithful

- so loyal that it gets annoying at times, always wanting the best for you

- would have a hunch of overprotectiveness too, thinking he did well taking care of the dirty work for you

- in other words instead of waiting for a command, doing things by his own initiative

- he likes staying by your side and protecting you, if there’s not much to do he’d stare at you, thinking he’s sneaky when he isn’t

- wouldn’t voice it but wants you to praise him and show him your full attention afterwards

- tell him he’s a good boy and your most trusted follower and he’d be seeing the gates of paradise

- if he didn’t actually help he wouldn’t know and still expect that, so it’s up to you whether to punish him or not

- if you allowed him to, he’d love to lay his head on your lap or straddle you (he’d never admit)

- “I worship you, my lord, the dearest, please let me be useful to you.”

Jiyan

- pretty similar to chalcharo? BUT more shy, he blushes so sweetly whenever you compliment him, or touch him

- he’d flinch all surprised and embarrassed too

- a veeeery good boy, sometimes does things by himself but mostly waits for your order

- since he’s so cute, he’s very fun to tease, leading to him being red faced all the time

- but he doesn’t mind, he liked the feeling to being loved by you, a divine presence, to shower in your attention (who doesn’t?)

- headcanon that he’d enjoy taking care of the flowers around the house/ church/ wherever this is taking place

- you think he looks very cute a tad messy and sweaty after tending to the garden

- you once stroked his hair while whispering something about wanting a drink, so he suddenly got up to get you one

- but bc you were still holding his hair you accidentally yanked on it

- it felt so good he moaned, “ah-ahhnnggg~” now he has dirty fantasies about it almost every night

Mortefi

- take jiyans embarrassment and multiply it by three, that’s how he feels when he’s showing his devotion to you

- not because he thinks the act itself is humiliating, but that he’s not doing enough

- nevertheless doesn’t want to trouble you, since that’d be beyond him, so he always brushes it off

- he’s content with reading the holy books and scrolls in your presence, and knowing you gift him with the occasional glances

- sometimes he gets so engulfed in reading you really just want to tease fuck him from behind

- if you did do it… he’s so honoured..! And so, so lucky! But he wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes for a while

- wants to do so much more but again, wouldn’t tell, you’ll need to reach out to him

- it’s your judgement whether or not he deserved your care, he will try to gain it, but not expect it

- would deny wanting anything physical at first, but melt the moment you touch him, even if it’s through gloves

- “f-forgive me lord, for being greedy.”

Rover

- sweetest and most diligent follower ever

- way more bold and direct than the others, would seek you out when he wants your attention

- and that’s like, always, so expect him to be clingy

- mostly quiet, just gently appreciating you caressing him in any way

- he liked putting his head on your lap the most, second only to more intimate stuff

- a little like a lap dog? His duty is to entertain you, if they are all members of some church for example he’d be a rookie

- anyone would be jealous that a newcomer gets to spend so much time with you…! And he’s so smug about it too

- smiles a lot! Really warms you up! Makes you want to make him cry as well-

- seeing that soft and tender face of his twisted into a writhing one as he cries out, “m-more!! Don’t s-stop.. my lord” must be pretty great

Scar

- so bold it’s unreal, he’d barge into your room whenever which would be seen as disrespectful but he’d also get on his knees immediately and pray to you

- beg you for your affection, he’s soooo needy with his god

- also definitely tries to seduce you, and if he was doing that with anyone else he would have been kicked out

- you seemed to find it fun so that’s why he kept his position

- many think you are too lenient with him, and too benevolent considering how cheeky he is

- demanding attention, skipping chores to wag his tail around you, touching you all comfortably as if you allowed him so

- it’s like he’s trying to get laid by his deity

- the only one who’d be daring enough to be sarcastic with you, and bratty

- just fuck him stupid maybe then he’d learn how to behave

- “ah, hnNghh~ l-lord, so rough..! GentleEEeeeKKK!!”

Geshu lin

- actually the only one who’s somewhat on equal standing with you? Or rather, he acts normal with you in comparison to the others

- converses with you, plays traditional games, many would agree that he seems a bit like your right hand man

- but to you? You see him as just as desperate as the others

- there’s no way to hide those eyes full of worship and yearning, and admiration

- gets so jealous when you spend too much time with the others, he’s the worst one, and it shows in his actions

- cuz then he’d be more demanding, louder too

- wouldn’t expect you to touch him or anything, and thinks it’s too disrespectful to touch you without asking, so he’d be shameless enough to straight up ask

- even if it’s some lewd places, places that are otherwise forbidden to these loyal pups of yours

- he still has his needs after all, whenever he first sees you he’d get on his knees and give you his greetings

- “good morning my lord, may I use my mouth to express my love and adoration?”

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viperixsworld · 3 months

Text

Born to die

━━Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Prologue.

Year 126 A.C

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Lucrezcia was never fond of the Seven God's.

Perhaps it was due to her aversion to the septa, perhaps the seven gods seemed cruel to her, with their expectations of purity and penance. Maybe the gods didn't like her either.

There were few occasions when she had to go to the Sept for liturgy on special days. This was one of many. Maiden's Day, a day on which maidens of noble houses are required to go to the sept to light tall white candles at the Maiden's feet and hang parchment garlands about her neck and sing songs of innocence.

Prostitutes, widows, and men are barred from the sept. So were mothers, but Vala Harlaw was absent these day and all the following.

Lucrezcia thought of her mother at least once a day, where she would be, would she still be alive, perhaps she was happier now. These thoughts clouded the young woman's mind as she entered the small sept of the Arbor.

Vala had disappeared from the face of the earth, in the morning she was there, and in the afternoon she was gone.

But that was three long years ago, and Lucrezcia, still a maiden, was no longer a child.

A little tug on the sleeves of her gown brought her back to reality. Looking down, he found a pile of reddish swirls, covered by a tiara topped with a veil. Large, bright green eyes watched her intently, waiting for her to take the first step into the building.

Patricia, her younger sister, she was dressed in a small purple dressing gown, adorned with blue embroidery. It was her first Maiden's day in her four years of life, so little Patricia watched her big sister's every move with determination.

"Gals! Gals"

Septa Rowan hurried up the stairs to the sept portal with difficulty, catching her breath and fanning herself with her fat arms. As tradition dictated, young girls from noble houses were to be accompanied by their septas. Lucrezcia rolled her eyes in disdain, the old woman was like a watchful hawk, always on the lookout to correct any and all behaviour deemed inappropriate by the faith.

"What are you waiting for girls? We'll be late for the chants, come on, get a move on! "

The woman wasted no time in snatching little Patricia from Lucrezcia's skirts to hurry her towards the sept. The older girl lagged behind, still in front of the flower-decorated doors of the Sept.

Her mother was not one of the gods, either; she was an ironborn. Her god was the God of the Drowned, as much as her former husband would resent it.

Luther Redwyne was a man of the Seven, who condemned the ways of the mother of his daughters.

Vala, shorn of her faith, found ways to rebel against her husband's impositions. Small acts of rebellion, which had been engraved in her daughter's mind. Such as, spitting at the gates of the Sept, then stepping on his saliva on the ground.

"Lucrezcia, child, come in at once".

She scowled at the Septa, and when the old woman was out of sight, the girl spat on the stone floor and stepped on it. Then she entered the room, where the smell of smoke and incense burned her nostrils.

She was not fond of the gods, and some part of her gut told her it was mutual.

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Luther Redwyne was a tall man, who in years gone by had been a gallant man. His hair was already grey when her first daughter, Livia, was born. Now, the lord of the Arbor sported whitish hair, revealing traces of what had once been dark hair.

His clean face, now covered with light wrinkles, appeared at the dinner table in the chamber surrounded by his three other daughters.

Olga, the second eldest of the sisters, devoted to the Faith of the Seven, led the prayer and blessing of the food on the table, while the servants brought more. Lucrezcia watched the family inquisitively from her seat at the table.

Her older sister, Olga, the second sister, wore Septa's clothes. She had been studying the ways of faith for several years now, and had always been the neatest and quietest of them all.

Lucrezcia liked her sister, as broken as their relationship was, but that didn't take away from the fact that she thought she was stupid.

To Lucreczia, Olga was a coward, hiding under Septa's robes out of fear. Of her father and his business. Of marriage and of being sent to a strange place. She feared the unknown.

Somewhat, she through of herself the same.

There was a reason they were sisters

But Lucrezcia wouldn't hide in ugly garments, she was smarter than that. She would fight her father, she had been doing so since she came out of her mother's womb.

"...and may the Gods bless this supper and this family"

The four of them proceed to eat, well the other three did, Lucrezcia had been chewing a piece of cheese, under the menacing gaze of Septa Rowan, who was waiting at the door.

"The Maiden's day has been prolific, I hope"

Her father's voice broke the silence.

Lucrezcia tried to hold in her laughter, as little Patricia gulped down a handful of grapes to avoid her father's inquisitive gaze.

The little girl had tried to light several candles at the same time, inadvertently setting on fire one of the offerings on the statue of the Maiden.

"It has been... interesting" said Lucrezcia.

"I hope you enjoyed it, my dear. Considering it's your last day of the Maiden.... You'll be married by the next"

Lucrezcia abruptly dropped her fork and gritted her teeth.

She and her father had a duel of glances for a few moments. He wanted to provoke her, he knew her intentions.

Third child of one of the heirless men, with the two older sisters out of sight. Lucrezcia knew that if she waited, just a few years, and her father did not remarry, she could inherit the lands and fleets.

Luther was an intimidating man, one of the richest in the Seven Kingdoms, and therefore intelligent. An intelligence that his third daughter had inherited. Her father's head and her mother's rebellious spirit.

He had been trying to engage Lucrezcia with any man who offered a good deal. But it didn't matter. Lucrezcia knew how to chase them away.

"The last suitor you introduced me to had a better chance of making it to his funeral than to the wedding. If you offer me to another one, I might help him get to the funeral".

The Lord of the Arbor sipped from his wine glass.

"Watch your words"

"Will you force me?"

"Lucrezcia!" warned his sister.

"Sister Olga" replied graciously.

"Will you ever be demure?"

"Will you ever take that stick out of your ass?"

"Enough!" exclaimed the father.

Lord Redwyne rose from the table. He looked at his daughter menacingly. Only to be answered with the same impetus. How she reminded him of Vala, the iron maiden he had been promised who was more of a headstrong and a mother than without bringing sons into the world.

"Septa Olga, took little Patricia to her bedchambers, it's late" Luther waited for his two daughters to leave the room, and gave an order to the guards "Leave us".

Lucrezcia held her breath once the dining room door closed. It was not the first sermon her father had given her since she had blossomed.

It was after her mother's disappearance.

It was she who helped Livia affirm her marriage to a small lord of the Dornish marches, despite Luther's complaints.

Vala could be brusque and stubborn, she was not affectionate or kind. She loved her daughters, all four of them, in her own way. Lucrezcia liked to think that wherever she was, she was happier than she ever was on her island.

"You and your mischief, you have overstepped my bounds" his father began, "You have cost me nine septas in four years, you almost carried them with the stranger, Gods be damned". He ran a hand over his face. "I have given you opportunities, men from nearby lands, who will give you comfort and gold"

"Maybe I don't want their gold..."

I want my own.

She wanted to scream.

"And ten suitors later..." laughed the Lord "You've tried my patience, just as your mother did".

The mere mention of her mother stirred an anger she had been holding in. So much so that she grabbed the bronze goblet containing her wine and hurled it with all her might at her lord father.

The room fell silent. Lord Luther looked down at his wine-stained doublet with a cynical smile.

"But you are not alone, I too must succumb to the politics of marriage" he confessed.

Lucrezcia gave him a wary glance.

"Are you not too old?"

Lord Redwyne massaged his temple with his fingers.

"I am not getting any younger, my child. Your mother left without giving me an heir, so I must remarry and pray to the gods for a son" He said.

"We will sail to Oldtown in three days, where we will be met by Lord Hightower and my future wife. There too, waits," he let out a giggle like a naughty child, "Several lords of the Reach who have sons and castles that I can offer you for a well-negotiated dowry".

"You'll sell me for pennies"

"I am considering it" he said approaching her "But unfortunately you are too much, no man would accept you for free".

"And if your beloved son is born without a cock?" she spat.

"Then I will have the guarantee that you would be far away".

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Lucrezcia had not travelled much in her life, her mother always regretted. Vala loved sailing and discovery, something that had been taken away from her since her marriage.

Now, she had to collect all her belongings in suitcases and chests. To leave for an unknown place, as a present to an unknown man. She angrily pulled clothes out of their wardrobes, while her little sister watched from her dressing table chair.

Her two sisters went to see her off at the dock, where she was to sail to Oldtown. Olga held little Patricia in her arms to prevent her from running towards the ship.

The little one questioned his sister about everything, as she had never left the island. Patricia wished all the best for her older sister and it was clear that she would mourn her absence.

For unlike her father, she would not be returning to the Arbor, at least not for a long time.

Olga's necklace with the seven-pointed star hanging from her neck and ash-blond curls covered by the habit.

"But father will let us visit you, won't you father?" asked little Patricia. "Once you are married, we will go to see you, Lulu"

The girl had never considered herself sensitive, let alone affectionate. It was a trait inherited from her mother. Love was not something she could train or learn, but the love she felt for her sister made her heart shrink. If it weren't for the presence of the Arbor's entire retinue, she would have chained herself to the dock with her little girl.

"Of course you will, and Olga will help you to write letters. It'll be fine"

The little redhead looked up to her holy sister, waiting for affirmation. Olga seemed a little reluctant but offered the girl an attempt at a smile. The eldest of the sisters present had not uttered a word during the entire farewell, the ship would be leaving shortly. Lucrezcia thought she could see the words trying to escape her sister's thin, closed lips.

"Take care of her" said Lucrezcia.

"Don't I do it already?" she responded.

"Just... be present" said the younger one.

Be better than what you did with me.

Olga seemed to understand. She knew she had not been responsible for her younger sisters, not since her mother left and Livia married. It was not her duty, as far as it went, so she shut herself away in her books and her studies of the faith.

Lucrezcia was aware that it was not all her fault, not entirely. She herself knew that she was a difficult person. And if she could change it, she would.

"But you can't change who you are, so that's a problem for whoever crosses your path." Her mother said to her one day when they went hunting in the island's forests.

One last hug from the little girl, and a look of understanding between the older girls, and Lucrezcia and her father left on the ship for Oldtown.

The journey was short for the girl, who spent the entire crossing on deck, enjoying the sea breeze. They arrived in Oldtown harbour at sunset, where they were greeted by Ormund Hightower's retinue.

The city was built in stone, with all its streets cobbled, which can make them wet and slippery on a damp day.Most bridges are made of stone, although some wooden bridges can be found as well.The city itself is surrounded by massive, thick, high stone walls.Oldtown is a labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets. These include the Thieves Market and Ragpicker's Wynd.

Luther and Lucrezcia settled in the High Tower, labyrinthine square fortress of unadorned black stone at the castle's foundation contains gloomy halls, vaults, and chambers.

The girl was grateful that she was not the one who had to carry her belongings up to her temporary quarters.

From the heights of her room, she could see practically all of the Reach. Her maid, a young bravoosi named Nyssa, who would be no older than she was, helped her prepare for the day ahead.

According to what her father and Ormund Hightower had discussed at dinner in the great hall, in the morning they would have lunch with her father's prospective new wife, Lord Tarly's daughter.

Later they would take a carriage to Honeyholt, the seat of House Beesbury in the Reach. It was situated along the eastern bank of the Honeywine river between Brightwater Keep and Oldtown. There, they would meet the long list of suitors that traveled from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms to try to marry her off.

As if.

"He expects me to believe that a bunch of men have travelled all the way to the ass end of the continent to marry a third daughter" she complained.

"Your father is one of the richest men in all of Westeros, my lady" Nyssa said in her clear accent. "I would travel as far as it took".

The dowry must have been very good then.

She wished Nyssa good night, but did not sleep until after the hour of the wolf. She felt like a fool; she had never been interested in romance, let alone expected a love match.

But in the loneliest hour, Lucrezcia hoped that her future husband (whom she would most likely meet tomorrow) would be a man who would respect and love her as she had only read about in books.

#game of thrones #asoiaf fic #got fic #hotd #asoif/got #benjicot blackwood x oc #got #house targaryen #benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #benjicot blackwood x reader #ben blackwood #ben blackwood x reader

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annwrites · 2 months

Text

—midnight oil

i want a fire & a steady man. come on, show me if your love can. write my name in crimson red. cross my heart & back again. i want a kingdom where my love can stand. come on, show me if your love can. we're burning that midnight oil. — dark!jacaerys x servant!reader ; ✶:·•

↳ read more

You tug against the soft black and red velvet ropes which bind your limbs to his bed, leaving you entirely at his disposal to do with as he wishes—as he desires.

He presses down with his palm on your lower stomach, his long, slender fingers arching upward, gently massaging that ledge inside of you before plunging away once more—mercilessly.

Dark curls fall over his warm brown eyes, which glance up to your flushed face, stricken with tears due to your sexual frustrations by his hand...among other parts of himself. He admires your soft feminine form, illuminated only by flickering candlelight.

He leans down, giving your swollen red clit a quick swipe of his speared tongue and your back arches as you quietly sob.

"Please, Jace...."

He chuckles. "A dragon's heat, I think, is very little, as compared to your own, my love."

You curl your toes, that wanton feeling building in your lower belly, fire racing through your veins at his measured touches.

Thunder booms overhead, reverberating through you, bringing you closer, rain pelting against the glass windows.

Somewhere, a dragon roars a familiar call.

He groans, his erect cock twitching between his legs as he sees solely to your own pleasure, deigning that his shall wait until you've reached that marvelous peak.

You bite your lip, unable to contain yourself any longer as you begin to draw in uneven, shallow breathes, panting in desperation.

"Jace... Ja—Jace, I—"

He raises a brow, continuing his ministrations. "Close are we, darling?"

You nod fervently. "Y—yes, My Prince."

He quickens his speed, then, setting a punishing pace, making you all the more sore between your trembling legs.

"Oh, gods," you whisper, breathless. "I—I can't—"

He hums. "But you must. Because I want you to," he states with a gentle shrug.

His eyes meet your own. "Māzigon."

For many moons, Jacaerys has been gradually teaching you High Valyrian. And this one word you know better than almost all the rest: come. And you obey, ever his faithful servant.

Liquid shoots out of your hot cunt which squeezes and contracts around his slick digits, soaking the dark silk sheets your naked body lies upon as you cry out his name over and over again.

"Jace, Jace, oh gods, Jace!" You say between pleased squeals of delight.

Eventually, his movements slow, his bed and bare lap covered in your arousal.

He smirks, crawling atop you, not nearly done. "Something meant to quench a fire only serves to stoke mine own," he mutters, sheathing his throbbing member inside of you and crushing his lips to yours.

the daughter of a chambermaid, you have resided upon dragonstone all your life. playing on the beaches, in the water, & exploring hidden caves & caverns are the means by which you entertain yourself.

once you grow into a young woman, however, you are put to work, same as the rest.

one of the rooms which is made your responsibility? prince jacaerys'. this fact does not change even after he & his family's arrival to the island.

rather quickly, he takes notice of & a subsequent liking to you, & the two of you become fast friends as you show him your secret places around & near & beneath the castle. he seems very sweet, if not shy & a bit unsure of himself. but once the dance begins, the boy quickly grows into a man.

and thus develops a man's appetites, which only one comely young maid may satiate...

headcanons:

gets off on spoiling reader. spends disgust amounts of coin on her: purchasing her new gowns, lovely undergarments, jewels, slippers, etc. really whatever her heart desires, even if she insists it's all too much (it gets him hard seeing her flustered)!

dominant as hell in the bedroom. loves tying her up & teasing her until she's a dripping mess.

likes to dine with her—prefers sharing all his meals, when able, with her. adores feeding her fresh fruit from his own hand.

'jokes' about wedding her.

trusts her implicitly.

she's terrified the first time he takes her to meet vermax, but the dragon, too, likes her instantly. jace tells her the creatures share a deep bond w/ their riders & are capable of feeling as they do.

secret sex in secret beach caves! with her dress up around her waist as he grips reader's thighs—keeping her legs wrapped round his waist as he pounds away inside of her.

moontea for days.

just loves & adores her like no other.

def purchases her ben-wa balls at some point. she's confused when she opens the small box held within his hands. "what do they do?" he smirks, shrugging. "they're for...pleasure." "o—oh." "will you lift up your skirts?" she does & he gets on one knee, placing one in his mouth, quickly wetting & warming it for her before he licks her between her legs a few times, then easing it in. "how does that feel?" "a bit cool...but good. i...i like it." he nods, repeating the action with the other. he then orders her to keep them in all day until he commands otherwise.

#annsideas #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon imagine

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writingwenches · 2 months

Text

Aemond x Peasant OC

synopsis: Aemond leaves the comfort of the Red Keep to trek around the backwoods Riverlands, where an annoying peasant doesn't believe he is a prince. Then they do hand stuff near a lake.

themes: brat!Aemond, spoiled!Aemond, mixed race main character, mc grew up in a westeros version of a nunnery, surprise trans side character~ this is just the start of a larger “rewrite HOTD” type story.

word count: 10k (i hate me too.)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no targcest, hand stuff, mouth stuff, mommy issues if you squint, mentions of sex work, mentions of child death and pregnancy complications. Religious nonsense.

PART TWO OUT NOW

Freedom From – Act One

Charity is the only hope for useless girls, and not enough to go around. The Maidenhouse of Haronfall was an ancient structure, run by the Faith for centuries as a place to send discarded girl-children, forging useless girls into something worthy. It was their true calling, regardless of what those girls’ wants.

For unwanted men of the realm, there was the Night’s Watch. Some unwanted boys are sent as soon as they were old enough to lift a sword. They were raised and trained to be useful along their brothers, forged to the sole purpose of defending the realm and never to be left wanting.

The Septas of the Faith of the Seven recruited woman of fine birth, in want of a life not owned by a husband, and those who’s families were willing to pay handsomely for a life of purpose for their unfortunately female child. Women worked and clawed and won their way into the duty of a Septa, the Faith had no use for useless girls.

There was no place in the realm for unwanted girls. Brothels did not want them. They already had enough bastards, and young flesh did not turn enough of a profit. Girls were not wanted unless they were useful, and many unuseful girls found themselves living on the streets or dead in a ditch.

That was what would befall Lyn is she were ever to be found wanting, of something more, of something else. She was lucky to have been given her place amongst the holy woman of the Faith, even if she was not going to benefit from their handouts much longer. Lyn had been found wanting at an early age, never reaching the hidden marks required to be gifted a role as a Novice. Those girls found wanting were given hard work of servitude, waiting on the Septas that filled the halls of the Grand Motherhouse, constructed around the ancient order’s orphanage, nestled in the swamp lands of The Bite.

The prayer before work was never ending, but no one had the heart to interrupt the young girl, hands clasped together, eyes stitched shut, conversing with the gods in earnest. Lyn tried to shake her mind from racing at the thoughts of the future, focusing on the task at hand. House Erenford was not able to keep a staff his large permanently, but they would take every chance for a few strong-backed girl servants from the Faith to tend their Keep during festivals and feasts. House Erenford honors hard workers, and knows that the serving girls’ would be in need of work away from their lands as soon as they could find it. The elderly Lord Erenford would always put in a good word with visiting households in need of additional servants.

Lyn tried to for her back to appear straight, as she lowered herself enough to reach the basket of herbs that needed plucking. Her fellow maid, Hanna, peeled potatoes below the table and out of sight of piety. This was not the first time the group of maids had been contracted to work during a feast at House Eronford’s keep, and Lyn knew that they did not have time for endless prayers and blessings if they were to keep their schedule. Their traveling party lost many hours to traveling from the Motherhouse, where the young maids hailed.

Lyn’s eyes remained downcast, she was raised by the Septas of the Faith of the Seven since as long as she had memory. She had learned to pray before she could do any other task, it took many years to learn how to appear to be praying, which is much more efficient.

Her small movements had been noticed, however, by the Lady Aeditya Mallister. She had been raised on a far-off world, at a distance Lyn could not properly imagine, away from the tradition of the Faith.

Lady Aeditya cleared her throat, trying to get someone’s attention, her empty cup dancing in her hand.

For years, Lyn assumed Aeditya was of mixed peoples, like Lyn herself, with skin of a strange middle ground between dark and light. But, after serving the lady on numerous occasions, she was assured that Lady Mallister was of impeccable birth, thought to possess ravishing beauty by her entire nation, a nation where all peoples looked like her, but obviously less beautiful.

Lady Aeditya exhaled loudly, and no move was made to fill her empty cup while prayers were still being pledged.

Lyn agreed that Lady Aeditya was beautiful, but knew that her distant land would not welcome her for her skin alone. Their features were completely different, were Lyn was plump and sturdy, Aeditya was slim and narrow.

“LYN!” the lady finally shouted. The prayers abruptly stopped. “My cup is empty. Where is the wine?”

“Of course, Lady Mallister,” Lyn said dutifully, flicking away the moist bits of shredded herbs from her fingers, glad that the room burst to life as work for the feast could finally begin. Behind the pillar of the wine cellar, Lyn suck a few gulps from the pitcher to warm her belly before returning to fill the lady’s empty cup.

—

“Ugh!” Lady Aeditya huffed, as she lounged on the stone hearth, stroking her distressingly pregnant belly. “It’s too quiet in here, someone speak,” she ordered, her wine cup almost empty one again.

“Is the duck ready for the oven?” Hanna chimed, thinking her thoughts aloud as she passed.

“No!” Lady Aeditya stamped, “The babe grows ears! Do not speak of things I know nought about!” Her words staccatod for emphasis. “It is isolating to me, we must not encourage such things for the babe,” she said as if it were obvious. “Lord Ryver and Waltel Frey are sparring, as always, and I did not come here to be bored.”

Lady Aeditya came to Haronfall, along the edge of The Bite, all the way from Seaguard, the western most point before the Iron Islands. It was the only area of land Lyn had ever known. It was more than a week’s journey between the two settlements, and every pregnancy, Aeditya seemed to spend the majority of her time away from her lord husband.

“What would you like to speak of, Lady Mallister?” Lyn asked, sharing smiling glancing to the other girls working. She tried to get the savory herbs from beneath her fingernails, to not spoil the sweet pie filling she was mixing.

Lady Aeditya signed again. “it is always up to me, the true burden of being a lady.” She sat up straighter and addressed the help with her eyes. The Lady Aeditya saw an unorganized gaggle of unmarried maidens, who were long old enough to bare children of their own. Poor, former infants that were abandoned by their destitute mothers at the Faith’s doorstep, now traded around as extra help for a few measly coins. Aeditya say little difference between this and woman who sell their bodies in other ways. She could never imagine sullying herself with such unfulfilling work with a true lack of purpose. She pitied them in some ways – an envied them in others. “Girls, be thankful your minds are not always at the helm of every stimulant in conversation.”

Honestly, Lyn was thankful as her brain was far away from the dank kitchens, hidden below the gathering hall. The windows were scarce and to allow only for light, rather than a beautiful view of the fertile swamplands surrounding the keep. Lyn’s mind was free to soar and wonder, watching a bale of turtles balancing on a single log as they competed for the best spot in the sun. Lyn often wished she were a simple turtle, floating along the creeks and bogs, armored against chomping lizards and long beaked birds. She was free.

Very much unlike Lady Aeditya.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, both hands reaching for her overlarge belly. “Come hither! The babe! He kicks!”

The room flurried with rushing girls and dropped buckets.

Lyn did not think Lady Aeditya so bad. Lyn was present at her last birth, as Aeditya’s labors began in Haronfall, and lasted days. The boy was born asleep, the Septas said, wrapping him in cloth and not allowing the mother a single look before carting him away, leaving Lyn and the other girls to hold Aeditya close as she wailed. At the request of Lord River, Aeditya remained in Haronfall to give Lord Mallister’s temper time to subside.

Lyn smiled as she felt the babe kick, before other girls pushed her palm away to feel for themselves. Lyn didn’t know how much she believed in the gods, but she prayed to all of them on behalf of the Lady Mallister, prayed that they would finally bless her with a single child that lives, if only to spare her from her lord husband’s much-gossiped-about wrath.

Lyn was very thankful she was a poor maid, with no hopes and no prospects. She had seen first hand what prospects could do to a woman.

—

Whatever the reason for Cinda Lannister’s personal crest being a lioness fighting a diamond snake, many speculated that she was much more the snake than a lioness. Perhaps the speculation began from Cinda herself.

“My prince,” she curtsied impeccably. “Oh, how I wish you’d allow me to call you ‘my favorite prince,’” she teased, snaking her hand around Aemond’s arm, without him offering it.

“As I have told you since childhood, you are allowed to do no such thing,” he scoffed, wishing he could shake her arms away like he could his mother. Cinda Lannister was a high-born lady, not something that could be manhandled, so he allowed her closeness begrudgingly. “What is it you want this time, Lady Cinda?”

The younger sister of Master of Coin, and personal possessor of the largest sapphire mine in all of Westeros, threw her head back with a laugh, allowing the tall prince a better view of her bare neck and low-lying neckline. “You are always a laugh, my prince!” she mused, “I do not want anything from you. I simply wish you tell you of a surprise gift I have found for your dear, sweet, sister, the Princess Helaena.”

“What is it?” he asked plainly, wishing the halls of the Red Keep were shorter, or any other reason for this conversation to end.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you!” she jested back, “no, I will not tell you what it is, simply where to find it, if you would wish to help me fetch it for her.”

Aemond offered Cinda his hand at the end of a long staircase, as any proper gentleman should, and she gracefully accepted it. “Fine,” he held his tongue in anger, “where is it?”

“Haronfall,” she replied quickly.

“Heronhol?” he had heard, expecting the gift to be some haunted tree spider.

“No, my prince. That is a common miscommunication. Haronfall, along The Bite, Near The Twins, but not quite. Ruled over by Lord Eronford. It is far older than Haronhol and some say it could be the inspiration for Lord Aaron’s naming of his own Keep.”

It was not often when Aemond took more than a thought to remember the heraldry of a house. “A heron on a pink banner?”

“Correct, my prince!” Cinda used this as an opportunity to giggle. “That is correct?” Cinda asked, turning towards Aemond’s back.

Aemond had not noticed the girl following behind, a girl, barely old enough to be called a lady, clad in bright red rubies and lace. “Yes, aunt,” she replied meekly, not looking up at Aemond. The daughter of the Realm’s Lannister Master of Ships.

“Thank you, Cordelia,” Cinda said.

Aemond had been offered the young Lady Cordelia on numerous occasions since her birth. The second-born prince had no interest in playing nursemaid to a child, or bedding one.

“Haronfall is where I shall be traveling to, unfortunately I shall be missing the King’s nameday festivities, but as you know, your sweet sister’s own nameday is so soon after, that she rarely receives much fanfare.” Cinda said.

“And with all of the troubles she has had of late with those nasty girls from the Stormlands. I simply shudder to think of the vile insults thrown her way.”

—

In the past, Helaena’s ladies forced her around the keep, the princess’s feet dragging paces behind the ladies’ closely fortified wall of linked arms. They had all hailed from the Stormlands, a great honor bestowed by the crown. Jena Estermount, the eldest daughter to the second richest house in the region who openly mocked the gods, Arianna Tarth, a half-dornish girl, and Corenna Storm, a noble bastard of House Baratheon.

As they wafted through the walls of the Keep, Aemond thought it plain to see that the princess’s ladies were not interested in the princess at all. Helaena did not seem at all bothered when the Queen dismissed the group of catty ladies from court after she discovered them mocking the princess behind her back. Queen Alicent distrusted each girl for their own glaring flaw, and only had the prejudices enforced through the girls’ actions.

In reality, Helaena had not minded the names they called her. Some of the names were quite clever. One of the girls, the bastard, had called her “Batty.” Helaena had never given much thoughts to bats before that name, and since has discovered she finds them quite fascinating.

—

Cinda had always seemed to have the Queen’s interest at heart. Aemond figured Cinda was a child when his mother was married, basically offered as a gift from the Lannister family. Cinda was a Lady in her own right, the rightful daughter to the Lord Paramount of the West, and had the authority born from her great house, to assist the queen with any ladyly matters that concerned women.

Aemond wasn’t sure what ladies did all day, but he supposed planning gifts for a princess was a worthy endeavor.

Aemond had only known Cinda to honor his mother in whatever way necessary. He liked the way she made people squirm.

“Careful, Lord Larys,” she quipped once, while his mother and the clubbed foot whispered in the corner. “If you aren’t careful, I shall marry you. And I shall keep my husband on a much shorter leash.”

Cinda was young enough to be a proper match to marry Prince Aemond, but old enough to lack many more fruitful child baring years. It would basically be admitting to the realm of his care for the woman, which he had none, no matter how many times he returned to her bed to lay his head upon her chest. It meant nothing, he told himself, even as the tears stung the corners of his eyes as he burrowed himself into her.

Cinda was just a teen, helping the Queen Mother after Aemond’s incident on Driftmark, letting the small boy lay on her chest as he was sick on milk of the poppy.

His mother was there, asleep on the chair near his bedside, but she could not bare to touch him. The last time she cradled his face, the night it happened, she erupted with rage and she was horrified, afraid she would lash out at the boy with her anger like she had attacked her once best friend.

It was Aemond that snuck into Cinda’s chambers a few moons past when they stopped sleeping in his own chambers. It was the first time he had seen a lady without a corset, when he climbed into her bed, teary eyed and pouting about the pain his family was tired of hearing. She let the pitiful boy sleep on her chest, Aemond thought her was much more comfortable without her corset.

Cinda had never changed the way she looked at him. He had always been the poor, second son that she loved to dote upon. Even after gaining Vhagar and losing his eye, she never faltered in her incessant mothering of him, always to his annoyance.

The winter following his lost eye, Cinda had made sure to strap him into his winter coat personally, buttons, belts and all. So many, the young boy would grow too impatient every time he attempted to shrug it off.

Aemond would threaten to feed Cinda to his new dragon at her every annoyance, and every time she would hug him close, and before long he was tall enough to get a face-full of her ample chest.

It had become a game for him, without him realizing what he had been up to, with his newly formed fascination with women’s breasts.

Cinda was the first to notice his little scheme, calling him out in their quiet place, “I thought you my favorite prince for being so different from your elder brother, His Grace. I can’t have you being a leacher as well.” Her thumb as passed over his lips as she caressed his cheek and he felt every inch of skin set aflame.

He legs stormed him out of her room and down two corridors before he was able to hear the world again. The blush did not leave his flesh for weeks, as every time the young boy caught a glimpse of a red dress, he was reminded of her alluring words.

Aemond had been panicked for so long that Aegon noticed. When Aegon approached Cinda about the incident, she licked her thumb to wipe away from dirt on Prince Aegon’s nose. He lost interest quickly, not enjoying her mothering the way others did.

His grandsire had even requested to speak with him about something important. Aemond was enameled by the strategic maps and sums that scattered the office of Hand to the King.

It was a meeting, much worst than he could have ever feared. Otto thought it had been time that the young prince he spoken to about urges. Aemond thought about jumping from the Hand’s Tower, surely death was better than this.

“I don’t…” Aemond was cut off, Otto was not going to let him get out of this one.

A large, ancient tome was presented to the young prince. Aemond closed the book as quickly as he opened it, after seeing the crude drawings of nude bodies. “I don’t want this,” he said, pushing it back to his grandsire, not making eye contact.

“Think of it as an early nameday gift,” Otto patted him on the head, not allowing Aemond to leave without the book.

The young prince held the tone like it was covered in acid, not wanting it to suddenly burst into flames. That was until he noticed Aegon a floor below, and Aemond hid the book under his shift, tucked into his breeches to unsuspiciously walk past his elder brother and little cousins.

It obviously did not work.

It never worked.

He stopped seeing Cinda unnecessarily after that, only allowing a passing conversation at a mutual dinner or ball. It wasn’t something he needed, he reminded himself, with his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the Harvest Ball in the Red Keep. The festivities were distracting his brother and his club of suitors from The Reach, all who took great pleasure in Aemond’s discomfort. If the Reach Ladies ever found out about his secret nighttime travels to Cinda’s chambers to be swaddled with a babe…the only option would be to sacrifice himself to the Old Valyrian gods by Vhagar’s dragon fire.

Even as a man grown, Aemond could still picture the sting of Lady Ivyanne Tyrell’s voice in his imagined scenario that he allowed to play on loop every night.

“By the gods, One-Eye, do you love Cinda Lannister?” He could feel their laughter, even without it ever happening.

Not that he had thought about the exact scene in his loneliest hours of sleep, Cinda was never at a lack of quips and womanly come-backs. Lady Cinda Lannister was not afraid to call out Ivyanne for the sapphic invert she truly was. “Have fun with your Game of Flats, I’m sure Prince Aegon enjoys watching.”

Not that Aemond ever imagines such things, especially right after he had just finished his imagining. It was always the last time, every single time.

Lady Cinda Lannister bathed in the morning, before the sun is fully risen, beginning her day before some of the Keep’s servants. Aemond knew that much about her routine, after being gently woken and forced to trek back to his own chambers before the castle was awake.

The early morning after his thirteen nameday festivities Aegon had talked him into, Aemond found himself in Cinda’s chambers once again. She did not have to ask, his tears could not be controlled.

Cinda had derived a way to lock the doors from the inside, she was never one to to be caught off guard.

They both bathed in their shifts. Aemond cried into her neck as she washed his hair and sponged his face. She distracted him with Lannister family histories, courtly gossip she had overheard, talk about her excitement for his sister princess’s new ladies-in-waiting arriving from the Stormlands soon.

They couldn’t stay there forever, as Aemond would have wished. The dream between sleep and awake evaporated together into the cloud of his memory. Aemond could not remember if he asked Cinda to marry him that night, or if it was only a fleeting dream. Regardless, there was a sweet declaration of her painless rejection. Aemond had not minded.

—

“I hope you are daydreaming of me, my little prince,” Cinda laughed, grazing his cheek with her fingernail.

The waking nightmare had been so real that Aemond started back to attention, tripping young Cordelia, who was following him too closely.

“You will be gone for weeks,” Aemond continued forward, leaving the young Cordelia to pick herself up from the floor.

“I hope you do not miss me too fiercely while I away,” she shined.

“I never do,” Aemond blanched as she pressed her lips to his cheek.

—

Aemond could not withstand another moment of his father’s sixtieth nameday celebration, and took to the skies before the great hunt had finished. He had been given his heading of The Bite, and he had studied the wastelands of the kingdoms in his youth for this very reason. He had no need for a map.

Vhagar circled the estuaries trickling out of The Bite, the bitter air of the cold swamp fluttered upwards, the smell of fresh death, and decay played inside him. Only a place like this could grow the strange bog creature his sister was surely going to cherish from Lady Cinda.

The settlement had been easy enough to find, after a few hours of searching the shores. Vhagar’s legs sank into the muck as she landed, the elderly she-dragon grunted with every movement, refusing to lean on her wings for support. She took two additional landings for Aemond to calm her enough to dismount.

Before his dragon had disappeared from view, tall, squawking birds had found perch upon her wide back. Aemond was sure her dragon fire would not find purchase amongst the brush and trees, the place was too dank to be set ablaze.

By the time he reached the settlement, Aemond had cursed every rock and root he had passed for the past few miles. He wished Vhagar had roasted the entire countryside rather than spend another moment knee deep in cold muck.

—

“Ryver has gone mad yet again,” Lady Aeditya’s slurred down the stairs, she risked tumbling for a change at her favorite exaggerated eye roll, marking her judgement on others. “He thinks there is a Targaryen prince at his door.”

The work in the room stopped at once.

“…another one?” Hanna asked, her hands almost burning on the pan she paused handling.

“It seems so,” Aeditya shook her cup until it was filled.

“This shall be the fourth ‘prince’ to show at up his door, correct?” Lyn asked, she could not hide a smile stretching over her lips.

“When his Lord father is away, Ryver will open the Keep to anyone with silver hair and a claimed title.”

“What do you think this one will be like?” Hanna asked, “handsome for once?”

They all had a laugh at that.

“This one is different,” Aeditya answered, “Or so Ryver claims. This one…has lost an eye.” The lady stretched out her iris as she drained her cup.

Lyn did not understand the gesture.

“The prince,” a quiet maid said, “one of the prince’s is missing an eye. They call him ‘One-Eyed!’”

There was mumbling amongst the ladies, Lyn even joined in.

Aeditya could not help but be correct in all things, “Girls! Do not be such gullible lambs! Are we really to believe there is only a single silver man in the entire world and he lives at the king’s palace?”

The new mumbling confirmed that the Lady had a point, as she usually did. Lyn was glad that her worldly education was being put to good use somehow. “Girls these days–” Aeditya said, ignoring their clearly overlapping ages, “–are so quick to believe whatever best suits them. Back when I was a maid, girls were instructed on forming more than the quickest of opinions.” Her hands were at her belly, wishing her wisdom above all for her future son. Wisdom and breath.

“And besides, I’m sure he would have been born without the eye. Marrying one’s brother dilutes health, it is a simple matter of nature. And besides,” Aeditya looked over the gathered foods. “How would a young princeling lose an eye to begin with? They own the strongest guards on the continent”

“Perhaps it could have been an accident?” Hanna asked, seeing it as a reasonable offer.

“No.” Aeditya put down her goblet. “I saw the creature’s face, that scar was no accident.”

—

Lyn did not want to admit to herself that she wanted a peak at the potential prince herself. If only for the chance to see a nasty scar. Lyn wasn’t one for violence, but she did think the human body a fascinating thing. She sometimes forgot about the prominent marks that scar her own face, a thing that some Septas preach as a consequence for a mother’s sinful life. She was only reminded by her betters. When a traveling Septon instructs her to stand as an example for his sermons on the ill-effects of sin on the body. Lyn did not mind the occasional Maester passing through their congregation asking to examine her. She had been assured that there was nothing malicious about the marks on her face.

Lyn likened her marks as her calling card, she was an easy face to remember a few summers past, it was what helped her gain her odd-jobs, helping rebuilt fences and carrying stone for ailing paupers. Most in the Realm would scoff at the offer of manual labors from a woman, but those in need are much kinder. They they are not always grateful, it is not because of her sex but because no one wants to turn beggar. Though, accepting help from the Faith was always easier on an ailing conscience.

For as long as Lyn could remember she had been amongst the statues of the Seven Gods, and the Septas of the faith. She had learned to clean herself by them, she learned discipline by their rods, she learned how to be of use to the world.

Lyn was grateful for her life amongst the Septas, but was glad to be away whenever possible. Lyn thanked the gods that they only appear in Haronfall for the markets, and only require novices to accompany her during work in the Erenford’s Keep.

Lyn surmised most of the Septas had not imagined ending up in such a cold, dank place in the middle of the Kingsroad. The western shores of The Bite was unforgiving terrain, a swamp of brackish, mud-colored water that every structure eventually sinks into. The Reverend Mother often reminded the girls of her life in the southern Reach, of the endless summer days and sweet smelling grass. The wet, grey skies where the North, Riverlands and Vale meet leaves much to be desired for a southerner.

Lyn was not meant for a life as a Septa, as was foretold since her youth. The maesters and Septons tested the young girls as they came into the charge of the Faith and Lyn, and the other girls of the Maidenhouse, left them unimpressed. She had not shown intelligence, or gifts for art, or sums, or memorizing prayers. So, she was ranked amongst the useless girls who needed to be molded into something more.

Lyn knew of the dangers of a beautiful face, the Septas told them every tale that could exist of beautiful girls being dragged away and savaged by men of all ages and sizes. It was horrifying. Lyn was glad that no man would ever want to drag her away or trap her in a tower. Lyn did not mind being disgusting and ugly because of the marks on her face.

Besides, girls did not care about such things as ugly, they cared about her all the same. So, she was glad the world was not ruled by women, just like the Septas they would force a use for her in their world, no matter what she looked like.

“You can really give it to him, my Prince!” The eldest child of the current Lord Erenford called. “We Riverman can handle our own!” Lord Ryver shouted, as he hurled his sword into the guarding shield of his companion Waltel Frey.

The two young men began fighting in earnest, as a third party looked on. The Supposed Prince. Lyn assumed.

A small boy ran into the fray, wooden sword blazing and iron helmet blocking his line of sight, requiring a few strikes to properly attack his opponent’s buttocks.

“Yes Robyn! Attack!” Ryver shouted, “Go for the legs!” the small boy wrapped himself around the Frey’s knees as the clang of realm swords sounded until Waltel Frey yielded, which was traditionally followed by a rant of Red Ryver from the Erenford boys.

“Oy!” Waltel called from his chosen place to end his tragic death rattles for the amusement of Little Lord Robyn.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite grayscale woman!” Robyn leaned against the fence encircling the training yard.

“Have you ever seen greyscale?” Lyn asked, her tone trying to convey that this was not her favorite greeting.

“Obviously not,” Robyn answered, he might have been known as the Red Ryver, but he didn’t have a death wish.

“It does not look like this,” Lyn pointed to her face, “I know this because Maesters have shown me their drawings.”

“Do you speak to Maesters often?” It was the turn of the Supposed Prince to speak now.

Lyn regarded him, with her eyes. “Charmed,” she stated, echoing the word of Lady Aeditya to denote that she was less than pleased.

“Lyn lives at the Motherhouse!” Little Lord Robyn added, firing an arrow into the fencepost Lyn was standing in front of, thankfully his ever present helmet did not effect his view, this time.

“The Maidenhouse?” Waltel questioned.

“Maidenfort!” Ryver echoed his common words for the Faiths Cloisters.

“We get plenty of Maesters there, if it please you,” she stated, bowing slightly in the presence of Supposed royalty.

“Are you a Septa?” Aemond regarded her this time. She had a ruddy face covered in mess and sweat, brought upon by the brisk pace of a servant’s life. Her hair was braided down slick to her head, it was either flecked with blonde or dirt. What Aemond first guessed was mud on her face turned out to be her, freckles could not contain the black stains that blotched her cheeks. “You are dressed like a child servant.”

Lyn’s skirts were inches shorter than the noble ladies and their proper servants, “It’s easier to walk,” Lyn stated the obvious. She did not need yards of extra fabric mucking about her purpose in life. “And I am no Septa,” Lyn clarified, though not wanting to explain her life any further to this imposter.

“So…it seems the Prince of the Realm has come to Haronfall.” Just as Aeditya had many times before, Lyn brought the conversation to the group. Ryver had wasted no time to clasp his hands upon the Supposed Prince’s shoulders. He did not seem to like that. “That is exciting. What brings you here Ser–Prince?” Lyn had never thought how to address a royal before.

The Prince scowled, “I am here to fetch a gift for my sister,” he answered plainly.

“I make baskets!” Lyn could not help but exclaim proudly. The Septas had instructed her to always he in search of work, then one would never be wanting for it. “If your sister is in need of a gift.”

The Haronfall boys were dutifully thrilled at the suggestion.

“–no,” the Supposed Prince chuckled the word with an arrogance Lyn had not experienced in a man of his young years.

“Alright!” Lyn did not need to defend the usefulness of a basket very often, and her blood was beginning the boil.

“You make baskets?” he mused in her direction, not lowing himself to speaking directly at her.

“I do. I make them all m’self, I do. I harvest the grass, I dry them, I weave them, without help from no one,” the words bubbled from Lyn’s mouth. “Unlike the looks of you, who could nought tie his breeches alone.”

Aemond did not like when she pointed to his breeches, or their ties, or the general area in which they reside, in some field, in the damned Riverlands. It was unseeingly! Prince Aemond Targaryen was a god amongst men, the rider of the largest dragon in the world and he would not have his manhood regarded by some peasant.

“I am a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms–”

“More like six,” Lyn said loudly enough for Ryver and Waltel to stifle a laugh. Ryver’s only respite was promising to explain the jest to little Robyn at a later time.

Lyn pointed at his breeches straps again, just to watch his face twist in annoyance.

“I could have you whipped for saying that,” Aemond spat, nearly disrupting the wooden fence separating him from the swampland creature that dared to grace his–

“If you were the real prince–“

Aemond’s mind echoed the if, convulsed his annoyed face into confusion.

“If!” Lyn repeat to overpower the groans from Lord Ryver, who had thought the group was at a place far past this. He had only been wrong three times before. That did not denote a pattern. Yet.

Lyn looked the supposed prince in the eyes, a gaze devoid of any reverence or interest. “If you were the real prince, you could have me whipped no matter what I say,” she regarded the man no further. “If it please you, I have a job to return to.”

Aemond’s hand was on his dagger, he had every right in the whole of the realm, on any continent on this earth to carve a hand from the woman’s body and feed it to Vhagar on his return to the Crownlands.

“But! He had one eye!” Ryver called after the disappearing peasant.

A shiver dripped down Aemond back like a bead of sweat on a hot day, his body defensively braced himself for a jest at his own expense.

“Everyone here seems to think,” Lyn turned and shouted across the lawn, “that the prince was born with only one eye! So, perhaps, have your tale at the ready for your…situation,” Lyn mimed his injury with her giddy hands.

She was too far away for a sword, but Aemond was sure he could hit her if he pried the bow from the little boy Lord’s hands.

In reality, Aemond was greeted by the stare of Haronfall boys who seemed to think the peasant woman had a point to make.

Aemond could feel Vhagar rushing through him, she was far from this place, instantly disliking the frigid swamp mess. The easiest option would be to cart the nonbelievers to his dragon, but he knew he would be too tempted to order Vhagar to feast upon them before taking to the skies to burn the village to the ground.

It seemed that the truth was taken as fact relatively quickly, with little questioning. Both Lord Ryver Erenford and Ser Waltel Frey seemed to ponder a vague memory of their fathers reading a message over dinner, some years ago, regarding the tale.

It seemed that the lowborn, lord, peasant men and the helmet clad child believed him long enough for supper and a bed, though he was growling unsure he even wanted that.

—

Prince Aemond had never been to such a disorderly affair, seated as one of many at a large cypress table that curved around the hall. The food was served in no rememberable order, plates of meats and desserts lingered together on the table.

Lord Ryver regaled his guests with the grand tale, depicted on the keep’s newest addition to the tapestry gallery. In the threads it told the story of renowned warrior, The Red Ryver, and House Erenford’s defeat of some Rivermen, somewhere. Even Ryver’s younger brother, little Lord Robyn, was featured, wearing the iron he has refused to remove for the past six moons and his miniature bow.

Aemond watched as the help gathered around the table, listening to Ryver climb upon the hall’s table to reenact memorable battle moments.

The servants were dressed in an array of clothing clothes and fabrics, as if the group had been bandied together for this night alone. Most of the maids wore a grey dress fit for a child, the length only reaching to their mid-calf. Aemond had a mind to walk back to Vhagar and never leave the comfort of King’s Landing again, Cinda could fetch her own surprise.

Aemond did not make himself sick from wine and exotic liquors often, but this was a specific situation he wished to forget his memories as he went about making them.

—

There was dancing after the meal, and the maids joined in on that as well, acting as if they were High Born ladies, dancing with visiting lords and

Lyn stepped out of the overly warm keep, to get a deep breath of the fresh night air. It smelled of rotting plants and decaying leaves, like the smell of new life sprouting from under every stone. She noticed that she was not alone.

“I see we both needed time away,” she said to the figure, clad in leathers like he was ready to ride away given the slightest reason.

The prince had just excused himself to be sick on the grassed levee fortifying against the encroaching swamp.

Prince Aemond scoffed at the girl, his mouth foal with the taste of wine and sick. The peasant girl’s skirts were riding even higher on her legs from the dancing, her leggings as disappeared hours ago as the temperature of the kitchens rose and warmed the entire keep. She looked like someone begging for his coin.

“Hello, Greyscale,” he retorted, his mind shifting to the quick insult.

“Hello, Cripple,” Lyn barely tolerated the language from her friend and employer, this man would get no sympathy.

Aemond did not like that. He did not like a single moment. His skin lit up in a drunken daze as if he were standing on guard for a fight. His hazy mind did not know where he had placed his weapons.

He opened his mouth to speak, but thankfully was interrupted, for he would not have been able to swallow his sick back into his stomach in that moment.

“Listen closely, Silver-boy,” Lyn began, as Aemond gripped the hilt of an imagined dagger.

“As I am sure you are well aware,” he started. The moon was mostly full in the sky, but the torchlight of the terrace was not enough to see his lavender eyes sway drunkenly as they attempted to focus. “Your brothers have visited here. Three times now, I’d wager.”

“What?” That made no sense to Aemond, as his mind reeled to Cinda. Had she charged Daeron and Aegon into her mission? She would never do that to him.

“And I think it only fair, seeing that the last Targaryen Princeling to weasel their way into these walls stole a favored sword of the Lord Erenford!” Lyn’s tale weaved itself. She was sure Haronfall had been the talk from the North to the Vale after the beating Ryver’s Lord Father gave him after that.

“I just think,” Lyn continued, “That after the feast, you should just take your leave. Lord Erenford need not know of this feasts guest of honor.”

“I will not be ordered about by some–“ Aemond was sick again.

“You’ve filled your belly, just leave quietly,” Lyn laughed at his misfortune, “It was smart of you to come during the King’s nameday celebrations. The Septas told us of the King’s nameday and all of his grand plans. And I would assume…” Lyn moved closer, clasping her hands behind her back. “…That you knew Lord Ryver would be left alone and… vulnerable, with Lord Erenford traveling to the capital…where I would assume the true prince is,” Lyn enjoyed immensely being right. “–celebrating his own father’s nameday?”

Never in Aemond’s life had he needed to prove his lineage, it had been clearly written on his face and stitched into his clothing. The green of House Hightower was as thick in his veins as the blood of dragons. And yet here, he was some imposter.

And he was growing tiered of this ruse he was seeming to play. He was growing tiered and perhaps too drunk. It reminded him far too much of the time a young Aegon recruited the Reach Girls and his cousins to pretend that he had been rendered invisible for weeks on end one boring winter in their shared youth.

“Fine!” Aemond had been many things in his life, he had been a failure, a twat, an annoyance, a disappointment, but never…no one. “Fine! I shall leave! Just stop with the ceaseless tales, of rivers and princes! My head is spinning.” He could walk to Vhagar and leave this place and no one would never know or believe that a real prince had graced their halls.

It could have been the wine, or the company, but Aemond could not prevent a laugh when regarding his current fate.

“I’m glad that you agree,” Lyn was pleased. “I was a good plan. Little Robyn even believes he saw your dragon fly above the keep.” The deep breath of the night air carried with it something that she had only smelled somewhere in the memory, that she could not place.

Aemond could not stand the taste of sick in his mouth and fished a forgotten fruit from his coats pockets.

“What is that?” Lyn asked.

“What?” Aemond asked, as the woman pointed to what he was idly palming between his hands.

“Is it something for your dragon?” she laughed.

“This?” he asked, “is an orange.” Aemond was sure he recalled his mother telling a story about it being one of his first words as a babe.

“An orange? Like the fruit?” she asked.

“Yes, you imbecile.”

“Well, where did it come from? Was it a gift from The Twins? Ryver has never–– it seems so–“ The wine rushed through Lyn’s system, and the beautiful smell embolden her.

“No, I thought it for my travels,” he quipped. “I am glad of it. I was not aware the Riverlands to be such a dreadfully barren place”

“The land is plenty fruitful here, when it wants to be,” she replied, holding out her hand. “Now, give it here, I want to try it.”

The fantasy played through Aemond’s head that it pulled a smile onto the corners of his face. The image of himself offering her the fruit, and just as it graced her palm, he would use his entire strength to throw it into the fucking swamp. His glorious vision was interrupted by the disappointed eyes of his mother. Her furrowed brows were too vivid from much wine. Aemond groaned and handed over the mysterious fruit.

Lyn inhaled loudly, the smell like she had never experienced before. It filled her nostrils and woke up her blood.

Aemond’s hand twitched slightly as she prepared an opened mouth bite into the skin. His hands were then crossed under his arms.

“Is it safe to eat?” she asked, stepping forward to eye him in the dim lamplight. Aemond felt the stone wall of the terrace against his leather clad back.

“No, it’s poison, I will gladly watch you die.”

Her laugh sounded like a pigs snort. Her smile was quickly replaced with a scowl as her teeth peeled a thick membrane of skin into her mouth. “It’s–delicious,” she forced herself to say, open mouth chewing the bitter bite.

“No! You fool,” he wrenched the fruit back before she could cover it in any more of her bile. “It must be peeled first.”

Aemond was so glad of the dark night’s lack of light upon their shadowed corner of the terrace as the woman spit the bitter taste into the dirt. The Prince nearly dropped the orange in disbelief of a lady performing such a disgusting act.

She laughed at him once again.

“Here!” He huffed, as he had picked away the disgusting bits. His bare fingers gripped the dripping fruit as he held it out as an offering.

The blood drained from his body and disappeared deep inside of him at the contact of her tongue on the tips of his fingers as she took the fruit from his offered hand with her mouth. Aemond had not been aware of the deep breath that had been held up inside his lungs, but they emptied as the girl’s eyes flashed in the torchlight, the color of honey passed before a flame. The prince watched the endless dance of emotions over her face as she experienced the flavors for the first time.

“Its a mess!” The fluttered giggle that left her made him offer another piece without thinking, and she took it the same way.

He responded somewhere between a right and a yes as he tried to memorize the coloring and ridges and valleys of her face, as if he would need it later to solve a life threatening puzzle. He wanted to lick the juice that he had watched drip down from her chin, to the place under her clothes.

He felt things under his own clothes stir.

“Come swim with me,”

“What?”

“Its the least you can do after eating all the food I helped prepare,” she said, beaconing him away from the terrance and into the expanse of the night. “A prince would be in want of a bath, I am sure,” she laughed, for she nor any other servant would be prepared to carry water up stairs after a feast like tonight.

Aemond allowed himself to be led away. His hands still grasp around an imaginary dagger, at the prospect of her robbing him blind.

“I do not plan to steal your virtue, princeling” Lyn’s words had a drunken edge in their own right. She did not often partake in wine, as it was not offered to her as it could take away from the Septas reserves.

Aemond’s hand released the dagger that had never been there, as his eyes played their way over her body as he followed her into the moonlight. He played the scenes of her trying to overtake him and none seemed to have purchase. Unless she attacked him with a stone, but Aemond was sure his arms were longer. This had not been the first time since they met that he had imagined choking her.

“So, where are you from?” Lyn asked, flexing her lady-like conversational skills that Aeditya spoke so highly of. Lyn allowed him some time to answer, as they maneuvered past a precarious log.

“A Valyrian bastard,” he replied, just like his nephews. “I hail from Dragonstone. It is an isle in the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Near the capital.” He got close enough to see her face in the dark, adding on more information until he found recognition take root.

“Could you see the palace, from your isle?” she sounded eager to be fed more.

“From my own palace?” he felt something inside of him at her gasp.

“Did you really live in a palace?”

Aemond could not begin to guess what she had been imagining, but he liked watching the wheels turn in her mind. “When I was a boy,” he did not want to get too far from her now.

“What was it like? Could you simply ask for an orange and it would be fetched for you?” He nodded until she continued. “And there would just be oranges in the kitchens? And what if the kitchens run out? Would they–“

“They would be punished severely,” he added, strangely not enjoying her new gasp as much. “But–“ he had to think quickly to play her throat like an instrument. “We could never run out of oranges, they grow on the island.” She enjoyed this more, he enjoyed when she licked her fingers at the lingering taste. “Giant orange bushes, all along the ocean’s edge, too many to ever eat in all the feasts of the year.”

She touched him with her next astonished laugh.

“And when you needed clothes they would clean it? And when you wanted a bath…would they bathe you?” her last words were a whisper, a topic proper ladies should not be speaking about.

The Septas and girls of the House of the Faith all bathed together. It was a cloister of women, no one had anything to hide. And Lyn had once heard Lord Erenford state that men should not sit in stagnant water, it unaligned the humors.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered back. “They would bathe me every day.”

“Would they only bathe you? Or would there be–?”

Aemond licked his lips as he watched the moonlight dance on the dipped juice along her chin. “Would there be what?” he could barely hear himself speak over his heart beating. “What could they have done?” he played dumb, he could smell the orange on her breath.

“They would have…” Lyn eyed his lips, his eyes far too towering above her head. She guessed that he liked being tall. Lyn could not help but laugh. “… they would have stolen your virtue!”

“The servants did not bathe me!” He admitted, rolling his eyes at her naivety. “They were servants, they only fetched water.”

Aemond would mow anyone down with his sword if they overlord the ‘wow’ that left his lips as the girls twirled in the moonlight.

“We are here!” she announced, it seemed to be a river.

“Turn around! It is too dark to see anything!” she called, her hands moving to unclasp her work clothes.

“If it it too dark, when why must I turn around?”

“Valyrian gentlemanly duty?”

He turned without much fuss until he heard her body splash into the water. He had been a gentleman and not looked, he had given his word.

His eyes fell on her discarded clothes and drifted to her swimming form. He did not know the state of her, but from the pile she left behind it didn’t seem she have many options to be left wearing.

“Now you turn around,” he ordered, as he kicked off his shoes.

He watched her turn, not knowing when to stop himself in his state of undress.

Aemond watched as her head turned over her shoulder. He undressed completely and wadded into the water. He had not taken a breath the entire time. The water was warmer than he expected.

They spoke about the sky, and the weather, and whatever other topics that flattered them, their distance ebbed and flowed like the tides, inching closer to one another and then pulling away.

“Ryver is a bastard?” Aemond asked, his toes could feel the bottom of the lake if he put his mind to it.

“No. Ryver is the first true born child of Lord and Lady Erenford,” Lyn explained. “But, little Lord Robyn is the heir because Lord Ryver was born…as Lady Ryver.”

There was a pause in the air as Aemond let it all sink in.

“The Lord Erenford allowed it, and all will be well as long as Robyn lives to inherit after their father dies.”

“And if not?” Aemond asked.

“Lord Erenford’s brother does not approve of…any of it. And he is next in line after Robyn. But! Even before then, The Red Ryver wishes for a Keep all his own. ‘Feast Keep’ he calls it. A place where all and everyone are welcome. Fortified to withstand any threads from his uncle and…those would you see them all hang. Away fro the Septas…”

“Away from King’s Landing,” Aemond added, understanding her meaning, forgetting his imagined birthplace. He turned his body in the water to face her.

His hands floating in the water to support himself, just as she did the same in the moonlight. He had washed his mouth out of the water many times over, he smelled her beautiful orange breath, assuming his own was foul. The orange juices had been long wiped away, but Aemond will imagined her lips would taste of sweetness.

He was brought back to reality when she spit a mouthful of water into his face.

“That’s disgusting!”

“We’re in a lake,” she shrugged one arm above the waterline.

Aemond eye was at the water’s edge when he saw the moonlight glisten off the skin on her bare shoulders. She had marks there too. He wondered where else on her body she had them. He watched her skin disappear below the water, like a beaconing ancient puzzle.

“You’re disgusting.” Perhaps for the first time in his life, he did not mean that has an (entire) insult.

“And you’re a liar,” she pointed out.

Aemond enjoyed being a low-born, if only because he knew it was entirely temporary. He let out a laugh and a breath at a realization he had yet to make.

“You’re naked with a liar,” he whispered, if he could see her bare shoulders then what else could she be wearing.

“Well!” she laughed, “You are to, I’d say.”

“But–“ That was entirely different.

“Because I’m a girl,” she barked back.

Aemond swam after her.

“–a woman,” she corrected. “A lady, even!”

“You are no lady,” he was enjoy this game that he could not tell you last time he had ever been angry.

“How would you know?” she teased.

“Because–” they had stoped swimming, just treading water, his toes dipped to the pebbled floor if he covered his nose. She was close enough to touch. Aemond reached his hand out and brushed her bare waist. “I’ve met ladies, and they would never be so–”

Did she not notice his touch to not flinch away? Or did she simply not care? There was no word for this feeling. He had felt it above the clouds, away from the red keep, and now between his toes in the muck.

“Ladylike?” she offered.

Aemond watched as her her hand breached the water, like she was trying to not frighten her prey, and rested itself atop his shoulder.

“What are ladies like?” she repeated herself, after her second hand touched his shoulders. He had not heard her the first time.

“They must…” he tried to remember anything else that wasn’t here, in this lake, under his moon. “Beautiful, and well-read. They should sing, and dance, be pious, but not overly-so. Painting, embroidery…drawing, even, an art is important for ladies to be accomplished with.”

Lyn was surprised there was even more.

“She should know her histories, and geographies, and sums so she might not bleed her husband’s purse dry. And, there is just something about her,” he almost sighed, “in her manner, and walk. Her air should be build to maintain her husband’s social and political alliances.”

“All at once?” She removed her hands from his shoulders. “All the time?” Lyn could not help but laugh.

“Not all the time, but yes! All at once! Some try and many fail,” he scoffed.

“You seem pleased with the failures of women,” she mocked, stretching herself backwards to wade towards the shallow edge. Her back arched and she felt cold air on her chest.

There was a pause in Aemond as his brain worked, a whisper brushed against his mind that reminded him of Aegon. “…What women?” he asked, closing the distance between them.

Lyn was pleased, this time, she wrapped her arms around his neck, not close enough to touch him. She nodded her head, and he copied, she shook it and he did too.

“Good boy.” It was as quiet as the wind. He could stand easily, and palmed her waist with a sigh.

There was a long silence.

“…have you…?” she asked, he felt it in his chest, as if she had said it in any worldly tongue he would have known what she was asking.

“Yes. Once. A long time ago.” The words came out, slowly, one at a time, but it was said. “My brother, took me to a brothel on my thirteen nameday. And…never again.”

“Oh,” she only said, her tone dipped in sadness at the edge of the sound.

“Have you?” his brow furrowed, in a genuine question. He had never given much thought to the purity of lowborns.

“No,” she answers firmly. “…yes,” but she corrected. “He…It wasn’t my…” she sighed into the story, never having told it before. “Last winter,” it had been over a past year, “A friend got sick, the Septas wanted us to pray but, she a needed medicine, and there was a man…and he was very handsome…so I…got the coin…” She picked her fingers behind his back. “But at least…I did not lie to a Riverlord for a free meal?”

“But aren’t you worried the Septas will check you?” Aemond heard her attempt to make light, but ignored it.

“I don’t think they can tell,” she answered.

“What?”

“I grew up with girls, and some went out and…had their fun, and some were taken before getting there, and some swore to have never and…I think the Septas feel what they want to fell.”

“So you think they're lying about it all?”

“Maybe!”

“You think everyone is lying,” he teased.

“Perhaps, sometimes, they are!”

He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips on his, but she stopped him.

“Come sit on the dock with me,” she motioned, they were back where they started. Her hands gripped and pulled herself out of the water in one fluid motion, to sit atop the dock, bare as when she was submerged.

Aemond watched the watch drip from her hair down her neck and disappear into the shadows of the night, if only he could see in the dark. He was at her knees, standing in the waist deep waters, he could rest his chin on the dock if he liked. He liked his lips and place his hands on the girl’s knees.

“Have you ever seen a lady like this?” Lyn asked, she shoulders swayed in the sticky night air and her should feel her breasts shake as they lay on her crossed legs.

He shook his head in answer.

“What about this?” she asked, moving her hands with her knees and she spread her legs wide, exposing her cunt to him.

She had something else snarky to saw, but Aemond did not hear it. The moon and the stars would not support his endeavors to drown in the sight of her. Where his hands had been idle before, he gripped her knees to pull her further spread before him.

“What are you–?”

He was close enough he could almost…His tongue licked up her core and she played him music with her voice. He moaned into her as his tongue explored the raised flesh where her opening met. His tongue circled whines and moans around the bundle of nerves until he kissed her clit with his lips and didn’t let go. He suckled the bud, as he had wanted to suckle hard nipples of bellowing beasts in his sick fantasies. Her hands are in his hair, Aemond would not be freed from his prize, leaving Lyn to fist his hair like reins of a saddle. Her moans were shaking her entire body.

His finger played at her entrance. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he finally relented, for his desperate question.

“No!” she shook her body. “It’s…messy and wet and,” she could never bring herself to do it, and he did not let her finish.

His two fingers sank in, “You are wet.” She spread her own legs now, bucking against him as he returned to lapping at her clit while he coiled his fingers in side of her. “And messy,” he pumped in and out, his free hand twisting her nipple in his hand. He had never seen it gentle, but she clasped both hands over her own mouth to scream.

Aemond felt her clenching around him fingers as his mouth continued its attack. She bucked and tried to press her legs together, but he would not allow it. “Ahhhg!” she moaned, into the air, and slowly her quakes came to and end.

“Stop, stop…please–” she panted, her back layer against the dock.

Aemond did not like his lack of a view, and joined her on the platform, his own breath panting as he studied her face like a treasured map. She breathed, and her chest rose up and down, the water had dried from her skin but dripped from her hair. Aemond’s hands were firmly planted on the dock besides him, not wanting to touch something to fragile that she might run away.

“My turn,” she finally said, sitting up and catching his lips in a kiss. He had tried kissing before, but not often, mostly in games of children who could still play innocent. His mouth opened slightly and her tongue licked at the entrance.

He moaned into her as she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. Lyn nipped at his lips lightly as she began to pump him, she could feel his skin tighten with every stroke, growing longer, and wider, filling her hand.

His mouth was useless for her kisses, she licked his tongue as his mouth hung open in pleasure. Aemond’s head found the crook of her neck and moaned into her skin. Her free hand fingered the strands of his silver locks. He was a shivering mess as he pumped his hips into her firm palm.

“Mmm,” he moaned as her free hand found his balls, palming them with every trust of her hand. He matched her pace and trust himself with her, she breathed heavy in his ear to match the pace.

“Lyn!” a voice called out from the darkness.

“What?” she shouted back, the loudest and sweetest sound Aemond had ever heard.

“Where are you? It is the Hour of the Owl! We must be going!” The ghost voice cursed them.

She moaned. “I am coming! I shall be there! Away! Please!” she begged.

Aemond had lost his pace, his head was shaking, he could not do this anymore.

“Wait,” Lyn hushed him, “Shh, shh, wait.” She was assuring, her strokes still strong as she could feel him hardening into her hand again.

“Let me,” she moved herself to between her legs and lowered her face to his cock. Her tongue starting at his base and licked up to twirl his head around her lips. She peppered kissed down his length as her hand returned to stroke him. Her kissed reached the base and went lower, kissing and sucking in the skin of his balls as he trust himself into her hands. He did not last long, the naked girl with her mouth on his cock. He trust and whine and pumped and he could hear her laughing and sucking and breathing and he came shaking on his chest.

They breathed together, and their breathing turned to laughter. Their discarded clothes still in the same pile it was forgotten.

“You’re called Lyn?” he said, praying to whatever god allowed him to remember her name. “I’m called–“ she interrupted him with a finger over his mouth.

“I don’t care,” she said, kissing his cheek and disappearing into the darkness, leaving Aemond a mess of himself.

//authors note – thank you SO MUCH for reading! This is the first project Im posting that I am proud of. It is barely edited, so I will eventually work on that. But, this is the beginning of a story worked out well. Plenty of twists and turns to come! I am always here for encouraging words, fic recs, headcanons, questions, and anything else~

My work on this fic inspired THIS POST. I’m just fascinated at HBO’s lack of “courtly ladies”, especially in a family where sisters are born to marry their brothers. So, I changed that and made some angsty mean girls to make fetch happen

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