#Followers (18+) we shall see...

[lupus-herbivora]

I have 2,715 nudes on my phone...

Comment or dm me a number between 1 and 2,715 and I might just send you that nude 😌

[mggslover]

Stuck

In which reader finds herself stuck in an elevator with her colleagues.

Pairing: Hotch x Reid x Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, p in v sex, overstimulation, masturbation, breast play Word count: 5,4k A/n: I'm ovulating, so you know what time it is 🤭 I'm really nervous to post this, so I hope you will enjoy!

“Oh, you guys are such babies!” You laugh as Spencer and Derek refuse to step into the elevator, explaining how they’ve been stuck in one before. 

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Spencer chimes in. “There are six elevator deaths per year. Not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalization.”   

You roll your eyes at his comment, just as Hotch walks toward the elevator. “See!” You exclaim. “Hotch is joining us, and he saved you last time. We’ll be fine.” You add cheerfully.

“You’re coming?” Hotch asks, holding the elevator door open. You nod, pulling Morgan and Reid with you by their arms. 

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolts, and the soft ding of the doors opening fills the space.

[ciel-of-vault-111]

Fuck it

Notes game

Limit 3 notes per person Notes cap is now 10

I’ll try my best to follow up on this with results but I may forget

10 notes: touch grass DONE

30 notes: try and care abt my schoolwork IN PROGRESS

50 notes: get more sleep DONE

100 notes: come out to my extended family IN PROGRESS

120 notes: find another reason to live (I have 2 rn and desperately need more) DONE

150 notes: engage more with my irl friends DONE

200 notes: get over my fear of clickers (long story) DONE

300 notes: stop hating myself IN PROGRESS

SECRET GOAL UNLOCKED!!! 420 NOTES: I’ll eat a weed or whatever ppl do idk I don’t get high (this is a joke for the record) DONE

500 notes: ascend to the heavens and rain hellfire upon my enemies (this is a joke I don’t think we make it this far) DONE

690 notes: Nice DONE

1000 notes: become god DONE

KNEEL BEFORE YOUR NEW GODDESS!!!

THE RUTUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED!!!! NOW IVE ASCENDED BEYOND THIS MORTAL PLAIN (thx to everyone who helped me get this far you all are incredible and I am forever indebted to you)

STRETCH GOALS (adding these bc I wanna keep the game goin it’s rly fun for me)

1100 notes: start planing to take over the world of gods DONE the plan has been formulated

1200 notes: kill the first god and take their power DONE he didn’t even see it coming >:3

1300 notes: kill the second god and take their power DONE soon I shall ascend

1400 notes: kill the third god and take their power DONE new power flows through me

1500 notes: use the power of the slain gods to gain domain over everything and rule as god-queen of the universe DONE now bow before the god queen of the universe >:3

(It would be so funny if I got this far)

MORE STRETCH GOALS BC WHY NOT

1600 notes: transcend the fabric of existence DONE I see all now… e v e r y t h I n g

1700 notes: start a new religion centered around worshiping me as god queen of the universe DONE they truly adore me >:3

1800 notes: use my godly abilities and swaths of followers to prevent the events of March 18 2027 from transpiring DONE The leader of the revolution is safe from the queen of the British Empire part 2

1900 notes: use my power to grant godhood to my favored mortals (all my mutuals) and my chosen companion (my gf) so we may live forever as the new pantheon of gods DONE@tomhiddlestonsangel @toogaytofunctiondangit @toppettehat @here-queer-drowning-in-fear @trans-fem-menace @perfectfangirl @trans-fem-menace @andychaosblog y’all are gods now :3 welcome to the club

2000 notes: make a new planet at the end of everything to call home and live out the rest of eternity with my gf and my army of devoted followers. This planet’s name shall be determined by one of your suggestions (I chose what I think is funny) DONE!!!! Omfg I actually got this far lmao I never thought I would

2500 notes: I make this into a comic or smth like that :3

[eraenaa]

Blessed Curse

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader Tag List

Synopsis: When a marriage between you and Aemond was arranged and forced by your grandsire, conflicting emotions arise, but which one will loom greater? Loathing or Love?

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, Arranged Marriage, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 6,803

A/N: Final tribute (maybe) to Season 1 Aemond, you have fed us with your crumbs for the past two years. Based on a few anonymous requests where they wanted a prequel of 'Loathe to Love.'

Aemond’s frown severed as he looked through the window and watched as you and your kin exited the wheelhouse. He felt his sneer severe as he spotted a look of dissatisfaction adorned your plain face as you had realized the lack of welcome provided for your kin’s return. “Spying, brother?” Aemond jumped in his spot, his sister taking him by surprise as she appeared by his side. “I am not,” he said defensively, and Helaena only hummed, gazing below as the day of your awaited arrival had arrived. “Then why have you been waiting by this window since the morning?” Helaena asked, and Aemond clenched his jaw and stayed silent, not giving a response to his sister. 

“Come, join us, Mother, and I shall greet them,” Helaena invited, and Aemond shook his head, scoffing at his sister’s invitation. “I’d rather not subject myself to their… treasonous presence,” He said, and Helaena sighed, walking away in silence. 

Jacaerys raised his gaze and caught the sight of a silver prince looking down upon them. He warily traveled his oak gaze to you, who stood by the side of your stepfather. “Should we not tell her already? How long must we keep her in the dark about our true purpose here?” Your brother whispered to your mother. “Your grandsire shall be the one to tell her. The king must be the one to impart to her his wishes and orders,” Your mother sighed, guilt heavy in her heart as the whole of your family had kept the true reason for your return to Kingslanding from you. 

“Helaena!” You called out in excitement as you entered the walls of the keep, your aunt, along with her mother, welcoming you. Helaena smiled widely at you as you took her into an embrace; though you had a distaste for the capitol, Helaena was the only one you were actually excited to see once more. “How are you?” You asked, paying no mind to the tense conversation between your parents and the queen. “Well. I am glad of your return,” She smiled, and you only smiled as well as you could not lie and agree with her statement. “I’ve been told you now have three children,” You tried to converse, and Helaena nodded. “I do; little Maelor arrived just two moons ago,” She confirmed, “Would you like to meet them?” Helaena asked, and you eagerly nodded, slipping away from your kin who were to venture to your grandsire’s chambers. 

Aemond stalked the halls and watched behind the pillar as you walked with his sister, arms linked. He rolled his eye as you strutted through the halls as if your mere presence were not damnable. “Are you spying, brother?” Aegon appeared by his side, Aemond being caught off guard for the second time that hour. “I am not,” Aemond spat and walked off, but Aegon still followed him. “I have to admit, even I did not expect our niece to grow so… enchanting,” Aegon hummed, looking steadily at his brother to see what reaction his words would garner him. Aemond shook his head, not wanting to concede or show agreement with his brother. 

“If you’re still having qualms about this marriage, perhaps it could be I to marry her instead.” Aegon hummed, further testing his brother. “The conqueror had two wives, did he not?” Aegon added and noted the way his brother clenched his jaw and fisted his fists. “You are no conqueror,” Aemond gritted and made hastened steps towards the tiltyard to escape his brother.  “I do not understand your animosity, brother,” Aegon still followed.

“Were you not so… overly fond of her years before?” He asked and made fast steps to match his brother’s furious gate. “If I had remembered correctly… you had even asked Mother if you could be betrothed to her when you were nine,” Aegon reminded, and Aemond halted in his steps as he was made to recall the instance. “Leave before I succumb to my thoughts and maim you,” Aemond gritted, his hand already clenched around the hilt of his sword. Aegon let out a laugh at his brother’s threat but retreated because there was a murderous intent in Aemond’s eye. 

Aemond had a few moments of solace in the tiltyard before you once again began to haunt him. Aemond halted his sparring with Ser Criston as he heard a laugh so melodious he was certain it was brought by delusion. He turned to the side and frowned as he learned that the laugh he had heard came from your lips, the melodiousness he relished upon just moments ago; he now convinced himself it was aggravating. The prince huffed as he saw his older brother standing by your side, Aegon being the reason for your mirth, and Aemond could not help but wonder if his brother’s actions were genuine or just another ploy to aggravate him. 

“I see your intended has arrived,” Ser Criston stated as his eyes went towards where the prince’s gaze was placed. “Aye, she has,” Aemond gritted and shook his head, twisting the sword in his hands and urging himself to continue training. “Have you spoken to her?” Ser Criston could not help but ask, curious as to what the marriage order by the king would entail. 

The knight held no fondness for any offspring of the spoiled cunt they call heir, but he himself could not be so cruel to show any animosity towards you. You were saved from the insults that he had no trouble throwing at your brothers. Ever since childhood, you were kind and gentle and good-humored. You were the only one who genuinely showed kindness to Aemond even if he was being picked on by his brother and yours. You were the only one who never cowered away from Helaena and her odd demeanor. You were the only child of Rhaenyra that the queen and her sworn protector could tolerate. It also bodes well for you that you were not present during the ambush in Driftmark. Instead, you were sound asleep next to your aunt as her brother’s eye was cruelly taken. 

“No,” Aemond answered, his tone held disgust that the knight was a tad confused by, but he made no mention of it. Ser Criston readied his position to return to sparring with the prince, but Aemond was still wholly distracted by your presence. His frown severed as the smile on your lips did not lessen whilst you kept chatting with Aegon. It would seem his brother would make good with his tease of taking you to wife as well, and though Aemond had no wish to marry you, there was a pestering feeling inside him that savored greatly of jealousy, but he did not wish to admit. 

The one-eyed prince disregarded his training and walked in your direction. You were in the midst of a laughing fit, but it quickly died as he arrived, the wide smile on your lips lessening. “Niece,” Aemond greeted, the word said through his teeth. “Uncle,” you curtsied quickly, and Aegon smirked as the scene unfolded before him. “Well, isn’t this nice,” he stated, and you turned your gaze to your elder uncle. “A reunion that is well overdue, do you not think so, brother?” He asked and clapped the back Aemond, who stared daggers at him. You licked your lips as you felt tension now surrounding the air. Aemond’s eye shifted back to you, your gaze lowered, your fingers playing with each other, and your bottom lip in between your teeth. He swallowed thickly as he did not expect a sudden surge of an odd sensation to overcome him. 

You parted your lips, ready to speak, but a call through the tiltyard caught your attention. “Tala,” Your stepfather called; the three of you turned towards the steps and saw the Rogue prince approaching. “Good day, uncles,” You said quietly and curtsied before them before running towards your father. Daemon eyed curiously his two nephews you were speaking with. Daemon offered his arm for you to take as he escorted you up the steps, and judging by the smile that was still on your lips and there was no horror in your eyes, he deduced that none of them had spoken about the true reason for your return. 

Daemon tried earnestly to contest the marriage. To make his brother see reason and not cruelly tie you with his deformed son. He even went as far as returning to Kingslanding the moment he and his wife received the message of his brother’s order. But the king had made up his mind. You were to marry Aemond. 

Two days had passed since your return to the Red Keep, and you were still clueless as to why you and your family had returned. “When do you think we’ll leave?” You asked Lucerys as he went along with you in the gardens, your younger brother carrying the flowers you picked and were planning to give your grandsire you were still yet to visit. “I do not know, sister,” Lucerys mindlessly said, his focus transfixed on your uncle, who stood by the side, glaring at him with his lone eye. You, however, were oblivious to the presence of a silver prince. 

Aemond clenched his jaw as he watched you leisurely pick at the flowers. He had been observing you through the days of your return, and he could not fathom why you were not bothered by the whole ordeal as to why he saw no aggravation or anger in you as you both were tasked to marry each other. You exuded an entirely different outlook than Aemond when it came to this doomed union which made him wonder at the possibility that perhaps you wanted it. That you were willing to marry him. Aemond found the possibility preposterous, but it was the only answer to your lax, unbothered disposition. The more Aemond thought about the possibility of your agreement to the marriage, the more it left him unnerved. But it would answer his questions as to why you did not show any outward animosity towards him. Completely civil at any of your encounters— even going as far as flashing Aemond a ghost of a smile when you passed him by the hall. Were you truly in want of this marriage? Aemond was torn on how to feel or perceive this. 

“Must we not already tell her? We’ve been here for two days already, and she is still completely clueless about the reason for our return,” Jacaerys asked his mother, who sighed deeply. “Aye, I would take she would not appreciate this secrecy— especially the severity of the situation,” Daemon added, studying his wife who stepped towards a window that overlooked the gardens where you spent the afternoon in. 

“The king must be the one to tell her. He… he must be the one to tell her his wishes.” Rhaenyra said once more, unable to be the bearer of bad news. She could already foresee the anger, hurt, and fear in your eyes, and it made her stomach pit and twist painfully. She had made a promise to herself that her daughter would be saved from the political marriages most of them were subjected to— to save her from the heartache and the displeasure of having a husband bound to you not by love but by political gain. But even she could not protect you from such cruel fates. Having no choice but to watch as you would retell the plights of women before you. 

“The king has been incoherent for days. The wedding ceremonies they prepared are set in a fortnight— we must tell her Rhaenyra. She must know of the matter now so she could prepare herself,” Daemon spoke, “Prepare herself to escape,” Jacaerys muttered under his breath, already imagining your reaction that would surely be filled with shock and betrayal. 

Rhaenyra sighed heavily and shook her head, her hand unconsciously going to her forehead to soothe the throbbing pain as she thought about the matter. “If my father still has not regained his thoughts by the morrow, then we shall tell her at tomorrow evening’s supper,” Rhaenyra decided, putting a buffer on the matter, praying to the gods that her father shall regain consciousness and be the one to tell you of his orders. 

You returned inside the castle walls as the afternoon sun was proving to be too scorching for you. Your younger brother went to the tiltyard, and you were left alone as you wandered around the castle you once called home. You were admiring a portrait hung on the wall, your eyes completely fixed on the bold colors and the detailed strokes of the work that your surroundings started to fade, and you did not realize someone had joined your company. “Quite luminous, is it not, your highness?” You slightly jumped, startled by the voice that made itself known. You turned to your right and saw a son of House Tyrell. “It is my lord,” You agreed with a small smile finding itself on your lips. 

Aemond watched the scene steely-eyed behind a pillar as you acquainted yourself with the lord in the empty hallways, unescorted. There was a smile playing on your lips as you two conversed. He watched as the lord started to inch his body closer to you, daring to brush his hand with yours that held flowers in it. Aemond’s already impaired vision burned as he saw a blush rising to your cheeks. The scandal of it! Here you are, a betrothed woman still acquiring and entertaining the attention of eligible young men. 

When Aemond saw the lord take a flower from your hold and dare place it by your ear, Aemond removed himself from his spot of observation and stomped towards the both of you. “Uncle,” You greeted in surprise as Aemond suddenly appeared in the hall. “Good morrow, my prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted, and Aemond could not make the effort to not let his contempt not show. “My Lord,” was all he replied with, feeling your confused gaze by his left as he stood by your side. “The Princess and I were just discussing this portrait. I had remarked on its luminosity and sh—“ Aemond rolled his eye and cut the lord off. 

“If you shall excuse us, Lord Tyrell, I must speak with my betrothed. Alone.” He said, voice utterly cold and almost threatening. Your lips agape at his words, your mind unable to comprehend what he had uttered. “What?” You suddenly asked as Lord Tyrell bowed towards you before hastily walking away. Aemond turned to you, expression angered. “Are you truly this careless? Walking the halls alone, engaging with a lord without an escort. Do you not thin—“ You hindered him from completing his scolding. “What are you saying?” You asked in confusion. “Betrothed?” You added, and Aemond’s brows furrowed. 

“Do not act simple with me; you know perfectly well of o—“ You cut Aemond off once more. “What are you talking about? Betrothed? What?” You continued to voice out your bewilderment. Aemond stared at you, calculating if the confusion on your face was an act. But as he stared at your eyes, he knew your confused state was genuine. “You do not know, do you?” He asked quietly. “Know what?” Aemond licked his lips and looked around the empty hall. Just hours ago, he believed you were in full knowledge of the upcoming union between the two of you— that you were completely fine with a marriage with him, for he saw no resistance or rebellion. But what is there to resist or rebel about when you are left utterly clueless? 

“We are to be married,” Aemond stated, and you gazed up at him as if he had grown three heads. “Us… married?” You asked slowly, and Aemond gave a curt nod, waiting for the dread in your eyes, but he was left shocked as you began to laugh. The hall rang and echoed your laughs, Aemond watching you as you clutched your stomach and continued to laugh at the absurdity of it. He scowled as you gasped for air, your laugh still ringing in his ears and riddling his skin with gooseflesh. “You have an odd sense of humor, Aemond. But I am glad that after all these years, you finally learned how to jest,” you said in amusement, gazing at his lilac eye as you waited for him to break his peculiar act. However, when only seriousness was present in his Valyrian orbs, the smile on your lips faltered. 

“Are you serious?” You asked, your tone dripping heavy in disbelief. “It is the order of the king,” he replied, and you shook your head. Aemond clenched his jaw as you still did not believe his words. “Why do you think you’re here? After all these years of informal exile, why do you think your family was summoned? You and I are to be married.” He explained, frowning at how slow you are to comprehend the situation. Now, the dread that Aemond was waiting for was presented greatly on your plain but pretty face. “I… I do not believe you; you are lying.” You say, and Aemond stepped closer. “Why must I lie about this unsavory matter? What I speak of is the truth. If you do not take my word for it, go ahead and ask your parents, and they will tell you the same thing: you and I are to be bound to one another.” Aemond said lowly, his face drawing closer to yours. 

You shook your head and stepped back, your gaze still locked with Aemond, who stared at you undeterred, seriousness the only thing on his face. “You will be my wife.” He stated and watched as fear grew heavier in your eyes, and you ran across the hall in search of your parents. As Aemond stared at your departing figure, he began to wonder if it was satisfying to finally see the fear and rage in your eyes that he had been expecting ever since your arrival or if there was another pestering emotion that he wished not to entertain. 

“Mother!” You called through the halls, eyes already threatening to spill with tears. When you reached her chambers, she and your father turned to you, worry shining on their faces. “My sweet girl, what is it?” She asked and took hold of your hands. “Tell me it is not true— tell me he lies,” You almost begged. “What?” Your mother asked quietly, not accepting the fact that you now knew of the betrothal. “Please, you’re not marrying me to Aemond, are you? That’s not true, yes? He was just teasing me,” You said desperately, willing your mother to confirm your theory. But as she said no word and only went pale, your knees felt weak, and a pitting of your stomach presented itself greatly. 

“It… it is the order of your grandsire,” She said delicately, moving you to sit down as your breath had been rendered short through your cries. Daemon watched by the side, his hold on his sword tight as he could not bear to see you in such a state of distress. “No… please, you cannot make me!” You wailed as your mother tried to hush you, soothing you, running her hands through your hair, and patting your back just as she did when you were a child. “Please… I… let me speak with grandsire— he cannot marry me to him,” You pleaded, and your mother’s saddened eyes gazed at you, her warm touch moving to wipe the tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, my sweet… we have begged your grandsire, implored him that this union could not be. But he had made up his mind, and none of us could alter it, not even Alicent.” Your mother whispered. 

You sniffled in your seat, your thoughts running with dread and confusion. “Why did you only tell me now? How could you hide this from me?” You asked in betrayal. Daemon sighed and went to where you sat, kneeling before you. “We wanted to tell you, tala. To prepare you, but we foolishly thought that we could still alter the decision of the king. We had not told you, for we did not wish to distress you with a matter that we thought we could change.” He said softly, watching as tears fell from your eyes. You bit your cheeks and shook your head, “When… when must we marry?” You asked in dread. “In a fortnight,” Your mother replied and felt her heart clench as you stifled a sob. “I’m truly sorry, my sweet girl,” She said softly as you cried quietly in her arms. 

“It would appear they hid it from her,” Aemond remarked to his mother as he sat in her chambers. “They thought they could still alter the orders of the king,” She remarked as quietly as she observed her son, who stared at the fire. “I still have not asked you about your thoughts on this marriage,” The queen remarked, watching as her son clenched his jaw. “You need not ask; you already know of it,” Aemond answered. The queen breathed in heavily. 

“This may not be what you want now… but this was all you had wanted when you were a boy,” Aemond shook his head, a scoff leaving his lips. “Will all of you stop reminding me of it? Aye, I did want her when I was a child, but I am a man grown. I do not wish for a marriage forced upon me— especially when my bride is to be so… plain,” Aemond frowned at himself as he sensed hesitancy as he uttered the words that used to roll off effortlessly. It was the truth; you were plain— your features nonconforming to the house they tried to sell as yours. But you had never been plain the sense of attractiveness, your beauty celebrated throughout the realm, beguiling the lords of Westeros and years before, Aemond as well. Alicent stayed silent, for she could not offer comfort to her son, who was bound to a marriage that was devised for the crown.

When the crown announced your impending matrimony with your one-eyed uncle, mixed reactions were shared. Nevertheless, the kingdom was made to celebrate the event. You tried to hide your frown as your grandfather made you and Aemond parade around the streets of Kingslanding, a picture of unity to be sold to the small folk so they could attest to the new age of dragons. 

“Is this truly necessary?” You asked your father as you were sitting in a carriage. Aemond was still to board it, but he and his grandfather were conversing. “It is what your grandfather wished,” You hear your stepfather say, his violet eyes shifting to your betrothed. “But why? Is he even of sound of mind? I thought others were now tasked to do his bidding; why did they let this happen?” You asked in a plea, ready to jump off the carriage as you felt it jostle and your soon-to-be husband sitting next to you. “Best stop your bellyaching. You are not the only one who is shortchanged with this marriage.” You gritted your jaw at his words, turning to your father wide-eyed, trying to discern if he had heard it as well. 

Daemon clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword at his nephew, who had the gull to offend you, his precious daughter. “Your brothers and I will follow closely behind. It is only for a few hours, tala,” he gritted, and you unconsciously pouted as your father walked away, leaving you alone in the presence of Aemond. 

You traced the patterns of your gown as you rode out of the castle gates. When you reached the streets, you straightened your back and plastered a slight smile to appear as if you were somewhat happy with the devised marriage. Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as you greeted the small folk, smiling at them and giving them a small wave of your pampered hand. He frowned at how much you loved their attention, giving them a pitiful show. “You might want to lessen the scowl… the purpose of all this is to present a united figure,” You whispered as you passed a crowd. 

“I will not be part of this farce,” Aemond spat and glared at a group of men whose hungry gaze were enclosed on you. “You are a prince of this realm. You have no choice but to be the crown’s puppet,” You said, with a tight smile as you waved toward a group of women. You feel Aemond’s glaring stare at the side of your face, but you willed yourself to ignore it. However, when the other small folk started to notice the glare of your betrothed, you turned to Aemond with a smile still on your lips, looking at him with your fictitious love-struck gaze, and you wanted to laugh as your act took him aback. 

Aemond stared into your eyes, perplexed at the look you gave him. Soft, adoring, and… he could not name the other element in your enchanting eyes. He had to look away as he felt himself stagger, and his breath was caught in his throat. When the crowd lessened, Aemond returned his gaze to you, the smile on your lips at the look in your eyes gone within a snap. You turned to him angrily, “Play the part for the subjects, Aemond. I do not expect much from this marriage, and I certainly do not expect us to get along behind closed doors, but when in the eyes of the public… best not to dishonor our house with another display of a fraudulent marriage. As all have kept reminding us, this is our duty.” You say quietly, tone bitter and overly severe. Aemond pursed his lips and clenched his fists around the air as the tumultuous crowds started to return once more, and the counterfeit smile on your lips returned. 

The day all had dreaded finally came. You stared blankly in the mirror as you were dressed like a doll. You were resisting the urge to run through the halls and escape a life of hate with a man who had only loathing in his heart for you. 

You stood before the door of the great hall, your arms linked with your mother as she walked you down the aisle. “I don’t want to,” You suddenly said, cold and clammed hands holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You tried to walk away, but your arm was linked with your mother’s, and she prevented you from doing so. “I am so sorry, my sweet, but not even you are above duty… none of us are,” She said solemnly, and you breathed out a previous breath as trumpets sounded out and the doors of the halls started to open. You bit your lip as you planted yourself on the ground, resisting the pull of your mother for you to walk. Your knees felt weak as you took small steps towards your groom, your mother practically dragging you down, her body a step ahead of your reluctant frame. 

When you reached the end of the hall, and your hand was placed upon your betrothed, you resisted looking Aemond in the eye. Aemond stared you down, the image of you wholly too much and all-consuming. This was all he had wanted. This was the dream he dreamt every night in childhood. You, in a white gown and a veil covering your comely face, and him standing before you as your groom. 

He could not explain how— how he had kept up his act for this long. To fake his animosity and loathing just in hopes that one day it would turn true because hoping and waiting for you was only a dream he had. Pretending to hold distaste for you because it was easier than letting himself hope that one day you will be his. But now, all those years of yearning have finally come to an end because before the sun could set, you will forever be bound to him.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Aemond recited and hesitantly looked toward you. Your hands were cold upon his, and Aemond took a deep breath before leaning in to seal your marriage with a kiss, your first kiss. The deafening roars and cheers of your guests were unheard as Aemond could only focus on the way it felt to kiss your lips. His mind only concentrates on the small taste he had of you— his entire being immediately starved for so much more than the quick and chaste entanglement of your lips. 

You and Aemond were silent for the whole feast, a small smile plastered on your lips as to appear agreeable to the hundreds of eyes upon the both of you. You were too entranced to appear joyous that you were oblivious to the strong, calloused hand that had never left yours. Long, slender fingers drawing circles upon your flesh as if to soothe you. 

You turned to Aemond, his eye on the sea of dancers on the floor. In disbelief that he was still holding your hand. You were in shock that he was willing to keep up the pretense so immensely— a pretense of unity that none seemed to notice, for your hands were tucked under the table. 

When Aemond felt your stare, he turned to you, and you searched for the familiar cruelty and hatred in his eye; you found none. “Do you wish to dance?” He asked, and your lips parted in shock, taking a moment to comprehend his words. You could only nod, your husband leading you to stand. You were silent as he placed his hand on your waist and pulled you closer to his body. The other dancers disappeared to make room for you and your groom, a slow, mellow melody enveloping the great hall as the eyes of your guests were turned to you and Aemond. 

You stared blankly at his chest, eyeing the metal buttons of his vest, and tried to ignore the erratic beating of your heart. Aemond took in a deep breath, your scent intoxicating his senses more than the wine he had indulged himself for the night in preparation for the later activities. When it was the end of your third dance, you finally spoke, “I’m quite tired,” You said lowly, and Aemond gave a curt nod, taking your hand into his once more and guiding you to your seats. 

Five more songs passed with you and Aemond in complete silence when your sisters appeared by your side. “Sister… we’re to help you to prepare for the… night,” Rhaena said lowly and cautiously. You feel your stomach drop and your nod. You stole your hand from Aemond and excused yourself before disappearing with your sisters, Aemond’s eye following your frame until you fully disappeared away from his view. 

Aemond gritted his jaw as he felt his brother clap his shoulder, “Are you ready for the bedding ceremony, brother? I hope you still remember what I have taught.” Aegon teased and took your vacated seat. Aemond stayed silent and downed another chalice of wine, ignoring his brother. “But it is fine if you are not ready… perhaps I could substitute in y—“ Aemond turned to his brother with a severe glare. “One more word concerning my wife, and I will cut your tongue,” Aemond gritted, and Aegon’s amusement only grew. “There he is— there is the boy who wanted no one else but our niece.” Aegon grinned. 

“You are a great actor— you almost had me fooled, but no amount of hate you display could make me forget about the little boy who would follow around our strong niece like a lost pup,” Aegon’s grin grew wider, and he quickly stood to walk away before his brother turned violent. 

Aemond downed another cup before he had no choice but to join you in your chambers. He stood by the door and took deep breaths; the shy little boy in him returned, and he had no idea how to cope. Aemond bit his lip and mustered all his courage to step inside your marital chambers. He knew neither of you could perform what was expected that night— as much as he wanted to perform his duty, he knew in himself he could not.

Aemond walked in quietly, his eye on the floor as he entered. Aemond heard shuffling, and he lifted his eye. Lilac orbs placed on a screen divider lit by the flickering light of a candle, your silhouette traced upon the thin paper of the divider as you fixed your shift. Aemond felt his knees weaken, taking a seat on a chair, his eye still fixed on your shadow. By just the outline of you, of your peaked apples straining through your shift and your graceful body turning behind the divider, he already felt pleasure wash through the whole of his body. His cock painfully straining in his trousers, he would think by the amount of wine he had downed, he would be left slack that night. 

You took in deep, calming breaths as you stepped out of the divider and decided to wait for your husband, but to your surprise, he was already seated in your chambers. You looked at him wide-eyed, having the urge to cover your body, but you reminded yourself that this intimacy was part of your marriage— at least tonight. 

Your gazes did not meet as you stood by a distance from where Aemond sat. The crackling fire between the two of you is the only sound surrounding the room. You gulped before you stepped close to your husband, footsteps overly heavy with every step taken in his direction. “Kneel,” You hear aemond grit, and you frown at his words, ready to fight his order, but you remind yourself that just for tonight, you will do your duties as a wife. 

Aemond was left breathlessly as he watched you slowly sink to your knees. He bit his tongue harshly as his eye went to your plush thighs pressed together, having the urge to squeeze them and feel if your skin was as soft as his mind imagined. 

You waited, wrapped in anticipation of what was to happen next. You shuddered as you felt his cold hand come to cup your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered to a close at the surprisingly gentle touch, your body moving closer to him without any way of controlling it. As your eyes were still fluttered close, you felt the familiarizing way of his lips upon yours. You felt yourself already quivering and you placed your hand on Aemond’s leg to steady yourself. Aemond leaned forward to feel more of your lips, his cold touch placing itself on your shoulder, feeling the bare skin as the sleeve of your shift had dropped off. 

You moved to part from him, out of breath with the kiss you shared. The taste of him and wine imprinted on your tongue. Rose your gaze to meet his eye, and you saw that the lilac orb had turned dark. Without another word, Aemond smashed your lips once more. Kissing you more fervently and pulling you to stand. You whimpered as you felt him bite your lip and pull down further the thin cover you wore. You were in a daze as his lips kissed your sand, and his hands roamed your body, harshly gripping your behind as he led you to the bed. 

It was his turn to part your lips. You lay bare on the silk sheets of the feathered bed, his standing before you still fully clothed, and you feel a rush of embarrassment course through you, showing its evidence on your cheeks. Aemond hastily undid the buttons of his vest, eye still locked with yours; he did not miss the embarrassment and perhaps even scandal in your eyes, the tell-tale sign of your purity, and he could not help but succumb to more pleasure by the thought. 

You shifted your gaze as Aemond stood bare before you, the image of him quickly engraving itself in your mind. You bit your lip as you waited for him to shift his weight atop yours, but you were left perplexed when, from the side of your eye, you saw him sink to his knees. You propped yourself on your elbows as he pried your legs open, a deep frown on your face as you tried to comprehend what he was doing. When you noticed his head straying closer to your cunny, your eyes widened in further scandal. 

“What— Aemond, no!” You say breathlessly and try to close your legs shut, but his hold on your thighs is too strong. “You told me we must perform our duty, wife… let me perform them,” You could only fall back on the plush mattress as you felt the foreign feeling of lips upon your cunt. Aemond sucking upon the pearl of your cunt as his tongue would dart out and tease the bud. You breathed heavily and bit your lip to prevent any sound from being heard, which only made Aemond double his efforts, wanting to hear you be wrapped in utter pleasure. 

Aemond groaned at the taste of you, palming his length as it already wept, crying to be inside you, but he knew he must prepare you first. That he must savor you like this, for he did not know if after this— after this initial duty, when would be the next time he’ll have the opportunity to have your cunt against his face. 

Aemond finally pried a moan from you, smirking as he moved his finger to tease your folds, a louder moan coming from your lips as he teased your entrance. “A—Aemond,” You called as he inserted the digit, your body rigid and back arching the sensation. “Such a tight cunt… you kept yourself pure for me,” Aemond hummed and groaned as he felt your legs wrap themselves around his neck, pushing his face further to your cunt. He chuckled, and the vibrations from it made further wetness escape your cunt, your hips, your hips gaining itself upon his face; his finger found a companion, and the digits curled inside you. Brushing against the rough spot that spurred you quickly into your climax. Aemond groaned as he heard your muffled voice moaning his name.

You stared at the canopy bed as Aemond rose to his feet and finally placed his weight upon you, his lips finding yours again. You taste yourself on his tongue, and you cannot help but moan, Amend smirking as you find pleasure in tasting yourself; you were quite sweet. 

Aemond finally gave in to his wants and aligned himself against your entrance, brushing away your tears that were quick to escape your eyes as he pushed further into your cunt. He was cautious with his movements, not wanting to cause you any unnecessary discomfort. He was patient, waiting for the pained furrowed in your brows to turn to a furrow of pleasure; when it did, his thrust was still cautious. It was some pleasurable torture; he needed more, but he could not be so cruel to present you with such pain. 

“Faster,” You breathed out as you felt his thrusts were too slow to bring you to the climax you now sought. Aemond was uncertain if he heard you correctly, so he played it safe and kept his initial pace. “Aemond… please, I— I need it faster,” You urged, letting go of any pride in you as your body needed him. Aemond blinked for a moment, comprehending your quest before wholeheartedly obliging. 

Your moans spewed loudly as his thrusts were deep and fast, his finger drawing circles upon your cunt and supper you further into your release. “Oh gods… Oh gods, Aemond!” You cried and clawed his back as you came undone. Aemond groaned into the shell of your ear as his own release was quick to follow, his lips finding yours as his seed rooted itself deeply in your cunt. The thought of heirs already festering in his mind. 

That night, Aemond held you in his arms as you slept. His mind was made; he would do anything for your marriage to prevail, for the past to be shed and be forgotten. For you to be happy and contented in his arms, for he already was. As long as he had you, the only girl he had and will ever want and love, he was perfectly content with this blessing of a marriage they had disguised as a curse. 

Part Two: Loathe to Love

[aemondsbabe]

Deliverance

summary: following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. as his older sister, who are you to deny him?

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon death, infidelity technically but reader's husband is cool with it and understands that she comes from a weirdo family cough cough incest cough, lactation kink, hurt/comfort, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, titty sucking, angst but happy ending, otto cameo ew, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 7.4k

a/n: *slams fist on table* i need for him to suck on my boobie

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky

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“Shall I fetch Maester Orwyle once we return to your chambers, Princess?” Your handmaiden, Edyth, questions as the two of you make your way up one of the many winding staircases in the Red Keep – each step making you wince. 

“Yes, please,” you sigh, ever grateful that she had always seemed to have a knack for predicting your requests before you had the chance to voice them, “Perhaps tell him to prepare some of the same soothing balm he gave to Helaena?” 

“Of course, Princess,” Edyth nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, ever the optimist, “I believe it should help with your aches, I remember it seemed to help the Queen after…” She trails off, breath hitching in her throat.

A heavy silence seems to fall over the two of you, the same that had been blanketing the entirety of the palace for the past few days. You swallow thickly, battling against the lump suddenly growing at the back of your throat and merely nod your head in simple understanding, offering her a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sure it will be of great help, Edyth, thank you.” 

Ever since… it had happened, the Red Keep feels as if it’s made of eggshells, like one small gust of wind could knock it right over. Everyone’s so on edge, terrified of saying too much or too little, the wrong thing at the wrong time. The stress of it all seems nearly suffocating, though you still have a feeling the worst was yet to come. 

Suddenly, someone calls your name from behind you and you turn, smiling once you see your grandsire striding toward you.

“A raven arrived earlier from Gwayne,” Otto explains, deep voice carrying down the empty hallway, “He’s reached Oldtown safely, everything seems to be well there.”

“Oh, wonderful,” you nod, grateful for news of your husband.

“Indeed,” he continues, “Daeron seems to be in good spirits, happy to come home; they’re to depart tomorrow, as scheduled… forgive me, I meant to tell you before supper but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Everything has been so hectic of late, please don’t trouble yourself. He arrived safely and will be back all the sooner for it, that is what matters.”

“Of course,” Otto nods, glancing out a nearby window, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been ordered to attend to His Grace,” he says gruffly, a wry smile on his lips, nodding in the direction of Aegon’s chambers.

You nod at the mention of your twin, brows pinching together with worry. “Be… patient with him, grandsire, please,” you beseech, chest heaving with a soft sigh, “I spoke with him earlier this morning, he’s… well, he’s not himself.”

“Are any of us anymore, I wonder,” Otto mutters, fixing you with a tight smile before taking his leave, striding quickly down the hallway. Your brows furrow at that, you can’t help but throw Edyth a questioning look before the two of you continue toward your chambers. 

“Seven Hells,” you grumble, quickly bringing a hand to your breast as you climb another, blessedly shorter, set of stairs, “Perhaps check the nursery first, yes? Daena may be stirring still…” You know better, even as the words leave your lips. 

Your daughter has finally begun sleeping soundly through the night recently and while that is cause for celebration, you certainly won’t miss the past eight moons of late night feedings, your poor breasts are paying the price – your body not yet caught up with the lessened need for milk. 

“Yes, Princess,” Edyth replies with a little nod, walking alongside you.

The two of you are almost at your chambers, finally turning onto the hallway where the family apartments are housed, when you hear it – a muffled, barely there cry. The sound makes you pause in your tracks, head swiveling, unsure of exactly where it came from and it’s then you notice that the door to Aemond’s chambers is ajar. 

That in and of itself is strange indeed, your little brother valued privacy above all else, so you stride over only to pause at the entrance, hand poised midair as you reach for the door handle. Your heart clenches when another soft sob pierces the quiet of the hallway – a mournful little noise, one you’d expect more from Aegon. 

Turning back to Edyth, you lead her a few feet from the door, knowing Aemond would hate it if he knew someone, anyone aside from you, had overheard him. “Go to the nursery,” you instruct, making sure to keep your voice low, “Make sure Daena is well, then you’re free for the evening.” 

“But, princess, what about –”

“Nevermind it,” you murmur with a shake of your head, “I’ll send for the maester later myself.”

With a nod, she scampers off further down the hallway, leaving you alone by your brother’s door. Stepping back over toward the threshold, you bite at your bottom lip, wondering if you should go in at all – if it would be more merciful to simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything at all. 

But then it happens again, another pitiful sob sounds from beyond the cracked door and you’re unable to help yourself – Aemond had always come to you with his troubles when he was younger, surely now would be no different. With a little breath, you push the door open just enough to slip through it and thank whichever Gods may be listening when you’re able to press it closed with hardly a sound. 

Peeking around the screen your brother has beside the door, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest. He looks so… small, so fragile, the complete opposite of the towering, formidable man he’d become in recent years. It’s clear he didn’t hear you come in as he stays seated in a chair near the door, his back to you; his shoulders shake with gentle cries while he hunches over, head cradled in his hands. 

The disarray of his normally spotless chambers startles you once you let your eyes flit over the space – papers are strewn about all across the low table he keeps in the little sitting area, some scattered across the floor, crumpled up, or ripped to pieces. His bedsheets are halfway ripped from the bed and lie in a pool at its foot, along with the remnants of a candle, now merely a translucent puddle on the dark stone floor. 

Taking a step forward, you softly call his name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as low and soft as possible, though you’re hardly able to get the first syllable out before he bolts up from the chair with a strangled gasp and spins toward you. 

“Oh, Aem,” the words fall past your lips in a soft sigh, pulled from you by the startled expression on his face – eyes wide with the fear of being caught so vulnerable. His sapphire eye seems to sparkle with just as much emotion as his pale purple one. 

“Sister, I –” He starts, hastily wiping his hands over his cheeks, chest heaving while he tries to calm his harsh breaths, but you’ll have none of that.

“Shh, whatever excuses you have, I’ll not hear them,” you murmur, quickly walking the few feet over to him and enveloping him in a tight embrace, just as you used to do when he would come crying to you about the tortures Aegon or your nephews put him through in their youth.

Your brother stays stiff in your arms for a moment, tense and wary, though he slowly relaxes as you rub a hand over his back, smoothing out his long hair. You yourself relax once he finally winds his long arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder with a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. 

“Tell me what distresses you so?”

“I… Jae– the boy,” he stammers, stumbling over his name. You understand, just saying your little nephew’s name seems to somehow make the pain of the loss even worse. Yet, something in your gut tells you there’s something else going on, that Jaehaerys’s death is not the only thing causing your brother such anguish.

“Aemond…” you gently press, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, “I cannot help if you won’t tell me–”

“Tell you what?” He counters, tone growing too defensive too quickly, “My nephew’s death brings me sorrow, sister. The loss of a young child is a… distressing thing.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You counter, trying desperately to keep your voice calm, even when Aemond backs away from you with an exasperated sigh. You’re no stranger to this game – ever since he lost his eye, your brother has guarded his emotions carefully. Getting him to speak honestly about them was about as hard as keeping a bottle of Dornish wine from Aegon’s grasp. 

He gives you a sidelong glance as he paces about the room, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched. Worry only blooms brighter in your chest the longer you watch him; so agitated and so guarded, closed off like an abused animal. 

“It… it’s nothing,” he mumbles finally, voice short and clipped, “Nothing important, sister, I assure you.”

Unconsciously, you wring your hands worriedly, heart clenching; you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, yet you know from experience that it was better to let Aemond come to you. 

“Well, surely it cannot be nothing if it has upset you so, sweetling.” 

His nervous pacing comes to a screeching halt at that and he squeezes his eye shut, fists clenched at his side – his whole body tense like he’s trying desperately to keep some invisible dam within himself closed. 

You reach a hand up instinctively when he bites at his bottom lip and turns his head away from you, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I–,” he croaks, the tightness in his voice makes your breath hitch in your throat; every maternal cell in your body is screaming at you, pleading with you to hold him, “I don’t w-wish to burden you.”

“Baby brother,” you sigh, finally going to him, practically running the few feet over to where he stands. Your arms encircle him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace – one hand rubs over his back while the other cups the back of his head, holding his face against the crook of your neck, “You could never be a burden to me, never.”

That seems to break him and he gasps, breathing warm against your neck, before he finally lets go and his shoulders heave with sobs while his hands cling to you desperately, fisting into the fabric of your gown like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. A tightness grows at the back of your own throat, not used to seeing him be this raw, this open, in what feels like lifetimes. It breaks your heart to think he’d been holding all of this in, determined to be the strong, silent soldier like everyone expected, while he dealt with such sadness all alone. 

“Shh, shh, Aemond, you’re okay,” you murmur gently, eyes widening when he sags against you, his knees giving way only for a second. “Here, come,” you instruct, taking one of his hands in yours and leading him to the small seating area in his chambers. You urge him to sit on the sofa he has there before joining him yourself, a bit surprised when he all but throws himself against you again – practically laying his head in your lap as he sobs, cheek pressed against your chest in a way that makes you wince from the tenderness still there, not that you’d ever scold him for it. 

“There, that’s much better, hm? Comfortable?” You ask, simply trying to draw him back to the surface. 

He doesn’t reply, something that doesn’t really come as a shock to you given how harsh his cries are, leaving him breathless against you. Deciding to let him get it out, you stay quiet, merely shushing him every so often as you run your fingers through his pearlescent hair.

After a long while, he seems to settle some and tears begin running down his cheeks silently rather than racking his body with savage cries; he lifts his head from your lap and rests it instead against your shoulder, gazing up at you as if you’re an angel sent from the heavens themselves. The intense tenderness with which he looks at you makes you blush, yet your brows furrow slightly at the darkness still there – lingering in the lilac of his eye. 

“I have… I have done something terrible.”

Your brother's murmured confession only serves to confuse you further and you shake your head slightly, heart clenching in your chest as you silently wonder what in all the Seven Kingdoms he could possibly mean by that. 

“Aemond,” you start, knowing not to pry – to let him tell you, “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me think any less of you.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, eye flicking across your face like he’s checking for even the barest hint of deception, yet he finds none – your words are true. 

“You… promise me you will not hate me.”

“I promise, sweet brother,” your brows pinch together at his words, wondering what could possibly be bad enough for all this, yet you can’t stop the corners of your lips from quirking into a sad smile at his request; that uncertain lilt in his voice reminds you so much of when he was younger, “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”

“I…” He starts, pulling away from you as he sits up, sparing you one last glance before staring off into the fireplace, “I am the… the reason Jaehaerys is dead.”

“What?” The word is pressed from you, leaving your lips as little more than a breath. You stare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, utterly perplexed. How in the Seven Hells could he have ever arrived at that conclusion? Taking one of his hands in yours, you lean a little closer, “Sweetling, what in the world do you mean?”

“They were here for me,” Aemond rasps, wincing as if the words themselves are painful, clawing at his throat on their way out, “They were… Gods, they were sent for me and – and when they couldn’t find me, they… H-He died because I was not here, because they could not f-find me…”

“Oh, my love,” you sigh, the backs of your eyes stinging as he presses himself against you again, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Aemond, you couldn’t have known, none of us did. You couldn’t have known…” You repeat, like saying the words again and again will make him believe them. 

“I s-should have,” he whimpers, voice breaking over a sob, “I should’ve k-known, I sh–should’ve been here…”

You hold him tightly, practically hauling him onto your lap as his tears leak over your skin, running into the valley of your cleavage like a river, though you pay it no mind. “Shh, sweetling, shh,” you murmur and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “It’s not your fault, dear one, it’s no one’s fault but the vile men who took him and our… our coward of a sister who ordered it done.”

He stays silent for a moment and you can feel the gears in his brain turning, working furiously as he tries to internalize your words, wanting desperately to believe them but unable to let himself. You sigh softly when you feel him shake his head against you, so determined to cling to guilt. 

“If… if I had n-not been at the…” 

“At the where, brother?” You press, clinging to anything you may be able to use to shift the conversation. 

“...The brothel…” he mumbles after a long pause, the words so muffled against the column of your neck that you have to strain to hear them. His words shock you, the complete opposite of anything you’d been expecting. You try your hardest not to let that show, even as a strange sense of jealousy wells up within you – a sense of possessiveness you’ve always felt for your little brother.

“Well, you… you are a man grown, my love,” you heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you wonder if he can hear it, “If you wish to lay with–”

“I didn’t… I–” He stammers, clinging to you tightly as he shakes his head, an urgency in his voice you can’t quite place, “That’s not what, I… I mean, I–”

“No matter,” you cut him off, aching to see him so distressed, “Whatever you do there, sweet brother, it’s your… right to do it.” You struggle to get the words out, the sense of protectiveness rising viciously in your chest makes your throat feel tight. 

He lifts his head from your shoulder again and eyes you for a long moment – for what, you aren’t sure. It’s almost like he’s surprised not to be meant with disgust or contempt; you wish you knew why.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally mumbles, glancing away from you, ashamed, “I should’ve been home… I should’ve been here to protect my family.”

“Aemond, please,” you sigh and sit up slightly, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, wiping at his tears with your thumb, “It is not your job to protect us, we have guards for a reason… if anything, this atrocity is their fault but it is not yours, do you understand?” Your eyes bore into his as you speak, desperate to make him understand, to rid him of this misplaced guilt. 

“Do… do you still love me?” He asks after a long moment, voice so timid, so meek like he’s already preparing himself for your rejection, that it makes your heart twist horribly in your chest. 

Still, you cannot help but huff out a little laugh, lips lifting into a sad smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You are my dearest brother,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a second, “Of course, I still love you, Aemond. I have loved you from the moment you came into this world and I shall never, never stop – the Gods themselves could not make me.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, save for a small hum from your brother as he nods. His arms encircle you again and selfishly, you enjoy it – being this close to him again, like he was a little boy once more. He’d been all but attached to you at the hip before that dreadful night, following you about the Keep and telling you all sorts of tales about various histories of the Realm in that sweet voice of his. 

All of that had stopped that night and, at first, you had assumed that he merely thought himself a man grown afterwards – a man who had finally claimed a dragon, a man who no longer needed comfort from an older sibling. The sadness in his voice when he speaks again, muffled against your shoulder, tells you otherwise.

“Mother doesn’t love me anymore,” his voice is flat and detached as he breathes out the words, like he’s informing you of some tragic, unavoidable accident. 

“Aem, of course she does. She loves you very–”

“No,” he cuts you off, sitting up once more and shaking his head, “Ever since that business with Luke, I… she can hardly bring herself to look at me. She won’t speak to me outside of Small Council meetings and even then she tries not to, ‘tis plain to see.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, leaving you to swallow around the lump that grows at the back of your throat once again. What are you to say? He’s… Gods, bless him, he’s right, you’ve seen as much to know. 

“You are the only one who has never abandoned me,” he starts, eye sparkling in the candlelight as tears begin welling up within it once more, “Everyone else has left.”

“That’s not…” Your voice fades as you sigh, knowing that arguing with him now will do no good. Instead, you simply hold him tighter and brush a few stray locks of hair from his face. “I can promise that I shall never leave you, sweet brother.”

He grows quiet for a moment, slumping down against you until his head rests in your lap and his body curls up onto the sofa. Silently, you resist the urge to cradle him, to hold him against you as you do Daena when she wakes from a nap with a start, crying out from her cradle. 

He is a grown man, you remind yourself, yet it does nothing to stop the strange ache in your heart. 

“They all used to taunt me, surely you remember, when we were younger,” he mumbles, eye fixated on the fire crackling in the hearth, even as he clings to you, “First for not having a dragon, then for not having an eye.”

You hum in affirmation – you do remember it, sadly. You remember it all very well; he had slept in your chambers for a week after the incident with the pig, not wanting to be left alone at night with the memories of it. You remember having to hold him back at the table when Aegon had poked fun at his eyepatch during supper, about a month after his eye had been gouged out. 

You remember that night too, when he’d come to you with tearful apologies, murmuring sorries again and again for accidentally nicking your hand while trying to brandish a knife against his brother. 

“I have always been an outcast.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite the circumstances and you sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his long strands of hair, “I quite like you being different… perhaps if you weren’t, we wouldn’t be as close, hm?”

Aemond goes quiet at that, stills in your lap with a little sigh before simply burrowing against you even more, curling in on himself tighter. 

A soft coo leaves your lips, strands of his long hair passing between your fingers like silk. “What say you stay with me tonight, yes?” You offer, the thought of him in the dark carrying all this alone grief makes you feel ill, “We could even cuddle, if you like? Just as we did when you were younger.”

A short beat of silence later, all you get is a little, “Yes, please,” mumbled against your abdomen. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs later, the two of you finally lying together atop your bed, cuddled closely against one another just as you’d promised. You’d each taken time to get ready for bed and Aemond seems a little better for it, no longer as distressed and teary now that he’s had the time to collect himself. 

Your hand carefully cups the side of his face that isn’t pressed against your pillow, that isn’t buried in the crook of your neck, as an astonished huff of laughter escapes your lips as they curve into a sad smile, your brows furrowed. “Why in the world would you think such things?” Even as the question is whispered into the quiet of your chambers, you know the answer – Aemond has always been this way, always one to reject comfort, even when it is so freely given, even when he himself seeks it out. 

If only he could see himself as you do. 

“I… I have done so many shameful things, sister, I…” His voice breaks when he cuts himself off and you can feel him tense in your hold, “‘Tis the simple truth, I don’t deserve you.”

You hum softly, combing your fingers through his hair while you mull over his words, silently wondering why he has always been like this – why you have always felt so unworthy of softness and kindness and love. 

“Well, it is not my truth,” you murmur after a moment, eyes flicking over the long line of his body, hidden by your silken bedsheets. In the time each of you had taken to ready yourselves for bed, you had changed into a nightgown and he into a simple nightshirt, leaving your bare legs to tangle together, “Would you like to know what I think, my love?”

You feel him inhale against the crook of your neck, sucking in air like he’s steeling himself for disappointment, yet he still lifts his head and peers up at you. His lilac eye searches your face for a long moment, looking for even the smallest indication of displeasure in your features, only to find none. 

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, assured that surely whatever you were to say would not hurt him too badly, he nods. 

Sitting up just enough to better see his face, you look at him with nothing but adoration as the two of you rest shoulder to shoulder, backs against the headboard. “I believe you deserve every kindness in the world, Aemond. And I believe even that would be too little,” your voice is hardly a whisper when you speak, like this is the deepest of secrets meant only for his ears, “You deserve nothing but happiness, sweet baby brother.”

He stares at you for a long moment, eye wide and glassy while his chest aches as your words seep into him like a soothing balm. You can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, eye squeezing shut for a moment while he processes your words – so sweet they nearly stung. 

A soft coo bubbles from your lips when you see his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath the linen of his nightshirt, and you lean into him all the more when one of his hands reaches out and grabs one of your own, squeezing it like it’s a lifeline. 

“Shh,” you soothe, giving him a sad smile when his eye finally opens again, gaze immediately finding yours, “Sweet boy.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before looking away from you once again, mind reeling. Not knowing what to do, overcome with so much emotion his heart feels as if it’s adrift at sea, he brings your hand up and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles before holding it to his cheek and sucking in another little breath as his bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispers finally, voice tight and hoarse. 

Cupping his face, you caress your thumb over the scar beneath his eye softly and lean over just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I will never leave you, Aemond, I swear it.”

He shudders once more before letting out a shaky breath, eye filled with a wild desperation. Before you can register the movement, his hands are suddenly gripping at your waist and hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, apologies already muffled against your skin. “I-I’m sorry, I – Gwayne will… will hate me but –”

“Shh, sh, sh, sweetling,” you murmur, despite the small, barely audible gasp that leaves you at the sudden movement, so wholly unused to this as half of you tries desperately to comfort you while the other half wonders if you should put a stop to this, “Gwayne knows, my love, he… it’s okay, he knows.”

A sob is wrenched from Aemond’s lips, warm against your neck, but he nods nonetheless, sighing when you begin carding your fingers through his hair once more, smoothing out the long, pale strands. Slowly, he relaxes again, arms wound securely around your waist while his breath evens out. 

You’re about to say something else, though your breath hitches in your throat when he begins peppering your neck with soft, chaste little kisses – feather-light down the column of your neck. He stops after a second, noticing you tense up on his lap, eyes wide as a million thoughts swirl in your mind: Is this okay? Should you stop this? This is your precious baby brother, the one who used to cling to your skirts when he was sad, who used to come to you in the night when he woke from a nightmare… 

He leans forward once more and nips at your earlobe, making your heart stutter in your chest, “Can… can I try something?”

Your head reels at the sudden change in his touches, needier now, though for an entirely different reason, yet still your mind reels – piqued with curiosity. “What is it you wish to try?” You question after a moment, voice scratchy from the sudden dryness at the back of your throat. 

Silently, Aemond relishes this; something about you, you his normally strong and carefree older sister, being this flustered because of him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Dipping his head, he resumes pressing soft kisses against your skin, though they linger now – teeth nipping before he soothes the small bites with a swipe of his tongue, drawing ever closer to the pulse point in your neck that beats so wildly he can feel it beneath your skin. 

“Aemond!” You all but wheeze when he suddenly grabs at your hips, his own firmly bucking up against you. A shock goes down your spine at the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, two thin layers of fabric doing precious little to mask the feel of it. Again, you tense up, practically jumping out of your skin as you pull back just enough to gaze down at him, your eyes wide, blinking rapidly, as they search his. 

This was the last thing you expected tonight, the last thing you’d expect from him at all. “Wha – I…” You stammer, dumbstruck while worry and uncertainty cloud your mind. 

Aemond shushes you now, long fingers squeezing at your bare thighs now that your nightgown has ridden up enough to reveal them. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against your skin, “Do you trust me…?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest. You should be the one comforting him… what in the Seven Hells has happened? Is… is this the comfort he needs now?

Even still, you nod your head at his question; of course you trust him, you’d trust him with anything… even this. 

A smile grows on his lips when you acquiesce, a pleased glimmer in his eye when he lifts his hands to your hips again, his grip firmer this time. “Good… good, sweet sister,” he hums lowly, rutting his hips up against you once more, lilac eye watching you with keen interest. 

“A-Aem…” You gasp once more, the feel of him against you so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, even when your brows furrow as your eyes flutter, threatening to slip shut. His movements press a small whimper from your lips and you can feel the sting in your cheeks as they flush, chest heaving while your hands grab tightly at his shoulders. 

The smug look on his face slowly morphs into one of wonder and his eye flits over your face greedily, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of seeing you like this – already so strung out over him. 

He moves again, the feeling of your soft core pressing against his growing length through the thin linen only serving to drive his urges further. “Gods, you look so beautiful like this…” He murmurs, in awe at having you like this, and all to himself. Unable to help himself, he leans forward yet again and pulls you closer as his lips settle once more against your neck. 

Instinctually, your head tilts to the side, giving him room to kiss over your skin. His movements against you cause you to shiver in his grasp, even if a small part of you was still uncertain, hoping this wouldn’t change your relationship with him for the worse. 

The slow grind of his hips causes his nightshirt to eventually ride up his legs as well, and you gasp anew, jumping once more when his length suddenly presses against your center, unhindered by fabric. 

“Feel what you do to me?” He purrs, letting out a low groan of his own. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly while your chest heaves, silently wondering if this is truly happening. Almost imperceptibly, you nod your head, shuddering at the feeling of his cock pressed against you, already twitching. 

“L-Little brother,” you gasp, breathless already.

Aemond smirks at your response, your whimpers and soft gasps going right to his head. He grabs at your waist still, bucking against you in slow, almost teasing movements. A low, pleased hum vibrates him in his chest when he feels how wet you are against him – the heat radiating from your center nearly stifling. 

The longer this goes on, the more you can feel your resolve crumbling, any small bits left of you that wanted to put a stop to this slowly fading away. Distantly, you can’t help wondering if this is how it’s always been meant to be, if this was the only logical conclusion your paths could reach, the outcome of such a close bond. Perhaps, you have always been made for this. 

“Aemond,” his name falls from your lips in a soft sigh and you finally lean against him heavily, pressing your chest against his unthinkingly. “Shit!” You gasp only a second later, jolting as if stung by a bee, brought back to reality by the ache in your breasts. 

“Sister?” Aemond questions, freezing beneath you while he looks over your face, his hands rising to cup your cheeks protectively. 

You start to answer, to explain, when you feel a sudden tingling sensation at your chest and, judging from the look on your brother’s face, an explanation would be a moot point by now anyway.

“Gods grant me mercy,” he sighs, eye wider than you’ve ever seen it as he stares, near open-mouthed, at your chest. Glancing down, your cheeks flush at the sight of milk dampening the linen at your breasts, leaving it all but translucent. 

Again, you go to explain, only to stop yourself in your tracks when his tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip. Your head spins when you notice his chest heaving as he stares at you with a nearly savage hunger, eyes fixed on your breasts like his universe has been narrowed down to a pinpoint. 

“Aemond?”

“Please,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking over his lips once more, practically salivating. His eye flicks up to yours for only the briefest of seconds before zeroing in on your chest once more, “Sweet… sweet sister, please.”

Again, the energy in the room seems to shift, Aemond once again begging you for comfort, bowing to your whims. Quickly, you shush him while one hand threads into his hair once more as you bring his head back against the crook of your neck, settling him there while he groans against your skin, rough hands slowly trailing up your waist before halting at your ribs. 

Your other hand busies itself with snaking between the two of you and impatiently batting your clothes away before your fingers finally curl around his length, causing the both of you to let out soft cries. 

“Shh, sweetling,” you coo, chest heaving while you position him at your entrance, sighing as he desperately mouths at your neck, “I know what you need, I’ve got you.”

Again, twin moans fill your dimly lit chambers when you slowly sink down on him. Whimpers are punched from your lungs at the feel of him steadily filling you, his chest rumbling against yours as he groans deeply, hips jolting beneath you. 

“Gods,” you sigh when your hips are finally pressed tightly against his once more, panting and letting your eyes fall shut while you give yourself a moment to adjust. 

The feel of him borders on overwhelming – pressed so tightly inside of you, around you, the very air in your room filled with the heady, herbaceous scent of the bath oils you know he favors. You imagine he must feel the same as he trembles beneath you, fingers and hips twitching with barely contained desire. 

Finally, your need to comfort him, to protect him even from himself, rears its head again and you relish the breathy sigh that leaves him as you begin to move your hips. It’s a grinding motion, soft and gentle – what he needs now, to be treated with care. Still, the movements send shockwaves up your spine as the pale hairs at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your pearl, creating a delicious friction to spur you on. 

“So good,” he breathes, warm against your shoulder as he leans forward, kissing at your neck, “You feel so good, sister, you… you are s-so good to me…”

“Just as you deserve,” you murmur, combing your fingers through his long hair once more before your hands travel down to the hem of his nightshirt and you begin impatiently tugging at it, pulling it over his head and grinning at the soft, nearly petulant, whine he gives at having to separate from you even for a second. 

Still, some instinctual force seems to drive you, a need to feel his skin against your own, and you waste no time before pulling your own nightgown up and over your head as well, leaving nothing to separate the two of you. 

The groan that leaves him when your chest presses back against his own once more is like nothing you’ve heard before – a sound of the purest relief, like he’s found some oasis in the desert. His eye opens again and the rhythm of your hips stutters only for a second once it finds yours. The lilac is almost completely overtaken by black and yet, he still regards you as if you are an angel sent from the heavens themselves, stares at you with such reverence that your heart flutters in your chest. 

Something clicks for you then as he whimpers beneath you, his own hips beginning to buck up against your own as the lazy tempo you’ve settled into slowly starts to pick up. You understand, now, that this is merely another step, an added turn, in the so carefully balanced dance the two of you have constructed.

And if this is what he needs to be comforted, then you’re more than happy to give it. 

“My good boy,” sigh, moving against him with renewed vigor, grinning when he lets out a hitched moan, “Is this what you needed?”

“Yes, y-yes,” he nods, his eye never leaving your own as he ruts beneath you, the choppy movements only adding to the fire slowly building within your veins, “Please, sweet sister, please…”

You don’t need to ask to know what it is he means, nodding before he has time to stutter out another word, “Take what you need, my love.”

Another breathy groan sounds from him as he quickly descends onto your chest, tilting his head down and immediately capturing your sensitive nipple between his lips, one hand coming up to gently cup your breast, holding it steady. The feeling of relief that flows through you when he starts suckling is nearly disorienting, the dull ache in your breast slowly fading away with each mouthful of milk he pulls from you, greedily taking a few mouthfuls from one breast before switching to the other.

Your fingers stay anchored in his hair while your hips work against him, your high building more steadily within you now that your breasts no longer feel ready to burst. You pant as you gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded while you watch his lips move against you, lilac eye still fixated on you. 

Below you, Aemond is halfway convinced he’s died and somehow the Gods have seen fit to spare him the Seven Hells. His head spins as he drinks from you, the taste of you by far the sweetest, most decadent thing he could fathom. As the knot in his belly grows ever-tighter, his suckles become more greedy, frantic, not knowing whether you’ll allow him this pleasure ever again. 

“Please, f-fuck,” he sighs, the words punched from his lips as he pulls away from you just enough to speak, uncaring as dribbles of milk leak from the corners of his lips, staining your skin. His hips practically move on their own accord as he mindlessly grinds up into you, seeking out the warmth and safety he knows he shall only ever feel within you. 

Above him, you nod, swallowing thickly against the dryness at the back of your throat, cheeks flushed while you watch him unravel. Snaking a hand between your bodies once more, your fingers quickly find your sensitive, aching bud and rubbing at it with a practiced precision. 

“Gods, sweet little brother,” you breathe out, pleasure zapping down your spine. You frantically nod again, frantic this time, just as your high washes over you, “Come, Aemond… Gods, let go, little one.”

His suckles turn more into little biting nips while he gasps against you, trembling beneath you when he finally lets pleasure overtake him – eye squeezing shut at the feel of your walls clenching tightly around his cock. 

The warmth of him filling you only spurs you on more, your breaths ragged against his forehead while you feel yourself tense and relax again and again, grabbing at whatever parts of him you can reach. 

You each go still after a few moments, panting against each other. Aemond is practically limp beneath you, lazily nuzzling his face against your chest, satiated smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. Chuckling softly, you pepper his forehead in sweet kisses, relishing the contented hum he gives in return. 

When you go to get up however, intent on fetching a cloth to clean you both up with, he reaches for you with a small whine as he grabs at your thighs.

“Don’t, please,” he murmurs, brows furrowed when your eyes meet, “Stay…”

“You… you want to stay like this?” You question, your heartbeat quickening as he quickly nods, “You wish to stay –”

“Inside,” he finishes quickly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows bashfully, cheeks flushed, “I… I feel safe like… like this.”

“Then you can stay, silly boy,” you answer with a grin, kissing at his forehead once more, “Here, let’s just…” You murmur, tilting your hips to the side ever so slightly, attempting to pull him with you.

Blessedly, he seems to understand and follows you willingly, allowing you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides. After a moment, you’re comfortable once more, each of you lying on your side and facing the other, one of your legs slung over his narrow hips to keep him pressed tightly within you. 

“Good boy,” you sigh softly, smiling when he shivers against you. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, your hands gently caressing his soft skin or running through his hair while you hold him against you. After a while, his lilac eye finally flutters closed and you can’t help but marvel at how much younger he looks like this – relaxed and spent while he lies against you, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. 

After a while, he seems to grow restless again, nosing at your chest until he finds what he desires. You sigh softly as he pulls a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling at it contentedly while he peers up at you sleepily. 

“There you go,” you murmur soothingly, coaxing him to lift his head just enough for you to lay an arm beneath it, allowing you to caress his shoulders while your other hand cups gently at the side of his face, thumb sweeping over his soft skin. “Take what you need, sweet one,” you coo, smiling as he quickly returns his lips to your breast, “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[chuulyssa]

──── ★ DRUGS SUCK IT UP LIKE VANILLA ICYS the recruiter x reader ────

starring the recruiter x detective!reader count 2.3k genre 18+ dark themes, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, gunplay, smut

notes I'LL KEEP EDITING THIS AND ADDING MORE SHIT WHENEVER I GET HORNY !!! make sure to keep tapping in lol notes wanted to write smth non horny but gong yoo just had to deepthroat that gun 🙂‍↔️ wrote this at 2am and i have my practicals tmr

You had no idea when you had lost track of him. One minute, you had been following his step through the bustling train station, and the next, your vision had blurred, and a sharp pain had shot at the base of your skull.

You didn’t know how long it had been since then. You opened your eyes, immediately shutting them back due to the sudden appearance of light to them. The scent of cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and your tongue tasted blood.

You wriggled, trying to move your arms, but your hands had been tied behind your back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair you had been made to sit on. You opened your eyes once more. The room was dim with a single light bulb flickering on and off again and again.

“Detective,” a voice cooed at you from behind you.

You snapped your neck up to see his face smiling gleefully, staring down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

“Imagine my surprise,” he continued, moving away to stand in front of you, “when I realized the pretty lady that had been following me all this while,” he leaned against what you could make out to be a wooden table, “was you.”

His smirk was maddening. You remembered it from all those years ago. The handsome man in a suit, way too overdressed to meet you where he had. The man who had approached you when you were hopelessly drunk in a children’s park, crying about an unsolved case. He had wiped your tears back then, kissed your fears away. You still recall his words.

“Since we’re in a children’s park, how about a children’s game?”

Thank god for the polite refusal of yours, or you would’ve been in the same position as your current client. Seong Gihun. For whom you had been trailing this man for weeks now. The Recruiter.

“Hello? Earth to you, miss?” He snapped his fingers in front of your dazed face, making you jump at the sudden sound. He laughed at you. Then, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor, he mocked you. “I had such high hopes for you back then, sweetheart. But you said no,” he pouted, then cackled maniacally at your expression. “I got a kiss though!”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing throughout the small room. Your eyes darted around to check for windows or exits, but you couldn’t find any in the pale lighting. “Aw, you want me to let you go? After you’ve been my little shadow for the past month?”

You looked away, and he only smirked, walking towards you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it upwards to catch your attention. “You look at me while we’re speaking. Don’t you have manners, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” you scoffed.

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you that? Is that right, love?” He jeered. When you scowled at him, he dropped his smirk. “Oh, come on now. We both know you’re not going anywhere. Come, let’s have a chat, shall we?”

He sat on the floor, his toes lifting him off the ground by themselves. The soles of his shoes clinked, tilting up so that he was mostly leaning onto you.

“It’s so flattering,” he began, “that you spent so much time trying to follow me all this time later. Am I that captivating, Miss Detective?”

“No.”

“Ah, but you are, certainly,” he nuzzled his face into your lap, making you squirm. You tried to close your thighs, but the restraints didn’t allow you to. “I’ve been dreaming of you ever since I saw you that night.”

He hummed, his knees going down to support his stance. He moved his hands to caress the front of your waist softly. “I cried because you were crying. So don’t cry over anything other than me, hm? It makes me so upset.”

He unbuttoned your pants swiftly, and you flinched. He looked up, amused at your reaction. You glared at him, refusing to speak, but the look in your face, the desire in your eyes, even the wetness he could practically smell betrayed you. He tilted his head.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You jerked your head away, but the restraint made it futile.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re in my world now, detective. And in my world, we play games.”

He pulled out a revolver from under his suit. The metallic click of the very much real weapon cocking made your breath hitch.

Where did he get that from?

He always managed to surprise you.

“Russian roulette,” he announced dramatically, spinning the cylinder. “You know this, yes? A game of chance. Just like life.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could feel it quaking in fear. You were scared now.

“Maybe,” he agreed, stepping behind you and pressing the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. “But aren’t you curious, detective? I am. I’m so so curious. You make me feel it. To crave it. Don’t you see it?”

You closed your eyes. The pressure of the gun against your skin seemed unbearable now. It was as if the nuzzle could pierce through your brain with how he was holding it against you.

“I want to see,” he kissed the top of your head, “just how far you’re willing to go to solve this case.”

I’ll do anything, you thought.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg me to stop, but there’ll be consequences then. Or take the risk.”

His voice was a low purr. The gun shifted slightly, trailing down your temple to rest just below your jaw.

“Say the word, and I’ll put it all to an end. No more games. No more questions.” His other hand came up, ghosting over your chest. “But then you’ll have to give me something else in return.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breathing as he groped your breast through the fabric of your shirt. The room felt too small, the air too thin.

“What’s it going to be, darling?” he teased, the nickname twisting in your gut like a knife. His fingers found your hardened nipple through the fabric, and his lips your neck.

“I...” you started, but your voice cracked. His soft chuckle rumbled against your pulse, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

“No shame in fear,” he said, almost kindly. The gun tilted up, tilting your chin with it, forcing you to meet his dark, hungry gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. “Little Miss Detective, found dead in a basement room. Your parents wouldn’t like to hear that now, would they?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew from the start you had been tailing him. He had kept tabs on you, more than you had on him.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Ah, is that the best you can do?” He cooed at you, and your hands clenched into fists.

“Please let me go,” you said, almost angrily, and he threw his head back to laugh.

“That’s not how you say it, dolly.”

You took a deep breath in, feeling your pride crush and fall down around you in bits and pieces. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He repeated in a child-like voice. “Like what?”

“Anything you like.”

His smile grew. “Will you be willing to play a game with me, then?” His hand reached under your shirt to caress your nipple, and you could feel yourself gushing at the touch.

“What game?”

“Hm, let’s see,” he murmured softly, fingers circling around your nipple. “I’ll count down from ten.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

“And for every second that passes, I’ll take one step closer to you,” he explained, his lips curling into a sly smile. “If you say the safe word, I stop. But…” He picked up the gun, rolling the cylinder lazily before he pointed it to the side and—

BANG !

You shook, trying to cower and hide yourself, but even that was difficult. The aftereffects of the shot echoed in the silence, until it faded away. It made everything seem realer, if that was even possible. He grinned at your reaction. “There will be problems.”

“What problems?”

“That’s for me to decide,” he said simply, leaning forward, the gun still in his hand. “Do you want to play, Miss Detective?”

You hesitated. There was no way out of this room, no way out of his control. And he knew it.

“Good.” He stood, assuming your answer before you even responded. But the gun was still in his hand, and you didn’t dare disobey. He stepped back to the far wall and bumped into a table on the way. Angrily, he kicked the table out of his way, muttering curses all the while. Then his expression softened as he turned to you. “The rules are clear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He began.

“Ten.” The sound of his boots against the floor echoed around.

“Nine.” Another step. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator stalking its prey.

“Eight.” Your hands gripped the edge of the chair.

“Seven.” The gun in his hand wasn’t aimed at you yet, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

“Six.” He was close enough now that you could see the faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Five.” “Wait,” you blurted out.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head. “Wait? That’s not the safe word.” He took another step, closer still. You clenched your jaw, now starting to panic.

He never even gave you a safe word in the first place!

“Four.” He was looming over you now, the barrel of the gun tracing along the edge of the table.

“Three.” “Stop,” you said loudly.

“Two.” The gun was under your chin now, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“One.” He smiled, satisfied, as he crouched down to your level, his face mere inches from yours. “You didn’t use the safe word,” he murmured, the gun tracing along your jawline.

“You didn’t give me one!”

“Details,” he rolled his eyes. “But now, as per the rules, of course…” He kneeled down in front of you again, head tilting down. His hands went up to grip both sides of your waist.

“Wait—”

“Shut up.”

For a moment or two, you didn’t feel anything. That was until his tongue licked a striped against your clothed cunt.

“Ack!” You jumped, trying to push him off you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Like that?” He nuzzled his face into the wetness, making you shiver. “I haven’t even started yet, baby,” he mumbled. Then, he sank his teeth into your clothed thigh.

You let out a loud cry, hoping that someone — anyone — would hear you. But no one did. No one came.

“Quiet now, dolly.” His teeth chewed at your waistband for a few seconds before pulling it down completely. “Up,” he tapped your waist, and you obediently raised your hips. He pried your pants off you.

“Oh,” he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw that your panties were still covering you. “We’ve got to take this off, hm?” He cooed at you again. “Come on, taking it off for me now.”

“What?”

“I said, take it off.”

“How?” You were taken aback.

“Wiggle wiggle,” he smiled like a dork. Then he sat up and kissed your ear. “I’ll help you with the top till then.”

He helped lift your top over your head directly. Once it was off, his lips immediately latched back onto your cheek. “Panties off, please. Before I rip them apart.”

You nodded and fidgeted for a while, lifting your hips up and down and trying to get the fabric off you. But it wouldn’t budge at all.

“Pathetic,” he said, though he looked at you fondly, as if mocking your vulnerability. Tugging a finger under the waistband of your panties, he peeled the soaked cloth away from your skin easily, patting your waist so you’d lift them up to get it off completely. 

You were exposed to him. Naked from top to bottom except for the bra he somehow hadn’t removed yet. You felt the sudden chill of air against your bare pussy. Your nipples pebbled further. He tossed the underwear aside.

His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider. “Beautiful.” His fingers tightened. A hand snaked between your legs, cupping the flesh of your thighs easily. “So wet. Already? You should be ashamed.”

You flushed lightly, trying to come up with a retort. But he shut you up immediately. His middle finger had found its way inside you.

“Fuck—” you groaned, and he snickered.

He wiggled his finger within you, grinding it against your inner walls, pressing firmly on that sweet spot while watching as your face contorted in pleasure.

Your body bucked as he added another finger, stretching you wide open. Then another. And another.

He pulled back suddenly, and you whined.

“Why—?”

“No,” he whispered, standing up. His large frame towered over yours, his hands reaching behind your neck to unclasp your bra. “Such nice tits, dolly.” He squeezed them in his rough palms as if grateful to God for his creations. His thumb brushed across your hardening nipple, teasing the peak into a tighter bud, if that was even possible.

Then he lowered his head, capturing one between his lips and suckling deeply. His tongue flicked expertly at your hardened nipple, nipping lightly.

You could see stars.

Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Ni—

He moved onto the other one and did the same.

Fuck was he good at his job.

He left trails of kisses on your chest. Both of them were red and swollen now, and you were left cursing his name in your mind.

“I’ve been playing nice all this while, don’t you think? Let’s make it rougher.”

[venusmcflytr4p]

Make it Up

James Potter x Lupin!Reader

Synopsis: Modern AU. When James Potter and his secret girlfriend, who happens to be Remus’s younger sister, go up to his room during a house party, Remus gets overprotective.

Part 2

WC: 2.6k

Content Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Alcohol consumption, dub-con? (they both want to, I've only labelled this due to alcohol, lmk if there's a better warning to use), dry humping, clit play, getting walked in on, protective older brother Remus (reader is 20 marauders are 22), angry Remus. Let me know if I missed any!

Authors note: I wrote this in one night after a long night and in a sleep deprived haze, I apologize if the pacing is weird. Also, lmk if you want part 2?

“Hi, lovey,” James says easily as you step into the boys’ house. 

“Jamie!” You hissed. “Be careful! Where’s Rem?” You asked as you whip your head around, searching for your brother’s knowing eyes.

“Relax, love. Moony’s in the kitchen helping Pads with the jelly shots,” James assured you. The house was empty save for the boys; you showed up early to help your brother and his best mates prepare for the party. Peeking around the corner of the hallway, you couldn’t see Remus anywhere, but you could hear Sirius’s barking laughter echo from the kitchen.

“Right then,” you look up at James, a smile spreading across your face as you look past his glasses into his adoring eyes. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet properly. You pull his face to yours and press a brief kiss to his lips. Too brief for James as he chases you when you pull away. Smiling, you rub your thumb along James’s jaw before planting another quick kiss on his lips. 

Hearing footsteps approach, you tear your hands away from his body, immediately missing the warmth of his skin on your fingers.

“Hey! Y/N’s here!” Peter calls across the house, meeting you halfway across the hall for a hug.

“Hi, Pete,” you greet warmly. The round-faced boy looks over James’s lingering figure behind you. 

“Offer her a drink yet?” He asks, clearly unaware of the moment he was interrupting.

“No, not yet,” James says with a casual exhale. “Looks like Moony’s got it covered,” James nods to Remus, approaching, followed by Sirius with your go-to drink. 

“Hey, Bubs,” he says as he opens his arms. You throw your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight. You had grown up close with Remus. Your whole lives, you were each other’s best friends. He’d always been there for you, looked out for you, protected you the way a big brother should. You loved your brother more than anything. And you loved his mates, who meant so much to him. You were particularly taken to a messy-haired boy.

“How are you doing, Rem?” You ask, still holding him tight.

“I’m doing great, Bubs,” He assures you. You release him and turn to Sirius.

“For the lady,” Sirius hands you the glass. You gladly accept and hug Sirius, careful not to spill your drink. 

“Shall we prepare the party?” You ask the group that was now huddling around you in the hallway. You turn to look at James, still standing by the door with a soft, warm smile.

Two hours in, and you were feeling good. The type of good that makes you want to run up to your boyfriend and throw your arms around him to kiss him silly. Of course, you couldn’t. Not with Remus just a few meters away. No, you had to get James away from Remus and find some privacy.

“Hey,” James says, startling you. You turn to see him, drink in hand, T-shirt taut around his broad shoulders and big arms. You’re practically salivating at the sight of him.

“Hi,” you reply, eyes drunkenly hooded, shamelessly taking in his toned figure. He chuckles as your eyes wander over him, before leaning close to your ear.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Remus is going to find out about us a lot sooner than you wanted,” he warns, but there’s no bite to it. It’s almost taunting.

“Please don’t talk about my brother when I’m thinking of what I want to do to you,” you plead.

“To me?” James raises an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm,” you hum in response, eyes still drinking him in. He’s so gorgeous. Those perfectly warm hazel eyes that always seemed trained on you in a room full of people.

“And what, pray tell, would you do to me?” He challenges, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you.

“Well, first, I’d take your shirt off your ridiculously buff arms,” you explain to James in a hushed tone. You grab onto his arm for balance as you rise up on your feet to whisper just in his ear. “And then-”

“What are you two conspiring about?” Sirius interrupts before you can convince James to sweep you away to his room.

“Your birthday gift, so shove off, Pads,” James bites out, perhaps a bit harsher than intended. Sirius could only raise his hands in mock surrender as he walks over to Marlene and Dorcas. “So, what were you saying, love?” James turns back to you, a glint in his eye that could only mean he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Your lips quirk into a smirk as you raise your lips to his ear again. You’re about to tell him when you see Remus across the room eyeing you two. You retract immediately, much to James’s disappointment.

You quickly put any thoughts of having James tonight aside. Not in the same house as your brother. You couldn't possibly sneak that past him. You’d been lucky these past few months that he hadn’t already found out. Remus walks toward the patio door, a pack of cigs in hand. You decide that maybe that's just what you need to clear your mind, a good old-fashioned drunken cigarette.

“Jamie, I’ll be back, I’m going for a smoke.”

“Lovie, come on,” James whines as you pull away. “I wanna know.”

“I’ll make it up to you another time, Jamie,” you promise, sending a wink his way. He pouts as you walk away, and you feel his eyes on you even after you’ve stepped outside to join Remus. The smell of smoke fills your lungs as you breathe in the cool summer-evening air.

“Care to share?” It’s more of a demand than a question with you, but that’s how it’s always been. He takes a long drag before passing the cig off to you. Exhaling the smoke, he looks at you with his amber, all-knowing eyes.

“What were you and Prongs talking about?” He finally asks. You take your own long drag, holding it in your lungs a moment.

“Sirius’s birthday,” you say, smoke seeping out of your mouth with each lying word. “I know it’s not for another few months, but you know me, I like to be prepared.” He looks into you again, like he’s searching for something.

He hums in response. You take another drag and hand the cig back to Remus. You look back towards the party, which doesn’t seem to be quieting down. James’s tall, broad figure catches your eye, and you can’t help but watch as he and Sirius lift the couch that Peter had crashed on and carry it to where you and Remus stood. His biceps look amazing in his tight white T-shirt, and all you can think about is sinking your teeth into his muscle as he fucks you raw.

Remus walks towards the door wordlessly, as if this were a regular occurrence, as the other two carry Peter’s sleeping form outside. “Never could hold his liquor,” Sirius barks. Peter shifts slightly in his sleep without waking. The boys gently set down the couch, careful not to disturb Peter too much.

“Figured it wouldn’t be a proper Marauders party without a good prank,” James says while nudging Remus in the side. He turns back toward you, beaming, before heading back inside. Remus turns to you and says something, probably to do with the new just-lit cigarette he was holding out to you, but you didn’t hear him. All you could hear was the memories of James’s soft moans and grunts that you had heard so many times before, and longed so desperately to hear right now.

“I’ve got to go to the loo, Rem,” is all you say before you hurry back inside the house. You search around the party and look for any signs of James. You’re in a drunken, lust-fueled daze as you search each room for him. Your heart hammers in your chest when you finally lock eyes with him as he's standing at the front door. You see Lily’s fiery red hair as she waves to you while stepping out the door. As soon as the door is closed, and you hear no one close by, you’re on him.

“Oi, love, what’s this all about?” He asks as you practically drag him up the stairs. “Not that I’m complaining, but where’s this coming from?”

“It’s another time, Jamie. Time for me to make it up to you,” you look back at him with a playful smirk, and all he can do is stare at you wide-eyed before his own smirk spreads across his face.

You barely make it through his door before you’re on him. In seconds, you’ve pulled his face to yours, mouths moving clumsily together, teeth clashing. His hands reach for your waist to pull you flush against him, and the heat in your stomach burns hotter. You feel how hard he is against you, and smile against his mouth. He tugs at the hem of your shirt and lifts it just enough to tease you. You tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning a delicious groan against your mouth.

“Need you so bad, love,” he’s just about begging. You toy with his belt buckle, undoing it slowly through your sloppy kisses. Your chest is on fire as you stand there, undoing each other slowly. Too slowly. As soon as it’s undone, you’re hands move to the tight hem of his shirt.

“Take it off,” you plead. He doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls at the neck of his T-shirt, and all you can do is stare as the fabric slides up his muscular core. His undone belt shows more of his V-line than you can handle without touching him. As his head pops out from his shirt, his hair more messy than usual, all he can do is stare at you.

“You’re so gorgeous, love,” is all he can mutter before his lips are back capturing yours, savouring you. His hands knead your ass, and his lips leave yours, taking purchse on your cheek. Then below your ear. Down the column of your throat, and when he reaches your shirt, he wastes no time pulling it off over your head and returning his mouth to where it belongs. He kisses down your chest and your stomach until he’s on his knees in front of you.

In one swift movement, he pulls your pants down, leaving you in your bra and panties. You pull him back up to meet your face, and you skim your lips over his. With a quick kiss, you separate enough to push him backwards onto the bed.

Desperate for friction, you crawl onto his lap and rock yourself against him. You keep rolling your hips over his, and with every movement, soft, desperate moans escape your lips. James’s hands guide your movements and coax you to rock faster.

He brings one of his hands to your throbbing core, feeling your arousal through your panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet, love.” All you can do is moan as he rubs circles over your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck, Jamie, need you,” you whimper. “Need you so bad.” You lean down to kiss him again. He brings his hands to your face to kiss you deeper, biting your lip gently, making you smile.

“FUCKING HELL!” You hear Sirius scream from the door. You jump and scramble off of James, grabbing the throw blanket at the end of James’s bed to cover up a bit.

“Padfoot, what's going on?” Remus asks as he appears behind Sirius. “Bloody hell,” he stops dead in his tracks. “Prongs. Mate. I’m going to fucking kill you,” he says in that ominously calm tone he uses when he’s truly mad.

“Rem, please,” you know how this is going to go. You love your brother, but you also know he has a temper.

“Let me just get this straight,” he says in an even scarier tone. “James Potter, one of my best mates, is shagging my little sister?” His voice is deadly calm.

“Remus, I swear it's not like that! This isn’t a one night thing!” James tries to explain.

“Don’t!” Remus warns. While they argue, and you’re wrapped in the throw, you grab your phone and text Lily asking if she could pick you up and drive you home, knowing she was a designated driver tonight. You try to drown out the shouting as you text her.

“What I understand, James, is that you’ve been taking advantage of my little sister for months?!” Remus yelled as you tuned back in.

“Okay, Rem, I love you so much, but you’re being ridiculous. James has not been taking advantage of me, and I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions,” you state calmly in contrast to his anger.

“You’re still my little sister!” He shouts.

“Alright,” you say. “Get out,” you tell him simply.

“Wha-”

“No, Remus, get out. James and I are going to get dressed, and then Lily is going to drive us back to my flat.” You’ve grown up with Remus; if anyone knows how to deal with his anger, it’s you. Give him time to cool off, and conversations generally go better.

“I’m not letting him go home with you!” He protests.

“I’m not sure that you and James being under the same roof is a good idea right now.”

“She might be right, Moony,” Sirius finally piped up.

“See? I’m right. Now go,” You physically push him out of James’s room, locking the door after it’s shut. “Bloody hell,” you sigh still facing the door. You check your phone to make sure Lily’s okay with driving and with Lily being Lily, and living five minutes away, she was already on her way. “Jamie,” you say as you turn. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize but he’s already shushing you with a kiss.

“Why are you sorry, lovie?” He asks so sincerely it hurts. “I’m the one that’s sorry. It’s my fault that Remus is mad. I’m the one he hates,” James says, believing every word that is coming out of his mouth.

“James,” you hold his face firmly. “Remus loves me and you too much to hate us. Give him some time, and he’ll cool down.” A glimmer of hope flashes in James’s eyes. “Plus, I meant what i said about you spending the night at my place,” you smirk just slightly.

He kisses you so slowly and tenderly that you melt in his hands. All of your tension melting away. A sudden buzz reminds you of the task at hand. Lily’s arrived. “We should get dressed,” you suggest, looking into his deep hazel eyes.

“Yeah, I s’pose we should,” he says, pulling you in for a final gentle kiss before you get dressed.

Leaving James’s room was just as awkward as you thought it would be. The party looked like it had just finished clearing out and Remus was sitting at the kitchen table with Sirius looming over him.

James goes to the door and waits for you as you approach your brother. He doesn’t get up, but he hugs you back when you embrace him and press a kiss to his head. “I’ll talk to you soon, Rem, okay?” He nods in response.

“Bye, Sirius,” you hug him, appreciating that he’s treating you like normal. “Say bye to Pete for me,” you add.

“Of course. See you later, Prongs,” he calls over your shoulder. James waves back with a tight lipped smile.

When you meet him at the door, he grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile up at him before heading out the door hand in hand.

dividers by: @enchanthings

[lokisgoodgirl]

Two Gods, One Heart [Loki x Reader]

A link my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki comes good on a promise to have two of himself bed you. (w/c 2.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Female Reader. MMF. Language. Oral. PV. Anal. Some Loki/Loki stuff.

“Come to bed,” Loki said, his long limbs stretched across the sheets.

One leg was draped over the side of the mattress, the other drawn up. His eyes glittered through shadow as they trailed over the curves of your body.

Two hands rested behind his head while another, familiar hand, worked his cock.

You swallowed, steadying against the doorframe. How ever many times Loki had whispered the details of your filthy fantasy into your ear; seeing promises made flesh hit different.

The loose babydoll covering your skin suddenly felt very tight.

“Keeping us waiting…” a second Loki chided, followed by a series of crisp tuts.

A shiver of arousal skated across your flesh as their voices mingled like cinders swirling up to an open, navy sky.

“Should we be offended?” The second Loki looked at the first, and their eyes narrowed lightly at the same moment. “Our love is adjusting…” the first said. In tandem, they smirked, before the first Loki’s head fell back with a groan. The second had tightened the grip on his cock, fist bobbing fluidly as amusement danced in his eyes and he swiped his thumb around the tip with targeted ease.

It was impossible to tell which one was the god you’d fallen in love with; which one you’d divulged your deepest secrets to, which one you’d comforted in darkness while he struggled with his past.

The two of them were identical except for the style of their hair; their silvery skin shimmering in the glow of a dozen candles. Their muscles flexed in all the ways you knew, distinguishable only by the fact that one’s onyx hair spread against the pillow while the other was tied up in a knot, several thick waves falling to his shoulders.

Loki said it didn’t matter, that the duplicate was a mirror image of his body and mind at that exact moment. ‘A breathing mirage who loves you as I do.’ And himself, it seemed.

The Loki propped on his side, working the other, turned fractionally towards you. You licked your lips, clenching immediately with a warm slip flushing between your legs. “Fuck us,” he growled like a command. His tongue nipped over the curve of his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth. “I fear we’re rather desperate to have you.”

The first Loki’s back arched from the bed, his eyes flying open in momentary terror. “Don’t waste it,” he snapped at himself as the second Loki’s thumb circled the tip of his heavy cock, slick with pre-cum. “Perhaps I just want her for myself…You could watch?” The first Loki’s chest rumbled in a guttural growl, wrenching the hand from his manhood. Of course they’re competitive. At least he was consistent.

The second Loki rolled on to his back, sliding the hand wet with his duplicate’s arousal down his stomach and beginning to tease himself. Your bare feet drew across the floor and mounted the bed, both Lokis’ propping themselves upright as you settled between them. “As we discussed?” the first asked, all sincerity. There was nothing but love in his voice. It's that one. That's the real one. You nodded, eyes sliding between them.

The second trailed a finger from below your ear down the curve of your neck, his lips ghosting the tip of your shoulder. “Then so it shall be,” he said. No, wait...that's the real one.

The world shifted as the second Loki guided you on your back, the first scooting down the bed and settling between your spread thighs. His hands slid down your legs, hooking beneath, his tongue tracing a soft path along your slit.

“Loki,” you groaned, and the one behind you whispered, “Good girl,” as his fingertips played with your nipples through chiffon. You gazed up at him, mind spinning. The points of his jaw threw shadows across the sharp planes of his face, eyes glimmering with black delight. One of your hands crept to the scalp of the god buried between your thighs, the other reaching up to hook in the hair of the one above. If you died at this moment; you’d die happy.

Your breaths grew short under the tender laps of Loki’s tongue: every flick against your clit, every suck between the flat licks that slipped against your sex.

“She’s close,” the one above you murmured, working your nipples, his breath hot on your neck. He moaned your name softly, praise dripping from his lips.

“Oh my god…Loki,” you gasped in a thin, fragile voice, back arching. The man between your legs let out a muffled grunt against your cum slipping against his mouth. You reached forward, burying your hands in his hair and drawing him up into a messy kiss. “My turn,” the one behind you hummed, and the mattress creaked under their weight. You were aware of a carefully coordinated shift as the Loki kissing you shuffled up your body. His lips broke away, and then he was towering above you with his thighs spread on either side of your chest; cock in his hand, stroking leisurely. Your palms slid up his iron-muscled thighs, golden in candlelight. And then, the second Loki’s tongue slipped inside your cunt. Your nails dug into the femurs of the Loki above.

His head fell back with a hiss, a mess of dark hair cascading around his shoulders. The hard cock bobbing between his legs tapped against your cheek and you immediately curled your fingers around it and guided it to your lips. Loki gurgled as you swallowed him, sucking gently in time with the second god’s expert tongue slide across your pussy. The two of them moaned in unison.

You wondered if they felt the same sensations; if one transferred to the other, and if the god hovering above with his cock in your throat could taste your fresh, liquid arousal welling in the other’s mouth.

The Loki towering with his hair falling free cradled the back of your head as mewls of orgasm vibrated against the velvet skin of his length.

“G-good, f-fuck, Darling,” he muttered as your nails scraped down his obliques. The tongue caressing your swollen, slippery sex vanished—but then a pair of large hands slid over your own. The second Loki appeared at the first’s shoulder, resting his chin on the ropes of muscle starting to strain under the effort of holding back blowing his load into your mouth. “Don’t be greedy,” the second murmured: dark, dirty. You released the cock from your mouth with a slurp, and its master frowned, panting heavily. “I’m giving her what she wants.” The second Loki snorted, before pulled the first’s earlobe between his teeth in the way that made your lover tighten with desire. “I think we both know what she wants,” he whispered, and both sets of eyes locked on yours. A thrill swelled between your legs with wicked force. “Yes, you do,” you said, and both Lokis’ eyes glinted with a mischievous spark. They moved like a dance, sprawling elegantly on either side of your body.

You kissed one deeply, and then the other, settling on your left side facing the Loki with hair spilling over his chest like ink. Your hands tangled in his hair, kissing him wildly. His hand slid down your waist, pulling you flush to his abdomen; cock pressed tight to your stomach, the growl in his throat filling your mind with impossible filth. But nothing’s impossible with him, you thought, as the second Loki’s lips fastened to your neck from behind. Another hand skated over your ass, massaging gently. You swung a leg over the hips of the Loki in front of you; his greedy fingertips immediately sinking into the meat of your thigh. The tip of his manhood slid between your folds. “Are you ready, love?” he whispered. The Loki behind you paused, placing a gentle kiss between your shoulder-blades. You nodded, searching between your bodies and gripping his cock. It slid inside you like liquid, and the breath left your lungs.

‘Made for me,’ Loki always said. And it was true. The expression of the god in front of you tremored, lips parted in pleasure before his beautiful eyes fluttered shut. Your cunt stretched around him, swallowing the size, gripping him in a slickened, silken vice. The Loki sheathed inside you stilled, his hips trembling against yours with the determination not to fuck you senseless. That wasn’t the plan—not yet. He bit his lip as your peripheral vision glowed green.

You turned fractionally, seeing the second Loki empty a small, ornate phial of oil into his palm and warm it between his fingers. “Relax, love,” he murmured as a hand slipped between your cheeks, fingers playing against your ass. You clenched around the root of the first Loki’s cock. “Gods…” he groaned, and the one behind you chuckled. “Hold on,” he said, as his fingers played at your ass. One digit slipped inside, and then two. The tender wildness set your nerves alight, and you began to thrust on Loki’s cock, desperate for movement. A moan caught in his throat. “Wait, love,” he choked, steadying your hip and quieting your whine with a kiss. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, thumb playing at the angle of your jaw while the Loki behind you scissored his fingers: in, and out. “She’s ready,” he purred. The lover holding you pulled his mouth away, sucking on your bottom lip. He winked. “I don’t think she’ll ever be ready.” You smiled, turning to the one behind you as his hand slid over your thigh. Feeling down his body, your fingers curled around the second Loki’s cock at the moment you squeezed your cunt around the first’s. Both of them hissed in unison, and you almost came from sound alone.

The second, familiar manhood pressed against your asshole, slipping against the Asgardian oil. You took a deep breath, following the usual routine, as Loki let you shift backwards until he breached. The stomach flush to your spine spasmed, a sharp gasp splitting the air as you slid down his shaft and the Loki in front of you shuffled closer, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Isn’t she?” “F-fuck…” the one behind you stuttered, “Yes. Yes…” “Hold on,” the Loki deep in your cunt goaded to his duplicate, echoing the previous jibe. “Don’t ruin the fantasy for her before it’s even begun.” In lieu of words, the Loki behind you dragged his cock from your ass, teasing, stretching, before sliding back in. An obscene sound rattled in your throat as the first Loki rolled his hips, his effortlessly liquid thrusts stroking your g-spot. “Made for us,” the Loki behind you murmured, thrusting gently.

With every gentle slap of their skin, another plane of reality melted. Kisses slid one into the next: from the front, from behind. Your hands roamed over their bodies as they cradled you, suspended in syrupy desire, their mouths taking turns over your skin as twisting moans filled the room.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel this aroused, this full, this safe. Orgasm wasn’t a peak; it was a wave—foaming beneath the soles of your feet as you rode it across a sea of their need. You lost count after four.

Sweat slid between the three bodies on the bed, one folding into another as they fucked you, wringing their name from your lips in every conceivable octave. “Come inside me,” you sobbed, feeling the next climax boiling in your blood. Both Lokis’ breaths hitched. The one behind you sank his teeth into your shoulder while the first palmed your breast upward before slipping a hand between your bodies, circling your clit. Loki’s voice at the best of times was enough to send you over the edge, but hearing two of him in the throes of ecstasy was too much to bear.

Their breaths became more urgent, the thrusts sloppier, the sounds of your bodies driven by some unquenchable need shifting into its final gear. Loki, buried in your ass, fastened his hand at your hip; pulling you onto the base of his cock again, and again, and again. The god buried in your pussy trembled, his jaw clenching, spirals of hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wild, pumping up into your cunt with targeted, lethal ease. Fuck, you were so wet. Cum coated the insides of your thighs, slipping against each buck of his hips.

And then, they splintered.

You’d been so excited earlier you’d forgotten to check if he’d made sure the silencing enchantment was in place. But it was too late now, and to be honest…you didn’t care. Your only regret was you couldn’t see them both at the same time, so you glanced between them, drinking in the sight of their faces screwed up and pleasure wrenching from them in violent, guttural sounds. Twin sets of fingers sank deep into your curves, their sobs of your name ebbing like snow melting into hard, winter earth. True to form, neither Loki stopped the churn of their hips as they came; reluctant to spin a second less of pleasure from your willing body. Hot cum swelled against your insides: white, sweet, perfect. The one behind you collapsed his face between your shoulder-blades, condensation misting your skin. The second followed, his messy kisses covering your mouth between wild strands of hair.

And then, their ragged breath eased with a singular, staggered sigh. “Happy, Darling?” the Loki in front of you murmured. You nodded, cupping his face. “I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. This one. Definitely.

In a shimmer of green, and with a knowing smile, his body dissolved.

The arm around your waist tightened, cock still buried in your ass. Loki kissed the curve of your shoulder, and you grinned into the pillow. “I love you,” he said tenderly against the skin. “And that’s something I’ll never share.”

Thank you for reading❤️ Come say hi! Alternative Version/Part Two of the THIRD Loki ...yes that's right. The Spare (w/c 1.5k)

[yourlocallunatic]

My King in the North

Cregan Stark x fem Velaryon!reader 18+

Summary: You fly with your brother to meet with the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to ally your families in the height of the Dance of Dragons. In exchange for soldiers, your mother has offered up you—her eldest daughter.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, piv sex, oral sex (fem receiving) canonical Stark breeding kink (seriously, hardcore breeding kink). HoTD tragedies (character deaths)

wordcount: 8.2k

The wind grew sharper the further North you flew, snow started to cling to your hair and lashes, encasing you in the cold. On the back of your dragon, you tried your best to curl into yourself to keep warm. The rain you saw from time to time on Dragonstone was cold, but not like this. You could feel the fierce power of the North in the gusts of the wind and it made you feel something, something more than you felt anywhere in the South.

You approached Winterfell, the rolling green hills and the thick forest surrounding it. The sky was gray and a light snow covered the cobblestone streets and the tops of the tower. It seemed dull, but there was a distinguished charm to the place. You and your brother landed your dragons near the front gates, and the guards standing watch shuffled stiffly on their feet–eyes growing wide at the sheer size of the beasts. The gates opened and a man walked at the front, he was broad and burly, his long hair was pulled half-back and a large sword was slung across his back. This was the Lord of Winterfell. Your betrothed.

“Winterfell welcomes you, my friends,” his voice shook with a deep Northern accent, his arms were outstretched with a gesture of welcome.

“Thank you, my Lord. Our mother–her Grace–thanks you for seeing us,” Jacearys spoke approaching Lord Stark. You stayed back a bit, letting your brother do the talking for now.

“Please, please, come in. We have a feast prepared, you shall sit at the high table with myself,” He patted Jace on the back hard, your brother letting out a cough at the impact. The Northerners were clearly not very concerned with the prim-and-proper treatment of royals. It was refreshing. You set your dragon away, leaving her to fly and explore, knowing she would return. You follow your brother, guards following you on either side—Lord Starks welcoming behavior did not reflect that of the guards he enforced. You knew it was risky of him to trust you, and he showed you that with the guards that stood by him and the sword that lay on his back. He was smart.

Warmth enveloped you as you entered the halls, every patron of the court stood and bowed as you all entered. They did not bow at you and your brother, however, but to the Warden. You’d heard of Northern stubbornness and now you were seeing it in full effect. They did not like outsiders and you saw that as they sent occasional glares to you. Lord Stark took a seat at the high table, you and Jace sitting on either side of him, though you protested to sit next to your brother.

"Please, be seated," Lord Stark's voice boomed throughout the hall, "I thank you all for welcoming the children of The Queen, the Prince, and Princess shall remain with us for a stay, I ask you all to extend your arms to them. Now eat your fill! Winter is coming," he spoke with such a high level of authority but it was so evident in the way his people listened attentively that they all respected him. And the mere fact that he had called Rhaenyra the Queen already struck something in the minds of his people.

You still did not speak, eating quietly as you listened to the conversations around you. Jace and Lord Stark spoke to each other, you could tell a bond was forming, the two seemed very alike already. Two young Lords, they knew power at such a small age. You watched the Warden from the corner of your eye, the way he spoke with Jacearys was firm, but not unfriendly, he knew what you and your brother came here to ask and he was setting his boundaries early–the type of move a king would make. Studying his face you noticed more and more, that his brow line was firm, and his eyes a steel grey, he was very much a Stark by all the accounts you'd read. He had a small scar running along the side of his cheek, one you couldn't help but wonder what it came from.

"Tell me, Princess," you turn your head to the young woman sitting beside you, a bit younger than yourself you guessed, "you came here with the intent of staying in the North, did you not?"

"Pardon me, Lady–?" you asked. Finally speaking.

"Just Sara, your Grace. You intend to marry my brother?" this was the Lord of Winterfell's sister, you recalled–a bastard–thinking back to your books on the North. Evidently, he was very committed to his family, considering he would let a bastard sit at the high table with him; let alone sit in the hall altogether.  

"The Queen's intention, yes," you bite back, still bitter at your mother for so easily sending you away for the sake of her crown.

"So you do not intend to?" the girl asked, genuine curiosity laced in her voice.

"No-well, yes..." You stutter, before taking a deep breath, "I do what the Queen asks of me."

"Do not fret, Princess, you will be well taken care of here," she sets a warm hand on your arm and gives you a soft smile, doing her best to calm you in your distressed state. "My brother may be a formidable warrior and leader, but don't let him fool you, he cares very much for those around him. Especially one so beautiful as you."

"Thank you, Sara. I apologize, I fear I've gotten caught up in my worries, leaving my family so suddenly, not even knowing if Lord Stark will accept the proposed betrothal. I have a lot on my mind." you laugh nervously, pushing your food around your plate with your fork (very un-ladylike your septa would tell you).

"You needn't say sorry, Princess," the girl was sweet, and you could tell it was genuine, hopefully, she'd be a fast friend. "And trust me, he will accept the proposal," she whispered to you sneakily.

"And how do you know that? Surely he has better offers," you combat, keeping your voice low as well, Lord Stark barely a foot away from you.

"My brother is smart. He plans to take your brother to the wall and discuss terms, leaving you here to put your impression on the people. He wouldn't have accepted the two of you here without learning more about you first, he knows the good you've done for the realm even as a young Lady. No matter the Queen's standings, he knows he would have someone good by his side. Someone the North could accept." there was something larger at play here you could tell, larger than both yourself and Lord Stark, larger than your mother and Aegon's petty argument. This was about the whole of the North.

"Moreover, my brother is a man, and no man could say no to a pretty woman with a dragon who could give him little dragon babies," she giggles, eliciting a laugh from you as well, "no man is smart enough for that." a louder laugh leaves your mouth from her comment, you cover your mouth with your hand, trying your best to be proper.

"Seems we already have two new friends!" Jacaerys voice interrupting your laughter, "Haven't heard her laugh in years, nose always stuck in a book." your brother teases making you roll your eyes. Lord Stark turns his body to face you, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Just as I hoped," he moved his gaze to his sister, his smile grew larger, and you could tell he was grateful for her warm demeanor. "Princess, would you care for a walk?" his eyes were still on his sister but he moved them quickly to you. You turn to Sara, and she gives you a smirk and a small nod, gently pushing your shoulder to go with the Warden.

"Y-yes, my Lord, it would please me greatly," you stand and bow your head. He extends his arm and you hold onto it politely. Even through the thickness of his tunic and cloak, you could feel how strong he was–and it made you blush.

The two of you didn't speak to one another as you walked the streets of Winterfell, he would stop occasionally to greet people though, goodness coming through his rough demeanor. You came to the godswood and walked through, the noise from the streets gone replaced with the whistling of the wind and the quieting chirps of birds as night fell.

"I spoke with your brother," his thick voice filled the silence, "but I wished to speak with you as well before we continue with our terms." He stopped walking and turned to face you, not letting go of your arm.

"Of course, Lord Stark," his lips turn up slightly on one side at your formality.

"As the Queen's terms stated, you need aid from the North, and in exchange, she will give me your hand in marriage. Is this what you wish?" He seemed concerned, more so than he should be.

"Of course, my Lord, whatever my Queen wishes of me." You bow your head to him in submission. Would he be a rough lover? You wondered. Everyone told tales of how brutal of a ruler he could be, how brutal a fighter. Would he be brutal with you? Only see to you to stick an heir in your womb?

"Is that what you wish, Princess?" his arm held yours tighter, a sense of urgency in his tone. "I know of your family, I know that marriage is a duty, it is here in the North too. But in the North, we believe there is also passion in marriage and love. I do not want you to subject yourself to this if you think I am only here to rule you."

"I-I wish for a happy life," you close your eyes, for the first time in your life speaking your truth plainly, "I wish for my family to be safe, children to care for, land for my dragon to fly in peace..." you trail off, his sister may have been right, he may care for those around him, but he was also dangerous to those he did not. Now all you could hope was that there was something he cared about in you.

"Then you shall have it," he spoke with the authority of a king. "I've heard of what you've done in Dragonstone and even King's Landing for your kinsman's people. I wish to have you by my side, not just to wife, but to show the North there is good still left, and we have her fighting for us."

"Thank you, for accepting the proposal, Lord Stark, it would be an honor to serve the North."

"Thank you, Princess," those steely eyes stared straight into yours and you believed him with every part of you. "I will take your brother further North to the wall to discuss the rest of our terms, when I return we shall be wed within a fortnight. Will you be alright here?"

"Yes, my Lord," you smile at him. Duty and passion he had said. You simply couldn't wait for his return, dying to see what his passion felt like.

You made your way back to the hall together, taking your seats again. They would leave at dawn he told you flying on dragon-back. You tried to get him to fly your dragon instead of going with Jace, but he insisted she stay here while he couldn't be here to protect you.

"Ever proud Northmen are," Sara whispered to you, "that dragon could protect an army," you giggle at her joke, glad you would have her here to keep you company the next coming days.

The next days you had hardly a moment's rest, busying yourself with learning more and more of the North's history within the Keep's library. At one point Sara held a lunch for you and some Ladies of the Court. "It will make a good impression." she'd told you. So you put on a smile and listened to the gossip that ensued. It took a moment for the Ladies to warm to you but once Sara revealed that Lord Stark was to have your hand in marriage they flurried into excitement, one of them even offering to sew together your wedding dress at once. You smiled, the North was a cold place, but it was clear that there was a warmth to be found in the community.

"My husband hasn't bed me in years," one of the ladies had said, several of them chiming in saying their husbands did the same, "what I'd give for one of those Stark men, I hear they bed you every night to ensure a babe takes..."

"I hear they know everything of a woman's pleasure, Lord Stark should surely pass a law to all our husbands to do the same."

"My maid saw him bathing once…told me he's got the largest member she's ever seen."

The words flew around you, the women all laughing and giving you jealous looks. Your face grew red at the thought of him bedding you, giving you all the children you could hope for. As wonderful as the welcome of these women was, it was also highly unusual for women in the South to talk about such things with one another, clearly another difference you'd have to grow accustomed to.

"Alright ladies, I'm sure the Princess would appreciate some respite on the wedding talk, as would I with hearing about my brother's cock," Sara spoke loudly, a teasing tone in her voice, but everyone listened nonetheless. She excused the two of you and led you outside for some fresh air. You wrapped the new fur cloak you were given tighter around yourself, still growing used to the cold.

You walked together for a bit before you heard the familiar screech of Vermax in the air. They weren't supposed to return for a few more days...perhaps they had come to an early agreement. You quicken your pace to the front gate, arriving just as your brother and Lord Stark entered.

"How was riding on dragon-back, Lord Stark?" you tease, walking to greet the two of them. But he didn't respond. He walked close to you, a solemn look in his eyes. Something had happened, what happened? He puts a cold hand on your shoulder, casting his gaze downward. "Is everything alright, my Lord?" your voice began to shake. He looks you in the eye once again before walking away. Had the engagement broken off? You wonder, your heart dropping slightly at the thought. Jacaerys didn't move from where he stood a few feet in front of you. His face was blank, void of any emotion trying to break through. "Jace...what's happened, am I to return home now?" he did not answer. You walked to him, grabbing his face in your hands to make him meet your gaze, "Jace, answer me. What's happened?" your voice firm, tears beginning to grow in your eyes from anger as he still said nothing. "Jacaerys!" you shout, and that's when you see it, a crumpled piece of parchment clutched in his hand. The broken seal was that of your mothers, she's sent a raven. Why? You grab the message from him and hastily unfold it, doing your best to make out the tear-stained ink.

No. No. It couldn't be real. Your brother. Your baby brother. The boy too brave for his own good. Lucaerys...

"This isn't real, it can't be..." your chest was tight and your vision began to blur, you looked around you, trying to find someone to give you answers, Jacaerys still mute. You stumbled blindly as your body began to wrack with gasping breaths, you ran into a solid body, grasping on to whoever it was and not letting go.

"Come, Princess, let's get you to your chambers," the deep Northern accent resonated from above you.

"No, my-my, no my baby brother..." your voice barely coherent, "my baby brother..."

"I know, I know, Princess, walk with me," Lord Stark did his best to keep his grasp on you, but to no avail.

"He was a child!" you screamed, pushing yourself away from him. "An innocent boy!" Your body began to tumble backward but Jace was right behind you, standing to hold you upright, his own eyes now leaking tears, trying as he might to keep a brave face. You struggle between the two men as they try to drag you back to the keep. You couldn't breathe, the air inside was suffocating. You threw open the window in your chambers sucking in a deep breath before collapsing to the ground.

You didn't know how many hours had passed, you cried until your tears ran dry and screamed until your lungs gave out. Your wails echoed through the halls. Now you sat beneath the open window, the cold air seeping into your bones as the fire in your chambers died down. War would break out soon over something so trivial. Your family had always been teetering on killing each other and you hated it. It wasn't just Aemond that killed Lucaerys, it was every single one of the Targaryens.

There was a soft knock at your door but you did not acknowledge. Not that it mattered, shortly after the knock the door opened and your brother entered. He shut the door behind him before making his way over to you and sliding down the wall to sit next to you.

"We will leave at dawn," he spoke, turning his head to face you.

"We? Jacaerys, I cannot go back there. This has gone on far too long, since the moment Aegon was born, I am finished being a part of this game of thrones," your voice was broken from the crying and screaming, and it was broken from the pain.

"Mother will want you safe, with her," he combated.

"Safe? I'm safe here Jace, away from the fighting, the safest I've been all my life. The engagement is set now and you have made your terms, my duty is to the North now, and to the North, it will stay," you spoke exasperatedly. You stood from your spot on the ground and made to tend the fire again, "Has Lord Stark given you adequate resources?" you question, trying to change the subject.

"2,000 of his older fighting men, greybeards, he calls them."

"Good, then you will take your leave at dawn. Tell mother I love her, but she cannot send me away only to try and take me back as soon as she loses a child," he nodded at you sadly, tears in his eyes, he was losing his sister too now. "Come here, I'm sorry, but this is what she wanted." You move to him and wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly to you.

"At least let me stay for the wedding," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"You mustn't waste more time, avenge Luke for me, he was the best of us."

"I will. I promise," he told you, right as there was another knock at your door. You clear your hoarse throat, trying to sound the lady you were.

"Enter," yes you tried, but your voice still shook.

"My Prince, Princess," Lord Stark enters the room, giving you each polite nod.

"Please, Cregan, you needn't use formalities, I'm to be your brother soon after all," Jacaerys spoke up, trying his best to lighten the mood. Cregan gave him a smile before he continued speaking.

"Of course, that is what I came to ask. As you are leaving at dawn, I thought you may want to be here for your sister's wedding," his gaze turned to you, almost questioning. "I've had arrangements made and was curious to if the Princess would like for the ceremony to take place tonight?" you tried to interrupt, not sure if you could handle the festivities after such a loss you've endured, but he quickly cut you off before you could say anything, "It would be small, only us and a priest, we will have a feast to celebrate whenever you're ready, Princess." your brows turned down and adoration flooded you, he looked at you steadily for a response.

"Thank you, my Lord, I would love to have my brother here, your thought is much appreciated."

"Thank you, Cregan," Jace extended his hand to give him a firm handshake, the two exchanging grateful looks. The ceremony would be in half an hour under the weirwood tree in the godswood, in the sight of the old gods. It was growing late so you didn't bother trying to call a maid, instead you re-braided your own hair and put on the heavy cloak and thick wool dress you were gifted when you arrived in Winterfell, you looked positively Northern.

Jacaerys took your arm and walked you down the cobbled streets to the godswood, where Lord Stark would be waiting. You hadn't had much time to process everything, still so caught in Luke's passing, but you did know that as Sara once said, you would be well taken care of in Winterfell. It was a clear night, the moon and stars illuminated the path through the trees to where your soon-to-be husband stood. He looked regal standing there, the spitting image of a king. Your brother kissed your forehead before handing you over to Lord Stark. Your mind was foggy. I am his and he is mine. The only words that mattered, and the only ones you would remember.

Your goodbyes to Jace were tearful. He couldn't wait until dawn to leave so he mounted his dragon and left, you knew it was because up there, so high in the clouds he could cry, he didn't have to be a prince.

You walked back to your chambers, Lord Stark escorting you. You weren't sure if you could do this, he would want to consummate you were positive of it, but after the day you'd had...you couldn't muster your strength. You came to your door and waited for him to enter before you shut the door behind you, you stood there, not certain if you should wait for him or just get it over with. You turned and watched as he removed his cloak before adding another log to the fire. Get it over with. You told yourself, removing your own cloak and boots before starting on the strings of your dress.

"What are you doing, Princess?" He looked at you, confused, walking over to you quickly and pulling your dress back on your shoulders.

"This is my duty, Lord Stark," you said tearfully. He gave a slight laugh before taking your face in his hands, making you look him in the eye.

"No, no, not tonight, I only came to tend your fire, it's been a long day for you, I will never expect anything of you." you wrapped your arms around him suddenly, aching to be held. And that he did, one arm was around your shoulders and the other cradled the back of your head pulling you close.

"Thank you, again, my Lord," you mumbled into his chest. He pushed you away, and a teasing smile played on his face.

"Never mind, I will expect one thing of you, and that is to call me by my name, no more 'My Lords' or 'Lord Stark'. You are my wife."

"Then thank you, Cregan, for treating me so very well," you smiled at him, "no more 'princess' either, I am no longer one after all," you spoke back. The smile on your face turns down.

"Very well, I will leave you to rest then," he spoke your name as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and made his way to the door. You didn't want him to leave. He was yours now, you wanted him with you, to protect you and care for you in your hours of sorrow.

"Cregan," you called out softly, your dress now slipping off your shoulders again. He turned back, a hopeful look in his eye, "Stay with me?" he said nothing as he walked back to you, ridding himself of the cloak he held before removing his boots, you continued with the strings of your dress, trying your best to reach behind your back when you suddenly felt warm fingers entangled with yours and he continued your work. You were left in a linen slip, standing close to the fire to keep yourself warm. You watched as he unbuckled his belt and removed his doublet, he walked slowly to one side of the bed and placed his formidable sword next to the bed. He held back the fur coverings and nodded to you, motioning you to climb in the bed. Your steps were slow and cautious, but you trusted him. You moved beneath the furs, instantly feeling much warmer, your body heated even more when Cregan moved in next to you holding out his arm so you could fall into his body. It felt right, you were warm, you were safe, you were cared for. Your head lay across his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as you fell asleep.

"Always, dear wife," he spoke into the silence of the night where he soon fell asleep with you to the dying embers on the hearth.

You spent your days the next few weeks trying to take hold of your grief, you did your best, keeping your head buried in books to distract yourself. Cregan would take you with him to various meetings and suppers, you were thankful for the distraction and you slowly drew closer to him. You continued on with your arrangement, he would see to your chambers in the evening, tend the fire, and climb into the bed with you, stroking your hair till you slept. But with that, you grew more and more frustrated, his closeness began to stir something in you, a deep longing. You woke one night with the space beside you empty, you sat up in the bed hastily calling out his name. He was standing at the window staring into the darkness of the night, he had taken his tunic off, something he hadn't done in front of you yet, and his back was stiff and muscular from years of training. His arms–now bare–you could see exactly how strong he was, a force to be reckoned with. He hadn't heard you call his name so you slowly slid out of the bed, tugging on the silk robe one of your ladies' maids had embroidered for you, direwolves wrapping around your neck, and snowflakes falling down the sleeves. You walked to where Cregan stood, standing close to him and peering out the window along with him. The wolves were howling in the night causing a chill to run through you, you still couldn't tell what their cries meant, were they mourning with you? Were they angry? Hungry?

"It's said the blood of the first men runs through your veins, that I believe," you spoke into the night. "there's also a folk tale that says the Stark men who have that blood can turn to direwolves when they wish, that... I'm still not sure of." Cregan smiles at the sound of your sleepy voice.

"You've been reading," he states, looking to meet your eyes.

"Yes, I like learning about your people, and your library is always kept so warm," you giggle, thinking of the cozy days you've spent in there.

"I wish that tale were true...it would make ruling so much easier, I wouldn't have to go to meetings anymore, I could intimidate people without having to use my sword, protect my people better..." he sounded hopeful as if he believed he still had a chance for the tale to come true.

"You are a good ruler, you would make a splendid King," you told him, grabbing his hand to hold within yours, despite the cold of the night you could feel his blood still running hot.

"A King?" he questioned, never more than just the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

"Your people were kings for thousands of years, my ancestors took that away from you so they could unite and rule a monarchy," you say, speaking of all the books you've been reading, "In my eyes, you are still the King in the North, and the North remembers, your people remember."

"What you speak is treason, treason to your mother the Queen, and your family!" A man of honor. He pledged himself to the Queen, he would not back out of his oath, even if this is what the North had for thousands of years.

"Perhaps, but my duty is here now. We will let them fight amongst themselves as we prepare for something bigger...your kin, and mine," you give him a look of urgency. "My mother told me of the Prince who was Promised. The Song of Ice and Fire. The book I've seen sitting on your desk..." he knows what is to happen, every Stark Lord is told and does well to abide by it. Cregan was shocked to know you had knowledge of it, and even more shocked that you would put aside your family and call yourself a traitor all for a prophecy.

"My wife..." he trails, worried that this would grow into something far out of his reach.

"Your oath to the prophecy proceeds that of your oath to my mother. We will not betray her, but we must survive for the whole of the realm," you're holding both his hands now, looking at him desperately. He knows this is true.

"We will survive," he states, agreeing with you. "but I will not be the king."

"You will be my King," your eyes draw closed as you sink to your knees. "I have wed myself to you, now I pledge myself to you, I know no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." His eyes fill with adoration as he looks down at you, soon following suit to kneel with you on the ground.

"Then you will be my Queen," his words ring clear and true as he rests his forehead against yours, drawing you close to him. "come to bed with me, our celebration feast is tomorrow, and you need your rest." He stands and extends his hand to help you up and doesn't let go once you are standing as well. He leads you to the bed letting you get yourself comfortable before laying beside you, your faces mere inches away as you stare into one another's eyes.

"Cregan," you whisper, your eyes flitting down to look at his lips, his mouth was slightly open and he spoke your name back to you, "Please kiss me." he wasted not a second, moving those few inches to connect your lips, he was warm all over, the pure fire that warmed the North, his lips were dry and slightly cracked but they were full and consumed you whole. He pulled away before anything went too far and a giggle left your mouth as you looked at his reddened face. He smiled at you before placing another kiss on your forehead and pulling you close. You both fell asleep fast, holding each other until the sun rose.

The next day was a flurry of commotion to prepare for the feast. The lady from the lunch you'd had with Sara (who you now learned was Lady Umber, wife of Lord Umber) insisted you wore the dress she had sewn for your wedding ceremony, claiming you had to wear it to the feast if the ceremony had already happened. You complied for the dress was stunning, thick and woolen, a real northern dress lined with white furs and embroidered with the direwolf sigil. Foods were rushed into the great hall as garlands were hung on the hearths. One of your ladies was finishing braiding your hair in a northern fashion like you'd insisted when there was a knock at your door.

"My Lord," your lady bowed before finishing the braid and swiftly exiting to leave the two of you alone.

"You look beautiful," Cregan said softly as he made his way over to you, he grabbed a piece of your silver hair between his fingers and twirled it, "I do hope our children take after their mother." he teased, letting go of your hair in favor of taking your hand to place a kiss on your knuckle.

"I hope they take after their father," you tease back, "true little wolves they'd be," he smiled brightly at you, but behind his eyes, there was a darkness, a yearning, one that you knew for certain he had been holding back for weeks.

"Let's be on our way then, the people are waiting for the new Lady of Winterfell," even though the two of you were wed already, it still didn't feel real thinking that you were to be the new Lady of Winterfell. You'd done your best in your mourning of Lucaerys to try and connect with the people, all you could hope is that they would accept you now.

The feast was in full swing when you arrived, shouts and songs echoed in the hall but all grew silent as you and Cregan entered, making your way to the head table. You reached the front and turned to face the people, hand in hand.

"Thank you all for welcoming our new Lady of Winterfell!" Cregan shouted over the masses, and a roar of cheers erupted. "You will do well to remember our new allegiance to the Queen Rheanyra and keep your honor. These past weeks as you've welcomed our new Lady of Winterfell you may know that she has lost a brother to the usurper of the Iron Throne, we will keep in the North for our duties, but if war reaches us, think of the Prince Lucaerys and his sister, the North remembers!" more shouts echo in the halls as tears fill your eyes at the mention of your brother.

"Now, this is a celebration of our marriage, please, celebrate!" the halls resume their shouts and songs as Cregan leads you to your seat beside him, your glasses immediately being filled to the brim with wine. You make eye contact with your husband, giving him a grateful look, a silent thank you. He gives your hand a squeeze in acknowledgment.

As the celebrating continues Lords and Ladies of the surrounding Northern lands flood to your table, gifting you with all sorts of words and treasures–mostly it was the ladies sneakily whispering if you'd been bred proper yet–to which your response was a deep blush before sending them away. You do your best to match the names of those you read about to the faces you saw. Currently speaking to you were the Lord and Lady Mormont of Bear Island, more so the Lord Mormont and Cregan discussing recent wildling attacks further North. You and Lady Mormont faced each other in an awkward silence, Sara beside you at the high table waiting for the conversation to start.

"So... Lady Stark can we hope for some wolf pups soon, maybe even an heir to Winterfell?" of all the things she chose to speak about...

"Oh um...yes, I suppose..." You try to smile along. Sara beside you stifling a laugh

"Surprised you aren't already, those Stark men are something fierce," she continues.

"What are we speaking of now wife?" Lord Mormont chimes in. Oh no. He was a burly man, one of honor and tradition...

"Oh I was just asking the Lady Stark when we should expect a babe," she laughs, linking her arm with her husbands.

"She's not yet?" Mormont sounds exasperated, "You may be my Lord, Stark, but come on lad! You should be fucking her till your seed takes, surely it's been too long now!" your face grows redder than it was already, an uneasy look on your face, this had gone too far. Cregan could see the look on your face and immediately took control.

"That'll be enough, Mormont," his voice went lower in pitch as he reminded Lord Mormont of his place. "I think it's high time we all retired, I will send a raven when I need to speak to you, no sooner will I hear from you." Lord Mormont looked down in shame, put in his rightful place.

"Yes, My Lord, My Lady," a single bow and he and his wife were on their way, the rest of the people in the hall filling out shortly after hearing the altercation. Cregan stood and took your hand again, walking you to your chambers at a fast pace, one you could hardly keep up with. Once in the room, he slammed the door shut before throwing down his cloak and rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

"I'm so sorry, I should've warned you people in the North are very attached to customs–" you cut him off.

"When will you bed me?" you asked, genuinely confused.

"I-I believed you wanted to wait longer..." He trails off, slightly taken aback by your question.

"I'm tired of laying next to you in bed growing more and more desperate each night," you spoke your truth and saw his back straighten, eyes darkening as he walked closer to you, almost stalking you like prey, "I cannot say how many Ladies tonight asked me if you'd put a babe in me yet."

He loomed closer to you, "And what did you tell them..." the hairs on your neck stood at the deepness of his voice.

"I-I didn't say anything," you respond, head hanging down. He lifts your chin to meet his gaze.

"But what did you want to tell them?"

"That you'd fill me every night till a babe took." your voice grew confident, he was giving you the sense that this was something he deeply, deeply, desired.

"Would you like to do that?" his hand cradled your face now, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches in your throat, and thoughts flood your mind about what he would be like, he was a strong man, but he was gentle with you, would he be desperate enough to take you hard?

"Give me a babe, Cregan," it was over. All sense of self-control that he held was now burning in the fire. The hand that was on your face moved to the back of your head, tugging you to meet his lips, he devoured you. It wasn't like the gentle kiss he gave you last night, it was depraved, his tongue wrapped around yours, teeth clashing together with an uncontrolled hunger. His mouth began to move down your neck and you felt him nip at you, soothing over the spot with his tongue. He began to walk backward towards the bed, still holding your body close. Your hands grew restless, grabbing onto him anywhere that you could, you soon found them tangled in his hair, tugging slightly.

His hands were roaming your body now, he was restraining himself from ripping your dress right off of you, but he knew it would make you sad, what a pretty dress. He moved his hands back, beginning to undo the buckles on his doublet, you broke away from his kiss for a moment and leaned down to remove your boots. It was all a flurry of motion as the two of you hastily began to undress yourselves, at this point, he was left in only his trousers and you in your shift and corset. You made eye contact for a moment the both of you smiling giddily. He raised his hands and started on the laces on the back of your corset, his arms were wrapped around you, your face staring straight at his chest where you grew bold and started to press kisses across the expanse. The corset–now loosened–fell from your body, Cregan could see the hardness of your nipples through the thin slip dress and proceeded to cup your breasts in his hands, tweaking the hardened peaks through the fabric. Slowly–so slowly you hadn't even noticed at first–he sank to his knees in front of you, when he reached the ground his hands started running up and down your legs caressing you while moving the shift upwards. He took one hand and placed it on the center of your belly, pushing, and in one motion you lay back on the bed, your husband still on his knees in front of you. he continued to move the dress up until it hung around your waist, you sat up on your elbows and looked down at him nervously, your center now fully exposed to him.

"Do not worry, sweet wife, I want to make you feel good," you nodded at him as he drew closer to you, his hands slowly dragging up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing the insides gently, growing closer and closer to your heat. He spread your legs further apart, looking at you once more before taking a finger and running it through your slick. You moaned out a curse and fell back onto the bed, the furs around you enveloping you in warmth. Cregan carries on running his fingers through your sex, they would barely dip inside of you before he moved them back up to circle your clit, causing a teasing repetition.

"Please, Cregan, I need more," you beg.

"More? You really have been needy," he teases, his other hand moving underneath you to squeeze your behind, "Alright, then, whatever my wife wants, she shall get." You were waiting for him to move, to get up and remove his trousers so he could fuck you. But no, his warm mouth licked a stripe up your slit and followed the same motions his fingers did, never staying in one place long enough. You cried out again, moving your hands down to tangle in his hair again. He teased you a little longer before his mouth kept place on your pulsing bud, alternating between sucking and licking at you. It was heavenly, you'd never been touched like this by a man, he was pouring all his adoration into you. And as good as it did feel, you still needed more, you felt nothing would satiate you until you were dripping with his seed.

"I-I want you to fuck me now," you barely breathe out between heavy breaths, he moves his head away from your core after pressing one last kiss to your clit. A smirk grew on his face, loving the way you were practically begging for his cock. He moved agonizingly slow, standing to his feet and staring down at where you lay on the bed. He refused to move his gaze away from you as he began untying the strings on his trousers, "please..." you breathe out in a breath of desperation. His trousers fell to the ground and you move your eyes to his center where his cock hung heavy, tip red and leaking, aching for your wetness to swallow him whole.

"You want me to fill you up now?" you nodded eagerly, itching to feel his body on top of you. He lifts you by the waist pushing your body up the bed like you weigh nothing, he removes your shift entirely now, pulling it swiftly over your head. "Tell me if you need to stop, alright? His tone shifted into seriousness. You breathe a yes in response. His body moves to hover over you and his head dips down to press gentle kisses against your chest, trailing down to lick at your nipples. You feel one of his hands reach between your bodies before the blunt head of his member runs through your slick. You grab onto his upper arms, steadying yourself as you prepare for him to push into you, he goes torturously slow and you grip onto him harder, a silent way of begging him to take you already. The stretch hurts a bit, not as bad as everyone had told you but the wetness surely helped dull some of the pain. He groans as he seats himself in you fully, not moving, you rock your hips into him trying to create some friction.

"Cregan, please, it feels so good, just take me already!" he lets out a breathless laugh at your restlessness, his mouth open and panting. He pulls out in one motion before thrusting into you again. And again. And again. This is what you had wanted, for this fierce warrior to lose himself in you fulfilling a yearning desire to fill you up completely. Your moans ring against the walls and you do your best to hold yourself together before you utterly fall apart. The bed creaks as he rocks into you, his pace growing quicker and quicker.

"Fuck!" Cregan grunts out through clenched teeth. The sight above you is heavenly, strands of his dark hair frame his face, some sticking slightly where a sweat begins to sheen on his brow. His jaw was tight, and his body was stiff, a deep concentration in his features. Then, in one sudden movement, he pulls himself out of you to flip you onto your front, yanking your hips up before plunging deep inside you again. The pleasure from this angle was insurmountable, the head of his cock hit the back of your tight walls repeatedly, fucking straight into your womb. You prayed for a brief moment, begging whatever gods were listening that his seed would take and you would soon have pups to take care of. His hands gripped your hips tight, surely there would be bruises tomorrow and surely he would feel horrible about it, but you cared not. The rawness of his passion would remain on your body. A subtle heat grew in your belly and it became warmer and warmer.

"Cregan, I-I think something is happening," you mutter from where your face was squished into the furs on the bed. He groaned out another curse before speaking again.

"Let go, let go for me," his voice still strained in pleasure, "I'm gonna fill you up now, and every. Single. Night. Until it takes," his thrusts annunciating his speech. The coil in your belly grew tighter until it finally snapped and you moaned out blissfully. His thrusts didn't stop and you grew more and more sensitive, but he did not last much longer after you, cursing out one final time before emptying himself right against your cervix.

When he pulled out of you, you could feel his expense steadily beginning to drip out of you, but his fingers soon found your center again, scooping it up before pushing it back inside of you. And if that wasn't the most arousing thing ever...

"Can't have you wasting any of that, can we?" he wipes his fingers off on the bed and climbs in under the furs, beckoning you to come lay with him. You crawl to him and fall into him unceremoniously. His arms pull you in close and hold you tight and his lips fall down to press a kiss to the top of your head. There was a smile on your face, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to stop smiling. You shift your head and turn to look him in the eye, only to find he is already looking at you, his own smile shining down at you.

"Even after a babe takes..." you begin and his eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the chambers, "can we still do that?" his smile grows wider and he huffs out a small laugh.

"Of course! I don't know if I would be able to keep myself off of you knowing that you are carrying our child, you'll be the most beautiful mother." he lifts a hand to stroke your hair, the same way he's done the nights you've shared the past few weeks.

"Well, then I hope we'll have a little prince or princess on the way soon," his brow furrows in confusion at the titles and he asks a silent question with his eyes, "You are a king after all! Our babes will be royalty."

"I've told you, I'm no king," his eyes held back a sadness.

"As I have told you, dear husband, you are my king," it was your turn to hold his face in your hands, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against your palms, "I will know no other." he leaned down to press his forehead against yours and you sat together in the quiet of the night, with only the company of each other until you fell asleep. A sleep where you dreamed of a family with him, boys running through the godswood being chased playfully by their father, a young girl sitting upon your lap as you flew your dragon over the forests of the vast Northlands. The lands where your husband would be your king.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods VI

series masterlist - part five

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: Your relationship with the Emperors develops further and you are forced to trust them.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, dub-con, mentions of past domestic violence, toxic/unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, possessive behavior, unedited

Word Count: 3.1k

It was not until the doors closed behind you that you fully understood the gravity of the situation. Caracalla stood in the centre of the main room, chest heaving, fists clenched. Streaks of blood still decorated his hands and lower arms.

It was like that first night in some ways. Only Caracalla had been mostly afraid that night; now, he was angry.

"Emperor," you tried, "shall I go fetch Dondus-"

"No!" he cried, throwing his arms out. They collided with a vase and it shattered onto the marble floor. You stifled a whimper and straightened your spine. Another glass followed in quick succession and you could only watch as he became a whirlwind of flying ornaments and red hair.

"Even Dondus cannot help me," he bemoaned, finally sinking to the floor amongst the porcelain. "No against the liars and traitors that have infiltrated this hellish place. They would see me killed."

He was speaking so rapidly that spittle was flying from his red lips. He raked a hand through his curls and dragged it down his face, smearing a mixture of blood and tears.

You did not feel fully confident in your own words. Not when he was so worked up. Thinking quickly, you opened the door again and requested a warm bowl of water, some ointment and a cloth.

You flinched at the ferocity in Caracalla's eyes when you turned back around, bowl in hand. The room was dark, lit only by flickering candlelight in the section you were currently in. He looked tortured, furious, but you swallowed down your apprehension and cautiously approached him.

"Were you going to leave just then?" he said, unblinking.

You set the bowl on a table. "Of course not. I wanted to get some things so I could attend to you, Caracalla."

It had been a gamble using his name, despite the fact that he was the one who had told you to. Fortunately it had the desired effect and his shoulders slumped a little, his eyes flickering.

"You're standing on porcelain," you held out your hands, "come, I do not wish to see your injured."

He grasped your hands with a surprisingly strong grip and allowed himself to be pulled from the mess. You went to turn around and ask the guards to send someone to clean it but he held you tight and shook his head, lip curling.

"Alright," you agreed, "but we must be careful. Where are the matches?"

Caracalla held still as you ventured deeper into his chambers. Like Geta's, they were larger than anything you could have even imagined. It took several moments to get the place fully lit.

Caracalla's rooms were a sad reflection of his own mind. Books spilled across the floor, bedding that had clearly been made and then torn up. His desk was cluttered with papers and ink spills. There were many, many candles. Most of them had been entirely burned down. You wondered how many nights he had spent here, alone, working himself into a frenzy.

Once you were ready, you went back to him and collected your supplies. He followed you without you having to say anything. You lead him to the bed and gestured for him to sit down, pulling over a small chair and balancing the steaming bowl on top of it.

"Do you mind if I check your feet?" you asked.

Caracalla shook his head. You unlaced his sandals and peered at the bottom of his feet. Apart from a few scratches on the side, he was uninjured.

You dipped your cloth into the water and pressed it onto the scratches to make sure they weren't more serious than they appeared. Afterwards you dabbed them with ointment to speed up the healing process.

What kind of treatment would the concubine Caracalla had set upon receive? If you did not continuously remind yourself of the people who were hurt as a result of the emperors you feared you would feel too much sympathy for them. Already you felt more than expected.

"Can I see your hands?"

Obediently he held them out. Dabbing the cloth into the water, you began the slow process of cleaning up his hands. The blood was mostly not his own but there was a rather deep cut on his pointer finger.

The water became murky as you cleaned him, knees pressed into the floor at his feet. The blood turned dark in the water and you could smell iron. You did not pause in your work.

When you were done, Caracalla leaned forward, breath dusting across your cheeks. When he was so close you could see the scars on his cheeks, white makeup hastily applied over them. There were streaks in the makeup from his tears. It was difficult not to see him for the human he was when he was up close.

"And you? Are you hurt?" he questioned.

"I am fine," you tried to smile, sensing a change in the air.

When you got to your feet, Caracalla's hands shot out to grasp your waist. They were hot through the fabric of your stola and you stilled.

"I think," he breathed heavily, "that I should check."

His eyes turned dark with desire and you swayed under the intensity of it. The mood had changed so fast that your head was spinning atop your shoulders.

Your skin prickled with gooseflesh as Caracalla's thumbs swiped across the fabric at your waist. He was unashamed; eyes roaming your face and jumping lower and lower with every second. Your own hands were resting on his forearms as though you might dare to stop him.

"Is that a command?" you asked.

Caracalla smiled, gold tooth winking in the light. "I do not think I have to command you."

Shame coursed through you. You should have felt disgust or reluctance. Instead you were overwhelmed by the ball of want that was tightening your stomach.

You were a woman with needs, desires. The attractiveness of the emperors had never been up for debate. Any interest had been previously squashed by horror but that was not the primary emotion you felt when you looked at Caracalla.

You had been around them so often that you guard had lowered without your permission. Perhaps you were a traitor - not to Caracalla, but to yourself.

"I thought I dreamed you," Caracalla continued, hands rising, "and I thought I was dreaming still when I saw the way you looked at me."

"With kindness? With care?" you tried.

"Those things too," he admitted, "but more. What was it you said before? I think I do not have to take. I think you want to give."

It was not true. You tried to take a step back but Caracalla followed you, backing you against the wall. His eyes were greedily drinking in every expression you made, fixated on your face.

"It's okay," he soothed, nosing at your jawline. "I'll take care of you, too."

His hand secured itself at the back of your neck and you sucked in a breath. Caracalla looked at you one last time before closing the distance and kissing you.

His lips were rough from where he'd bitten them. The pressure varied from intense to lighter, searching for your reciprocation. You could not help it. Your instinct and had always been to calm him and you felt yourself lean in, opening your mouth so he could explore.

His hands were working steadily at your stola, yanking the shoulders down until they tore and exposed your breasts. At that he leant back, taking in the sight of you.

"I have thought of this a thousand times," he muttered, shaky hands coming up to cup your chest and urge a gasp from your lips.

Caracalla leaned down and you watched as his mouth closed around the tip of your breast. You tried to turn your head and bring your palm up to cover your mouth but he yanked your hand away and directed it to his head.

His curls were soft beneath your fingers and you could not help but squeeze. The sensation drove a moan from Caracalla and his teeth grazed your nipple, creating the pain you had always expected to experience with him. His hands travelled from your back to your ass, urging you to hike your leg higher around his hips.

In that position his desire was unavoidable. You could feel the hard line of him pressing against you through your clothes and your knees almost buckled. Caracalla used his body to pin you against the wall. You felt like a pinned butterfly, almost entirely on display.

Whatever spell you were under broke when you registered the sound of the door opening and closing. You writhed away from Caracalla, snatching your stola from where it had pooled at your waist and pulling it up to your neck.

Caracalla was torn between hurt and sexual frustration. He palmed at his erection through his clothes and frowned, holding out his hand as though you were going to run right back to him.

Geta appeared and you wanted to melt from shame. Your hands twisted in your clothes at the speechless expression on his face. You could only imagine what he thought he was going to walk in to after he had seen all the broken glass and factored in Caracalla's rage at the gathering. It would not have been the first time a slave or servant had died at the hands of the emperors.

"You always ruin things," Caracalla sneered, shoving half heartedly at his brother.

Geta still said nothing, his eyes darting from his brother to you. Last night he had been so sure that you had tried to escape, only to find you in the arms of his brother. It was likely you appeared as confused as you felt.

Caracalla called your name and tried again, "Come back to me."

"I-I-," you attempted to speak but your throat was crushed under the weight of your embarrassment.

Without thinking, you slipped past them both and ran for the doors. You must have caught them by surprise because you managed to escape, the soles of your feet stinging from the glass you'd ran through. The sandals had not protected you the way they had Caracalla but you did not stop.

If the Praetorians were surprised at your state of undress and obvious distress, they did not say. You heard raised voices behind you but continued to run. Hot tears of humiliation lapped at your cheeks and you could not wipe them away. Your hands were the only thing holding up your clothing.

There was little point to running. You had nowhere to go. The only place that even felt remotely safe was your little room. You slowed down as you approached, finally lifting your torn stola to swipe at the tears as you began to calm down. You just needed a moment to yourself, a moment to think. The only person you could rely upon was yourself but you were becoming unpredictable.

Your steps faltered. The door to your room was hanging open, swaying lightly in some phantom wind. A big section of the wood had been broken away as though someone had been trying to get inside.

Had successfully gotten inside, you corrected yourself. You stood in the doorway to your room, jaw hanging open. Considering you had almost nothing to your name, whoever had broken in had done a great job of turning the place upside down.

A blanket of silence had enveloped the place. You felt as though the gods were holding their breath, anticipating your reaction.

The bedside table was smashed. Sections of the wooden bed frame had also been torn at and your clothing had been ripped to shreds so thin that it took you a second to recognize them. Straw had been pulled from the mattress and decorated almost every inch of the floor.

There was an unfamiliar scent in the air; the scent of the intruder. Your nose wrinkled and your stomach roiled. You felt violated.

It took you a moment to spot your carving amongst the straw. You gasped, bending down to pick it up.

"No, no, no," you cries became increasingly louder. "No!"

The piece you had picked up was only a part of the carving. The wolf's head was cracked in your hand and as you scanned the floor you realized you were probably lucky to have even found this piece.

What was happening? You could not comprehend what would provoke someone to do this. A memory arose of a similar scene; you, your mother. Your father yelling as he destroyed your small home in a similar fashion. The wolf had survived then. Not this time.

It took you a moment to register the voices behind you.

"What is this?" Geta's eyes scanned the room. "Did you do this?"

"No," you said, numb. You twisted the broken head in your fingers, splinters embedding themselves in your skin.

Geta strode over to you and peered over your shoulder. When he saw what you were holding he swore. You heard him fumbling about behind you and jolted when he reappeared holding a scrap of your clothing.

"Give that to me," he ordered. He used the clothing to safely wrap the remainder of your childhood and then pressed it back into your hand. "Praetorians!"

Caracalla had followed closely behind his brother and seemed equally as stunned at the state of your room. He stepped carefully around chunks of wood until he was able to slide his hands into your armpits and hoist you to your feet.

"Stay close," he warned, eerily lucid.

"What?" you stammered. "I - I do not understand. Why would someone - "

"The why is irrelevant!" Geta yelled. He was talking to a group of Praetorians just outside your room. "The how is crucial. How did someone manage to come this close to the quarters of the emperors, destroy a room, and slip out unnoticed?"

You thought of your own brief exploration of the gardens the night before. It had been hardly ten minutes before Geta had appeared. You had thought it was perhaps easier to sneak out than in - now you thought differently.

"Brother, take her to your rooms." Geta commanded. "Follow them closely!"

You were too shaken to argue and Caracalla's grip on you was iron tight. Your hands trembled at your neck where they were still holding up your stola, broken wolf pressed between your palms. Six Praetorians accompanied you the short distance back to Caracalla's rooms and you could hear Geta screaming the entire time.

"I do not care if you have to interrogate every single person in this palace, I want the culprit found by morning!"

You shivered. You would not want to be on the receiving end of that. You waited for the pity to rise at the thought of someone being tortured for what they had done to your room. Then you felt the broken shards of wood pressing into your palm and they helped you swallow any empathy you might have felt.

The walk to Caracalla's room felt like a mere blink. Lights flickered on all around the palace as everyone was awoken by Geta's yelling. You wondered what your friends down in the kitchen would think of it all.

Caracalla helped you into his bed and you went without protest. He had stripped you down to nothing and for a moment you thought he might try to start up what you were doing earlier. Instead he wrapped you in white linen, tucking it tightly around you. He did not try to take your wolf.

Once he was dressed in a similar fashion, he slid right in beside you. The bed was jarringly comfortable. You used the pillows to prop yourself up and did not move away when Caracalla pressed himself tightly to your side.

The pair of you sat in silence for several minutes as you attempted to process what had happened in the last few hours.

"I don’t understand," you finally said. "Why would someone do that?"

"To hurt you," he answered, tracing patterns on your bare arms. "Perhaps they would have done worse if they had come across you."

You did not miss the pointed tone in his voice. It had been foolish to flee his rooms the way you had. And what if he had not dragged you from the entertainment hall earlier? What if you had been in your room when the culprit had gone there?

For once you felt as though you understood Caracalla's paranoia. How could you get over someone wanting to cause you harm? And, even worse, you would have to walk around without knowing who it was. They could attack you at any moment.

As if reading your thoughts, Caracalla said, "Do not worry. We shall catch the vermin and have them hung."

The words had no effect on you. Partially because you did not see how they would be able to catch the person who did this. Partially because the idea of having them hung appealed to you in ways that should have made you sick but did not.

Kill or be killed, you thought.

Geta entered Caracalla's rooms almost an hour later. Both of you were still awake.

"What happened?" you asked, desperate for information.

Geta paused at the foot of Caracalla's bed, eyeing the pair of you with a funny look on his face. He smoothed it out before replying, "The Praetorians are combing over the place as we speak. I have ten stationed outside the door right now."

You slumped. Whoever had done it had yet to be uncovered.

"They will be found," Geta spat. "That was not the first incident we have had to deal with here and it shall serve as a lesson to others."

Something about the way he spoke made you look at him closely. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were watery. The fact that you had been in danger tonight meant that they also had been in danger. Geta was furious but you could see the underlying stress.

"Are you staying here as well?" the question slipped out before you could think about it.

Geta's lips trembled. "It would be safest. For you."

Wordless, you peeled back the covers on your left side. The most dangerous people in your world were somehow the ones currently making you feel safest. It evoked emotions that you did not care to think about; you were too exhausted and angry to see beyond the present moment.

Caracalla wrapped himself around you as though he thought you might try to escape. Geta joined the pair of you in bed after he had put out all the candles, leaving only the moon to illuminate the bed and surrounding furniture.

You pushed the remains of your wolf under the pillow, let your eyes close and tried not to think too hard about the possessive hand Geta placed on your stomach.

Author’s Note - Reader's world is growing smaller. Please, please let me know what you think! Asks, comments, likes and reblogs are hugely motivating and rewarding for me🥹

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[mggslover]

i love your firsts idea and i wanted to know if you could write something with experienced reader/unexperienced spencer where he is like an ass guy cause i always see him being a boobs guy in fics so id like to read something like this, maybe abt how he gets worked up looking at readers ass or some other scenario, totally up to you! love your fics 🩵

spencer seeing you in leggings genre: smut 18+ content warnings: perv!spence having dirty thoughts, dialogue from s9e18 but no spoilers word count: 1,3k a/n: i love your prompt!! i wasn't sure if you wanted reader and spencer to actually do something, so i hope i've found a good balance

“8.49,” Penelope groaned, wiping her forehead after running her third lap in a row. “Good God, that’s not even close.”

Spencer’s breath came in sharp bursts, his hands gripping his knees as he leaned forward. “You think they’ll really terminate us if we can’t run fast enough?” 

“Probably something worse,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “They’ll probably make us take another fit test.” 

Spencer grimaced at the thought. “I’d rather be terminated.” 

Penelope snorted. “I just hope the PT instructors aren’t jerks. Those jock guys are always jerks.”

“Yeah, total jerks,” he agreed with a nod, but then his attention drifted away as he caught sight of two figures in the distance. “That’s probably them right now.” 

Penelope squinted, following his line in sight. “Oh, look,” Penelope hissed, whipping her head back to Spencer. “He’s totally walking like a jerk. And ugh, look at her! That figure… that is just unfair.”

Spencer blinked rapidly as he could recognize your confident, hypnotic stride from miles away. “Wait a minute.” 

“Oh my god, it’s them.” Penelope gasped, confirming Spencer’s suspicion as you and Derek made your way over to them.

“Why are you two here?” Penelope asked, trying to piece together what was going on. 

“It looks like we’re your new PT instructors,” Derek responded, flashing an amused grin. 

The second you came into view, Penelope’s complaints faded into the background, muffled to his ears. Spencer always thought you looked pretty. He admired how professional you looked, even in the field, but today was the first time he saw you outside the office. The training jacket you wore ended just above your hips, the fabric pulling snugly against your torso. His eyes traced the curve of your waist until they landed on your hips. The lavender color of your skin-tight leggings clung softly to your thighs, and Spencer had to fight back a moan at the sight. Penelope was right. Your figure was, indeed, unfair.

"Kid, where's your mind at?"

Spencer's head snapped up at Derek’s question, clearing his throat as he scrambled for an excuse. He could still feel the heat in his cheeks from the way he’d been staring at you.

Derek waved him off with an exasperated shake of his head. "Alright, from now on, I want you two to focus," he commanded in a no-nonsense tone, pointing at Spencer and Penelope.

“Shall we start with stair climbing?” Your voice rang out and Derek nodded in agreement. 

“Let’s do that. Follow us,” Derek said, gesturing toward the stone stairs in the distance. 

You turned to follow Morgan, and the movement knocked the breath right out of Spencer’s lungs. He choked on his inhale, his gaze drawn to the way the fabric of your leggings clung to the plumpness of your cheeks. The tight material left little to the imagination, every contour visible, accentuating the soft swell of your ass with every step. Spencer’s heart hammered in his chest, racing faster than it had during those grueling laps around the field. 

Spencer’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he fought the heat beginning to pool low in his stomach. He couldn’t help the way his body was reacting to you, and the effort to control it only made things worse.

The exercise was simple—walking up the first few steps of the stairs and back down again. You called it a warm-up, unaware that every step you took made it harder for Spencer to keep his focus. Just the sight of you moving, the sway of your hips as the leggings stretched over your thighs, was enough to drive him crazy. 

"This is torture," he muttered under his breath.

"I know, right? I can’t believe they’re making us do this." Penelope replied, completely oblivious to the source of his frustration. 

———

A wave of relief washed over Spencer as he finally finished the exercise. His legs were burning, and he knew he’d be feeling it for the rest of the week. But at least it was over.

"Good job, Spence," you said, flashing him a bright smile as you gave his chest a quick pat. "And cute outfit," you added with a teasing tone, a compliment that made his heart skip.

"Oh, I—uh, thanks," he stammered, patting his red hoodie as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

"We're doing squats next. Derek's with Penelope. Want me to help you with your form?" 

"Sure," he squeaked, his voice betraying his nerves.

You positioned yourself in front of him, glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was paying attention. And, obviously, he was—his gaze fixed on you almost too intently.

"Okay, the most important thing is to keep your back straight," you instructed, your voice calm and focused as you lowered your hips, sliding down until your thighs were parallel to the ground.

Spencer stood right behind you, so close that he could feel the heat radiating off your body. His shorts were growing uncomfortably tight from the proximity. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to pull you in by your waist, holding you flush against him.

"See how I'm doing it?" You asked innocently.

"Mhm. Looks good," he breathed out, his eyes lingering on you as he licked his lips.

He could picture it vividly—how perfectly his length would fit between your cheeks. How he would make you repeat that same motion against him until his dick would stand tall in response, throbbing with need. He imagined how easy it would be to slide your leggings down to your knees, leaving you exposed. Were you even wearing anything underneath?

The thought sent a surge of heat through him. He wondered if your closeness was affecting you in the same way. Wondered if he would find you wet, your pussy glistening with anticipation. Would you like him to softly trace your puffy lips with his finger? Or would you want him to waste no time, grabbing you by your thighs as he would enter you? 

He asked himself if you were the type to let him take control, or if you’d bend over, pushing your own hips back against his, matching the deep rhythm of his thrusts. The thought of filling you, of hearing your gasps mix his moans, was clouding his mind. 

Spencer hadn’t realized just how much his thoughts had turned him on, until your voice broke through his haze. 

“Okay, your turn.”

He looked down, seeing how his dick had twitched up to the point where it was almost peeking out of his boxers. Shit. He made quick work of his hands, adjusting himself before you turned around.

“I—I’m so sorry. I need to go,” Spencer stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush before he turned and fled, leaving you without an explanation.

———

“Oh, come on man!” Derek groaned in disappointment as he spotted Spencer slumped on the grass at the far side of the field.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbled.

“Just one more round. You’ve got this,” Derek encouraged.

“I can’t.”

“You’re capable of more than you think.”

“Derek, I swear… I literally can’t get up.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, and with a defeated sigh, Spencer pointed awkwardly toward his shorts.

“Oh shit,” Derek responded as the realization dawned upon him. 

“Is it because of…?” He pointed to the direction where you were standing and Spencer just nodded.

“Damn,” Derek muttered. “Well, okay, just take a break. Have some water. Relax those muscles.” He winced, immediately regretting his choice of words. 

Spencer nervously looked up at him. “Will you tell her?

Derek shook his head. “Nah. As long as you don’t tell Penelope this whole fit test thing is just a formality and that I could’ve got the whole thing waived.”

[valyrielwrites]

As You Are

Part 2/? (full fic available on Ao3)

Relationship: Aemond Targaryen / AFAB Reader Word Count: 2308 Summary: Set one month after the wedding, you and your husband Prince Aemond come to terms with the growing love that blooms within the bright flame of desire. Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes, Oral, Sex

Author Note: This is a follow up to what was originally a oneshot that I posted back in 2023, which can be found here (Part 1). However, this can also be read as a stand alone ✨ enjoy!

You woke to the sound of chirping birds, squinting as your bleary eyes adjusted to the warm morning light that filtered through the half-opened curtains. Last night's sheets were still wrapped around your tender body as you rolled over to find your husband's side of the bed, empty and unmade.

Prince Aemond sat a short distance away, his unbound silver hair tucked behind his ear as he remained perched in an armchair by the open window, a leather-bound book in hand.

It had only been a month since the wedding, and although you had your own personal quarters, you still spent most of your mornings like that - warming your husband's bed, reluctant to part from him unless necessary, relishing the comfort that his company brought you.

"Come back to bed..." you hummed, your throat hoarse and heavy from your slumber.

He looked up at the sound of your voice, the sapphire in his eye refracting ever so slightly in the light, "I couldn't sleep."

"We do not have to sleep," you said.

A small smile broke the focus on his face as you carelessly sat up, allowing the silk sheets to slip and expose your bare breast in an open invitation.

"You're incorrigible," he sighed and raised a brow, yet put his book down all the same.

You gave him a wicked smile, "Am I?"

Aemond stood and walked slowly toward the bed, his hand ghosting the knot at his waist that barely held his robe together, those long fingers sliding carefully in but pausing just short of unfastening the loop.

"Here I am, enjoying a perfectly good book, and yet you are determined to drive me to distraction..." he stopped at the foot of the bed and looked down at you with a warm smile that betrayed his scolding tone.

You playfully kicked out your leg, stroking along the length of his thigh with your foot as you pouted, "I am terribly sorry, my prince."

"My wife ought to know her place," he teased, a considering look in his eye as he trailed his fingers along the curve of your calf. "Hmm, I dread to know what others at court might say about your behaviour."

"Well, 'tis hard to know my place when my husband so cruelly abandons me come dawn..."

"Abandons?" he scoffed. "You would accuse me of being so heartless? When I simply wished not to disturb your slumber?"

You squealed in delight when he grasped your ankle to drag you slowly across the mattress, your back slipping against the silk sheets with ease as you offered no resistance. Your body ached for him, something dark and consuming pooled in the pit of your stomach as he set you down against the edge of the bed beneath his towering figure.

"Ah - I humbly beg my Lord husband's forgiveness for any offence caused," you giggled unapologetically, sitting up and shaking your tousled hair out of your face to better see his mock disapproval.

Aemond's hand caressed your jaw, carefully lifting your gaze to meet him as he stroked his thumb along your bottom lip, "How shall you make it up to me?"

"I have a few ideas," your voice was low, desperate with wanting.

Aemond took a sharp breath as you pulled apart the knot that keeps his robe together, his hardening cock suddenly freed from the fabric as you took him in your hand and stroked slowly from the head to the base. You wet your lips and leant forward to press a delicate kiss against the shaft, your grip tightening just ever so slightly as his fingers entangled themselves amidst your hair.

He smirked, "Enlighten me?"

Aemond twitched when you gazed up at him, desire blazing through your eyes as you carefully flit your tongue along the pre-cum that gathered at the tip, watching eagerly when his lips parted and a small gasp caught in his throat.

You took your time, slowly but surely wrapping your lips around him as you lowered your mouth onto his considerable length, relaxing your jaw to take him as far as you could before the urge to breathe again had a chance to spoil your fun.

"Fuck -" Aemond plead, his hand stroking the crown of your head as he guided you.

You let out a hum of satisfaction while you swirled your tongue around his cock, bobbing your head, and watching the way that your husband's head rolled forward with a low groan. Aemond grunted and held you in place when you swallowed, a feverish heat prickling up his spine when you groaned around his cock and pushed yourself as far as you can go before your breath escapes you.  

He drank in the sight of you, your body flush with desire, with the insatiable hunger that had alighted between you. It took everything he had not to buck his hips, to chase the pleasure that you coaxed from him, to allow you the power to unravel him so perfectly.

You withdrew with a gasp for air, your lungs desperate for relief, the laughter shaky in your throat as Aemond quickly leant down to steal a kiss.

"Am I forgiven?" you moaned softly into his mouth, his tongue hot as it caressed your own.

"Not yet," he whispered, his teeth grazing your lower lip. "But if this is the kind of apology I can expect to receive, perhaps we should bicker more often?"

"Only if you extend the same courtesy to me," you replied.

"Hmm... " he grinned. "It would be my pleasure."

You felt his hand cup the swell of your breast, his touch was warm against the cool morning air as his thumb traced circles around your nipple, his kiss softening as he lowered himself to kneel on the edge of the mattress.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes half-lidded, your forehead resting against his own. Aemond allowed you a moment to catch your breath, for you to weave your fingers through his silver hair and graze the nape of his neck, before he slowly shifted and pulled you into his lap. His hands stroked along the outline of your body, charting every bend and curve in his endless endeavour to know you as no other man could.

He brought his lips to yours again, his voice low as his hand wandered to the apex of your thighs, "Here?"

"Aemond -" you let out a ragged breath, a wordless plea for more as his forefinger began to run slow clumsy strokes against your clit.

"You're already so wet for me," he hissed as you deepened the kiss, his finger slipping inside with ease. "I could take you right now," he withdrew to the knuckle and slowly pushed back in with a second digit. "Is that what you want?"

You whimpered as his thumb stopped at the bud, pressing firm as his fingers thrust in and out with agonising precision, pleasure pooling in your belly as you rocked your hips forward. His lips found the crook of your neck as your head rolled back, playfully nipping the sensitive skin as you reached for his cock and found it harder than ever before.

Aemond groaned, the pace of his fingers quickening as you stroked him, overcome by an aching need to bury himself inside you. Acting entirely on impulse, before he even realised what he was doing, he removed his fingers and brushed your hand aside to move you so that your body was finally flush against his.

"I need you in me," you begged him as he angled his cock beneath you, the tip brushing perfectly against your swollen clit on its way to your entrance. "Seven hells, Aemond... Fuck -"

You locked eyes as he raised his hips, and the length of him finally pushed in, his gaze intent and unwavering as he sheathed himself as deep as he could go. He stared and stared at you, holding your head in place so that you couldn't look away, and a deep and unspeakable sense of belonging closed the space around you until you were all that was left in his world.

You let out a restrained groan at the way that your body tightened around him, at how full he had made you. Your hands gripped the strong muscles around his shoulders, pulling him into an eager embrace, as if clinging to him could ground you somewhat - to remind you of who you were when the rest of your senses escaped you.

Aemond closed his eye and buried his face into your neck as his hands rested at your lower back, his cock twitching inside of you as he breathed in your scent, for a moment unsure how to tell where he ended and you began. All that he knew, all that he could be... You were his, and he was yours, joined body and soul to become two parts of a greater whole.

You rolled your hips forward as naturally as breathing, a pulse of relief flooding your veins as your body relaxed into him with a gratified shudder. You felt Aemond's mouth on your neck, trailing kisses up and alongside your jaw, his breath hot and heady as you leant back far enough for his lips to find your own again, muffling the sounds that you made.

He matched your movement, rocking his hips in time with your own as the pace gathered a sense of urgency, a longing call for release that heightened with every thrust. Aemond could feel how close you already were, the way your muscles tensed, how frantic your moans had become, as you locked your legs around his waist to try to gain some leverage and drive him deeper.

"-Not yet," he gasped, his voice commanding and raw, as he suddenly lifted you again and shuffled up the bed, tossing you onto your back against the pillows.

You whined at the unforeseen pause, watching the way his cock glistened with your arousal as he adjusted his position, yearning for him to be inside you again before you could realise how empty it feels when he is not.

"Put it back in," you pleaded. "Please... Oh gods, I love how you feel when you're inside me."  

Aemond knelt upright, pulling your legs up over his shoulders as he brought the head of his cock back home again.

"You love it, hmm?" he asked as he leant forward and bore his weight with both arms.

"Yes-" you tilted your hips up, chasing that connection, brow furrowed in frustration as you only got as far as the tip.

Aemond let out a huff of laughter, his head dipping even closer as he brought his forehead to rest against yours, "... Do you love me?"

You swallowed, stopping as you finally met his gaze again and felt the weight of the air between you, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. You already knew the answer, and he did too, but neither of you had breathed truth into those words yet.

It was strange how something so simple could mean so much, how the dull flame of desire could burn into the brightest love you had ever known.

You reached up to tuck a silver strand behind his ear, your fingers tenderly stroking his cheek as a sweet smile breaks across your face and said, "always, Aemond."

"Ñuha jorrāeliarzy..." his eye closed as relief washed over him.

"Is that Valyrian?"

"Mmm," he hummed in confirmation. "It means 'my beloved'."

He didn't give you the chance to reply, his lips were already on yours again, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he finally pushed his cock back into your heat. You cried out in ecstasy when he hit you at exactly the right angle, your walls tightening around him as he relentlessly drove into you.

Your back arched off the bed as he pulled himself upright again, his arm pinning your legs in place as he fucked you hard and deep, the sound of nothing but your grateful moans and skin against skin to keep his tempo.

A few thrusts more, and you were approaching the precipice, pleasure sparking through your core as you writhed beneath him. He let out a strangled groan when he felt you tense around his cock, the sight of you so thoroughly undone bringing him closer to the edge, too. He looked down at himself, at the way you took him so perfectly in, at how you trembled as your orgasm peaked, and he couldn't stop himself from falling with you.

You shuddered as you felt him empty himself inside, relishing the immense heat of him when he buried himself to the hilt, a feverish look in his eye as his hips gradually stilled. Your legs slipped from his shoulders as he slumped forward to kiss you, a languid and sweet relief as you brought your bodies flush again.

"When does it end? This want that I have for you," he murmured against your lips, his thumb slowly stroking the outline of your cheek. "I can scarcely remember what I was doing before you distracted me."

"I don't recall either, my love," you whispered.

Aemond releases a content sigh as he unsheathed himself and rolled onto his side, reaching for a nearby towel so that he had something to clean the mess that he had made. He let out a soft laugh and pressed a kiss against your breast as he wiped between your thighs.

You settled back under the covers together, cradled in his arms as if the world outside the room no longer existed, as if there was nothing else worth getting up for. You knew that you couldn't stay like that forever, and that eventually duty would call him away - but for now, you were both exactly where you belonged.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 20

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (cunnilingus), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: shout out to mah girl @m-riaa who requested for sexy times. Yeah so if you like it say thx n if you don't LMAO | crossposted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

"Darling, don't eat that," you grab the wooden dragon the small boy was nibbling on and offer him a spoonful of cooled porridge. The boy stares at the spoon before opening his mouth. His sister beside him opens her mouth upon seeing this. You smile at her and feed her some porridge after.

After a few bites, they both go back to playing, quickly uninterested in your porridge. The door opens and, quickly, they are uninterested in their toys when their father walks in. "KEPA!"

You smile at Daemon. He immediately kneels beside you where you and your children had been sprawled out on the floor. He scoops up his girl, kissing her cheek, "ñuha litse, Alyrie. Eman ozmijegon ao olvie." My pretty Alyrie. I've missed you very much.

"SKOROS NŪMĀZMA NYKE?" cries the boy. WHAT ABOUT ME?

You laugh at him, watching him stand and jump into Daemon's arms.

His father catches him and nuzzles his nose into the young prince's neck, "hen rhinka nyke ozmijegon ao, Alaeric." Of course I missed you, Alaeric.

"Se muña?" Alyrie grabs Daemon's face, making the man turn to her then to you. And mother?

Daemon kisses the princess's silver hair before turning to you, "I missed her the most."

Your eyes open just before he kisses you. You rub your lips, finding them cold from the night air. Tears rush down your skin.

You slowly sit. The dark of night still seeps through your window and the sun had yet to rise. It felt like an omen, that you dreamed about your twins the very night their father left you... again.

Perhaps it was.

You feel sick; your mouth waters, telling that you will soon vomit. You groan and push yourself out of bed, walking to your vanity to smell some balms to sooth yourself. When the tanginess of your lemon oil harbors your bubbling belly, you sigh and decide to get dressed for the day.

Once you are in your grabs, you pin your hair into a bun. You stare at your reflection for a moment, warring the impulse to retch. You stand and head outside, eager to inhale some fresh air.

You startled when you open the door, not expecting anyone outside.

"Princess," they say in unison.

You look between your knights, heart pinching at the sight of them, "...my twins."

Arryk takes in your pale face, frowning, "should you not still be in bed?"

You shake your head, "I had a dream... a terrible dream..."

They both step forward.

You wipe your face before the tears even begin to fall. You groan when they reach for you, knowing you will continue to crumble at their affection.

You pull away and shake your head, "no... I..."

They immediately retreat, knowing to give you space. Erryk can't help the hurt he feels though, and wonders if it was overwhelming to have both of them here. Had he been alone, would you have still rejected his touch?

"I dreamt about my twins..." you sigh, feeling your throat tighten.

The Cargylls remain silent.

You sniffle and shake your head, "shall we head to the gardens?"

They silently come to your side and follow you.

You feel a pinch in your belly and groan, rubbing the area.

This alerts them. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, "I feel sick."

"Shall we go to the maester-"

"No," you reach for an arm. You find Arryk's and he immediately offers you support. You draw a deep breath, "I need fresh air."

Their worry does not wane when you reach the gardens. It had been a long time since they had seen you this way, both because you had slowly been getting better and that you had not spent as much time with them anymore. Once again, it was all your husband's leave that brought you crashing down.

The brothers share a look; so much is said in their silence. Perhaps only one of us should have come. Having us both present might be too much. Damn that Rogue Prince for doing this all over again.

You sit down by the fountains, taking deep breaths in and out. You rub your belly, groaning as you did. You bite your lip to hold back tears when you begin to realize how similar this scene was. You mumble, "I feel like I'm having a miscarriage."

Their stomachs drop at the thought. Erryk kneels beside you, taking your hand, and Arryk gestures, "you need to breathe, your grace."

You retch, "I'm going to vomit."

Erryk moves out of the way as you stand and run to the bushes, the sourness of your empty stomach gushes out of your mouth.

"Seven fucking hells," Erryk mutters as Arryk comes to your side.

You hear him call your name and you gulp, wiping your mouth on your sleeve. Exhaustion and pain move you to tears.

"Perhaps you ought to break your fast," Arryk offers, helping you stand upright.

You shake your head, "I will only get sicker."

"You might be sick because you have not eaten," Erryk gently explains.

"I do not wish to eat right now," you blurt, gesturing in refusal.

Arryk feels you shudder as you sigh. He frowns and places his hands on your shoulders, "when was your last meal?"

"Before Daemon left," you mutter.

Erryk clenches his jaw, "so the wedding last night."

"You must eat something," coaxed Arryk.

"Please," you raise a hand, "later, I just-" you sigh, "I just need to breathe right now."

The twins are powerless against your wishes, no matter how wary they are of it. You sit by the fountain, beckoning them over.

Erryk sits beside you and Arryk shoots him a look, shaking his head in disapproval. Erryk mutters, "it's an ungodly hour..."

"And it is precisely why—"

"Who's going to se-"

"What if someone sees—"

"Please," you lean your head into your hand, "I just... let me have this," you look up, giving Arryk the beady eyed look that makes him weak in the knees.

Erryk glares to get him to submit and Arryk nearly shoves him because of it. Still, the latter sits beside you and you sigh in relief. You shift and lean against Erryk's breast plate then rest your legs upon Arryk's lap.

Erryk rubs your shoulder. Arryk sigh and clutches your ankles.

"I feel empty..." you mutter through wobbly lips.

The man behind you sighs, "you have made much progress, princess. You are stronger than you were last time."

"I don't want to be strong," you close your eyes, feeling tears run down your face, "I tire... tis always this way."

Arryk clenches his teeth when you begin to weep. He grabs his cloak and wipes your tears.

The three of your remain here until the sun rises.

You eventually yield to their urges of breaking fast. They eat with you but finish far quicker as you found it a chore to feed yourself. You barely ate half of your meal and it was already cold when you hear someone walk the door open.

The Cargylls, who were presently stood by the door, bow at the princess, "good morn."

Rhaenyra freezes at the sight of them, not expecting two... or even one, honestly. She feels rather conscious and grumpy about the one currently shadowing her. She walks into the room, eyeing Harwin who tails behind her, "I did not know you were so strangled, dear aunt."

You turn from your meal to the newly wed. She looks like she slept horribly. You push yourself up to curtsy at her, but she stops you with a hand raise before you could. You slump back in your chair.

"I figured you would be in better spirits because you left the wedding early," says the princess as she takes the chair beside you, "but clearly it isn't so."

You only notice Harwin at this point because he greets you then shares a laugh with the Cargylls.

Rhaenyra softly fumes at it.

"I apologize for leaving ea-"

"Don't be," she leans into her chair, "a fight broke out and the hall had to be cleared before the ceremony commenced."

You stiffen, "oh," you shake your head, "are you alri-"

"How do you do it?"

You watch Rhaenyra clutch your arm.

"How do you stand a large oaf looming over you, telling you what you should and shouldn't do?" she mutters, "two at that."

You pull your head back and steal a glance at Harwin. Lord Strong was a not of schemes or malice, though he was called Break Bones. You've spoken to him on occasion and found him to be rather gentle, but then again, most people were in fear you would break. You turn back to her, "I do not stand them."

Rhaenyra's brow quirks.

"I enjoy their company."

Her face hardens, then she pulls back.

"I am fortunate."

"You are," she crosses her arms, "he is controlling."

You knit your brows at that, "I do not understand. Is Harwin your ward?"

"As of last night," she groans, "my father fears I might encounter another act of violence."

"Ah," you slowly nod, "well, the king does it in con-"

"He made me wake before my usual hour," Rhaenyra snaps, leaning back into you, "I told him sleep until I mean to, and he said it would be good to practice a schedule for when I am Queen."

You furrow your brows at the petulant look upon her face but cannot help but chuckle when she crosses her arms. You hum and shake your head, "that is frustrating."

She narrows her eyes, "you don't agree with his reasoning?"

You shrug, "rest is a ruby and discipline an emerald. Both are valuable and I would not throw one for the other."

She thinks about your words for a moment. "I am irritated," she blurts, "I do not need yet another man to tell me what to do."

You lower your head, taking a deep breath, "I understand you completely," you offer her a soft smile, "but instead of fighting him, perhaps you can work with him."

Rhaenyra raises a brow.

"It's much easier to swim with the current, is it not?" you mutter, "perhaps the next time he persists on his way, instead of persisting on yours, you offer a middle ground."

The heiress gives you a look, "why should I offer middle ground? I am his superior."

Your smile grows sympathetic, "we are women."

Her jaw sets. She lifts her nose, "Iksan Perzys Ānogār." I am Fire and Blood."

Your smile widens. You rub her arm, "pār kostilus ao should botagon bē aōla." Then perhaps you should persist upon yourself.

Rhaenyra's proud expression falters. She was not expecting such a response from you. Your face shines though it was clear you were not in the best of conditions. You were earnest... and suddenly, she could see so clearly why her uncle was so besotted.

"Daemon has gone again-"

You tense at her sudden words.

"-but he does not desire that you suffer in consequence like how you once did," she explains.

You feel sick all over again, like all of what little you had eaten wishes to be free.

Rhaenyra leans her head, "he instructed me to be the keeper of your peace whilst he is gone."

Your lips part.

"I shall do so," she shakes her head, "not because my uncle commands me, but because I should..." she stands, "one day I will be queen."

She waves you off when you try to stand to regard her. You watch her walk off with Harwin following closely after. You stand and walk towards your wards with pursed lips, "she's so much like my sister." You shake your head with a huff, "I mourn their friendship."

They follow you walk out of the room. One offers, "we know not what the future holds. They might yet rekindle their friendship."

You say nothing to this.

You head to your sister's chambers.

"Praise the Seven," mutters Alicent the moment she sees you. You stop in your tracks when your sister runs up to you. She grips your hands, eyes solemn as she whispers, "I'm with child."

You freeze.

"The maesters say it's possible I have been for a few moons now," her breath shakes, "I've just given birth. I fear I might not be strong enough to-"

"Cast the thought away," you clutch her cheek, "you are the strongest person I know."

She speaks your name and you immediately embrace her. Alicent melts into your shoulder, taking in your scent. Your wards watch display a few paces back.

"I am here for you," you rub her back, "you have done well with Aegon and Helaena."

Alicent clenches her teeth and screws her eyes shut, but slowly allows her to relax against you.

"Auntie!"

You find Aegon running up to you.

"DRAGON!" calls the boy, tugging your skirt, "I want to see my dragon."

Alicent moves back as you crouch down to the boy, "you want to go to the pit?"

He nods, "I want to fly with Sunfyre!"

You chuckle, brushing his hair back, "Sunfyre is still too small to ride, my love."

"But I want to!"

"I know, my love, but you must wait until he's big enough."

"Did uncle wait for Caraxes to get big?"

You smile falters as you think of Daemon, but you catch yourself and shake your head, "Caraxes was already big when he was a baby."

Aegon's jaw drops, "lucky..."

You chuckle.

"Will you go to the pit with me, my love?" Aegon reaches for your cheeks, effectively reaching for your heart.

"Aww, of course," you coo, pulling him into an embrace. You look up at your sister, "may we go to the pit, sister?"

Alicent rubs her belly and nods, "will you embroider with me after?"

You agree with a smile, taking Aegon's hand as you come to a stand.

When you reach the pits, Aegon gasps at the sight of Caraxes. Since his illness, he remained sprawled outside the chasm of the pit, as he was loath to move.

"CARAXES!" Aegon excitedly points.

You turn to him with a grin, "Caraxes!"

You gasp when Aegon suddenly rips out of your grasp, bolting towards the blood wyrm. Thankfully, your wards were on high alert and manage to snag the boy before he could.

Twas Erryk that caught his arm. He clicks his tongue, "do not be naughty, young prince. You know the rules.

Aegon squeals in protest. If you didn't know any better, you'd believe he was being hurt, but you knew better. He whines, "muña!!!! Mazverdagon zirȳla dīnagon nyke ilagon!" (Maternal) aunt! Make him put me down!

Erryk raises a brow at the boy when he thrashes against him, pulling the knight's arm with all his might to no avail, "quiet. She will not save you."

"AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Caraxes grumbles at the noise.

Arryk raises a hand, "I'll save you, my prince!"

Aegon halts, turning to his savior.

Erryk watches his brother approach and releases him once the boy is swooped up. Aegon screams in glee when he is hung in the air upside down and thrown over Arryk's shoulder.

You chuckle at the sight, watching your nephew's legs fail behind Arryk's back. Aegon giggles, lifting his head.

Arryk grunts, "right, out of the pit then."

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Aegon protests through laughter.

Erryk winces, turning to Caraxes warily, "hush."

"No?" Arryk looks at the boy, "but I thought I was saving you?"

Aegon laughs and points, "FROM HIM!"

Erryk gasps, "me?"

Aegon nods, "he's villain!"

You snort, "Aegon."

"Ah," Arryk raises a brow, "I see. What shall we do? Should the princess punish him?"

Aegon grins, nodding his head.

You give Arryk a look.

"AUNT!" Aegon points, "PUNISH HIM."

You roll your eyes but comply, "Erryk."

Erryk turns to you, "yes, my princess."

"I punish you to live as a cat while we are here in the pits."

"Meow."

Aegon laughs brightly, suddenly wrangling out of Arryk's arms. Arryk puts him down and Aegon immediately runs to your skirts, "do him next."

Arryk gasps at the chubby finger pointed at him, "your grace! You betray me?!"

Erryk crosses his arms, "meow, meow."

Arryk growls with his hands curled into pretend claws, slowly stomping over, "I shall have vengeance."

Aegon screams and runs around you, hiding behind your skirt, "PUNISH HIM. QUICKLY!"

You huff and turn to Arryk, "ser Arryk."

"Hmm?" Arryk halts and clears his throat. He straightens his back, "yes, my lady?"

"I punish you to live as a dog while we are here in the pits."

"Wo-woof," Arryk sighs sadly.

"Meow, meow, ri-aw."

"Arf!"

Aegon emerges behind you, pointing a finger, "HEHEHE, you've been pu-"

"Aegon, I punish you to live as a bird while we're in the pits."

The boy bends his arms into wings, "tweet, tweet,"

Erryk points, "MEOW," then licks his lips while rubbing his belly, "YUM MEOW!"

Aegon, realizing his doom, runs behind you, "TWEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!!"

The two run around and Arryk joins them, barking along as they did. When Sunfyre was brought out, Aegon immediately breaks character, "Sunfy- I mean..." he turns to you, cupping the side of his mouth, "can my punishment be over? Can I be a boy again?"

You chuckle and nod, "all your punishments are over."

"YIPEE!" Aegon jumps and runs off to his dragon.

That is, until Arryk snatches his arm again, "my prince, no running in the pit."

Aegon merely nods this time, "okay!"

Both of your wards are focused on the boy once the small, golden beast is upon him. The keepers try to keep the dragon calm, but he is equally excited to Aegon as Aegon is to see him.

Aegon fearlessly strokes his companion, gasping in awe of his golden scales, and Sunfyre makes a sound akin to a purr as he nuzzles into his hand.

"Naejot kisikagon zirȳla, ñuha dārilaros?" one of the keepers ask. Would you like to feed him, my prince?

Aegon nods eagerly.

The Cargylls allow the boy to act under the guidance of the keepers, remaining on high alert. You, on the other hand, find yourself drawn towards the other dragon in the pit. You frown at Caraxes, who was already looking, "qubirī run." Poor thing.

Caraxes huffs as you slowly approach him with a raised hand. You pet him gently, unsure if he was allowing you to do so, or if he was too sick to do anything about it.

He makes a noise that sounds rather painful. You frown deeper, "mirre iksis sȳrī. Daemon ēza geptot naejot dohaeragon ao." All is well. Daemon has left to help you.

He perks at the mention of the name. He lifts his head slightly, looking around the room for the said man.

Your heart hurts and you are immediately brought to tears, "oh you poor thing," you clench your chest, hating that he can't understand what's going on, "Daemon iksis daor kesīr." Daemon is not here.

Caraxes makes a sound, earning the attention of the others in the room.

The twins see where you stand and immediately become agitated. They call your name slowly.

Caraxes sees them and grunts in displeasure.

"Shhh," you shake your head, "lykirī." Calmly.

The dragon does not listen and grits his teeth.

The keepers have to intervene and Aegon's time with Sunfyre is unfortunately cut short because of Caraxes's restlesness.

When you return Aegon to his mother and he insists upon lemon cakes. You all have some cakes and tea as you and the queen spend the rest of the day embroidering.

By the time you're back in your chambers that night, you dismiss your wards and get ready for bed. Your servant girls help you dress and after dismissing them, you raise your brow at the sight of the Cargylls, still ouside your door.

You towards them, hands on your hips, "I've not met anyone as eager for work as you two."

Erryk merely ignores you, standing back into attention. Arryk offers you a nod, "we merely do our duty, your grace."

"I'm going to bed," you raise an arm.

Arryk stands attention, closing the door as they both say in unison, "good night."

You huff, grabbing the knob. They ignore you. You roll your eyes, "come inside."

They ignore you still.

"I have dismissed you. You are not my wards in this hour," you walk to your vanity and prepare your quill and parchment. You turn to the open door, "shall I write to Daemon?"

This grabs their attention. Both of them turn to you and soon, the door is closed and both of them are by your side.

You turn to your paper, "I think I should write to Gwayne first, berate him for ignoring my letters."

"I doubt he ignores you. He's likely preoccupied, as I hear there has been an issue of locust in the Reach," Erryk offers as he paces around the room.

"He is preoccupied," you mutter, "Lord Tarly tried to talk his daughter up to me."

"Mmm," Arryk clutches his hands where he stands beside you, "Tarly. It would be a noble match."

You scoff, "I doubt my father would want him to marry within the Reach. Perhaps he'll offer him a Dornish bride so he could sink his fingers into the south."

Neither of them respond.

You begin to air out your grievances to your twin, your grievances with his late responses... your grievances with your husband who was now in Essos.

As you do, Arryk recalls your interaction with Rhaenyra, and by extension, Harwin's interaction with them. "It seems the princess has a ward."

Erryk turns to his brother at the mention. You merely hum.

"Ser Harwin asked how we get along, especially since there's three of us."

"And what did you say?" you mutter, focus still on your paper.

"I said we were blessed to ward over such a kind spirit."

"You mean such a sickly spirit."

"A calm one," Arryk corrects, sauntering to the back of your seat, "the princess is apparently fond of instigating quarrels."

You look up at him, taking his reflection, "she is fire and blood. She instigates quarrels no more than a baby demands to be fed. She does simply what is her nature."

"Ser Harwin for advice on how to handle the young princess," Erryk adds, walking over to you.

You watch him come beside your vanity, leaning on the surface. "Mmm, pray tell, what advice did you give?"

"Patience," Erryk blurts, "I told him patience is the only solution to his problem."

You chuckle softly, turning to Arryk behind you. You gather your hair over your shoulder, combing through the dark locks, "and you?"

Arryk looks down at you, belly rolling at the warmth your features under candlelight. He sighs slowly, clenching a fist to steel himself, "I told him to submit."

Your brow quirks.

"Submit to her will... her wants," one of his hands reach for you, "her desires."

Erryk watches as his twin caresses your cheek. He licks his lips when Arryk traces yours with his thumb. Unwilling to be merely an onlooker, Erryk comes to your side, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles.

This steals your attention. You turn to the other Cargyll, instantly finding your mouth trapped against his. Erryk kisses you gently, as if he feared placing any more pressure would break you.

Arryk breathes heavily and slowly drops to his knees. His hands brush over your lap, slowly bunching your skirt up. He grabs the base of the chair and drags you into him. Erryk's kisses shift as your chair does;his lips trail to your jaw and neck.

Your attention is stolen again when you feel hands on your bare legs. Arryk had hiked your dress up and was now parting your thighs to make room for himself between them.

"Wait," you mewl, reaching out to him, "I don't think I can take you both toni-"

"You do not have to," Erryk immediately mutters, "you needn't take either of us," his hands slowly brush across your chest. He squeezes one of your breasts, "let us take care of you,a make you feel good."

"Aye," Arryk blurts in agreement, "let us calm you."

"But what about y-"

Arryk makes your words falter by taking your shins and placing them on his shoulder. His steel is cool against your skin which burns hotter by the second. He kisses your knee while Erryk pushes your hair behind you, attacking your neck with his wet lips. "Do we not remind you enough to stop worrying about our pleasure?"

You bite your lip, holding back the whimper that threatens to spill as Arryk kisses up your inner thigh. You sigh, "I thought you said you submit to me?"

Arryk looks up as you, pressing your thighs against his cheeks. His eyes glimmer with longing, with adoration. Erryk shifts behind your shoulder to easier kiss you there as he pulls your sleeve down.

"Is this not submitting?" Arryk mutters.

You reach for his cheeks and stroke his beard, "I'm tried."

"Just one," he whispers, fingers eager to pull your bloomers down, "I will not tease you... not unless you wish it."

You whimper at the idea and shake your head.

Arryk heaves in an attempt to keep his breathing level. You still hadn't given your explicit permission, so he does nothing but watch as his brother smothers your shoulder with his lips. He mimics and kisses your thighs, "please... just on my tongue."

"Fuck," whispers Erryk upon hearing it.

You sigh and clench your jaw, finally nodding. You pull Arryk's head into your waiting core.

He wastes little time between removing your inner garments and pressing his mouth against your soft womanhood. Though eager he was to lap you up and eat you out, Arryk is gentle with his tongue. He is gentle with how he moves his lips and how he nuzzles his nose into you.

Erryk keeps you in place, body pressed against you, assuring your comfort, even if it meant the lack of his own. He massages your breasts intermittently and soon decides to pepper as much attention on the other side of your neck as he did the opposite. He breathes hotly against you, "smell so good."

Arryk hums, "taste even better."

You whimper when both brothers nip at you; they had a knack of doing things at the same time, even if unintentional. Your back arches and you slowly begin to swivel in your spot as the pleasure in your body intensifies.

The scratch of Arryk's beard on your tender flesh makes you groan. Soon, the wet lapping is loud enough to match the noises you were emitting.

Your peak is surprisingly strong and makes you lurch forward into Arryk's head. He steadies you though, as does his twin. Your legs nearly cramp as your body tenses with the hot and heavy sensation that bursts across your form. Both brothers give you one last kiss before carrying you into bed and tucking you in.

"That is your fortune."

He clenches his fist and teeth.

"Sadness bled from love. Misplaced yearning. Treachery strung from treachery. Nightmare become flesh."

His breath is low and shaky. He tells himself she's a quack but then again she knew nothing of him when he entered; now it seems she knew everything. "Fortune or reality?"

The soothsayer sat across him on the carpet shrugs, her heavily painted face twists in indifference, "two sides of the same coin."

"Can I change it?" Daemon snaps, liking no part of what he'd heard. This witch spoke only painful confirmations of things he'd tried so hard to deny.

She stares at him, scrutinizing his clothes. She was no fool, she knew he was noble, even with his tatty attire. She tilts her head, "for a price."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "of course," he shakes his head, reaching for his pocket, "how much more will you swindle out-"

"You must send word to your wife today or else she will never respond to you again."

The prince freezes.

The woman knowingly hums, "the same constellation that shone during her birth will soon shine. Her half will celebrate but she will not."

Her half? His jaw clenches. Gwayne? "Why won't she celebrate?"

"Death," she mutters simply, "everyone shall mourn during her day."

Daemon tenses, "death? Whose?"

She shrugs.

He grabs a pouch of coins and places it between them.

She looks at the coin but shrugs yet again, "I tell you only of what I see. A town of old shall rejoice for its heir will retrieve a bride. Babes will be promised. Her own lonely tears will drown the princess."

Daemon's face twitches.

The woman is unbothered by his deep bother. He lies on her side and waves him off, "go write to her and leave me now, prince. I tire."

"What should I write?"

She gives him a face, "it's nary my business what a married man and woman write about."

"B-"

"Waste more daylight by all means," she raises a hand, "may the gods grant you a bird that knows the flight back to King's Landing."

Daemon's huffs then exits the tent. Just as he remembers he left his pouch of coin, he turns and finds the tent is gone.

"What in the name of the god—"

"My lord!" a frantic voice calls. Daemon finds the captain of his ship, running towards him. He grabs his arms, "where have you been?! We've spent all day looking for you!"

The prince pushes him away, "do not exaggerate. I was merely gone for-" He turns back when he hears a bell tolling, brows furrowing at the sight of the setting sun behind the tower.

"I had to pay my guide to Norvos extra to wait and stay for us," says the captain.

Daemon looks out to the marketplace before him. Mere moments ago, it was bustling, lively, and stocked to the brim. Now, seemingly not a soul was present nor were there any goods at all for sale. He turns back to the man, mouth ajar, "I swear I had only left a few minutes. A woman had spoken to me about my wife... I had to listen."

The captain mutters something in his native speech. He shakes his head, "you be wary of witches," he spits to his side, "we might not reach Norvos at all if you listen to all the harks you hear." He shakes his head, "come now. We must aw-"

"No. I must write to King's Landing at once."

The man tenses and huffs, "and did the witch tell you do to so?"

"My heart does," Daemon says, walking off.

His eye twitches. Captain follows after him, "we waste sunlight... and coin! You can send her word the next stop ov-"

"It is my time and money you rely on," he shoots him a look, "I will spend it as I see fit."

And so it was.

Daemon sits upon a table just outside a tavern with a cup of wine, gazing back and forth between the captain and the guide, who were arguing in front of a horse stable. The scene is reminiscent of the argument you had when he left you in the pit to go to the Stepstones. The memory tries to choke him.

Beside the stable was a two-floored house and on the top window, he could see a mother watching her daughter play an instrument akin to a lute as she breastfed her babe. They had hair as dark as yours, which was why couldn't help imagine she was you for a moment... how happy he'd be to come home to something like this.

He turns to his paper and wonders if you ever drank wine when you wrote to him.

The bell tolls.

A septa lights some of the candles that went out with the wind.

You and Alicent had been knelt down in prayer in the temple. More accurately, she had been praying and you had been silently crying; your sister merely pretended not to notice.

The loud ring of the bells were what pulled you out of your melancholic trance. You sniffle and wipe your face, gathering yourself as much as you could. You push yourself up and turn to your sister, helping her up as she struggles slightly to get to her feet. She rubs her belly, the bump now visible.

"Perhaps we ought to stay standing next time, my dear," you say.

The queen disagrees, "I'm fine."

You freeze when she brushes your wet cheeks. You stare at her as he frowns.

"Are you?"

You slowly push her hand away, shaking your head, "I do not know. Does the news of the crown princess being with child not inspire you to weep?"

Alicent does not respond. In truth, she does not know how she feels about Rhaenyra carrying. She is rather numb, but she does not think she should admit it. This is why she changes the subject, "what of Daemon?"

You chuckle dryly, scratching your eyes, "what of him?"

"Has he still not written to you?"

You shake your head, lowering your gaze, "I would probably have taken this news better if he had," you chuckle bitterly, "I thought it would be different this time," you look back at her, "but here I am, wanting to return to Oldtown more than ever."

"Take heart," Alicent grabs your arm, "he said he would write you, didn't he?"

Your eyes water, "now that I think it, he never expressed the exact sentiment."

"Perhaps there are no birds to send correspondence."

"Alicent," you mumble, "you need not defend him. It only hurts us both." You gaze up at the ceiling, "I admit..." you laugh dryly, "I was not expecting any word from him."

That was a lie.

You were hopeful for letters, nay, you prayed for them... but then, you realized that change does not come easy and saved your breath.

But there was truth, and the truth of it all resided with Otto. It surprised him how sentimental Daemon could be, and how consistently so.

Even now, as sits upon his office chair, reading the most recent one, his throat tightens and his stomach sours at his sentiment.

𝔐𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢, 𝔅𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰, ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔨𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔓𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔰, 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔑𝔬𝔯𝔳𝔬𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔟 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔰 𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬 𝔲𝔫𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢, ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔦𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔡. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔟𝔰, 𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔵𝔦𝔯𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶, 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔩 𝔞𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢. 𝔐𝔶 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔲𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔯, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔴𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬… 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩, 𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔭𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔪𝔢. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔯𝔦𝔭 𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔦𝔰. ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔟𝔢 𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔬 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔪𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢. 𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢, 𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞t 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 ℑ'𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤. ℑ𝔫 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤, ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦��𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔲𝔢𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡.

Otto nearly gags. He crumples the paper and stands from his seat. He walks toward his fireplace and chucks it in, as he did with the previous ones.

[myladysapphire]

Hello!!! So I was thinking if you could do this +18 dic for Jace

So like reader is from a kingdom or land outside from Westeros (royalty not Dothraki) and to make alliances it’s decided that readers sister is gonna be betrothed to someone in the Targaryen family BUT reader is against making alliances with Westeros because of their culture and how women are inferior and after the feast jace shows her why Westeros and her land should make alliances if yk what I mean👀

It would be awesome if you could make this!!

Thanks bye bye!!

oooh love this idea! Hope you enjoy it <3

why don’t i show you?

when you come to westeros to arrange your sisters marriage in an alliance with westeros you find there customs to be anything but acceptable and start to question the need for an alliance, it takes jace to show you why an alliance is needed.

word count: 2,134

CW: MDI 18+, smut, hate s*x, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v, semi-public s*x, misogyny.

Jacaerys Veleryon x fem!reader

Masterlist

Once queen Rhaenyra Targaryen took the iron throne she looked to Essos for alliances, particularly the free city of Bravvos. Your family was one of the most powerful of the sea lords, with deep connections and influence in the iron bank, and with Westeros in deep need of money following the war, it made your older sister the perfect candidate for said alliance.

She content with the match, the idea of one day being queen seeming to be very appealing, even if it was of Westros.

You however were anything but happy about it. You knew all about Westros, especially there views on woman, the purity culture, the fact that a husband by law could strike his wife seven times, one for each of their gods.

You had argued against the match, seeing little benefits for your family or Bravvos in the union, but your parents were insistent on it, deeming there to be more rewards than I could understand.

They had sent you alongside your sister to Westros despite this.

And though the climate was so different from what you and your sister were used too, Westros was beautiful. The red keep, though nothing compared to the architecture of Bravvos, was a sight to behold.

If only you could say the same about the company with in it.

The prince Jacaerys had not once left you alone, seeing to prefer you over your sister. Not that you could see why, not once had you expressed joy over the union, and in fact had very publicly declared your distaste of it. But Jacaerys seemed persistent to irritate you with his constant presence.

He had practically ignored your sister, not that she cared much, in fact she spent most her time with the princess Heleana, finding more in common with her than the few conversations Jacaerys had spaired her. She also had taken a full backseat in the betrothal, not caring to attend the meetings to discuss said marriage and the alliance it would hold, leaving it all too you. Meaning more time spent with Jacaerys, in a room full of men, despite their being a queen.

You scoffed as one of the lords mentioned a marriage between you and another lord of Westros, your were sure he was talking about himself, as he started to ramble on about the rock he called a castle, not that you were really listening, to focused on how Jacaerys had yet to take his eyes off you.

“I do not think a marriage between both sisters is beneficial for Bravvos” you interrupted, “in fact this marriage alliance is hardly giving us anything beneficial in the first place” you sneered.

“How so, my lady?” Jacaerys asked, as an amused look filled his face. “Though you are giving us a loan, that I shall admit will benefit us greatly, we are giving your family a daughter who shall one day be queen, and her sons shall be kings.” You had noticed how he never once referred to your sister when he talked about said marriage alliance, always using a general term, being unspecific in who exactly he was talking about. “Not only that but we have offered our dragon riders to support Bravvos in any militarily matters until the foreseeable future”

You shook your head, “so a queen and dragons is what we get, whilst you get one of the largest loans we have offered, with minimal interest. We are saving you and your kingdom from bankruptcy, and yet my sister shall be queen of a kingdom that can’t even respect her!” She shook her head in anger, “the sea lords however seem insistent upon it, so I believe discussions on the matter are at an end, the marriage will take place in a week and I see no reason for me to continue to attend these meeting” you said as you stood to stand, Jacaerys joined you.

“I’ll walk with you”

“I can walk by myself” you whispered to yourself, and heard Jacaerys laugh as he walked with you.

“Why are you so against the marriage?” He asked, as he walked with you to your chambers.

“Because I do not desire for my sister to be thrusted into a country where the customs are so… so anti-woman” you spoke, trying to remain calm.

He hummed “my mother is queen and she is a woman, that does not seem anti-woman to me”

“Was there not a war against her being queen?”

He laughed “there was, but we won, and all is now well”

“Really?” It was your turn to laugh “then explain to me why the order of westros is so heavily favoured towards men?”

“It takes a while to change peoples thinking, my mother has been queen for only a few years, and whilst things are changing, I shall admit it Is happening slowly”

You scoffed, as you reached the threshold of your chambers, “I shall see you at dinner” you dismissed done with the conversation. It was the same one you always seemed to have.

That night at dinner, your sister once again did not sit with her betrothed, favouring sitting with Heleana once more, granting Jacaerys the opportunity to once again sit next to you. An event that seemed to happen every night.

You tried to ignore him, but he seemed insistent upon talking to you, “how is it you like your tea my lady?” Your not quite sure how you got onto the topic of tea, perhaps it was because he noticed tea was your go to drink.

“Oh um, well I mostly take it with honey, but depending on my mood I have been know to mix lavender or peppermint into it.” You said casually, “do you like tea?” You found yourself asking.

“I normally have it in the morning, but I tend not to add anything to it other than sugar” he said, happy to have an actual conversation with you, “what about wine?”

“Wine? I drink it on occasion, such as tonight.” You said as you as flagged down a servant to pour you some, you rarely drank, especially here, with there watered down wine.

“Interesting, I too rarely drink” he said, nodding his head “and what about-“

“If your going to ask me another question about what drink I like I will slam your head against the table” you snickered, as he laughed at your tone.

“I apologise” he continued to laugh “perhaps you could tell me about your interest’s mayhaps?”

You shook your head “and why should I do that?”

“Because I wish to know you, other than how you take your tea and that you are incredibly headstrong-”

You scoffed “headstrong? I simple wish for woman to at least be treated the same way men are, and yet the whole of westros is so against it that I am the one causing an issue!” You whispered angrily to him, trying not to start a scene.

“And you are wrong, woman may not be treated the same as in Bravvos but we are making attempts to change it, trust me I am as against it as you are!” He whispered back.

You scoffed “oh please.” You said as stood to stand, declaring you wished to retire early.

Your practically stormed out of the room, nearly running down the hallway. You stopped in an alcove to catch your breath, and recover and wonder why so little words had made you so angry.

Then you heard footsteps, his footsteps.

“My lady, I am sorry to offend you.” He started “I know there are a great many differences between our to lands and I am sorry, I am striving to do everything I can to change this, but our lands need this alliance”

“And why is that?”

“Because I-“ stopped himself before looking at you, and suddenly, he kissed you, it was soft and passionate, full of the emotions you had long craved to believe where hate, but as you kissed him back, though some hate was there, it clicked, you liked him, and were jealous of your sister. You pushed away from him, your hands on his shoulders, your back pushed against the wall, breath heavy.

“I need you” he finally finished, his head leaning against yours.

“Your betrothed to my sister” you argued.

“The alliance does not state her name, I could marry either of you” he said, his mouth coming down to yours again “and your sister seems more occupied with others than me, I doubt she’ll mind”

It was true, and so you kissed him back, not caring to think much about what he was implying.

His hands descended to your waist pulling you closer to him.

Your kisses grew more heated, your bodies slowly grinding against eachother the as you kissed. His mouth descended to your neck, leaving soft marks as he descended lower, before finally coming down to were your bodice starts, his hands had moved up your back, toying with the strings of your corset.

“Please.” You begged.

His hands started to undo the ties of your corset, your bodice slowly loosened, allowing him to pull it down and take your breast into his mouth.

He licked and sucked at your breasts as you let out low moans, careful as to not alert passers by of your presence.

His hand moved lower, coming up under your dress, caressing your wet cunt. You shuddered as his finger descended to your hole, your mouth moving to his once again as you urged him on.

Pumping his fingers in and out of you, you continued to kiss him to cover up your moans, as you felt your cunt start to tighten around his fingers, your peak edging closer and closer, but just as you where about to cum, he withdrew his fingers causing a moan of protest to leave you.

He laughed, “if I am going to truly show you why we need this alliance, then the only way your going to be cumming, is around my cock.”

You moaned as he said that, kissing him once again as your hands went to untie his breeches.

Freeing his cock, you slowly started to stop kissing him, before sending him a smirk and going down on to your knees, and taking him into your mouth.

He moaned as you did, his hands coming to hold your head, as you started to pump in his cock in and out of your mouth, his hips shattering as you tongue wrapped around his tip.

“Gods!” He moaned, a little too loudly, as he started to thrust his cock in and out of your mouth, before swiftly withdrawing himself from, you stood up, laughing softly at the flushed look on his face.

He kissed your mouth softly, before picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, your dress bunching around your own, and his cock swiftly entered you.

You both moaned, as your walls wrapped around his length tightly. He moved after a moment, starting to pump his hips slowly into you.

“Faster.” You demanded, and he happily complied.

Pounding into you, you both moaning as his pace picked up.

He kissed your neck softly, hiding his moans in your shoulder, as you bit your hand trying to cover up your own.

You peak getting closer and closer.

You could feel his coming too, your cunt wrapping around his throbbing cock, as you both let out a moan.

“Where?” He asked, his peak getting closer and closer.

“Inside” you groaned, egar to cum.

As he continued to pump into you, he felt your walls tighten even more, and a high pitched moan leave your mouth as you finally came, and he was quick to follow.

“Jacaerys” you said, as he pulled out of you, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Jace. Please call me Jace”

“Jace” you corrected “what-“ you were cut off at the sight of Queen Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon, appearing in the entryway of the alcove.

Daemon laughed as he saw the two of you, what you had done seemingly obvious.

Rhaenyra shook her head, going to speak, before being cut off by your sister appearing.

She laughed herself, mainly at the shocked look on both your and Jace’s face. “Well, good thing I didn’t want to marry him anyway” she said, unconcerned with what she walked in on.

A week later you married Jace instead of your sister. And Rhaenyra had made you her key advisor on the matters you so strongly spoke about, as was agreed upon in the new terms of your alliance.

And though you hated most customs in westros you found instead of hating the company as you once did, you now rather enjoyed it, even falling in love with one of them in particular.

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld

to be added to taglist

[g0dlyunsub]

it takes two.

spencer deals with a lot on the field, but nothing can prepare him for when he’s stuck inside a locker with you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: 18+ due to sexual themes but no smut, slight claustrophobia triggers

word count :: 2.2k

author’s note :: inspired by a scene from s9e23, i'm imagining spencer in a fitted collared shirt and tie, reader wears a skirt

accompanying song :: stuck between by dutch criminal record

“nothing’s showing up on vicap. i’ve cross-checked records against everything you’ve mentioned, sir, but there’s literally nothing. zilch,” you hear garcia let out an exasperated groan as she ferociously taps at her keyboard. 

you watch as hotch kneads the skin between his brows with growing impatience while morgan starts to pace around the room. you’re not doing any better yourself, your stressed-out fingers threatening to tug at the strands of hair neatly holding your ponytail together. 

it’s too frustrating. the leads are clearly there, but your team is lacking the final puzzle piece to complete the profile, to confirm that it’s someone in the department that’s deliberately injecting themselves into the investigation.

“your answer is probably written down on paper. ugh, i hate when bad guys try to act all smart,” garcia fumes, and sulks as she gives an apologetic wave from her side of the screen. hotch nods, relays a thank you, and cuts the call before rounding the whole team together.

“think about it, those two are the perfect scapegoats. all of these agents have everything to lose, so why not just blame them? they’ve been in and out of cells already, and it makes perfect sense to craft a narrative that’ll point fingers at them,” morgan starts, making small gestures as he speaks with his signature cadence, topped with a honeyed rasp.

“and they’ve got all the authority to influence the public’s opinion,” jj nods in agreement.

“we need to try to get those two to talk again, but we also have to take extra precautions. jj and prentiss, go interview them one more time to see if they’ll spill any names. morgan, i need you to work with garcia to look for other possible leads. reid and l/n, go to the records room to review the files of the agents working with us. dave and i will try to hold down the fort,” hotch instructs, nodding at each of you as he rolls out the orders. 

“and try not to draw suspicion. if all else fails, say that you need to run to the bathroom,” rossi adds with a wink. it always amazes you how calm the italian agent is during such high-pressure situations, a trait you’ve grown to immensely appreciate.

“shall we?” you say as you nudge spencer, and he hums back in response. you bid a wish of good luck to emily and jj and traverse the hallway to the records room with the doctor, your heels clacking beside the cushioned steps of his slightly worn converses. 

after looking left and right to make sure no one’s around, spencer opens the door. you silence the sounds of your heels as you follow inside, and let the bolt of the lock plunge into the frame by slowly closing the door. 

“alright, you take the left, i’ll take the right,” you whisper, and spencer gives you a thumbs up. 

the two of you work silently and as fast as possible, sifting through the piles of records that lie on the tables and beside the cabinets. you feel your heart jump into a cartwheel every time a sheet of paper slips out of the manila folders, the sounds of rustling and creasing setting you on edge. 

“i found mcgregor and drew, but i don’t think it’s either of them,” spencer declares with a voice that isn’t supposed to sound loud at all, but it feels hundreds of decibels higher than the bare whisper you spoke with earlier. 

“okay, i found weaver and lee, but they don’t fit the profile either. let’s continue looking for the other two,” you call back. 

spencer walks over to you and kneels beside your left to help you with your search. once you spread the folders on the floor, you spot one of the two remaining files, and spencer soon finds the other. you’re about to turn through the sheets in the folder when the doorknob starts to shake, startling the both of you.

“shit. spence,” you blurt as spencer takes his file in one hand and grabs yours with the other, and shoves them into an open drawer. after he slides the compartment back with his careful and nimble fingers, you grab his arm and squeeze into a spare locker. you barely manage to seal the opening shut in time.

you could say that it was quick thinking that saved your and spencer’s cover, since the door jiggles and thrusts open a mere second later.

you never would’ve imagined that the day would come when you would draw air directly from spencer’s breaths, let alone enclose yourself in the same room as him. 

and yet here you are, perched on top of spencer’s knee, the scratchy fabric of his trousers resting under the hollow space of your pencil skirt and between your legs. his other leg presses against your side of the wall with an uncomfortable bend, while his chin sits an atom’s width from your forehead.

it’s a nonnegotiable consequence that comes with his tall figure, the way his clothed knee has to rub against your inner thighs under the draped fabric.

one of your hands lies awkwardly on his chest while the other is on his thigh, right above the knee that’s using you for leverage. your attention immediately shifts to your left when you see the rays of the intruder’s flashlight scope through the room. 

you stop mid-exhale when the light pours through the gaps of the locker, casting shadows on spencer’s face and your body. he looks stressed, anxiously wetting his lips with closed eyes, face turned away from you.

and he looks overwhelmed. rapid bursts of inhales and exhales fire from his body, likely due to the collar of his shirt being bound tightly around his neck with the tie. with shaking fingers, you slowly reach for his tie, waiting for approval to loosen it. 

you feel his forehead bury into the cave of your shoulder, and he whispers his desperate ask into your ear: “please.”

despite the lack of light around you, you’re able to locate the small end of his satin tie, and you tug lightly. the knot unfurls as you pull, and spencer lets out a small sigh of relief before breathing a low thank you in your ear.

as this happens, you hear the intruder surf through the piles of papers, unlocking drawers and lifting boxes left and right. hurry, hurry, hurry, you pray desperately in your head. beads of sweat start to form at your temple and threaten to fall down to your exposed neck, which happens to be situated directly in spencer’s line of sight.

“come on,” you hear the guest in the room complain, angrily flipping through papers and slamming the cabinets. you think it’s finally time for him to leave when you hear the high-pitched ring of his phone. 

but your eyes widen when instead of heading to the door, he makes strides towards the locker right across from yours, and leans his back against it before holding the phone up to his ear. holy shit.

“jensen speaking,” he says with a gruff voice, and plays with the button of his flashlight so it turns on and off spontaneously. as the light flickers, it dimly shines the space inside your locker. 

spencer turns his head to meet your eyes, a panicked expression covering his face. you’re about to mouth a small sorry for the helpless situation you’ve dragged him into, but just as you’re about to do so, spencer’s trousers slide against your legs, creating friction so unbearable that you let out a squeak. 

you freeze, looking up to see spencer’s eyes flash warningly. he instantly clasps your mouth with his hands to cover any further sound from escaping your lips, but with no form of support to maintain his position, he starts to slip, and his shirt lightly skids against the locker’s slippery walls. this is somehow even worse for you, because spencer’s knee starts to dig further up your legs and into your cotton underwear, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

luckily for the both of you, jensen seems to be distracted by whatever words are being spewed from the other end of his phone call to pay any mind to your suppressed yelps. 

“i think their agents might be on to us,” he scowls, and you watch from the corner of your eye as he tosses the last of his files into a box and opens the adjacent locker to ram it inside.  

“yeah, i’ll try to stall them for as long as i can. they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.” 

jensen curses and promptly ends the call, returning his phone into the pocket of his shirt. he finally walks to the door, sighing as he twists the knob and steps out. the two of you lie in wait for an additional three minutes before trying anything. 

“i think we’re good,” spencer huffs, finally opening the locker door with a thud as the sounds of steel clashing against steel echo throughout the air. 

“yeah,” you nod, taking a breath to collect yourself as you step out. you watch as spencer runs a hand through his hair and moves his fingers down to adjust his tie. 

he returns the stare, his adam’s apple bobbing when he eyes your wrinkled shirt and scrunched up pencil skirt – which looks more like a mini-skirt with how it sits right below your hips.

“i um, i need some air. how about you?” spencer asks at last, clearing his throat. you bite your lip when he starts to brush the dust off his thighs and knees, the moments of earlier flooding into the back of your mind like the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“yeah, i could use some fresh air too,” you respond breathily, averting your eyes and focusing instead on smoothing out your shirt and retying your loosened ponytail. when you’re done, you turn around and stagger to the door, not looking twice to see if spencer’s following you. an intense flush spreads across your cheeks, and your only viable path of escape is to the bathroom.

“you, um, missed a spot,” you hear from behind, and you follow spencer’s gaze to see that he’s referring to the back of your skirt.

“oh,” you say as embarrassment swamps you, and you hurriedly pat at the fabric. “does that look better?”

“it’s still folded there. if you want, i can- may i?” 

the question tumbles from his pretty lips and messes with your head. his hand hovers right around your waist, the same way yours lingered on his tie as you waited for his consent. and his softening eyes. his slightly smoldering gaze looks so innocent and alluring at the same time, your heart starts to feel heavy with the weight of desire. 

note to self: never wear a pencil skirt again.

“please,” you utter like a silent prayer, and mentally prepare yourself to endure the test of his fingers against your skin.

as soon as he receives your word, his hand lightly brushes against your thigh and trails down your skin. he takes the hem of your skirt and pulls down, giving several tugs before releasing the stretched garment. 

he clears his throat when you don’t move even after he’s retracted his hand.

“all good now.” 

spencer’s words drown out your thoughts and snap you back to reality. he’s already standing by the door, holding it open for you with a patient smile.

“thanks,” you say as you walk out and rub your hands together, nervous for what you’re about to say next. “spencer, um, i’m so sorry about that whole ordeal, it was really unprofessional of me to drag you in there, i wasn’t thinking when i-”

“you did the right thing,” spencer interrupts your ramble with the shake of his head, and his flawless smile pulls at your heartstrings.

“i would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn't. that door’s the only way in and out if you don’t count the windows,” he continues, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks you to the elevator.

“oh,” you shyly murmur back, your cheeks flushing with a shade of bright pink as his words pour over you like warm water. he would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn’t?

“yeah, but how about we try a bigger locker next time?” spencer almost reads your mind as he half-mindedly jokes, causing you to drop your jaw in shock. he doesn’t acknowledge your reaction, however, because he starts to dial rossi’s number on his cell.

“by the way, the uh, new look suits you. the grey skirt and all,” spencer says with a lopsided smile before he raises a hand to excuse himself and call rossi. you’re saved the embarrassment of responding when rossi accepts the call, but your palms are already profusely sweating at his compliment.

note to self: maybe wear the pencil skirt again.

[augustjoy]

And I’ll do it again.

Based on the following ask: Please may I request a Hotch x female reader established relationship fic where reader has a daughter that goes to school with Jack (a few grades above him) and reader and hotch get called in to the principal's office because the daughter hit some kids who were bullying Jack about Haley's passing.

Reader's daughter is sitting there all like "and I'll do it again if anyone messes with my brother" and how the family unit reacts to the situation? – UGH I love this! Reader’s daughter shall be called Emmy also Bolded text is the reader and italics are Hotch – just on phone calls.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Angst (tiny bit)/Fluff

Word count: 1251

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, no use of y/n, reader has some sort of office job…but no description given, Fem reader, reader has no physical description, canon typical violence, mention of Jack, reader has a daughter named Emmy who is 12, Jack is 9, blended family, reader and Hotch live together but are not yet married, mention of bullying, mention of a punch to the face, let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hello?”

“This is she.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“And you’re saying it was Emmy? Are you sure?”

“This has to be some sort of mix up. Emmy has never been in trouble.”

“I’ll be right there.”

--

“Everything okay?” Sarah, your coworker asked.

“No. Apparently Emmy punched a boy at her school. They need me to come down there, they’re threatening to suspend her.” You scoffed.

“Oh shit. Emmy? There’s no way she’d just punch someone for no reason. It has to be a misunderstanding.” Sarah agreed.

“Exactly. I’ll text you and let you know if I’ll be back in today. My assumption is no, but we’ll see.” With that you grabbed your bag and coat and made your way to the parking garage.

--

Your phone rang the moment you started your car.

Hello?

Hey sweetheart, I just got a call from the kids school, I’m on my way there now.

Wait, they called you about Emmy too?

Emmy? No, they called me about Jack…I guess some boys were picking on him. What happened with Emmy?

The school called and said she punched some boy. I think I might know the reason now.

--

Aaron and you arrived at nearly the same time, sharing an exasperated chuckle at how ridiculous this all seemed. Jack and Emmy were both good kids, neither had ever been in any trouble at school before.

Aaron took your hand as you headed up the front steps and into the school’s office. He gave your hand a squeeze of reassurance as you told the receptionist why you were there.

“The principal will be with you in just a moment.”

The two of you stood off to the side waiting to be called back. Aaron was whispering encouraging words to you, noticing the stress taking over your form.

“YOU!” A man shouted as he walked into the school. “Your daughter is the one who assaulted my son!”

“Excuse me?” You gasped.

Aaron moved to step in front of you, fully ready to protect you from the wrath of this man. But you placed your arm out to block him. You had this under control and didn’t need him to save you…not yet anyway.

“Why don’t you calm yourself down until we hear the full story. And I don’t appreciate you loosely throwing around accusations of assault. You’re a lawyer aren’t you…Sean’s dad, if I’m not mistaken.” You looked to Aaron for confirmation. “I thought I recognized you from soccer. You’re the pompous jerk who takes all his phone calls on speaker and disrupts the entire game. I digress, I would think a lawyer would be familiar with the notion “innocent until proven guilty”.” You smirked.

Aaron choked on a laugh, he was constantly in awe of you and how your fearlessly fought for the ones you loved. He figured if Emmy truly had hit someone it was to stick up for someone. Like mother, like daughter.

“The principal will see you now.”

--

“Okay, so I’ve taken statements from nearly a dozen students, and it is very clear to me what has happened here today.” The principal began. “I think it would be best if your children all shared what happened.”

“That girl punched me in the face!” Sean cried, adjusting the icepack he was clutching to his face.

“And I’ll do it again if you or anyone else messes with my little brother.” Emmy sneered.

“Emmy! We don’t resort to violence.” You scolded.

“Mom, this kid and all his little friends were picking on Jack. If the teacher’s weren’t going to help, then I was.” Emmy tried to justify.

“Is that true Jack, was Sean picking on you?” Aaron questioned.

Jack nodded shyly.

“What happened bud?” Aaron pressed.

Jack shook his head, clearly distressed about the situation.

“They were saying that you aren’t his real mom. They were laughing at him and telling him that you weren’t his mom, you’re his “fake mom” because his real mom is dead!” Emmy exclaimed. “Jack was asking them to leave him alone and the cornered him. That’s when I went over.”

“Jack, honey, is that what happened?” You asked gently.

“Yeah. And when Emmy came to help they said she was my fake sister. I told them that wasn’t true and then Sean said that you and Emmy wouldn’t stick around long…and then I’d be without a mom again.” Jack cried.

“That’s when I punched him.” Emmy admitted.

“Sean! Do you have anything to say for yourself?” His dad questioned.

Sean turned his gaze to the floor and shook his head. Knowing he was caught and surely in trouble. His dad met your gaze and gave you an apologetic nod.

“The other students reported something similar. So, I’d like to discuss punishment. We have zero tolerance for bullying on this campus, especially violence.” The principal stated.

“I understand that Emmy shouldn’t have lashed out however, she was sticking up for her little brother. I don’t think that it is fair that she be suspended. It’ll set a precedent for other kids that there are consequences for sticking up to bullies.” You argued.

“I understand that, but if she receives no punishment, then it gives off the idea that kids can go around punching others and not receive punishment for it.” She retorted.

--

The conversation went back and forth for quite a while trying to agree on the best solution. Ultimately it was agreed that Emmy and Sean would leave for the remainder of the day. Emmy would have three days of detention, while Sean had a three-day suspension and subsequent meetings with the school counselor to work through whatever it was he was going through.

--

“We will see you guys at home.” You called over to Aaron.

“Drive safe baby, I love you!” Aaron replied.

“I love you more!”

Emmy and you drove in your car so you could talk to her, while also giving Aaron the chance to talk to Jack privately about the loss of his mother.

--

“Are you mad?” Emmy whispered.

“Mad? I mean, you know better than to hit people Em.” You glanced over at her.

“I know mom, but you should have seen it. Jack was backed into a corner crying while that jerk talked about his dead mom like it was nothing. Ugh, it just made me so mad!” Emmy raged.

“I know honey. Next time, hands to yourself…got it?” You confirmed.

“Got it. Sorry mom.”

The two of you drove in silence, Emmy resting her head on the window as you mentally processed what had all just happened. You couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed within you at the fact that Emmy had called Jack her little brother, and she stood up for him at school. It gave you a little more confidence in the fact that, if you and Aaron did get married, the kids would be okay.

“And I’ll do it again” You muttered, huffing out a laugh, “that’s pretty badass.”

Emmy looked over at you and smiled, the both of you falling into a fit of laughter as you pulled into the driveway beside Aaron’s car.

“What’s so funny?” Aaron inquired, as Emmy dragged Jack into the house with the promise of ice cream.

“Nothing. I’m just really happy that they see each other as brother and sister.” You beamed, leaning up to kiss Aaron.

“Does this mean you’re ready to talk to them about us getting married?” He pressed.

“Yeah, I think it’s time.”

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