#original female character fanfiction

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Beneath a Dragon's Gaze

Summary: With Madame Sylvi indisposed on the evening Prince Aemond comes to visit, he requests someone different | Word Count: 1.7k~ | Warnings: sex work, smut, hair pulling, biting, titty sucking, darkish Aemond

A/N: saw ep 3 and felt silly 😁 not proofread an inch

“The Prince has asked for you.”

She could not help the wide-eyed look and the familiar flipping of her stomach, now feeling entirely different with the words that had come from her fellow woman’s lips. The Prince. Well, it could have meant either of them only weeks before, but no longer. They frequented this establishment quite often, as an upper-class brothel, with only the finest whores and service, it was only natural, and they had the coin to pay for it.

Suddenly, she felt quite cold in the sheer dress she had chosen that evening, doing very little to conceal the flesh that hid beneath, her nipples having formed peaks against the satin. What could she possibly say to that? There was no possibility of refusing. 

“Very well,” she responded, knowing it was not her place to question. There was no question as to which now, it was most certainly the very same who frequented for the warm embrace and soothing voice of Madame Sylvi, who spent hours in her company and paid her a hefty price for it. For secrecy. But she knew just as well that the only reason Aemond had requested her instead, was because on this night, his usual appointment was indisposed. 

Her heart raced as she slalomed through the scantily clad crowd, each step bringing her closer to the corner where the prince awaited. The halls were dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls, alongside those of curved figures, twisted with pleasure. She could hear the muted sounds of such from the other rooms, but they did little to quell the nervousness that gripped her.

When she reached the curtain, she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The Prince. Aemond Targaryen. Known for his fierce demeanour and sharp intellect, he was not a man to be trifled with. Yet, beneath that cold exterior, she had heard whispers of a man burdened by the weight of his family.

Sliding the curtain across, met with the Prince, eyepatch already discarded and down only to his breeches, sat with cup in hand on the plush settee, his lone eye raising to her as she dipped for a curtsy. She felt her throat close at the sight of the sapphire, somewhat mirroring what was happening between her thighs.

"Madame Sylvi sends her apologies, my prince. She is unable to attend to you this evening."

Aemond's gaze lingered on her for a moment, and she felt her cheeks flush under his scrutiny. "I did not call for Sylvi tonight," he said finally, his tone giving nothing away. "I called for you."

Her lips parted to question. But she dare not let the words free. She was not one to ask about his intentions, a mere whore.

“Undress.”

The Prince’s eye never wavered as he watched, flesh revealed as she bared herself to him. He stood as if uncurling himself, finishing what was left in his cup before moving his hands to unlace his breeches, his head gesturing to the settee.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

His commanding tone made those flutters awaken once more. She had been employed at this establishment for so long, of course being naked and bared to an abundance of men was second nature. But there was something about the way he wanted her, the way it seemed not spurred by desire of any kind, but a need, like air, that ignited her nerves that she had not felt since her first few days in this line of work.

Still, bare arsed and exposed to a Prince, was a different matter entirely.

She felt his presence behind her, knowing he was naked as his thighs brushed against hers. He nudged her knees apart and pushed gently on her spine, encouraging her to arch her back. Though she could not see his face, the rippled design of the copper in front of her reflected enough for her to sense the detachment in his actions. So, she remained silent.

Prince Aemond guided himself to her centre, barely wet, and pushed his cockhead inside. He had barely breached her when his hands gripped the flesh of her buttocks, watching intently as his cock slowly slid deeper into her cunt, being swallowed by her body. She closed her eyes, the lack of preparation making the act more uncomfortable than pleasurable, but she hoped that with time, her arousal would ease the discomfort.

As Prince Aemond continued to push himself inside her, she focused on her breathing, trying to relax her body and ease the discomfort. The room was silent except for their breaths, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls. Each inch he gained felt like a stretch, a challenge to her body's readiness, but she bit her lip, determined to endure.

His hands, firm on her buttocks, began to knead her flesh, his grip alternating between gentle caresses and possessive squeezes. The friction built steadily, her body slowly acclimating to his presence. The initial pain started to fade, replaced by a growing warmth and the stirrings of pleasure.

Aemond moved with a deliberate pace, his thrusts measured and controlled. He seemed intent on watching every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside her, his breathing heavy and laboured. She could feel his intensity, the way he held back his own urges to maintain that slow, torturous rhythm.

Despite the initial discomfort, her arousal began to build. Her body responded to his movements, her inner walls slickening and accommodating his length with increasing ease. Soft moans escaped her lips, unbidden but honest, as pleasure began to mix with the remnants of pain.

Aemond's hands slid from her buttocks to her hips, pulling her back against him with each thrust. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting spots inside her that sent jolts of pleasure through her body. Her fingers clenched the sheets beneath her, seeking some anchor as the sensations intensified.

He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear. "Do you feel that?" he murmured, his voice husky and edged with restraint. "Do you feel how you take me in?"

"Yes, my prince," she gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "I feel it."

Aemond's pace quickened slightly, his control slipping as his own desire took precedence. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a rhythmic, primal music that spoke of need and release. Her moans grew louder, her body arching and pushing to meet his thrusts, seeking the pleasure that now consumed her.

With a sudden, possessive grip, Aemond's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck. His lips found her skin, teeth grazing lightly before he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to claim. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, her body responding with an involuntary clench around his cock.

He groaned against her neck, the sound vibrating through her. "Take me, all of me," he whispered, his voice filled with approval and satisfaction. 

She surrendered to the sensations, her body melting into his as pleasure overwhelmed her. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word from Aemond drove her closer to the edge. The discomfort was a distant memory now, replaced by a wave of ecstasy that built with each passing second. His movements so erratic, his stones clapped against her womanhood with every harsh push, slapping against her bud in a steady, unyielding rhythm.

The sensation pushed her over the edge, her own climax washing over her in a powerful, all-consuming wave. She cried out, her body convulsing around him, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Finally, with a deep, guttural moan, Aemond drove himself to the hilt inside her once more, his body shuddering and then withdrawing quickly as he found his release and coated her buttocks and thighs with his pearly spend.

They stayed like that for a moment, both catching their breath, their bodies still joined. Slowly, Aemond released his grip on her hair and hips, his hands soothing over the marks he'd left. He pulled out of her velvety walls gently, leaving her feeling both spent and fulfilled.

She expected him to leave, to gather his clothes and slip away into the night, as most men often do with a flick of their coin into her lap. But instead, Aemond surprised her. He curled into her body, his head resting against her chest. His lips found her breast, mouthing at her skin with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their earlier encounter. His hand moved to her other breast, caressing it with a gentle, almost reverent touch.

She looked down at him, her fingers threading through his silver, moonlit hair. He seemed to take more pleasure in this simple intimacy than she did, as if seeking comfort rather than mere satisfaction. His eyes were closed, his breathing steadying as he continued to nuzzle her chest.

"I hate it," he murmured after a long silence, his voice muffled against her skin.

She blinked, unsure of his meaning. "Hate what, my prince?"

Aemond shifted slightly, his hand stilling on her breast. "Sometimes, I think Madame Sylvi just says anything to appease me. She tells me what she thinks I want to hear, not what she truly believes."

There was a bitterness in his tone that caught her off guard. "Why do you think that?" she asked softly, her thumb stroking the back of his neck.

Aemond's grip on her breast tightened slightly, and she felt a shiver of unease. His lips brushed against her nipple, then his teeth grazed it, sending a jolt through her body. "Because it's easier for her," he said, his voice lower, more dangerous. "Because I'm a prince, and she fears offending me."

She gasped softly at the sensation, the mix of pleasure and pain reminding her of the precarious balance between comfort and control. "But you deserve honesty, my prince," she managed to say, her voice trembling.

He bit down a little harder, enough to make her wince. "Do I?" he asked, his tone a warning. "Or do I deserve the truth, no matter how it feels?"

Her heart raced, the threat in his words unmistakable. "The truth, my prince," she whispered, trying to maintain her composure. "Always the truth."

Aemond's teeth released her nipple, his tongue soothing the sting. He looked up at her, his eye fierce and unyielding. The sapphire lodged in the other piercing and dark. 

"Good," he said, his voice a soft growl. "Because I have no patience for lies, no matter how pretty they are."

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince

[yandere-writer-momo]

Prequel Part I

Yandere Short Story Series:

Too Late For Remorse

Yandere Cheater Duke x Countess Reader x Duke

TW: murder, yandere themes, cheating (mentioned), delusional behavior, yandere is the villain, etc.

“So you’re breaking off the engagement between my son and your daughter?” Duke Blackburn sat in the chair across from Count (last name). The older Duke delicately held the tea cup in his hand.

“I apologize for breaking the agreement, but my daughter cannot be without a man who associates with the Serpico family.” Duke Blackburn nodded his head in agreement.

“I understand, I’m also not a big fan of infidelity.” It was quite well known in the noble faction that Duke Blackburn’s wife had messed around with many knights during their short marriage. Which worked in Count (Last name)’s favor since Duke Blackburn despised the unfaithful.

Duke Blackburn continued the conversation, “You know your daughter was promised to marry a Blackburn. It’d be a shame to not have such a beautiful woman in our family. I have another son who’s a few years younger than her.”

“Eh, I don’t know if Broderick be a good match since he’s not quite mature yet…” Count (Last name) sighed. “I wouldn’t mind my daughter marrying you if I’m honest-“

Duke Blackburn’s cheeks flushed in shock, the Duke nearly dropped his tea cup from the Count’s words. “I beg your finest pardon?”

“My daughter would be in good hands if she was with you. You’re mature and you’ve been single for over a decade.” Count (last name) gestured to the portrait of his daughter behind him. “You said it yourself that my daughter was beautiful.”

“That does not mean I want to marry a woman half my age-“

“Duke Lucius Blackburn and Duchess (your

name), I can picture it.” Count (last name) howled with laughter when the Duke hid his scarred face in his gloved hands. The older Duke felt embarrassed by the Count’s teasing.

Lucius and (your name)? It is a normal occurrence of marrying a younger woman in this day and age, but she was his own son’s ex-fiancée! Then again, it would be a similar situation if she became engaged to Broderick…

“Alright. I will marry your daughter-“ Duke Blackburn put his hand on Count (last name)’s shoulder before the smaller man could cheer. “But consult with her first. I’m an old man and I’m still the commander of the Royal’ Family’s army. I’d hardly have time for her.”

“Of course I will. I’m sure she will be delighted!”

Duke Blackburn and Count (last name) continued to have small talk but Lucius couldn’t help the feeling of nervousness that crept up his veins. Would she really be alright with a man like him?

.

.

.

“So Duke Blackburn said he’d marry you if you’d like to be with him.” (Your name) quirked a brow at her father. The young woman slowly sipped the tea her father had prepared for this meeting. She was a bit surprised her father wanted to find her a partner this quickly, but she was also in her prime. If (your name) didn’t marry soon, she never would.

“But I just ended my engagement to him-“

“Wrong Blackburn, my dear. I’m talking about Lucius Blackburn-“ (your name) spat out the tea and choked a bit. Lucius?! As in Trishan’s father?! “Are you alright?”

“Father, you can’t possibly- why?” (Your name) struggled to formulate words as a million questions ran through her brain. Engagement to Trishan’s father?! His father?!

“Well, he’s a much better man than his spawn. Don’t you think, my dear?” Count (last name) puffed his chest out in pride. “Plus he’s still quite fit despite his age-“

“Father!” (Your name) stood up, her being frazzled with bewilderment. “It hasn’t even been a week since my engagement was annulled and… that man is old enough to be my father!”

“But he would treat you well!”

(Your name) shook her head and was about to excuse herself from the table. How was she supposed to get her revenge if she now had to marry Trishan’s father?

(Your name) held her head while the gears began to turn in her head. Wait. This could work… she could use Lucius to her advantage.

“You’re right, father. How could I not see that before?” (Your name) bent down and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Thank you, daddy.”

The count was in shock before his whole face lit up. He was so happy to bring his daughter joy! She deserved to be happy!

.

.

.

Trishan threw a chair across his room in anger. His engagement had been annulled and his beloved was to marry his father?! No… this wasn’t how his second chance was supposed to work out! They were supposed to be happy together!

“Trishan?” Trishan’s blood went cold when he heard a familiar, feminine voice from outside his door. What was that snake doing here? “You haven’t replied to any of my letters and I’m really worried about you…”

Lies. That woman only wanted to become a Duchess and she had murdered (your name) in the past… was this her fault?

Trishan felt murderous intent drip throughout his veins as he stood up. Yes… this was Gia’s fault. If she didn’t exist… then (your name) would come back to him.

Trishan’s lips curved up in a demented smile. If he got rid of Gia then everything would fall back into place. Just like it was meant to.

“Wait for me darling… I’ll make everything right this time.”

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[flowerandblood]

Duty and desire (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, angst, praise kink activated, lactation kink, fluff ]

[ description: An incident between her husband and their sons causes her uncle to completely break down. She decides to show him how deep her feelings are towards him and to comfort him. A heartbroken, vulnerable, infatuated Aemond in need of simple tenderness. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. I couldn't sleep and that's how I mentally coped with what I saw in the second episode of the second season. You're welcome, lol. If you still didn't watch it, wait with reading it (if you don't like any kind of spoilers). It can be read as a standalone story.

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

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had returned to their chamber earlier, tense and visibly frustrated despite the fact that he usually spent that part of the day sparring with their sons, training them in the wielding of the sword.

She smiled at him from above her book, watching as he involuntarily looked into the cradle where Visenya slept peacefully.

The birth of their first daughter was joyous news for the entire kingdom, including them.

"So early?" She asked, spreading out comfortably in her chair, curious about this change of plans. Her uncle only pursed his lips at her words, walking over to the table where she sat and reached for a cup, into which he poured himself a little wine.

He remained silent.

A bad sign.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, seeing that hundreds of thoughts were currently running through his mind, which if they did not find an outlet would eventually explode in the form of his fury.

He took a few deep sips from his goblet without looking at her, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"Viserys and Aegon have suggested that Ser Robert should be the one to train them today. They apparently want to become archers." He said with a sneer and anger that startled her. She swallowed hard, closing the book, understanding full well that his words were only the tip of what he was really thinking about.

"In your presence they always feel they have to prove themselves. They're afraid of being ridiculed in front of you. Maybe it's…"

"At their age I dreamt of my father doing for me what I do for them. This is our time together." He growled, looking out of the corner of his eye into the area where she sat, but not directly at her, immersed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

"I know." She whispered and her words, something about the way she said them made his lip tremble, made him lower his head in shame and cover his face with his hand, drawing in air loudly.

"They are terrified at the sight of me. Both of them. They don't love me, they just fear me. Their own father." He mouthed, his quivering voice betraying that although he tried to control himself, something about the thought had broken him.

She stood up from her seat, shaking her head, coming up to him quickly, wanting to touch his arm with her hand, but he moved away and turned his head, not wanting her to see what was happening to him.

"If you could hear with what pride and admiration they speak of you when you are not there. They so desperately want to please you." She muttered in pain, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he might have believed he was a bad father, when they both knew how hard he tried.

"To please me? My sons, they live to please me? And if they don't then what will happen to them? Hm?" He asked and fell silent, looking at her at last, his eye red with grief and despair, his face simultaneously red and pale with emotion, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

He covered his eyes with his hand as he burst into silent sobs, as if he had not stifled the thought for a day or a month, but for years, ever since their first son had been born.

She looked at him in disbelief, stunned, at the same time hurt and saddened by his words, by the thought of how he judged and perceived himself.

"Looking into my eyes do you see anything other than love?" She asked, renewing her attempt, taking a step towards him, and this time he didn't pushed her away, looking at her uncertainly.

"– it's something else –" He whispered.

"– how can it be? – do you think I would love a man who is a bad father to my children? –" She asked further, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing, his cheeks red from tears.

"– stop it –" He said and turned away, wiping his face, walking to the other side of the room, embarrassed and ashamed of his weakness.

"– sit down on the bed, husband – I want to explain a few things to you –" She finally said.

He sighed heavily and did as she asked, making room beside himself, looking down at his hands, heartbroken. She, however, walked up to him and did not sit next to him, but on his lap, surprising him by taking his warm, red face in her hands, stroking his moist skin with her thumbs.

For a moment she simply looked at him, all helpless and vulnerable, feeling the heat in her chest.

"– you're defending our family – you're the rock that protects us – you have to show strength – be determined – and that's hard when you're king and father at the same time – the burden of the crown is great and you know it – you're trying to prepare them for it –" She whispered, with each successive word placing kisses on his red face: on his forehead, his temple, his eyebrows, his eyelid, his cheekbone, his lips, his jaw.

She felt his hands involuntarily rise to her waist, stroking her through the material of her gown.

"– so why don't they understand this? – why do they push me away? –" He muttered, focusing his gaze on her full, plump lips, his manhood hidden in his breeches pulsed softly in a natural reaction to her closeness.

"– because they are still children – children who need their father to love them no matter what – a father who will sometimes let them go their own way –" She said softly, in a gentle, light motion untying the black ribbon at the back of his head, making the front strands of his silver hair fall over his shoulders.

"– I just want to spend time with them like a father with his sons – I want them to need me –" He whispered, and she nodded, letting his broad hand move her hip closer, making her body press against his.

"– I know, my husband – my sweet, sweet husband –" She whispered and heard him draw in the air loudly, surprised, his erection pulsed hard between her thighs.

She licked her lips, wondering if he was aroused by what he was hearing.

"– my husband is so good to me –" She gasped softly, letting their lips join in hot, sticky, lazy kisses, making wonderful heat surge through her body. "– my sweet friend – my sweet boy –"

She shuddered as his fingers tightened on the material of her gown, his throat leaving a sound she had never heard before.

He moaned.

Not the way he usually did, low and deep, when it was on the verge of panting, but high, the way she did when he gave her sweet pleasure.

Their fingers tightened on their bodies, letting their mouths find each other in greedy, violent, deep kisses – his cock between her thighs swelled all over and pulsed, hot, betraying that he was now completely ready to possess her.

"– I love you – please –" He muttered, forcibly ripping her gown off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, all swollen with milk. Something like a sigh of delight and relief left his throat as he sank his face into her sternum, his thumbs stroking and teasing her nipples hard from the cold.

She moaned as she tilted her head back, untying the material of his breeches, feeling the wonderful, pleasurable wetness between her thighs, proving that she was ready to receive him deep inside her.

"– my sweet husband deserve to be soothed – doesn't he? – to feel his beloved wife – how warm she is – how wet she is –" She whispered, cupping his swollen, quivering erection in her palm, feeling how incredibly hard it was, its tip thick and smooth, dripping with his moisture.

"– yes –" He mumbled in shame, directing one of her breasts to his face, holding it in his hand, finding her nipple with his mouth, beginning to suck it loudly along with her milk as she guided the head of his cock against her pulsing slit.

"– ah – my husband is so hard for me – makes me feel so fucking good – so, so big –" She cooed, sinking slowly onto his manhood only to lift herself on it with a loud click of her wetness, opening her thirsty, fleshy cunt again and again on his long, throbbing erection.

"– f-fuck –" He exhaled, embarrassed, imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, clearly aroused by what she was saying and how she was behaving, needing her affection, her acceptance, her closeness, everything he couldn't ask of anyone else outside the door of their chamber.

"– it's all yours, my dearest – I can ride you all night – you'll fill me with your seed as many times as I need, won't you? –" She gasped, and he groaned loudly into the skin of her breasts, clamping his hot hands on her hips, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, panting and quivering along with her.

She wasn't sure she had ever experienced a similar orgasm, so overpowering, hot, soothing, delightful.

"– f-fuck – f-fuck, Aemond, yes –" She whimpered, throwing her head back as she felt his body convulse, his warm seed filling her womb wit his low moans of pleasure.

He released her nipple from his mouth, panting heavily, snuggling his cheek into her chest, letting her arms embrace him in a tight grip, her lips placing tender, hot kisses on his hair.

"– forgive me – I'm ashamed – I –"

"– you are my husband – let me give you relief when you need it –" She whispered, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"– but – it was –"

"– a husband can show tenderness and understanding to his wife, but a wife to her husband cannot? –" She asked in pain, and he swallowed hard, letting out a loud, shuddering breath.

"– it won't happen again –" He muttered, needing, apparently, for her to tell that lie so he could stop thinking about how weak he was, how he needed it, how pleasant it was.

That he would beg in his mind for more.

More of her tenderness.

More of her praise.

More of her love.

"– as you wish –"

[justfandomwritings]

Who Hurt You? (Aemond Targaryen - Part One)

Pairing: Aemond x Niece!Unknown Parentage

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: This is a "Who Did This To You" trope so the OFC was a victim. It is not described in graphic detail, but please keep it in mind before reading if that may be triggering for you. Also Targaryen-typical cest.

Summary: There was no father in her life from whom she could seek protection in that moment, no father who could rush in and save her from this evil, who could swear to her it would never come for her again. But there was a voice, quiet and gentle and caring, which called out to her "Who hurt you?" and for a moment she thought that perhaps someone cared enough to listen to the answer.

“Princess?” 

How different might the world have been if Viserys had let Rhaenyra marry Daemon that night he’d bedded her in the brothel? How different might the world have been if Rhaenyra had run away with Criston Cole when he asked her to flee with him? How different might the world have been if Laenor had not been forced to marry her mother? How different might the world have been if Rhaenyra had not taken Harwin Strong into her chambers? How different might the world have been if she knew who her father was?

“Princess!”

Her features were a mixed bag, some that may have been Daemon, some that may have been Criston, some that may have been Laenor or Harwin, some that appeared to come from absolutely no one at all. Each of them had, at one time or another, looked at her with that sense of possibility, that she might be theirs or their worst enemies. All she could pinpoint were her eyes and her hair, Valyrian to her core. Many pointed to them as evidence of Daemon’s fatherhood of her. Her mother loudly touted it as proof that she was Laenor’s. She doubted it was proof of either so much as it was proof of Rhaenyra’s motherhood. Their hair, their eyes, were exactly the same shade. From the back, many had mistaken her for her mother over the years.

“Princess who did this to you?”

Some nights, when she was feeling particularly lonely, she would play pretend in her mind, decide which man was her father and play act at him loving her. She would pretend Daemon took her up on dragonback back and taught her to fly. She would pretend Ser Criston snuck her sweets and hugs whenever the court's backs were turned. She would pretend Laenor… Well, she never had to pretend with Laenor or Harwin. They had always loved her in their own ways, as much as they could anyway. 

“Princess? Who hurt you?”

If she knew her father, if she had a father at all, maybe she could go to him now. She could run inside to find Daemon; she could slide under the wing of Caraxes’ protection where she knew no one would ever hurt her again. She could run to Criston and beg him to take her away as he’d once offered her mother; he could draw his steel and beat back those who tried to hold her there. 

“Princess, who did this?”

Someone was grabbing her, shaking her. She felt it in a sense, but in a far greater sense she didn’t feel it at all. She knew it was happening, but she didn’t feel the hands that gripped her shoulders, that tugged her back and forth. The same with the voice, calling out to her. She knew it was there, knew what it was saying, but she couldn’t process the words.

“Princess, look at me.” 

Something had happened. Something terrible. She knew that much. She knew the rest too, but by the by it would not come to her. Something had happened to her. 

“Princess, you’re bleeding.”

Yes, she rather thought she was. Not a great deal, but certainly enough to be noticed. To be noticed by… someone. Did she even want to know who?

“Alarra!”

She heard that word. She knew that word. Her name. Laenor had given her that name. He had been so kind to her all the years she knew him. He had always treated her as a daughter, claimed her as a daughter, cared for her as a daughter, loved her as a daughter… at least from what she remembered. Perhaps those memories were colored rosy by death. Perhaps Laenor would not have made this situation any better; perhaps Harwin, perhaps a father of any kind, wouldn’t have either. Perhaps Ser Criston or Prince Daemon would have only made things worse. Perhaps this was simply her fate. 

“Alarra, who did this?”

She knew that voice. She’d known it the whole time, but she recognized it now. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Alarra blinked them away. Her eyes, against her will, regained their focus and brought her out of her daze. They brought her back to the world around her. She didn’t want them to. She wanted to stay there, in her head where she felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing. People couldn’t hurt her in her mind. In her body, people could hurt her. 

She must have been crying for some time without realizing while she was stuck in her head. Her eyes were already overwhelmed with tears, and she could feel their dried tracts down her cheeks. 

Aemond was more blur than man, hunched over in front of her, little more than overlapping shades of silver and black in her watery gaze. Yet even in her current state, there was no mistaking him. The details of his face were gone, but the vague black circle where an eye should have been marked him for who he was. 

“Alarra, who hurt you?” Aemond’s voice was quieter than it had been when it called her back to her body, like he knew then that she couldn’t hear him and knew now that she could. 

Of course it would be Aemond. Of course he would be the one to find her at her weakest, at her most vulnerable. He had a way of doing that, finding her weak spots. 

“Who did this?”

In response, Alarra’s body racked with a sob. Her shoulders were shaking with the force of how hard she cried, and it made some still disassociated part of her mind wonder if Aemond had touched her at all, if Aemond had actually shaken her shoulders as she thought or if it had been her body crying the whole time.

“Alarra, I’m going to take you to the Maester now.” Aemond touched a gentle hand to her upper arm, a far gentler touch than she had ever felt from him before, far gentler than she thought him capable of. 

“NO!” She jerked back the moment she realized what he said. Her hands clutched her dress to her chest to keep it from falling as she frantically skittered back on the ground away from him. “I can’t- you can’t- they’ll- no- no- no-”

Why couldn’t Jace have found her? Or Luce? She would give anything for one of her brothers to be here. She would even take her mother or, gods forbid, Daemon right now. 

The bush at her back poked and scraped against her bare shoulders and kept her from moving further away. It reminded her of her present state, of the dress barely clinging to her form and the bruises already coloring her arms and the cuts still bleeding at her collar. 

“As you say,” Aemond held up his hands in a mock surrender. She could see him now, the panic clearing her eyes of tears. His own eye was narrowed, though not judging or angry, for once, merely cautious. 

“No maester…” He stayed there, frozen and unmoving until Alarra ceased, till her feet stopped slipping and sliding uselessly over the ground, pushing for every inch of distance she could win away from him, till her shoulders stopped curling in on themselves hiding the more vulnerable parts of her body from him in favor of her partially exposed back. 

Even when she stopped trying to put distance between them, when she relaxed with the surety that he wasn’t going to force her to the Maester, he did not move any closer, did not break the silence in the air. 

He watched her patiently, as he so often did. And she, as she so often did, looked away. 

“If you take me to the Maester…” Alarra hiccuped around another tearless sob. She felt a need to explain herself to him, to explain before he jumped to his own conclusions. 

She hiccuped again as she prepared to subject herself to the mercies of one of the most merciless creatures she knew. “If you take me to the Maester, they’ll say my virtue — He didn’t. I swear he didn’t, but they’ll say he did— What with the rumors about my father, they will say… They will...” 

Neither of them needed to address the fact that Aemond was very much included in the ‘they’ whom Alarra feared talking. 

Aemond had long questioned the Velaryons’ parentage. He had relished toying with her brothers’ features that clearly weren’t Valyrian, basked in the opportunity to avenge a childhood of mockery and wrongs. She had never before been the subject of his wrath, mercifully spared by a childhood friendship, but the gods knew this opportunity would be too good to miss if she didn’t confront it.

“They will…” She couldn’t help mumbling the incomplete thought under her breath.

When Alarra found the courage to meet his gaze again, Aemond’s one eye was already boring a hole through hers with its intensity, and Alarra thought, not for the first time, that perhaps the gods themselves had plucked out Aemond’s eye. If for no other reason than to quell a potential challenger. 

“Please,” she wasn’t sure if there was enough air left in her lungs to voice the word, but she tried to speak it anyway, pushed it out between her lips like a quiet prayer to the gods, a quiet prayer to Aemond.

Aemond looked to be calculating his own course through these uncharted waters just as much as he appeared to be studying her reactions. 

“We cannot stay here, Princess,” Aemond spoke in a very stilted, calculated tone, like one reading facts from a book. “You are injured. Your appearance is disheveled. Your dress is in tatters, and if I was as without honor as your family thought I was I could see every inch of your front simply by glancing down.”  

Alarra subconsciously clutched her torn dress tighter to her. It was true. The blade had sliced clean through the neck and shoulders of her dress as it cut across her skin. The front would have fallen off long ago if not for her hand, and the weight of the damned thing and lack of support had long exposed huge swaths of skin to the cool night air. 

Though, admittedly, up until Aemond’s arrival her dress had been her least concern. 

Alarra turned her eyes down to her dress for the first time, again to avoid Aemond’s gaze. It was destroyed. The sleeves were gone; the embroidery was pilling and torn; the skirt was caked in mud; and worst of all, what remained of the neckline was soaked in her blood.

Without warning, Aemond stood.

Alarra’s eyes shot back up and her whole body tensed for a moment before she realized what he was doing.

Aemond wrenched off his black, Targaryen cloak and in the same flourish draped it over Alarra. She grabbed for it as it fluttered down, holding it to her chest. 

“Th-Thank you,” she stuttered out the words. 

Aemond’s cloak. She was wearing Aemond’s cloak. 

Aemond ignored her platitudes, which was just as well for her since she wouldn’t have known what else to say to him. “I’m going to touch you now, Princess,” Aemond said in warning. “I won’t harm you, and there will be no Maesters. I’ll only carry you to your chambers through the servant’s halls.” 

It was a chore, to force herself to calm enough for him to touch her, but she knew it was the best course. Her dress was well torn and would trail in ribbons behind her, and she was not sure she could walk. There was no physical damage to her legs, but she did not relish the idea of trying to rise to her feet in this state. Her upper body quaked even now; her legs would no doubt collapse if she so much as attempted to use them. 

Aemond approached slowly, cautiously. He looked like a predator about to put his prey out of its misery. She knew he wasn’t going to hurt her, at least not physically, but by the gods Aemond couldn’t help looking like the hunter. There was something to his face. Power perhaps, a touch of ruthlessness, the confidence he had lacked as a child. 

His hands slipped around her, one high on her back while his other dipped under her knees. He was ever so careful in the placement of his hands, tucking the cloak around her in his grip to avoid touching any skin.  He stood with her in his arms, and she thought of anything else to help even out her breathing as she felt a man’s touch brushing against her even through fabric.

Being at home on the rocky beaches of Dragonstone. The soft feel of braiding her mother’s hair. The sound of a crackling fire in her room. The smell of the salty, ocean breeze off the water. The taste of her favorite wine on her tongue. 

Every hall Aemond turned down she made a new list, and her breathing remained steady so long as she kept thinking of things. 

Balerion’s skull on a pedestal lit by candles. The dowse of warm water as Jace threw her in the sea. Caraxes’s roar when he flew overhead. The scented oils anointing her baby brother’s skin. Luce’s piss poor attempt at roasting rabbit as they camped in the woods.

Aemond said nothing while she made her lists. Perhaps he was calculating some plan of his own; perhaps he was simply giving her the space to think. Before tonight, she would have presumed the former, but now she was unsure.

Viserys on the throne. The soft threads of her embroidery. The nurses singing lullabies. The awful smell of the stables. A morning cup of tea. 

They walked in absolute silence, and Aemond took every precaution not to be seen. He ducked down the hidden passages known only to those who had truly mastered the keep; he stopped at the sound of every approaching footstep and hid behind pillars or corners. At one point, he pulled her into an abandoned meeting hall for several minutes as two servants stopped outside to chat. 

That had been a particularly painful few minutes, and she had refocused her efforts to list those things that meant the most to her.

Witnessing Daemon and Rhaenyra’s wedding. Vermax’s rough scales under her fingers as Jacaerys introduced her to his dragon. Harwin comforting her with sweet words after a cruel bout of insults about her father. The smell of smoke when her mother took her up on Syrax. The odd tasting fish Laenor cooked for her every nameday.

“Princess,” Aemond’s voice, as surprisingly gentle as it had been before, called out to her, “would you get the door?”

It was the first thing Aemond said on their walk. 

She mindlessly pushed open the door of her chambers, not even realizing that they’d reached them. “You can right me here, Aemond.” 

Aemond didn’t hear her, or perhaps he ignored her. He did not deposit her in the doorway as she asked; he crossed the room and set her gently back on the edge of her bed. 

“Thank you,” she said, more out of habit than anything. She owed him her thanks to be sure, but her mind was too occupied with other things to mean it. 

“Of course, Princess,” Aemond fingered the edge of the cloak still covering her. “I can leave this with you,” he offered, “but people will question why you have my cloak. It is your choice.” 

Alarra released her death grip on the fabric, and Aemond didn’t tug it away until it seemed she had firm grip on the dress beneath. 

Aemond stood to his full height and turned to leave. “I will leave you to your night. We will talk again when you are well.”  

She watched his back retreat for only a few steps before she could resist no longer.

“Please Aemond,” Alarra whispered into the night air as if the silence were glass and her words a falling hammer that might break it were she not gentle enough. 

Aemond paused at her door and turned back. 

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak, to ask. It was too much to ask. She knew it was too much to ask, especially of him.  “If you ever cared for me at all, as friend or family… do not tell anyone about tonight?”

His eye was not as intense as it stared at her now. It was softer, more discerning. 

That, or more likely the distance buffered the spear of his gaze.

“You are owed justice, Princess.” Aemond replied as he stepped back from the door and let his hand fall from the handle.  

Alarra had expected a simple yes or no, even if the yes was a lie. But then, she hadn’t expected him to find her in the garden. She hadn’t expected him to help her if he did. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to care if she received justice. 

Aemond crossed the room in long strides and knelt down before her, resting a gentle, almost hesitant hand on the top of her exposed knee. “You are owed justice, and you shall have it.”

“But I…” 

Aemond didn’t understand. And how could he. He was a man. He could fuck his way through half of Flea Bottom, and Viserys wouldn’t bat an eye. Aegon already had, and the greatest repercussions he’d faced had been the occasional cold shoulder for his lack of decorum. Aemond was a man, and unlike women, men could demand justice when they were wronged. 

“If I say anything… the rumors… I’ll be ruined. He will say he ruined me, and no one will believe me, not over a man. The moment he opens his mouth, it will be my fault, and I will be ruined.” The tears in her were hardening into something more as her voice became more clipped, “No assurances from the Maester that I am untouched will be sufficient to quell the mongers. My first child will be a bastard no matter when he’s born or to whom, and no man will have me accompanied by such a stain.”

This, of all things, was what Alarra was complaining about, what she was forced to worry about. It made her sick. She felt the bile rising in her throat even now, and she tried to swallow it down. 

This was not what she truly cared about. Alarra wanted nothing more than time to grieve herself, grieve her pain, grieve what had been done to her, but she could not have it. And not simply for Aemond’s presence.

It would have been the same if it were any other man who found her. It would have been the same if it were the queen or even her mother. And even if she hadn’t been found at all, it would have been the same tomorrow, or the next day, or whatever day that monster of a man finally came forward and opened his mouth about what he’d done to her. 

She would be expected to be unshaken, unperturbed by any trauma. Her first and only concern would be expected to be her house, her reputation, and her family, not her own wellbeing. 

The council, monsters that they were, may even demand she marry him, to be sure of the bloodlines.

The tears began to fall again, and she mourned not just what had been done to her and taken from her, not just her sense of safety and security, not just her sense of self, but also the mask she would have to wear come morning. She mourned because she knew it was her last chance to mourn. She mourned because she knew that even now she wasn’t supposed to mourn, for Aemond was watching.

“Leave that to me, Princess.” Aemond’s hand reached up, and a thumb gently brushed away her newest tears, “I swear to you, on my life and my dragon’s. No one will question your honor.”

Alarra scoffed. Such a fond notion. If it came from her brothers she might have thought them naive enough to think such a thing could be done. If it came from her brothers she might have thought them sweet enough to try. But this was Aemond, and he was not sweet. And he was certainly not so naive. 

“You can’t promise that.” Alarra closed her eyes to avoid looking into his.

“I can. I have my ways, Princess. Do not concern yourself with such trifling things as other’s expectations of you now. I will see to those. You need only worry after how to feel yourself again.”

It was as though he’d read her mind and pulled out the exact thing she wished he'd say. If he were Jace, she would have leaned into his hand on her cheek and fallen asleep, not trusting that all would be well by morning but trusting at least that he would be by her side when it wasn’t. 

But this was Aemond, and another tear slid down her cheek from behind her eyelids. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him, but by the gods did she want to. 

“Alarra, tell me. Who did this to you? Name the man who forfeited his life tonight.”

For a moment, her breath caught in her throat before…

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

“You violated guests' rights, broke into a lord’s bedchambers, dragged him out of bed, drew your blade on him, carved out his tongue, and left him to be found by the servants who heard his cries!” 

For the first time in many, many years, Viserys Targaryen looked like a dragon.

It was enough to quell the room to a still silence. It was enough to make the young ones quake with something akin to fear.

The Targaryens and Velaryons, the family, were the only ones called into the throne room for this particular trial. It was not, as so many usually were, made known to the nobility or even the entirety of the Small Council. Even the Kingsguard, save Cole, had been asked to wait outside. The King had kept it quiet, assembled the necessary parties, and immediately begun questioning his second son the same morning the young knight had been found dismantled on the floor of his guest chambers in the Red Keep. 

Aemond stood firm in front of his father’s rebuke. Arms tucked behind his back, feet shoulder width apart, he said, as though he were discussing the weather, “I also knocked out all his teeth.”

Aemond thought he might have heard Aegon snort.

“HE IS A TYRELL!” Viserys lurched to his feet, cutting his palm on the throne he moved so quickly. His finger stabbed at the man, leaning on Ser Criston for support, looking ever the pitiful victim. “A TYRELL! AND THE GUEST OF YOUR KING!”

The pain of the blades did not seem to register to Viserys, and even the usually attentive Alicent did not move to help her king as blood ran down the tip of Viserys’s finger.

On Aemond’s eye’s side of the hall, the Velaryons formed one strong line in his peripheral vision, ever the picture of courtly decorum even as Jacaerys and Lucerys no doubt wanted to jump with glee. They were all quelled to a state little more than statues by the severity of the moment.

Only Alarra stood out of line. Only Alarra was not frozen in stone. She stood behind her mother, peaking out at him between Rhaenyra and Daemon’s shoulders, watching him with a gaze that flashed between awe, pity, shame, and something akin to desperation.

Aemond looked away. He did not let his gaze linger long on her. Much as he wanted to dissect the moods haunting her every feature, he refused to draw the kind of attention to her that observing her would require. 

“Not an important one. Second son of a third son,” Aemond shrugged nonchalantly. “I assure you House Tyrell will not be greatly aggrieved by his loss.”

Viserys’s frame shook as though it could not contain his rage within his body. “On what grounds, Aemond!” 

Aemond stood firm. Truly, his father could yell all he liked. When he wanted to be, Aemond could be a terrifyingly patient man. His patience would far outlast his father’s anger. Not merely for the fact his father was too physically weak to maintain this rebuke for long. 

“I apologize, my King,” Aemond endeavored at civility, “but the grounds are not mine to say.”

That seemed to take Viserys back. Something cold, dark, came into his tone. “You would dare refuse your King.”

“I do not refuse my King. I have freely admitted to what I have done.” Aemond answered with an equally deadly calm.

A pin could have been heard dropping on the stones as Viserys took a shaky step down from the throne. “The Tyrells will make you take oaths for this, and I will not refuse them. They will ask to send you to the Wall.”

Aemond swallowed down his pride, swallowed down the urge to rage that it was the Tyrell who should be sent to the Wall, swallowed down the urge to cut through his father’s presumptions about the night. 

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Aemond bowed his head, “If my king commands.”

“Aemond,” His mother finally broke the silence of the rest of the room as she hissed at him, “Defend yourself.”

Aemond’s eyes stayed straight ahead, watching his father. 

“You heard your mother! Explain yourself boy!” Viserys commanded. “You have dishonored this house; you will give your reasons for this!”

“My reasons are my own. If the Wall is the price of his tongue so be it. I will not-“

There was a commotion amongst the Velaryons as all eyes turned to see Alarra pushing past Rhaenyra and jerking out of the grip her good father tried to clasp her in. 

“He was defending me, your Grace,” Alarra called even as she crossed the room. Daemon and Rhaenyra’s attempts to stop the girl halted as she loudly made her declaration.

Alarra dropped into a short curtsy next to Aemond before taking a similar stance to his beside him. Awaiting judgment. 

Aemond clenched his jaw tightly. He thought he might’ve felt a tooth crack. He did not glare down at his niece, much as he wanted to, nor did he chase her back behind her parents, much as he wanted to. 

Resisting the urge was not without complaint, and a huff slipped past his lips. The whole point of cutting out the man’s tongue had been so he could not speak of what he’d done to her. And now she loudly declared it in open court.

Was she trying to save him? Really, did she think Viserys would actually send him to the Wall? He would order it done then change his mind and settle for some brief exile or other. He would go to Essos, fight a war, become the next Daemon. 

“You must forgive Aemond for any impertinence.” 

Yes. She was trying to save him. 

Alarra’s head was hung as she addressed her King. “It was merely for the sake of protecting me. Ser Wendell attacked me in the garden last night, your Grace. Aemond was my rescuer. That is how Ser Wendell came to lose his tongue. If the Tyrells demand an oath, let me give it in his stead. Aemond has acted with nothing but honor.”

There was a quiet after Alarra finished speaking. Somewhere outside, knights in armor were walking past the throne room. 

The first sound to break the silence was a wordless, toneless groan.

Ser Criston had let go of Ser Wendell, and Wendell had swayed on the spot for a moment before Ser Criston had kicked the man to his knees.

“Attacked you!” Viserys stumbled back to sit in his throne, breathing heavily, seemingly exhausted as the anger within him at his own son quelled in the face of this new revelation. “In what way, dear girl, has this knight attacked you? Has he dishon-”

“No,” Aemond cut off the King before he could finish voicing the word. He had promised no one would question her on this. “I saw what was transpiring from the balcony. At first it seemed nothing more than a spat. When I realized he’d drawn a blade…” He was cut off by his sister’s loud gasp. “I came to her aid as quickly as I could. I am sorry to say I could not prevent all of what transpired, but I assure you my niece’s virtues remain entirely intact. I would swear to it. His honor was the only thing destroyed last night.”

Wendell, on his knees in front of Cole, made loud, wordless noises and gestured wildly in the direction of Aemond and Alarra. 

Aemond sneered and rested his hand back on the hilt of his sword, the blade letting out a threatening ‘shink’ noise as he unsheathed the first inch. Wendell shrunk back, his arms freezing though his mouth still blubbered on. “You can still lose your hand, Ser Wendell.” 

“Or your head.”

All blubbering ceased.

For all of his bluster and rage and shouting and for all the silence and fear it evoked, there was nothing Viserys could do to chill a room like those three words said by that voice. 

“Why does he live?” Daemon continued. His voice was as cold as the Stranger’s embrace, and his eyes glaring across the hall at Ser Wendell just as steady.

The question was for Aemond, he knew, but Daemon made no move to address him directly.

“The coward fled even as I arrived. Alarra was quite merciful in her pleas that hunting him down to slaughter was not justice. So I quelled my anger with his tongue.”

“And his teeth,” Aegon muttered under his breath. 

Aemond’s head jerked around, and he sneered at his brother. “His teeth were incidental. If he hadn’t so resisted losing his tongue, he’d still have them. They had to be gotten out of the way.”

Daemon paid no mind to the bickering between the brothers. He sauntered forth, like a lion stalking its prey.

“Alarra wished to have justice?” 

Daemon stopped then, in front of Wendell, staring down at the man. 

Aemond’s eyes flitted to the woman in question. 

Alarra was watching Ser Wendell almost as intently as Daemon watched him. The way Aemond remembered she used to watch the bugs that frightened her as a child, like she had to know where he was at all times, like she had to keep him in her sights or he may sneak up on her some other way, even tongueless and on his knees with the man visibly pissing himself.

“Yes, she did.” Aemond answered for her.

“He has no tongue,” Daemon mused. His head tilted to one side, and from where he stood Aemond could see the tug at the corner of Daemon’s mouth. “I suppose the only fair trial he will have is by combat.” When he wanted, Daemon’s smile could truly be a thing of evil. 

Alarra looked ready to be sick.

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

It had been a chore to escape her rooms that night. Her mother had posted two guards to her door in an effort to make her feel more comfortable, but when the unfamiliar faces introduced themselves and took up their station it only made her feel more cut off, more alone. She felt suffocated by the presence of these strangers she did not know or trust blocking her primary exit from her room. 

Climbing out the window had seemed the logical thing to do. 

She could not sleep and had not eaten at dinner. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to do either, but she was sure she didn’t want to feel trapped. 

Her feet took her around the back halls of the palace, wandering paths where no one would dare to look for her. It was around the fourth or fifth hall, in front of the room they had stopped for minutes on end, that she realized the path her feet had been carrying her along. She made no attempt to stop it. Or maybe she did and her feet didn’t listen. 

The garden was beautiful, if a little more terrifying. The moonbeams that had always made the water in the pool seem to glint now only seemed to cast shadows under the hedges. The flowers which were so beautiful and richly hued at twilight had bigger thorns this week than last. 

“I would have thought wandering the keep at night was not to your taste anymore. Least of all here, Princess.”

Alarra did not so much as jump when she heard the voice. If anything, her shoulders seemed to loosen their tension.  

“I could not sleep. My feet brought me here, and I-I cannot say why I did not leave.” She answered the unasked question. 

Aemond came to stand beside her against the bannister, putting his back to the garden and instead facing her. “We all fight our battles differently, I suppose.”

“I appear to be losing mine.”

Aemond chuckled humorlessly. “On the contrary Princess, I think you are the champion of House Targaryen.”

Alarra finally tore herself away from the spot on the grass she had been trying to burn with her eyes alone. “I feel like the Queen of Fools. I keep thinking of everything I should have done, ways I could have stopped him, things I wanted to say.”

Aemond paused for a long moment, quietly considering his response.

“Even if there are things you could have done, that does not make you the Queen of Fools… though I understand why you would think such a thing.” Aemond assented. His head turned so his eye could stare out at the sky, and Alarra watched his profile in detail. He cut a far less intimidating figure tonight than he usually did in the light of day. “I am the same with my duels with Ser Criston. I berate myself for weeks after each loss, picking them apart in my mind. I play each out a hundred different ways. It helps at first, helps me become a better fighter, better swordsmen. I study it until I know I will never make the same mistakes again. But eventually, I have to move on.”

Aemond turned his eye back to her. “For one simple reason, Princess. Those are all things I know to do differently now, but I did not know them then. One day, you will wake up and realize that the only thing you could have done that night, with what you knew then, is exactly what you did. Every idea you think of you can apply if the situation arises again, but you cannot expect yourself to have known those things before you knew them.”

Alarra pulled her eyes away forcefully and stared down at where it happened. He was right, in a way. She just wasn’t sure that made anything better. 

“Do not trouble yourself with moving on now, Princess. The last fight isn’t over until I’ve stopped thinking about it, and I can’t win the next one until it is… but if it takes me weeks to move past something as petty as a lost duel, I wager you are allowed more than a night to move past this.”

“And how many nights can I go before I collapse during the day?” Alarra asked quietly. “This is the second night I have not slept, and my mother’s solution is to put my life in the hands of men I know no better than Wendell.”

That did seem to make Aemond pause. He always thought before he spoke, and the man thought hard now for what to say and how.

“I can-if it please you of course-think of one alternative.”

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

“She will not harm you, Princess,” Aemond assured her. 

Alarra stared up at the dragon looming over her. Her feet had frozen to the ground the moment she realized where Aemond was taking her, which given her distracted, absent state of mind had not been until they were standing on the beach with the dark, hulking mass of Vhagar casting shadows in the moonlight illuminating their skin.

She swallowed and shrunk back further into the meager protection of her cloak as Vhagar shifted and grumbled in her sleep. A puff of smoke floated away on her exhale.

“Princess,” Aemond stepped between her and Vhagar, his back to the creature. He caught her chin between his fingers and tilted her head so her gaze was forced to meet his eye. “Princess, do you trust me?”

“Trusting you is not the issue at the moment, Aemond.” Alarra mumbled.

“You’ve been around dragons many times.”  Aemond said it as both a statement and a question.

Alarra nodded. “Yes of course, but never Vhagar.”

“She’s no different than any other dragon.” Aemond stipulated.

“Only that she’s thrice as large and thrice as deadly. She's so large Arrax could sleep in her jaw.” Her tone was more biting than she meant for it to be. 

Alarra’s eyes wandered back over Aemond’s shoulder. She couldn’t help it. Not with her sleeping right there. 

"I'd be a fool not to be warry, Aemond. We all would be. She's conquered kingdoms. She's killed dragons."

"None of yours." 

"Well, I don't have one to kill."

Aemond rolled his good eye. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” Alarra bit back immediately. It was an instinctual answer this time. An instinct that had formed over the course of only two days, but an instinct nonetheless. If she had been thinking clearly, Alarra would have lied and said no or at least pretended to consider her answer before she tacitly agreed to trust him. Yet with the figure silhouetting Aemond, it was impossible to take time to think and consider anything seriously. 

Something softened, only slightly, in Aemond's expression as he heard her response. “Come.” She hadn’t realized till his hand dropped away that he had been cradling her chin the whole time, drawing her eyes back to his as it did. “I would never hurt you, and she does as I bid. If it helps, keep your eyes on me.” 

Aemond took Alarra’s hand in his and turned. Staring at him did help. Alarra glared daggers into Aemond’s back as he pulled her along towards Vhagar. Though, t he daggers turned to spears as her peripheral saw the beast open its’ eyes. 

“Do not look.” Alarra whispered to herself.

Aemond chuckled, shoulders shaking, and she realized she’d spoken the reassurance out loud. 

“Easy to laugh with the most fearsome creature in all the world under your control.” Alarra snipped quietly at him. 

Aemond squeezed Alarra’s hand in response, as he had so many times that night, so many times since he found her in the garden. “Tonight she is hardly mine.”  Aemond stopped a mere arms length from the head of the dragon. 

Vhagar had not moved but to open her eyes, and Alarra felt them watching her as she stared intensely at the space between Aemond’s shoulder blades. If she didn’t look, didn’t challenge the dragon, maybe she would make it out of this alive. 

“Hello Vhagar,” Aemond’s free hand reached up and trailed over the scales on the underside of her snout, the only place he could truly reach.

Vhagar huffed in response and tilted her head ever so slightly towards Aemond’s palm. Alarra clutched his hand more tightly in response.

“Konīr iksos nykeā hāedar nyke jaelagon ao naejot rhaenagon.” There is someone I want you to meet. Aemond said the words to Vhagar gently, reverently, asking her permission as much as telling her.

“Oh Aemond,” Alarra tugged at the hand he was holding. “I can’t. I’m not-“

Aemond didn’t loose his grip. He clenched down and tugged Alarra out from behind him. He pulled her under his raised arm and tucked her into his side, never letting go of her hand on the other side of her body, instead choosing to wrap his arm around her. “Alarra,” by necessity given their difference in height, Aemond leaned down towards her ear, “I know. Trust me. I know.”

Of course he knew. Everyone knew. The Targaryen who couldn’t ride a dragon. The would-be queen who couldn’t claim a mount. The undeserving heir. 

Alarra’s head dipped slightly away at the reminder. 

Aemond lifted their entwined fingers and took a step behind Alarra. For a moment her heart leapt being alone in front of Vhagar, but Aemond quickly pressed himself into her back, shuffling her forward to reach the dragon. He placed Alarra’s palm on Vhagar’s snout where his had been moments before. 

Vhagar huffed, and Alarra tried to retreat her hand, but Aemond held it still. 

“Easy girl.” Alarra didn’t know whether he was talking to her or the dragon. 

“Gīda, Vhagar. Gīda.” Aemond leaned over Alarra’s frame, pressing her even closer to the dragon, and laid his forehead to one of Vhagar's scales. 

The dragon's chest rumbled and she nudged back against him. Alarra’s hand twitched in Aemond’s grip under the shifting scales, but she made no move to pull it away. 

“Vhagar, bisa iksos Alarra.” Vhagar, this is Alarra . Aemond pulled his forehead back and began running his hands, the free one and the one trapping Alarra in its grip, over the beast. 

With the sound of his voice telling her to calm, Vhagar’s gaze shifted to her rider with a wary eye, and being out from under the dragon's gaze took a great deal of the weight from Alarra’s chest. 

“R-Rytsas.” Alarra hesitantly addressed the dragon. 

Aemond smiled appreciatively down at Alarra and let go of her hand.  She kept it there on Vhagar’s snout though she stopped her stroking. 

Alarra stayed frozen where Aemond left her waiting instruction on how to proceed while the dragonrider stepped out from behind her. Aemond stood under the edge of Vhagar's snout and held his arms out in what would have been a hug if the dragon were smaller.

Aemond's tone was soft as he spoke to his dragon. “īlon jāhor sagon ēdrure kesīr rūsīr ao.” 

Alarra’s head whipped around and her hand fell in shock. 

We will be staying with you tonight. 

Aemond paid no mind to Alarra’s shock. addressing only his dragon. “ Ziry iksos aōha āeksio sir. Mīsagon zȳhon rȳ ry. ”

Treat her as your master as well. Protect her at all cost.  

There was a pause of several moments before Vhagar’s gargantuan tail lifted from the sand and smacked back down. Whatever passed between Aemond and the dragon, he seemed to understand this as acceptance. “Thank you Vhagar.” 

Aemond scooped up Alarra’s fallen hand and tugged her down Vhagar’s length away from her snout and towards her belly. “This should do for now,” Aemond said over his shoulder. “Sand is not as soft as a bed, but it is a far cry better than wandering the keep all night.”

Aemond let go of her and dropped down on the beach, looking up expectantly at Alarra.

Alarra remained standing above the prince staring down at him in stunned silence. 

Aemond watched her shock for a long moment before he said. “You've said yourself Vhagar is the most fearsome creature in the world, Alarra. Yes?”

Alarra nodded numbly. 

“Well?” Aemond gestured around them. Vhagar’s tail had flopped in a ring closer to her head, leaving the pair of them in a nearly perfectly closed loop encircled by the most powerful creature in existence. “I assure you anyone that makes it past Vhagar won’t make it past me.” 

Alarra wasn’t bothered by that notion. No, she was fairly certain this was precisely what Daemon and his loyal guards frequently joked about as ‘overkill’ when discussing old battles. She didn’t feel safe in her room, and instead of suggesting she get to know her guards or offering her Criston for the night Aemond had taken her here, to a veritable fortress of his own making, safer than anything Maegor had ever built. 

No, it wasn’t the threats outside of the circle that gave her pause. It was those within, or rather the lack thereof. 

“Aemond…” Alarra remained on her feet even as he offered her a hand down into the sand. “Aemond…”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “If it is being alone with me that causes hesitation, I can return for you before morning. Vhagar will keep you-”

“ Āeksio?” Master?

Something washed over Aemond then, trading the pause from Alarra to him.

Alarra spoke quietly, as though she was afraid someone would overhear what Aemond had just done. “Ao gīmigon skoros bona udir means. Ao daor gūrogon bona arlī.” You know what that word means. You know you cannot take it back.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. He seemed to think for a moment before deciding to respond, in equally flawless Valyrian. “Nyke jāhor daor jaelagon naejot.” I will not wish to.

Alarra, still as stunned as ever, took the hand he offered her then and followed him to the sands.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Perfect. | joel miller x f!reader drabble, 1.6k

Summary: You're full of Joel, but you need him in your mouth, too. Joel delivers.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, pwp, rough sex, dom!joel, sub!reader, established relationship, everything that happens is discussed and consensual, cursing, praise kink, size kink, degradation kink, unprotected p in v, minor anal play, nipple play, reader is obsessed with Joel's fingers, hair pulling, (1) ass slapping, manhandling, gagging kink, deepthroat, free use at the end, facial, cum eating, belated aftercare, as always, let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: There's not much to say, this is pure filth, just to cleanse my palette of all the anguish I've brought upon myself! It was written on a whim, so here goes 👀

P.S.: I don't need to remind you how much I hate summaries. I hate them. OK, ily all, bye!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Fuck, you feel so good-” Joel pants between your breasts as you take him deep inside you, riding him, “uuuuuh, perfect- fuck- perfect little pussy-” He’s so big, you feel him in your belly. Your cunt is stretched to its limit but you’re so wet from all the orgasms he pulled out of you before impaling you on his hard cock, that he slides inside you with ease.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his feet touching the soft carpet beneath him. His hands cradle your ass, kneading it and maneuvering you up and down on his thick cock, while you lock your hands around his neck for leverage.

His fingertips glide lightly over your asshole as he holds you open and stretched in his palms, feeling your tight ring of muscle clench on his digits. His lower belly and balls are soaked in your arousal, the hairs on his base glued together by your sticky slick. Your clit rubs against them every time you roll your hips.

Joel runs his big calloused palms up your back, sending shivers down your spine and as you arch your back in pleasure, pushing your breasts closer to his face, he cups them, pinching your hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You look down at his hands as he continues to arouse your tits and the sight makes your clit twitch and your cunt clench around him.

His wet tongue enters the game, flicking it up and down over your erect nubs, sending jolts of pleasure through your body and your thighs begin to tremble both from exhaustion and arousal.

Your fingers run through his hair, tugging gently. He moans as his hand comes down hard on your asscheek. You whimper at the spreading pain, your cunt gushing around his cock, the lewd sounds of your joined sexes only making it more obvious.

You fuck him so good and hard, sucking him deep inside you, you start creaming around him.

You become obsessed with his hands. Big, strong, veined and tanned, with tiny freckles, his fingers calloused and skillful; their expert touch, always bring you to completion.

“I wanna suck your fingers. Please..” you coo into his ear, your hands tugging desperately at the unruly curls at the back of his head.

“Mhhhh..yeah?” Joel turns his head towards you, his aquiline nose pressing against your cheek.

Your grip on him tightens as you continue to bounce on his cock, your voice laced with need and lust, “Please, Joel..”

Joel grants your wish and moves a palm away from your breast but doesn’t bring it to your mouth. Instead, he snakes it between your bodies, collecting your arousal from his slick-coated base. He’s going to be the death of you.

He brings his shiny fingers to your face allowing you to take the lead, go on, then. Milky strings of your slick create little webs connecting his digits together.

You encircle his wrist with your delicate fingers and bring his palm to your nose, smelling the combination of your juices and his musk, making your eyes roll. “You dirty little thing..” he mutters to himself, smirking as he begins to meet your thrusts with his own, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the otherwise silent room.

You open your eyes and slowly wrap your lips around his middle and ring fingers, swirling your tongue around the tips as you would his cock head. “Fuck.” he grunts through his teeth and you feel him twitch inside you, his breath stuttering. You hollow out your cheeks and suck them into your warm mouth, bobbing your head up and down on them, your eyes never leaving his.

“You like that, babygirl? Suckin’ my fingers like you do my cock?”

“Mmhmm..” you all but moan, your face wrecked from the intensity of the moment.

“Wanna gag on them?” Fuck yes.

“Mhhhh” you whine now, sucking even harder to make a point. He pushes his fingers further into your mouth as his cock pushes deeper into you, stroking that sweet spot that only he can reach. He presses on your gag reflex, making you gag and your eyes water. Your grip on his wrist is firm, making sure his fingers stay in your mouth.

“Such a fuckin’ whore f’ me, aren’t you? Stuffing your holes full ’a me, huh?” You clench violently around him, almost to the point of coming, your breath coming in short pants. He leans forward, his lips brushing your ear “Maybe I should stuff your tight little hole with my other hand, I bet you’d like me in there, too. I bet you’d take me so well, yeah?”

His dirty talk drives you wild and you arch your spine again, moaning around his fingers but he quickly withdraws them, strings of saliva briefly connecting your lips to his tips and you whimper at the loss.

He lowers his slick fingers to tap quickly but gently on your swollen clit. You cry out at the stimulation, waves of electricity rippling through your body. “Gonna come on my cock baby? Yeah..” he breathes, his eyes fixed on your face, contorted with pleasure, “Yeah, you are.”

That does it; you come so hard, spasming around his stiff length, making a mess on his lap. Joel stops fucking into you, staying buried to the hilt inside you, feeling the tight grip of your cunt choking him in rhythm.

“That’s it, thaaat’s it, look at me, baby, fuck- fuckmmphh- this perfect cunt-” Joel keeps guiding you through your orgasm, biting where your neck meets your shoulder.

Your mouth is slack from the force of your release but it feels so empty and before you come down completely you are begging for him. “I need you in my mouth, Joel- I need you to fill me with your cum, please Joel, please..” you beg deliriously.

“Christ, baby.” Joel grits his teeth and pulls you off his lap and his hard member, forcing you onto your knees and shoving his cock into your mouth, grabbing handfuls of your hair. He can't deny you when you beg so prettily.

The taste is heavenly. Tasting yourself on him as you breathe in his heady scent makes your head spin with desire. “That’s it, gag on it.” he says as he focuses on his shaft, veiny, swollen and shiny, disappearing into your warm mouth, hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

He knows. He sees it all in your eyes, you’re so far gone, surrendered to your pleasure and his. Joel begins to fuck your throat in deep, sharp thrusts, his thighs tensing and bulging under your palms. He rests his hand around your throat, feeling it bulge under his fingertips.

You’re utterly ruined. Your eyes are bloodshot and filled with tears, and your lips are stretched and swollen as you drool around him. Your face is coated in sweat, saliva and your arousal. You can taste your cum and his pre-cum on your tongue, along with every ridge and vein of his erection. You just kneel there, between his legs like a toy, letting him take and give what you both need.

“Fuck, look at you. Look at you, my sweet girl, choking on this big cock.”

You don’t react, you just sit there, pliant and doe-eyed and take it; content and worry-free. You make it so hard for him to hold back any longer. He’s about to come and he has this irresistible urge to ruin that innocent, fucked out look on your face.

He pulls his cock out of your mouth and jerks furiously over your face, his biceps flexing from the effort, his other hand firmly gripping your hair to maneuver you as he pleases. You look up at him in total surrender, tongue out, longing for what’s to come.

His eyebrows are drawn together, his jaw is slack and his mouth is open in that perfect shape that his plush lips form, as he breathes heavily. His broad torso, covered in both yours and his sweat, rises and falls rapidly, his muscles flexing deliciously under his skin.

He comes and comes with a deep, guttural moan all over your face; your forehead, your eyelashes, your nose, your cheeks, your lips, everything is marked by his thick, warm, milky cum. Your cunt flutters at this act of degradation and possession.

“Don’t open them; it’ll sting.” you hear him say while catching his breath, referring to your closed eyes and your cum-coated lashes. You do as he says and wait behind the darkness of your closed eyelids for him to take care of you. But Joel just sits there, admiring his handiwork as he comes down from his high.

You can hear his heavy breathing and the lack of sight is the only thing that makes you realize he’s human, like you. This otherwise divine creature is human.

“Let’s clean you up.” you finally hear him say as you feel his thumb wipe his now cold and dry cum from your skin, press it gently against your lips and feed it to you. You swallow every last drop of it, your tongue warm and welcoming around his digit. He leaves your eyes last.

When he’s finished, he holds the sides of your face with his palms, taking a good look at your submissive form, resting his forehead against yours.

You slowly open your eyes as he plants soft kisses all over your face. “Perfect..” you hear him murmur, more to himself than to you.

“Perfect and mine.”

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks.  CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present. 

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things. 

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple. 

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas. 

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.” 

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things. 

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat. 

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.” 

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!” 

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.” 

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.” 

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean. 

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional. 

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.” 

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.” 

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough. 

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles. 

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.” 

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole. 

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror. 

But not JM. 

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility. 

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February. 

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home. 

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.  

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’. 

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that. 

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'. 

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome. 

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out. 

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?” 

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head. 

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.” 

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck? 

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed? 

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman. 

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone. 

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her. 

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip. 

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass. 

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft. 

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?” 

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you. 

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him. 

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.” 

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.” 

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning. 

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. 

[theinnerunderrain]

Flowers only bloom when the sun comes out [Yan! Prince x Fem! Maid-Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, child neglect, mentions of suggestive behaviors and lustful behaviors, manipulative thoughts, etc.

+

Miserable.

Prince Cassian would choose "miserable" as the precise term to depict his fragile existence. Born a prince into a mighty kingdom, his father ruled with an iron fist and unwavering will. Yet, despite his royal lineage, his life felt devoid of meaning, a constant struggle in the shadows of his father's reign. Maybe his father held Cassian accountable, at least in part, for the death of his beloved queen. Perhaps that's why he was abandoned to decay in the queen's once-grand residence, where dust settled like a shroud, paint flaked from the walls, and sinister spiders claimed every corner.

However, the king, perhaps out of lingering kindness or a trace of pity, permitted servants to attend to the prince. Yet, few were inclined to care for a forsaken prince; servants came and went as the boy matured into a young man. Initially, some felt sympathy for him, but they soon departed upon realizing there was no benefit. Others, driven by greed, chipped away at the scant jewelry and valuables left in the building before absconding to sell them in the market. His existence drifted aimlessly, filled with endless hours staring out his window or sipping the bitter tea his younger sister, kind but unaware of his plight, managed to sneak to him.

It all seemed so pointless.

Then, one day, you appeared. A young maid, your smile radiant and your enthusiasm palpable as you embarked on this new job. He couldn't help but feel sorry for you, knowing that your optimism would soon be crushed once you discovered the reality of serving a prince like him, someone you might deem unworthy of your efforts. Every day, he observed you closely, noting your tireless efforts and how your face, though marked by exhaustion from tasks meant for many, retained a composed and bright demeanor.

He found himself admiring your diligent work ethic, transforming his once bitter teatime into a sweeter experience as you mastered the art of brewing it just right. The clothes he wore now carried a scent of softness, feeling gentle against his skin, a stark contrast to the past when they often felt itchy and smelled of sweat. The garden flourished with the flowers you tended to, and his bedroom felt fresh and inviting, as if it were truly lived in. Your presence became a source of comfort for him. He enjoyed your greetings each morning, your smiles making him feel truly alive, reminding him of his own humanity.

He felt a growing desire to be near you, craving the comfort of your presence. He longed to bask in the warmth of your soft smile, to feel the gentle touch of your hand as you helped him dress. He treasured the moments when you enveloped him in warmth on cold, restless nights haunted by memories of his mother. Your gentle fingers combing through his hair brought a soothing calmness to his troubled mind. He delighted in teasing you during work hours, reveling in the sight of your face blushing a deep scarlet as his hands playfully found their way to your waist, causing you to momentarily lose your grip on the dustpan before scolding him.

He likes you.

Well, he didn't just like you. He was consumed by you, obsessed with every thought of you, you, you.

He yearned to be enveloped in your essence, to drown in your intoxicating fragrance, to be devoured whole by you. He craved for your lips to consume his, for your touch to consume his skin, for every part of him to be consumed by you. He was acutely aware that his thoughts about you would be deemed sinful by the church, yet he couldn't help but question God's justice in abandoning him for a crime he didn't commit. Considering your background as a commoner's daughter, burdened with constant toil, he doubted you had any prior experience with men, leading him to wonder if he might be your first.

He hoped you preferred younger men, despite his slight age difference. He vowed to bring you pleasure so intense that it would bring tears to your eyes. With your face flushed in red with his hands tracing over the curve of your body, admiring the plumpness of your swollen breast. The way your supple body would quiver and twitch with every flick of his tongue against your adorable clit, with your soft thighs grappling around his head much like soft pillows.

Ah, perhaps he shouldn't be thinking of such lustful matters.

Anyway, he was acutely aware that as a powerless and forgotten prince, his presence posed a constant danger to himself and those close to him. His older siblings, viewing him as a potential threat to the throne, could easily target him. He contemplated two options: either showing up at the King's castle, pleading with his father to take him back, or fleeing with you to another country. The idea of living as a commoner didn't seem so daunting, considering his current life despite his royal title. Yet, a third, more manipulative thought crept into his mind—perhaps he could exploit his younger sister's naivety to regain entry to the main palace, using her pity as a means to an end.

He believed that in the end, whatever sacrifices were necessary to attain the power to keep you would be worthwhile.

[xxnymeriatargaryenxx]

when your husband aemond wants physical affection, he comes to YOUR chambers.

sex is not the first or the only thing he asks for, aemond just really wants your full undivided attention. after an exhaustingly long day of managing affairs and telling people what to do, all he wants is for his sweet beloved wife to take care of him, starting with removing his clothes and taking a hot aromatic bath.

aemond always prefers it when you undress him, as you are gentle with your touch and you take extra precaution when removing his eye-patch. the prince regent finds a degree of comfort in you he hasn’t felt since he was a boy at driftmark.

when he is feeling extra needy, aemond will insist that you join him in the bathtub yourself, he loves to have you on his lap and chest-to-chest with him so close and intimate.

and when you eventually begin to ride him, he simply can’t stop gawking at how radiant you look under the flickering candlelights. he is completely mesmerized not only by your dornish beauty, but also by your affectionate nature and how well you understand him. it makes him cum that much faster when you ride him like this.

alternatively, when a bath is not involved, aemond will stand at your doorway with his hands clasped behind his back until you make the first move beckoning him over to your bed.

when the prince regent is feeling particularly sore after riding vhagar, you give him a deep tissue back massage, using some hot oil, usually eucalyptus and jasmine rubbed between your fingers to soften his tense muscles and relieve any back knots.

…..after that? it’s all fair game 😮‍💨💦🍆

[d1xonss]

so ours babys a lil insecure bc of reader and his lil age gap he vents it to rick a little and since shes such a social butterfly literally talking and befriending everyone he gets upset and starts to think lowly of himself like theres younger men men who arent busy leading the community so they can spend all their time and affection on her blah blah he gets these crazy thoughts and she comforts him eases all his worries ):

Forever

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst/Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.1k

AN ~ Aww sad:(( but we love Reader comforting Daryl, it's one of my favorite things to write. And an age gap too?? I love it. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re ridiculous.” Rick spoke with a scoff.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man, not necessarily because of what he had claimed, but because it almost seemed like he hadn’t listened to him at all.

He already felt a little ashamed going to his friend in the first place to talk about how he was feeling, something the man rarely ever did. But that alone showed how desperate he seemed to be for any kind of advice, willing to put himself out there to express what had been going through his mind recently in hopes of some sort of reassurance.

He didn’t really know what had been going on with him recently, but ever since the group had made it to Alexandria, his insecurities slowly began to eat him alive. He started to take note of his appearance a little more, now that they actually had mirrors in the houses provided for them, seeing for himself how much older and tired he really was. It shouldn’t have bugged him as much as it did, but yet, it seemed to be all he thought about. And that constant loop of thoughts only traveled to another, thinking about how much living on the road seemed to age him, while the woman he was madly in love with stayed so young and beautiful.

She was absolutely perfect, not a single flaw, while he on the other hand had countless ones that he couldn’t seem to just get over and ignore. But that wasn’t the only aspect about her that seemed to cloud over his mind. She was quite the extrovert, making friends everywhere she turned as she was constantly radiating such a good and friendly energy. It even drew him in towards her from the start, falling victim to her charming personality. Though it wasn’t her kindness that made him a little more self conscious than before; it was the fact that a few younger men had obviously taken a liking to her natural sweetness ever since they moved here.

Now he knew that she would never cheat on him, the thought never even crossed her mind, but that still didn’t stop his jealousy from bubbling over to a point of no return. Wanting to beat the shit out of any guy who looked at her for just a little too long. He wasn’t blind by any means, and some of them had a hard time hiding the sneaky glances they were taking at his woman whilst she was just in her own little world.

Though the longer he seemed to stew over it for the months and months they had lived there, it made him start to wonder if maybe she would be better off with someone else. Someone a bit younger, more energetic, more outgoing. Someone that matched her personality better than he did. It was no secret that they were polar opposites, but he always imagined that they completed each other in a way, not even thinking twice about it. However, now that he had all the time in the world to think, it slowly started to consume him, thinking more about how he didn’t deserve her at all. But hell, maybe no one deserved her. 

The man then seemed to snap out of his thoughts, scoffing toward Rick who was looking at him with a small smile, “Man, m’ bein serious.” he grumbled.

“So am I.” Rick shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head a bit at him, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about man. You two are always attached at the hip, she loves you…I think you might just be in your own head about it.”

He sighed heavily as he thought to himself for another moment, his thumbnail in his mouth as he contemplated why he was confiding in Rick in the first place. At this point he had it in his head that the man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. “I dunno…” he eventually muttered in response.

Rick only shook his head, “You shouldn’t be so focused on this. You’ve always known how nice she is, everyone loves her-”

“Man, that ain’t the problem. I already told ya that.” Daryl interrupted with irritation in his voice.

“I know…I know.” he assured, “I guess I just don’t see the connection of how you came up with the idea that she suddenly deserves someone “better.”

The archer shook his head with a light scoff, “Seein her talkin with those guys…something kinda just clicked that she should be with someone more fit for her…” he trailed off for a moment, before pathetically shrugging his shoulders again, “I dunno.”

Rick honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Although, he could, he knew that Daryl sometimes got like this, thinking he didn’t deserve the things that he was given. But he never thought he would be standing here listening to him speak about how you would be better off with someone else. Anyone who even caught a glimpse of the two of you could easily see how in love you were with each other. He swore the sight could potentially make someone sick.

The man then cleared his throat, “Well…if you want to know what I think, I say you should talk to her.”

“Talk to her?”

Rick couldn’t help but laugh at how baffled he looked at the suggestion, “Yeah, talk to her. Besides, I think she’ll have a better chance at reassuring you about this than I will, she seems more fit for the role.” he joked.

But Daryl on the other hand scoffed, not exactly loving the idea, “This shit’s already embarrassing, why would I wanna bring it up to her? Didn’t even really wanna bring it up to you.”

“Thanks.” Rick said dryly before stepping closer to slap a hand on the man’s shoulder, “But just trust me on this, alright? You need to tell her how you’ve been feeling. Because if I know you at all, I know you want to keep this bottled up. But that’ll just make it worse and you know it.”

He was right. As much as Daryl hated to acknowledge it, he knew deep down he was right.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to put it off every chance he got, pushing it into the back of his mind as he always seemed to do in hopes that it would just go away. Though he knew it wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to want to think about it right now.

He went home later that night utterly defeated and clueless on how to even approach the topic in the first place. When the time dreadfully came around, how would he even bring it up? He was never good with words, especially when it came to something about how he was feeling. It was all just stupid and complicated in his mind, not knowing how to actually piece together the things he wanted her to know. But he knew he had to try.

The front door opened and shut with a small creak as he entered the house, kicking his dirty boots off to the side before he softly called out your name. But all was quiet, not a single sound of your voice calling back to him, to which he only assumed you were still out somewhere in the community. It wasn’t often you stayed out this late, but he silently knew that if someone needed the extra help, you would do it in a heartbeat.

The older man sighed deeply to himself before trudging up the stairs, wanting to get out of the filthy clothes he was trapped in before settling for the night, waiting for you to come home. He couldn’t ever really fall asleep without you there. He didn’t know if it was because he would always worry too much if you weren’t right beside him, or if he just physically needed your touch to relax, but it had to be somewhere in that ballpark. Perhaps both…definitely both.

He entered your shared bedroom with a tired huff, beginning to undo the buttons on his vest before folding it sloppily and setting it off to the side on the dresser. His hands then moved to peel off his dirty shirt that stuck to every part of his tanned skin, raising it over his head before throwing it in the hamper across the room to be washed. He ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face as he crossed the space to get himself another pair of pants to sleep in, when suddenly his movements stopped short.

The tall, full length mirror that sat off in the corner quickly caught his attention as he saw just a brief glimpse of his reflection dancing behind the glass. He blinked a few times as he knew he shouldn’t look too close, knowing it was only going to add fuel to the already ongoing fire. But a part of him couldn’t help it, seeing as it was too late now that he had taken notice of a few new flaws he hadn’t spotted before. It was like some kind of sinkhole that he couldn’t escape from, looking over the things he hated the most about himself over and over again.

He slowly stepped closer toward the object even though he knew he shouldn’t, seeing himself a little more up close as the moonlight poured through the window just above him to illuminate his figure. His eyes scanned everything he could make out in the slight darkness, seeing the wrinkles that were now more prominent on his forehead. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes from the exhaustion and stress that had been weighing on him constantly. And seeing the scars that littered over his entire body.

“Daryl?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your soft voice from behind him, spinning around to see you standing in the doorway. Your eyes widened a little in surprise. Never had you recalled a single time where you had been able to catch him off guard, accidently sneak up on him enough to make his heart skip. He had always been aware of his surroundings, the man had the instincts of a goddamn cat. So to say you were surprised when he hovered about five feet in the air at your presence, would be an understatement.

You raised an eyebrow at him in slight concern, “You okay?” you asked softly as you approached him with hesitance.

Daryl’s stomach had plummeted to his ass, a heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment as you caught him staring down at himself for a bit longer than usual. He swallowed thickly as he saw you walking further into the room, nodding a bit quickly, “Yeah…m’ fine.”

Though the way he spoke was far from convincing, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual, and the reassuring smile he tried to send your way being a little too forced for you not to realize. Your eyes narrowed toward him in slight suspicion as you came to stand right in front of him, taking in his appearance. There was something that was clearly circling his mind, you had noticed for far longer than he thought you did. But you always knew when there was something off about him.

You gently reached out to grab one of his hands in your own, “Come on…don’t lie to me.” 

He sighed softly, knowing that he should just bite the bullet and tell you, but he couldn’t bring himself to just yet. “Just…just had a rough day. That’s all.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” you said with a slight shake of your head, watching as he furrowed his brows a little in question. “You’ve been acting off for weeks now, you really didn’t think I was going to notice?”

His eyes widened. Shit. 

A small smirk formed on your lips as you clearly saw that you had caught him in a little white lie. It was written all over his face. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, “I’m not upset…I just want you to talk to me.”

He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, especially after Rick gave him that little wake up call earlier to just rip the bandage off. But he hoped he could put it off for at least a few more days, wanting a little more time to prepare the things he wanted to express to you honestly. Though he could tell just by the way you were looking up at him, that you wanted answers, and he couldn’t just ignore what was standing right before him.

He sighed softly as he looked at the ground for a moment, before slowly nodding his head, “Alright…” he started, not even knowing where to take this. “Look…maybe…maybe this ain’t workin.” he blurted without thinking.

Your eyes widened a little, “What?” 

Daryl’s eyes then grew as well realizing just how bad that sounded, quickly shaking his head, “No, no, I- I mean…that ain’t how I meant for it to sound at all.” he reassured, before taking another moment to collect his racing thoughts. “I’ve been…thinkin recently and…I ain’t gettin any younger. Hell, I feel like I aged five extra years just from bein out on the damn road for so long.”

You nodded along slowly, not really seeing where this was heading, “So?”

He sighed softly, “So…I’ve been thinkin bout how…maybe…ya deserve to be with someone a little more fit for ya. Someone younger than me…someone who can give ya what I can’t.” he spoke almost regrettably, like he dreaded even saying those words out loud in the first place.

The truth was, he never wanted to let you go, that was a knowing fact that didn’t need to be proved. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hold you back from a chance at a better life. One that you so clearly deserved.

But your expression seemed to soften drastically, now hearing his explanation out loud, it all seemed to click in your head. Why he had been acting off for the longest time, it was because he was just thinking too much about something that meant absolutely nothing. When you first noticed his odd behavior, you automatically assumed you had done something wrong without realizing. But now hearing it out loud, hearing how hurt he sounded, all you wanted to do was hold him and never let him go. Wanting to reassure him for the rest of your lives if you had to that he was truly the only man you would ever want.

A small huff passed through your lips, “Sweetie…that’s what this is about?”

Daryl shrugged a little in response, “Well…yeah. I’ve seen ya makin friends with a lot of the people round here…it just crossed my mind that…maybe-”

“Stop.” you said gently as you moved even closer to him, reaching up to give his arms a gentle squeeze, “Don’t say another word.”

His gaze softened as he stared down at you, regret filling him completely as he saw just how his words had affected you.

“I love you…so much.” you whispered as your gripped his arms a little tighter, “I’m not looking at anyone else…I don’t want anyone else. No one else on this whole damn planet would be a better fit for me than you. I don’t need some younger guy. I’m not even friends with them, they only come talk to me if they have a question about something. And most of them aren’t very bright.” you said bluntly, earning a small chuckle from him. “I just wish you had told me about this sooner.”

He bit his lip a bit shamefully, “I know…m’ sorry. I just thought…ya might be better off-”

“I won’t.” you insisted, “You’re all I will ever need…you hear me?”

A small smile grew on his face upon hearing that, knowing that you meant every word. Though there was still another thing hovering over his mind. “Even though m’ an old man?” he asked half heartedly, though a part of him was still serious.

You rolled your eyes a bit, “Just because you’re older than me doesn’t make you an old man.” you laughed softly, “But if that’s something you’re really worried about…I promise to stick around even when you’re eighty.” you winked.

His lip quirked up a bit in amusement as he reached out to place his hands on your hips, gently tugging you closer, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

You then felt his thumbs start to rub soothingly along your hip bones, still a little unsure if this was truly what you wanted. To be with someone like him. “Ya promise?” he eventually asked.

You tilted your head a bit at him, “Come on…what do I have to do to convince you that I want this forever?”

The man was silent for a long moment as he thought to himself, absentmindedly still running his thumbs along your hips as he stared down at you. The truth was he didn’t really need anymore convincing than what you had already told him. Just by the small bit of reassurance you provided, he felt as though he was lighter, a weight being lifted from his shoulders knowing you were his. But still, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect time to make it even more official.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, not expecting him to be so blunt let alone say those words to you at all. He never really struck you as someone who would want to get married at a time like this, but it’s not like you minded. As long as you were with him, that’s all that truly mattered to you.

Only now it felt as if the wind was knocked out of you, hearing him utter those words so clearly as if he meant it with his entire being. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit nervously, “Don’t joke about that, cause you know I will.”

He smiled down at you, shaking his head softly, “M’ serious.” he assured, raising one of his hands to run his thumb along your cheek, “Marry me.”

A lump began to form in your throat as you felt yourself get a little more emotional seeing how real this was becoming. Seeing how serious he was. He really wanted this.

“Okay.” you whispered with a small nod of your head.

His smile only grew, “Okay?”

You nodded a bit more frantically as a large smile broke out onto your face, “Yes…yes I’ll marry you.”

He chuckled, pure relief and happiness filling him completely as he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around lightly as you squealed in surprise. Though he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to seal the deal as he gently set you back down on your feet, kissing you deeply as he felt you hum into his mouth. A part of him almost couldn’t believe that you had agreed, wanting to truly be with him forever. But then again, with the way you looked at him, with the way you said yes with little to no hesitation at all, he knew. You were his forever.

~ Thanks for reading!

[outoftheseine]

-AZRIEL “THE SHADOWSINGER” FIC RECS-

i am so obsessed with him it is not even funny | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the trials of aphrodite • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @milswrites (unrequited love, so much pining)

unrequited love | part two • azriel x reader

↳ by @lyssasdrafts (angst)

a field of dandelions • azriel x witch!reader

↳ by @prythianpages (made my heart warm, some angst, smut)

bloodied bonds | sinner’s sacrifice • azriel x rhysand’s sister!reader

↳ by @ellievickstar (hanahaki au, angst)

if it all fell • azriel x reader

↳ by @pellucid-constellations (angst, comfort, i feel for azriel :()

the silent one | 2 | 3 | 4 | azriel x fem!oc

↳ by @feyreswaterybowels (found family, slowburn, angst, fluff, comfort, mute!oc, tw: past sa)

lonesome | part 2 • azriel x reader

↳ by @assassinsblade (angst)

ocean eyes • azriel x reader

↳ by @redheadspark (very fluffy, angsty at times, smut, dad!azriel)

crush • azriel x reader

↳ by @writingcroissant (so so fluffy, smut)

i laugh like me again… she laughs like you | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 • azriel x reader

↳ by @azrielbrainrot (very angsty, grief, violence, torture)

was any of it true? | full throttle | alt. ending • badboy!azriel x goodgirl!reader

↳ by @flickering-chandelier (modern au, angst, happy ending, smut)

pushed to the edge • azriel x seer!reader

↳ by @stormhearty (oh boy hurt me so good)

baker!reader x azriel

↳ by @imaginesmai (so fluffyyy)

and so, the stars aligned | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 • azriel x archeron!reader

↳ by @offthepages

finding home • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @parkerslatte

sweet like sugar • azriel x reader

↳ by @writingsbychlo (fluff, angst, smut)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

tiny shadows • azriel x reader

↳ by @xmalfoyweasleyx (fluff)

his shadows know • azriel x reader

↳ by @daycourtofficial (fluff)

he feels safe with you • azriel x reader

↳ by @florencemtrash (warm, fuzzy fluff)

the quiet between • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @thewulf (mean!az, angst, fluff)

you drew stars around my scars • azriel x reader

↳ by @flickering-chandelier (fluff, slight angst)

arcane • azriel x death god!reader

↳ by @serpentandlily (fluff, tw: alludes to sa)

butterfly kisses • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @itsswritten (fluff, suggestive)

threads of hazel • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @itsswritten (oh beautiful angst)

laborious activities • azriel x reader

↳ by @writingcroissant (fluff and labour things)

marriage-life • azriel x reader

↳ by @delulustateofmind (sooo fluffy)

baby blanket • azriel x reader

↳ by @sapphicmsmarvel (fluff)

implode • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @daydreaming-nerd (really angsty)

blinded • azriel x reader

↳ by @lady-of-tearshed (oh so angsty, unrequited love)

scartlet-tipped secrets; peonies, for you • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @angelshadowsinger (hanahaki au, unrequited love, angst)

totally annoying and not funny at all • azriel x reader

↳ by @sillymercury (fluff, little angst, literally idiots in love)

never yours • azriel x reader (lucien x reader)

↳ by @really-fanny-longbottom (angst, stupid azriel tbh, fluff)

let me keep you company • azriel x reader

↳ by @utterlyazriel (so so fluffy)

you found me • azriel x reader

↳ by @pit-and-the-pen (angst, blood, comfort)

pretty little shadowsinger • azriel x reader

↳ by @illyrianbitch (fluff)

happy ending • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @milswrites (fluff and a little angst)

pancake • azriel x reader

↳ by @acotarxreader (fluff, comfort, tw: panic attack)

domestic bliss • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @bat-boys (very fluffy, slightly suggestive)

and yesterday you were here with me • azriel x reader

↳ by @dawneternal (angst, comfort, tw: miscarriage)

(what if?) all i need is you • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @empiresofstorm (whipped azriel, comfort, fluff)

baby mine • azriel x reader

↳ by @thisblogisaboutabook (angst, comfort, fluff, tws: sa and trauma)

calypso • azriel x reader

↳ by @solbaby7 (fav kind of female rage, mentions of blood)

the girl who cheated death • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @utterlyotterlyx (fluff)

the tormented & the unforgiven • azriel x reader

↳ by @lucysstoryworld (very angsty, graphic torture)

tattoos older than you • azriel x archeron!reader

↳ by @surielstea (age-gap, suggestive)

“you were flirting with me?” • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @thehighladywrites (suggestive, fluff, humour)

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Who Are You?

Yandere Fiancé x Transmigrated Fem Reader

One week. It’s been one week since your fiancé had last seen you visiting his castle with your sunny smile. You had never been away from Nathaniel for this long. Not even when you two were children, you were never away from him for more than a day or two. Had you fallen ill? What if you had been in an accident of some sort?

Nathaniel hadn’t meant to use such a harsh tone with you. He was just upset about his heavy workload and you were nearby when he was having a bad day…

The prince ran a hand through his sandy locks in thought. Should he… send a letter? Maybe a gift? Nathaniel couldn’t think of the last time he had ever given you some attention before. Maybe this token of affection would bring you back to him?

Nathaniel smiled at the thought as he ordered his servants to send you a gift. You were fond of flowers, right? He often spotted you in the garden from his office. You must enjoy his mother’s roses… you always gushed about the flowers you adored in your own garden.

Another week went by and he still hadn’t heard from you. Now Nathaniel felt even more concerned. Why weren’t you here? You said you loved him so why weren’t you in his office in the chair he set beside his desk? He moved it closer so you could talk more to him. Nathaniel thought you’d appreciate it… maybe he should send a letter? The poor prince had no idea that his fiancée wasn’t even in this world anymore…

Nathaniel finally came to visit you on the third week sick your absence. His blue eyes lit up when you finally sat before him, but he couldn’t help but feel as if there was something horribly amiss. Why weren’t you smiling? You always gave him a shy smile and your cheeks would flush… so why was your gaze filled with so much animosity?

Nathaniel attempted to speak to you, but you brushed him off. You wanted to annul your engagement with him… you didn’t want him anymore? But you loved him! You adored him. So why? Why. Why. Why.

Nathaniel felt as if he was talking to a stranger. Your eyes were as cold as ice and you refused to listen to him… wait. Why was there no life in your waiting room? You loved flowers. You loved the color pink. You loved romantic decor. Yet this room was soulless now. There was no piece of your heart put into it. It was almost as if you were a completely different person.

And that’s when it dawned on him. You were an imposter.

“Who are you?” Nathaniel asked in a low voice, his blue eyes studied your face in disbelief.

“What do you mean-“

“You’re not my fiancée. (Your name) would never be so cold to me. She loves me!” Nathaniel put a hand up to his mouth, his eyes cast to the floor in guilt. Was this his fault? He hadn’t mean to tell his fiancée to disappear. He was just upset! He hadn’t meant to take it out on her…

“…she’s gone. She’s no longer in this world.”

Nathaniel felt a sob escape his lips. Why did he only realize now that he had forever lost someone so lovely?

Muscular arms wrapped around your legs as Nathaniel melted into you. You weren’t her… but you could be. Nathaniel would be the perfect fiancé from now on. He’d be a better man… and maybe that would bring his lovely (your name) back to him?

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Prologue

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,115

CW: angst, death and more death. not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my Original characters

a/n prolouge, more of an info dump about dance of dragons and readers relationship with cregan during the war.

As snow blazed outside the castle your mind took you back to the days before your life was consumed with grief, the days when you have just arrived in Winterfell, sent by your mother to win over Cregan stark to support her cause.

You had been surprised your mother had sent you here and not the Vale, as she had done with your twin Jacearys. But you soon saw why.

It had been easy to convince Stark to join you’re the blacks, as they were now referred too, he was the noble and honourable lord stark, he kept his father’s oath with no complaints, and he allowed you to stay in Winterfell for as long as she wished. And you did stay, you liked the north, it gave you such a warm feeling, a feeling you had always felt you missed in the red keep and Dragonstone. You loved the north, you loved the snow, as did your dragon, Silverwing. You spent your whole life either in hot son or rainy storms, and yet, despite Cregan saying you were so warm it was if you your self was a dragon, you had always preferred the cold. And now when you felt the drops of snow fall onto your face you wished for the snow to never stop.

You remember Cregan showing you around Winterfell for the first time, taking you to the gods woods, he himself, as most in the north were, prayed to the old gods, and you who never once felt a calling to the gods, you felt it the second you entered the woods, the way the winds sang to you as you entered, the hot springs warming you instantly, and the gods tree. Despite having one in kings landing this sight was spectacular, it was so…peculiar and yet beautiful. With faces carved so naturally the faces seemed to move with he wordless song the wind sang you, and from the look on Cregan’s face he knew the exact feeling you were experiencing.

He was so welcoming to you, sending you smiles at every glance, looking for you in every room. You spent nearly every second together, whether it was talking politics and the facts of the alliance or hunting or walking the grounds. You seemed to do it together.

But you knew it was to good to be true, the second you heard Silverwing calling out, sensing another dragons presence, you knew only bad news would follow.

“Sister” you heard Jacearys greet as he dismounted Vermax, “Lord Stark” he bowed his head.

“Brother” you greeted back, “what brings you to the north?”

His face dropped, eyes filling with sadness. “I’m so sorry, I should have come sooner”

“what-“you didn’t understand what he was saying, but you knew it was bad, and it seemed so did the gods as the wind was growing hasher, wind aggressively hitting your face.

“Luke-“ Jace croaked, and your face started to drop “Aemond he…Luke’s dead”

You dropped, eyes filling with tears. You couldn’t believe it.

Aemond. He had once been your Aemond, your dearest companion, your betrothed. But then word had reached about his new betrothal to Floris Baratheon. Your marriage was supposed to unit the realm, prevent the war that would now be inevitable. You had felt some sadness over the news of his new betrothal, but in truth you hadn’t been close to him in years, you loved the idea of marrying him, but now…now the thought made you sick.

Jace had explained fully what had happened, the raging storm, the chase and the fall.

Killed riding a dragon, like a Targaryen, and buried at sea like a Veleryon, had it not been so tragic, it would be almost poetic.

Grief filled you, body and soul, and you hated that you didn’t know, for two weeks you lived in bliss, practically courting a man. As your brother, your sweet Luke lied dead and alone.

Your mother had searched the sea for those two weeks for the body, for hope that he lived, before biding Jace to retrieve you. You all needed each other, more than ever, consumed with grief and the rage.  The grieving came first like all deaths, with the funeral taking place, though with no body you and Jace had burnt his clothes, saying teary prays, before having Lukes favourite food and sharing his favourite memories.

And then rage. You all wanted revenge, and Daemon had taken it upon himself to do just that, and before you knew it war raged.

You and Jace had returned to Winterfell, and though both deep in your grief, you found comfort once more in the snowy planes of Winterfell, and most of all the people within them.

It was funny, you and Cregan had fit so well together and then Jace came along and suddenly you felt replaced.

All the time you had once spent with Cregan, sword fighting, politicking, hunting and walking, was now done with Jace.

You supposed it was natural, he the future king and Cregan the warden of the north. But it was more than that, they were brothers. But you were his future wife, your mother having sent a raven to lord stark upon your return proposing the marriage, he had accepted instantly and you, you had accepted. Cregan was everything you wanted, a friend, handsome, ruggish and tall. But now you felt like you were begin ignored.

You weren’t jealous, it was what always happened.

You were shy and calm, Jace was loud and chaotic. They were opposites and he easily took the spotlight, not that she wanted it. They were twins, with him being born first, with black hair and brown eyes, and you with silver hair and Arryn blue eyes. You were the image of their mother and he, the image of their father, not that they would ever admit it.  It was like he was the moon, and you were the sun. You were always there and nothing special, but people always took notice of the moon, every aspect of it was studied and praised, but the sun was only ever important when eclipsed by the moon. You were always by Jace’s side, and despite being a princess of the realm, he was a prince, the future king, who wouldn’t take notice of him first.

So, you stood on the sidelines, sometimes following the pair as they talked and talked, but most of her time was spent with Sara.

You and her too had a lot in common, having both understood what it was to be a bastard, to be left out. Though you didn’t admit it right out, she knew what you meant, from the way you understood her as she ranted and from how you related through your own experiences. Though they were different you were still outcasted and felt as if you lacked the natural respect others were given.

Though she had earnt that respect. she was respected throughout Winterfell, being the unofficial lady of Winterfell after the death of his wife, Arra Norrey, who died birthing their son, who was quick to follow his mother. The people of the north respected her but with you, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen you always felt as if you owed something, something that you had to make up for. And instead of seeing the respect you did command you only saw the respect your brother was given

That respect for Jace only grew as the first battles were fought. As Jace grew into his position as heir and Cregan became a key advisor in the war.

It was a weird and terrorfying time, with you and Cregan betrothed but knew it would either end in death or a quick marriage. Neither of you knew how to act,, the days of your endless conversations changing to shy smiles and even shyer words.

And then he left, leading his own battle in your mother’s name.

Then Jacearys died alongside Viserys, them both joining Luke in their burial at sea.

And moons later her mother took Kings Landing. Her younger brother Joffrey now heir, but not even a moon into her mothers new reign as an uprising began, the dragon pit raided, dragons killed, and her brother tortured a killed.

you were beside herself in grief, guilt coursing through you as you had left, you had gone, leading your mother’s forces to lead your second battle of Tumbleton, and though you had won, and caused the death of your uncle Daeron and a large number of the green forces, you returned to even more chaos.

you were surrounded by death, and slowly became more and more alone.

As Aegon retook Kings Landing, his men holding you and your only surviving sibling Aegon as her mother was burnt alive before them.

Then the death if both Aemond and Daemon above the gods eye.

You were all alone, separated from your brother, Cregan thousands of miles away. And she locked in a keep waiting for Aegon to decide whether to kill you or marry you.

you prayed for the former, wishing to join them, your sweet brothers.

Jace, your sweet twin, you had always thought they would leave the world together, they came in it together it only seemed right. you had felt so empty, as if you were missing the other half of yourself. you regretted that so many of your memories of him were clouded in envy, and regretted not cherishing every moment you could with him.

Luke, sweet Luke, so kind and nervous and though not innocent, he deserved so much better. you missed him so much, and hated how he was taken so young, so horrifyingly.

And Joffrey, he was just a babe, wanting to be as brave and strong as his sister and brothers, killed by the mob, alongside their mother’s dear dragon who was doing everything to protect him.

And Viserys, a part of you hoped he lived and would one day return to her, but you didn’t want to hope, you didn’t have it in you anymore.

you had nothing, not really, you barely had it in you, the anger, the need for revenge.

But when Aegon announced his plans to marry you, the rage came, the angry. He had taken everything from you and now he was taking away your freedom.

It was easy to find those who wished to plot against him, your grandsire Corlys begin the first to approach you. Mad over the death of his beloved wife Rhaenys, he had long awaited this moment.

He and a few over men gave you a wine laced with poison, and small doss of poison to drink yourself to build immunity. It was a long prosses, taking three months before you acted. It was easy to enter his chambers, he too lonely and racked with guilt, he seemed pleased at your company, and even happier at the wine you brought him.

You had drank the laced wine and then some, both drinking your sorrows away and making your way down to the iron throne, you had laughed as he sat upon it, your mothers rightful seat, and laughed even more when he started chocking, he couldn’t breath, he was dying. You should of felt glad but as you watched him take his final breath, all you felt was grief. Another family member dead, and another step closer to being alone.

Cregan took kings landing the next day, he found you weeping in the throne room at the sight of Aegon. He had swept you in his arms, holding him to you as you cried, screaming it was your fault, confessing your sins, but he didn’t see it as your fault, m your kill. He saw it as Corlys and Larys Strongs, executing them and all those who betrayed Aegon and manipulated you.

He crowned Aegon king, married him to Aegon’s only surviving child, Jaehrea, uniting the two branches and ending the blasted war.

And he took you home, to Winterfell.

You were so consumed in your grief you hadn’t even noticed, the carriage traveling the whole thousand leagues had passed so quickly.

You didn’t even remember saying goodbye, promising to write, and promising to love them.

You didn’t remember crying as you watched them, two children making oaths they didn’t understand, lead by men they did not know.

You finally came back to reality as you reached Winterfell, Silverwing roar alerting you of your arrival. She one of the last dragons left, too consumed in grief at the death of her mate Vermithor.

“princess” you heard Cregan say softly as he opened the carriage door, “were home”

next part

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog@apollonshootafar@zillahvathek@flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17@leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx

to be added to taglist

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (1/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, kidnapping and imprisonment, abuse of power, violence, panic attack ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It took him a long time to bring her to the Red Keep. Too long, to his frustration – while Aegon on his throne preferred to loudly announce to his subjects things he could not provide for them, he acted in silence, trying to ensure that he was always one step ahead of their sister-whore.

When Larys Strong's spies reported to them that Rhaenyra was seeking dragon seed among the bastards in King's Landing his brother laughed, but he, their mother and all the lords were horrified.

This meant that the slight advantage Vhagar had given them was going to be in vain, as she stood no chance in a confrontation with so many dragons.

Helaena was riding Dreamfyre, but at his words to move into battle with him she covered her ears and turned her head away, saying she would never burn anyone. Daeron's dragon was still too small, so that left him and Aegon, who was the King and could not die, on the battlefield.

That was not enough.

And then it dawned on him.

Rhea Royce must have been devastated after learning that her hated husband's seed had taken root in her womb. The whole kingdom knew that she and his uncle loathed each other sincerely, and while he stayed in King's Landing, she remained in Runestone.

He thought she certainly felt satisfaction when she gave him a daughter, although the Rough Prince wanted a son.

According to rumour, she was born accompanied by her mother's loud groans a few months apart after his own birth, and was supposed to be the reason Daemon waited with murdering her mother: he did not want the burden of caring for a newborn child to fall on him.

Though he would never admit it out loud, of the many lords or bastards born of dragon seed, his choice was guided not only by her close kinship to their family, but also by the fact that having her by his side could be a humiliation to his uncle, a show of his strength, prudence and sheer malice.

Of how dangerous he was not only because of Vhagar.

He had prepared an ambush for her with reverence, through Strong's spy network weaving servants close to her into his plan.

He had no idea what kind of woman she was, whether or not she resisted, whether or not she could wield a sword like her mother, but he received a letter weeks later that they had succeeded, and Daemon's daughter was heading for King's Landing against her will.

He felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips at the thought of what he would be able to do with her: if he found her pretty and humble enough, if indeed she succeeded in taming a dragon, he could try to invalidate his betrothal to the Baratheon whore and allow her to receive the honour of bearing his heirs instead.

His own dragon inheritance.

When she finally arrived, she was, much to his mother's displeasure, placed in a dungeon – he wanted her to understand that her situation was serious and that any answer from her that did not satisfy him would end in one way.

Her death.

He went down to the underground with the guards and dismissed them when he stopped under her cell with the torch in his hand, its light exposed her face to him.

She was sitting on the ground with her knees tucked under her chin, her head raised towards him, the look of her eyes frustrated and grim, her dark brows arched in displeasure.

She was not afraid.

For now.

He looked at her figure from top to bottom, finding that he had imagined her differently: he had hoped to see any Targaryen features in her. However, her long hair was dark, her eyelashes long and black, like a fan surrounding her brown eyes, which were as big as those of a doe.

Clearly it was her mother's blood that prevailed, he thought with disappointment, however his face remained stony.

"Do you know who I am, woman?" He asked coldly, the corner of her mouth twitching, her gaze softening as if his words amused her, making him feel uneasy.

"It's hard not to guess." She replied without any pleasantries.

He licked his lower lip in a gesture of frustration, recognising that he would not allow himself to be verbally dominated by her.

He had to knock her off her guard.

"Do you understand why you're here?"

She sighed heavily, looking down at her fingers, suddenly tired and small, like a child who wanted to go to sleep already.

"Because of my father, I guess. You are wasting your time. I don't represent any value to him. He will not pact with you for my sake." She said, and he snorted, grinning broadly – she looked at him in surprise, as if she hadn't expected such a reaction from him.

"You are mistaken. We need your blood."

She shook her head, shocked by his words, raising her shoulders in a gesture as if trying to defend herself against what she just heard.

He liked the look of terror on her face, no doubt at the thought that they were about to cut her wrists open and drain her of blood like an animal.

"We will find one of the wild dragons hidden in the mountain caves and you will try to claim it. You will die, or you will succeed and join the war on our side." He said coldly, and she burst out laughing, as if she hadn't heard a greater foolishness in a long time, causing his jaw to clench in fury.

Stupid cunt.

"I know nothing about dragons or their riders and have no desire to learn about them. This, I think, is something that is destined for those endowed by the gods with white hair. I have no intention of sacrificing myself for your family. Behead me or burn me, but spare me this farce." She sneered, looking away, as if she thought she could get away with such impudent words.

She picked herself up and took a few steps back as he unlocked her cell and a moment later he was beside her, dropping the torch to the stone floor, grabbing her by the neck, her body and head hitting the wall hard.

He stared at her for a moment, listening to her heavy breath as if she was choking, panic in her big, brown eyes.

Fear suited her.

"Do you think I'm asking you for your opinion? You will serve me, and you will serve me well, or I will burn not you, but all of the fucking Vale. Only dust and ashes will be left of the people you knew. Is that what you want, my Lady?" He scoffed, and she shook her head quickly, her lower lip quivering all over, her small, soft hands clenched on his wrist.

He leaned over her, digging his fingers deeper into her delicate skin as if he wanted to break her neck.

"So we have an agreement, as I understand it?" He whispered, as if asking her a secret, something only he should hear.

Her eyebrows arched in pain, her plump lips parted in a deep, shuddering breath as she nodded, her warm gaze filled with pain and regret at the same time.

Was she now begging in her mind for her father to save her?

For him to come to her rescue?

The thought made him want to laugh.

"Mmm." He hummed, looking at her red eyes and full lips, feeling a strange kind of intimacy now that he could feel her veins, her blood, dragon's blood, pulsing under her bare skin.

Their shared heritage.

His seed was stronger than Daemon's, he thought with a confidence bordering on vanity.

Their children would have his white hair.

He felt arousal at that thought, his length pulsed softly in his breeches.

He let go of her, and she took a deep breath, sliding to the ground, clutching at her neck where he'd driven his fingers.

"You will be moved to one of the chambers. You will not lack anything. Serve me well and no more harm will befall you." He said in an offhand manner and simply left, satisfied with how childishly simple it was.

The women and their soft hearts, their despair at the thought that someone else might lose their life because of them, their eternal pondering and tenderness that made them so weak.

"I have heard of your success, brother. I was told we had a visitor in the Keep." Said Aegon, glancing at him, seated at the other end of the table, while his hand played with the marble green orb lying before him.

"Yes. She will obey us. I will personally prepare her." He said, resting his elbows on the table top.

The King laughed.

"You, brother? What does your beloved betrothed in Storm's End would say about it?" He sneered, glancing at the lords around them as if asking if his joke was in fact funny.

He grinned, trying to contain his anger and that familiar, unpleasant feeling of humiliation rippling through his chest.

"Who else would do this? You, with your superior knowledge of the language of Old Valyria will teach her commands and behaviour towards a wild dragon?" He asked, looking him straight in the eye.

His brother grew pale and swallowed hard, tense, feeling that he had lost this battle.

"Bring her in." He ordered.

Soon the door to the room opened, and she walked in, accompanied by the guards: she was wearing one of his mother's old brown gowns, its red sleeves reaching to the ground. Her hair was loose but not in disarray, falling gently down her back, as if she had not let any servant touch it and combed it herself.

"Come closer, cousin." Said Aegon with a smile, raising his hand and nodding, clearly wanting to encourage her.

She reluctantly took a few steps closer, looking around the assembled people anxiously, finally meeting his gaze – she stopped for a moment at his face, as if she was thinking hard about something, and then turned her head away, suddenly tired and resigned.

Good, he thought.

There was no need for her to stand up to him.

"We are overjoyed by your presence, even though you were brought here under not very pleasant circumstances. I hope you will quickly forget about these… discomforts and support us in our cause. My brother is extremely eager to prepare you for this." Aegon said, her lips twitching in a grimace that he didn't like when he mentioned him, but no words left her mouth.

"Are you not glad to face your father? Did he not forget you and abandon you for so many years?" Continued Aegon, their mother looked at him and shook her head, wanting him to stop.

She lifted her gaze to his brother-king and looked at him for a moment, her expression gentle and calm.

"I have nothing to say to you, cousin. Do with me what you wish."

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell around them – he feared what Aegon would do with this insult – the fact that she had humiliated him by simply calling him her cousin, speaking to him without proper etiquette or manners.

Aegon pressed his lips together and leaned forward, as if thinking hard about something.

"Our family has forgotten you. Left you the fuck knows where, motherless and fatherless. And I am deeply sorry for it."

He looked at him shocked, not believing that he had said such a thing, apologised to her even though it was she who had offended him, and then looked at her face – her eyes turned red, her lips parted slightly, as if he had stuck a needle straight into her heart.

What was he doing?

Aegon spread himself comfortably in his chair with a loud creak of wood, smiling with satisfaction.

"You may leave."

He did not know why he had been furious all evening, why, bent over the maps of Westeros, planning his fucking war, he had been unable to focus or calm himself.

He knew why his brother had done it: he wanted to bond with her, to show him that he was the one she would obey, that he was in control of the situation, that he was the King.

"Bring our prisoner." He ordered loudly so that the servant who was just taking the tray from his table heard it.

"As you wish, Your Highness."

When she walked into his chamber she stopped immediately behind the door, which closed behind her with a loud clatter. He glanced up at her dispassionately and looked again at the books he had taken from his shelves, which he had often browsed through as a child.

This was his legacy, not hers.

But he had to do it.

"Come here. Sit down." He said dryly and after a moment he heard the rustling of her gown.

As she sat in the chair beside him he smelled her, some kind of oil that scented of field flowers, chamomile or daisies, and he thought that she had taken a bath.

Something in that thought, in the idea of her bare, soft body sunk in the warm water, made his manhood throb pleasantly, tingling heat spreading through his lower abdomen.

He moved one of the books towards her, open to the page on which was written what he wanted to discuss with her.

"Can you read?" He asked coldly, and she threw him a look from which he felt like grabbing her cheeks and shaking that little head of hers.

She didn't answer, which frustrated him even more, clutching the volume in her hands and leaning over it, following the text with her eyes.

So she could read, he thought mockingly.

"The dragons understand the language of Old Valyria, and this is how the dragon riders communicate with them. You have to learn to speak the commands properly." He sighed, running his hand over his face, feeling tired and discouraged.

"Dohaerās means serve. Rȳbās means listen. These are the most important words, right next to Lykirī, which commands a dragon to remain calm." He said, tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Repeat."

Silence.

He pressed his lips together, opening his eyes, thinking he was about to kill her with his own hands.

He looked at her, wanting to hiss to her that he was going to slam her head against the table until she dutifully recited each of the words he was ordering her to repeat but his voice stuck in his throat when he saw the look on her face.

He had the impression that although she froze in stillness, her whole body was quivering, as if she was cold.

Her eyes were open wide in fear, and even though her lips were pressed into a thin line she was breathing heavily, as if she were suffocating, her fingers clenched on the back of the book.

Was it possible that she had heard these words before, had read a book similar to this?

Did Daemon try to teach her the language of Old Valyria when she was a child?

He didn't know what he should do, feeling that if he touched her she would just fall apart, so he merely looked at her, wondering how such a person was supposed to tame a dragon.

He rose from his seat as if burned, snapped out of his reverie when her eyes rolled back and she simply fainted, her body, numb and heavy slid to the floor beneath their feet.

He circled the table and knelt beside her, slapping his palm against her cheek in an attempt to revive her, but she did not wake up.

"Bring the Maester, quickly!" He called out and cursed loudly, restraining himself from screaming with rage.

"What have you done to her?" His mother hissed quietly, so that only he could hear it while the Maester examined her.

He turned his face away and shook his head, wondering if everyone in this damned fortress was against him.

After all, he was doing this for them.

For their family.

"Nothing. She was only supposed to read a few words. I didn't even touch her." He growled, his hands intertwined behind his back clenched into a fist.

Why didn't she trust him?

Why was she looking at him like this, as if she didn't recognise him?

Hadn't he always been faithful to her?

"What words? What did you say to her?"

"Words in Old Valyrian, nothing more. She must learn it if she is not to burn in the dragon fire, and our efforts are not to be in vain." He scoffed impatiently.

"We do not know what Daemon did to her. Whether she saw her mother die."

"I don't care what he did to her or what she saw." He said, throwing her a look from which she froze. "We have an agreement and she knows what will happen if she doesn't fulfill it."

"What will happen? You'll burn the Vale?" Alicent asked with a sneer, and he pressed his lips together, feeling a terrible, piercing shame.

"She will stay in my care tonight. Don't go near her until she recovers." She told him and stepped around him.

He felt as if she had slapped him in the face so he left, not wanting anyone to see the burning tears of disappointment that had gathered under his eyelids.

He didn't let them flow.

He was not weak.

He was not like her.

He was not like Aegon.

He was not like his father.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SUGARDADDY!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains extremely filthy sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort. Daddy kink, breast play, praise kink, reader is younger than anakin but she's also off the age! (which means i won't give her specific age, but she's definitely NOT a minor). Lightly relationship with benefits (at first)

Author's note: and he happened to be the rich CEO 🤭

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is at the restaurant for a high-stakes business meeting with some important clients. He’s there to close a deal, his mind fully focused on the negotiations, but the moment he spots you, his attention falters. You’re the one serving his table, and despite the chaos of the busy restaurant, he can’t take his eyes off you. Your charm, your smile, the way you carry yourself—it’s all incredibly enticing to him. He’s captivated by the way you interact with customers, maintaining grace under pressure. After the meeting, Anakin leaves an exorbitant tip, much larger than necessary. Along with it, there’s a business card with just his name and number, a subtle but unmistakable invitation for you to contact him.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, after you muster the courage to text him, he invites you out for coffee, a subtle test to see if you’re interested. He’s direct but not pushy when he suggests an arrangement—offering financial support in exchange for your company. At first it surprises you, since it's uncommon for you to gain interest from older men..but, he was polite, very polite (you couldn't help but compare him to guys your age). Seemed like a true gentleman with specific needs you were suggested to fullfil

Sugardaddy!Anakin who makes it clear that he’s not interested in just a transactional relationship. He wants to spoil you, yes, but he also craves your genuine presence, your wit, and your warmth.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who made you sign NDA before any further actions. And after that, the first few dates involved extravagant dinners at the most exclusive restaurants, shopping trips where he insists you pick out anything you like, and even trips to luxurious resorts. He loves seeing you adorned in the finest things that his wealth can buy.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his powerful position, Anakin values privacy and keeps your relationship under wraps. He’s protective of you, not wanting the media or his corporate world to interfere.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often sends his private driver to pick you up, whether it’s for a date or just to bring you to his penthouse after a long day. He makes sure you’re always comfortable and safe.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a soft spot for you that his colleagues would be shocked to see. He’s attentive to your needs, whether it’s something simple like remembering your favorite coffee order or something more intimate, like understanding when you need space or affection.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is fiercely protective

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes a genuine interest in your ambitions and goals. Whether you’re in school, pursuing a career, or exploring new hobbies, he’s there to support you—financially and emotionally. He offers advice, mentorship, and even opportunities within his vast business empire.

What starts as a sugar daddy arrangement quickly grows into something deeper. Anakin finds himself genuinely falling for you. The way you challenge him, care for him, and bring a sense of normalcy to his chaotic life makes you more than just a 'sugar baby'

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, the stoic CEO, surprises himself with how open he becomes with you. He shares his fears, his past, and his hopes for the future. You’re the only one who gets to see the man behind the powerful exterior.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who doesn't mind age gap although, when you're sometimes showing him something he has no idea what it is (like social media and stuff). So he's kind of a boomer..just a tiny bit..

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes you on spontaneous trips to the most exotic destinations. Private jets, luxury yachts, and five-star hotels are the norm. He loves the idea of you experiencing the best life has to offer, especially when you’re together

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often works late into the night, but he makes time to talk to you before bed (sometimes it'd be a call but sometimes it'd be a small talk face-to-face);

He sighed as the door clicked shut behind him, the exhaustion of the day slipping through him as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. Despite the fatigue, the thought of coming home to you brought a sense of peace. “How’s my favorite girl doing?” he asked softly, tilting your chin up after walking into the living room.

“I’m alright… just dying to get some sleep,” you murmured with soft voice.

A smile tugged at his lips as he took you in—curled up on the couch, wearing one of his oversized shirts that nearly swallowed you whole. The sight was enough to erase any lingering stress. “Poor girl,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“S’okay…” your eyes heavy with sleep.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his arms slipping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. With your legs wrapped around his waist, your face snuggled to his shoulder z he couldn’t help but notice how precious and absolutely beautiful you looked, wrapped in his shirt, with no make-up on. It was a simple moment yet with you in his arms, nothing else mattered.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is attentive and loves to make you feel special in every way. He’s dominant yet caring (so it makes him a soft dom), always ensuring your needs are met. So the intimacy between you two is intense;

you'd had sex almost daily over the last two months but you, nor him, would never initiated it in half-public before. It wasn't something you'd do, you were more of a private person however...the slight possibility that the driver could glance in the mirror and see you sent a strange thrill cursing down your stomach..

Well, you live once..

It wasn't your first time giving Anakin a blowjob, yet, you still couldn't fully get used to how big he was. How thick and long.

With your watery eyes, you whimpered, tasting the salty sweetness of him before swirling your tongue around his head. Slowly, softly at first, as if checking the territory, them you did it with more confidence, falling into the rhythm of just sucking, licking and bobbing till you were soaked

It shouldn't turn you on like it did. But yet, the feeling of his member filling your mouth, his large hand sank in your hair, his soft groans and whimpers made you twist yourself in pleasure.

Your eyes watery, your underwear wet, your nipples hard and this sensitive skin that burned with never ending fire for this man made you completely forgot how you got here, where you are or even where you're supposed to go

"That's right baby..take every inch like a good girl.." the words slipped through his lightly opened mouth in a moan

He grips your ass cheeks tightly, spreading them apart to get a better angle as he thrusts into you from behind. "Look at this ass, baby...so fucking perfect... gonna fucking own this ass..." He growls, his hands moving to slap your right cheek hard.

You were a mess; holding for dear life to the kitchen counter with nothing but moans leaving your mouth. Not even your eyes could stay open anymore, as they rolled or closed automatically in the feeling

He hisses through his teeth as he feels your squishy walls clench around him, gripping him tightly "That's it, baby...take it all...You're being such a good girl..." h his hands moved to grip your hips tightly as he continues to thrust with more intensity, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the kitchen.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves having you ride him;

His fingers dug into your hips, encouraging you to set a faster pace as his own hips lifted to meet yours, the two of you falling into a rhythm. "just like that, baby...you look so good on top of me"

"yeah?" You whimper out, feeling like going crazy with his member deep inside you

His hands slide up your waist to your breasts, cupping them gently as he praises you. "Definitely..riding me like a real cowgirl.."

your mouth opened to let a moan escape your lips and, to feel more, you sped up a little bit

He grins wickedly up at you, his hips bucking upwards to meet yours while he toys with your peaks "You like that, baby? Like daddy playing with your pretty little toys?"

"love it" your mouth lightly opened in pleasure

"Good girl...gosh..could stay buried inside of you forever." Anakin lets out a groan, his eyes rolling back as the feeling of you sinking down onto him once more and it suddenly gets too much to bear. "Fuck, baby...you feel so good...such an eager girl to please me..keep that pace, baby...want to watch you fall apart on top of me"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves when you visit him at the office, especially after hours when most of his employees went home

Sugardaddy!Anakin who even if makes love to you a bit roughly sometimes, he can for sure be very gentle;

He slowly enters you, his touch gentle as he cups your face tenderly. "gonna go nice and slow, alright?" He whispers softly, his hips moving in a gentle rhythm. "if you wanna stop just say the word.."

"okay" you whimper

He enters you inch by inch, his touch gentle as he kisses you passionately. "You're so tight, baby...feels so good..." his pace slow and gentle. He leans down and kisses you slowly as if you were a ceramic doll he was scared to break "my beautiful girl.. doing so good for me"

your warmth enveloped his senses and it only made him more crazy for you. You just seemed so perfect to him. Even your flaws were something he deeply cherished, found captivating, irresistible

"you okay, baby?" He whispers softly, his voice laced with autonomical concern. "wanna go slower?"

"yes, please" you whisper-moan

He slows down even more, his movements almost imperceptible as he carefully makes love to you. "there we go...so slow and gentle...just for you, baby..." He leans down to kiss your neck softly, his breath warm against your skin. "love you so much, you know? Gosh, could do anything for you.. you have me wrapped around your finger.."

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a particular obsession with lingerie. He frequently buys you the most luxurious pieces—silk, lace, and satin—in colors he knows you look stunning in. Seeing you dressed up in something he chose just for you ignites a fire in him, and he loves taking his time to remove each piece, savoring the reveal of your body

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a possessive streak, and it shows in how he wants to leave marks on you—not just hickeys, but subtle reminders that you belong to him. He’ll trace his fingers over the marks later, a satisfied smirk on his face as he sees the evidence of your passion..but stil..;

He was laying on his side with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if you might slip away in the night. You were slowly drifting off to sleep, in comparison to anakin, whose sleep eluded him. He lay there quietly, his eyes tracing the familiar curves of your body in the darkness, as if rediscovering them for the first time.

His gaze lingered on the spots where his touches had left their mark. Faint hickeys dotted your upper thighs and hips, and a few more adorned your neck and collarbone. He couldn’t help but admire the evidence of his desire for you, the way he’d claimed your body as his own. The possessive satisfaction he felt was undeniable, yet there was also a tender need to ensure that his passion hadn’t caused you any pain.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

"No... I'm fine," you murmured half-asleep

"You sure?" His fingers brushed over one of the darker marks, tracing gentle circles on the sensitive skin of your hip.

"Mhm... it's nothing serious"

He hummed in acknowledgment, though the worry still lingered. He couldn't shake the need to make sure you were truly okay. His hand slowly moved up to gently push your hair aside, exposing the smooth skin of your neck and shoulder. Leaning in, he nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing against the tender spot he had marked earlier. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice a mix of apology and affection

"It's okay, really" you whispered back, your hand finding its way into his messy curls. Your fingers gently stroking through them as if to soothe both him and yourself.

He pressed another soft kiss to your skin, letting his lips linger against it. The warmth of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest, and the feel of your hand in his hair finally began to ease his mind. Holding you close, he let the lingering guilt fade, quickly replacing it by the comforting knowledge that you were safe and okay

Sugardaddy!Anakin who enjoys the thrill of teasing you in public settings, knowing you have to keep your composure. A subtle hand on your thigh under the dinner table, his fingers tracing dangerously close to your inner thigh, or whispering in your ear about what he plans to do to you later, all heighten the anticipation for when you’re finally alone.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, over time, begins to consider a more permanent relationship with you. He starts dropping hints about you moving in, or even starting a family someday.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's definitely into some roleplay (but mostly you surprise him with them)

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is open to exploring new things in the bedroom, and he enjoys introducing toys into your sex life. Whether it’s a silk blindfold, a vibrator, or even some light bondage, he knows exactly how to push your boundaries while making you feel safe and loved.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his dominant and sometimes intense nature, Anakin is always attentive to your needs afterward. He makes sure you’re comfortable, bringing you water, wrapping you in soft blankets, and holding you close. His fingers gently stroke your hair as he whispers sweet words, grounding you after an intense session.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's more of a type of guy to send you flowers when he's out for business trip or etc

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a habit of giving you jewelry that symbolizes his ownership. A necklace with his initials, a bracelet that matches his watch

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves playing with your breasts;

"Dirty little thing, aren't you? You just love when daddy plays with your big tits, hmm?" his fingers pinching and rolling your nipples

"Mhm.." you lightly wriggled on his lap, feeling the well known hardness poking between your legs

"And you're mine, aren't you, love? This beautiful girl wouldn't leave me, now would you angel?"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who had an actual conversation with you about taking things more seriously, if you even wanted. And soon later he proposed to you

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The falling | joel miller x f!reader, 5k

Summary: It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything. You're falling. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone. Or you catch Joel cheating on you. The world comes crushing down.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST. That's it. Ok, bye. But seriously, angst, a whole lot of angst, alternated POVs, husband!joel, wife!reader, cheater!joel, married couple, Joel fucks another f!person, reference to sexual activity but nothing too detailed, as I said before-ANGST, excessive use of the word fuck, Joel is kind of a dick on this one, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this lost little puppy, I know he sounds arrogant and awful, maybe I can rectify that, on a second part. If you're interested in a closure for these two, hit me in the comments! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything.

Everything dear and loved and cherished and so close to your heart. Your heart itself.

You still can’t decide if it’s liberating or torturing, to have that exact moment burned in your thoughts like a Polaroid.

But the pain is real. The pain is excruciating. It spreads like vines through your whole body, starting from the pit of your stomach in the form of a bile you try to hold back, moving to your heart’s agonizing clench, licking to the ends of your numb limbs which remain obstinately immobile. It feels almost like floating, but not exactly.

You’re falling; you’re still falling as if there’s no luxurious, expensive floor underneath your feet, holding you surprisingly still up. You wait for the landing, the crush, unmoving, unblinking, not quite breathing. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone.

Your designer’s tote bag, another unnecessarily extravagant gift from your husband, drops from your hands to the floor with a loud thud.

Joel’s thrusts stop immediately and he turns his head to look behind him, while he’s on his knees, balls deep in a female body on all fours. His eyes shut tightly in something you’re not sure how to interpret, dropping his head between his shoulder blades and his palms squeeze the hips of the female body he's holding, until his fingertips go white.

And you’re just standing there, on the threshold of your bedroom, taking in the scene. It’s weird how the mind works under stressful situations. Is the absurdity of the reality that keeps you calm? Is it your brain’s reaction to protect you from collapsing? Are you shutting down right now?

You feel your eyes unable to move around and at the same time you see clearer than ever, as if you’re looking through a wide-angle lens.

You notice all of the stripped clothes, which they don’t seem hastily taken off, the way they pool on various surfaces of the room; they took their time undressing each other.

You notice the crystal tumbler of a half finished liquid, Joel’s whiskey, on his side of the nightstand; they took their time having fun.

You notice the absence of a condom on Joel’s cock as he removes himself from the female hole he was buried deep, all splayed out for him and now you; they took their time before, it seems, there is an intimacy there. This is not a stranger, this is not a first time.

Joel is calm, collected even, as he stands to his full height, grabbing his pants from the floor next to the king sized bed and putting them on. Calculated, steady movements, he looks like he’s trying to stay in control of the situation, diminish it to something else. You pray he doesn’t go down that path.

You look behind him, the female body’s gathering itself into a ball, sitting on your bed now, hands hugging it’s knees, trying to protect its nudity. Your eyes roam her form until they settle on her face. Oh, you know her. She looks -hm, there’s a mosaic of emotions behind her eyes, which are surprisingly bold to look back at you. You see shock, you see fear, you see.. satisfaction?

“Darlin’” Joel’s approaching you, crossing the ridiculously big room, with a steady pace.

His chest is heaving from the effort to regulate his breathing, he’s sweaty, his muscles all bulged from the interrupted fucking, his curls -your curls, fuck, that hurts- damp. He’s so handsome in all his disheveled form. He looks like your Joel.

Imaginary flashes of her fingertips combing through his hair are passing through your mind and you feel your esophagus contracting, a sense of a burning hot liquid moving up to your mouth. You swallow it down.

He reaches to touch your arm, don’t you dare, is all you mutter lowly, still without moving a muscle as if you do, the world will come crushing down. It already did, didn’t you get the memo? Your voice feels foreign to your ears, your tongue feels rough like sandpaper. He obeys.

When does this falling end?

“Baby-”, he tries again, while he steps forward, a condescending tone to his voice, like he’s addressing a toddler.

“Don’t-”, you roll your eyes in your head, god, he smells so good, even with the sweat someone else poured out of his skin, he smells so fucking good. He smells like your Joel. “Don’t come any closer.”

“This-” he exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, as if it’s an unnecessary effort to explain, as if you should understand; of all people, you should know, “this doesn’t mean anything-” his hand gesturing between him and the female body, “she doesn’t mean anything.” You should understand, baby, you should know.

And for the first time her eyes leave yours and land on the face of the deceiver. If this wasn’t happening to you right now, you would take pity on her pained expression. You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Does she know that?” you ask him, your eyes never leaving her tangled form on your bed.

Joel snaps his head to her direction, narrowing his eyes in warning, “Yes, she does.”, his voice comes out strict and final, signaling there’s no room for doubt. He doesn’t sound like your Joel.

“I need you to leave.”, you breathe barely audible, your eyes still on her face; now she doesn’t know where to look, the rug pulled out from under her feet from the man she had inside her minutes ago.

His gaze is cold and indifferent, as if everything is her fault, looking still in her direction. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the empathetic part of your brain feels for her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out, what are you waiting for?” he snaps at her.

“Not her, you.” you whisper, it’s impossible to speak louder, all of your energy powers your two standing feet.

He turns to look at you, shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“Wh- what are you talking about, sweetheart?” he tries to reason with you, “We need to talk, to-”

“Joel-”, you try again and thank god he’s interrupting you, you don’t have the strength to negotiate right now. Let the dice roll. It’s all fucked, anyway.

“This is my home; I’m not leaving.” he simply states, shaking his head from side to side, staring at you expectantly.

“You’re right. This is your house.” you acknowledge, coming to a painful realization. “Everything is yours; you own everything, don’t you?”, you smile sadly, crouching down to collect you bag.

You turn on your heels and leave the residence formerly known and felt as home, behind you.

Alarm system disabled.

Joe’s hairs are rising on the nape of his neck, when he checks the alarm app notification on his phone, thinking you came back home.

It’s been an awful month without you, without being able to contact you. He knew where you were of course, he could not for the life of him leave that information escape him, but he didn’t pressure you with an unexpected visit, he knew better.

It’s been a month. That’s plenty of time. You took your time and now you’re ready to talk. You have to be, this can’t be the end of this relationship, this marriage.

He presses your number and hits call. Fuck, he’s still blocked. Maybe you forgot to unblock him, it’s ok, it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the house’s cameras. Shit. That’s not you. What is she doing there? What the fuck is going on? Alright, he’s going back to the house.

He stands on his feet, right in the middle of a meeting with the board and just leaves them. There’s a distant muttering of where does he think he goes, what happened, what’s gotten into him, this is important for the upcoming deal, but he pays no mind to them.

He needs to talk to you.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything you need,” Maria facetimes you, showing around your closet via her camera. “I’m loading the suitcase to the car and I’m out of here.”

“Thank you Mar-”

“MARIA?” Joel’s voice travels through the space from the ground floor, up.

“Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do?” Maria whispers to you turning the call to voice only.

“Just take the suitcase and leave, it’s ok, I only got personal stuff if that’s what he’s worried about. Let him check if it comes to that.”, you try to calm her down.

“Ok, ok-” Maria grabs the handle of the suitcase and moves to leave the walk-in closet.

“Hey.” Joel comes through the door to the bedroom taking in the scene. He hasn’t set foot in this room for nearly a month now.

“Hey.” Maria sounds pissed on the line.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tommy?”, Joel’s face frowns in question. “Tommy's not my keeper, his my partner. My husband, not that you would know what that means, apparently.” Maria just shrugs and moves to pass him by.

“What are you doing, what’s going on here?” he insists, blocking her way.

“I’m just collecting som-”

“How is she? Is she ok?” his voice softening when he asks about you.

“Oh, please, Joel, how is she? Really?” Maria scoffs at him. “She doesn’t want to see you, Joel or hear from you, that’s how she is.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, thank you.” he mocks back. “Is she on the phone, can I just talk to her?” he extends his arm to reach for the phone. “Over my dead and cold body.” Maria says, pressing the phone on her chest.

His eyes are raging storms, his nostrils flaring with quiet rage. He takes a deep breath “Can you please ask her if I can talk to her, just for five minutes?”

“Why don’t you call her, Joel?” Maria taunts him, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name.

Joel just stares back at her, unfazed. Maria doesn’t move a muscle, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Well, she did move one muscle.

Joel sighs exasperatedly “She blocked my number.”

“I wonder why that is.” Maria twists the knife, “I guess you have your answer, then.”

“Christ-” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “just- just ask her, please.”

Maria lifts the phone to her ear, rolling her eyes in frustration in the process. “Hey, Joel’s here, he’s ask-”

“Yeah, I heard everything.” you interrupt her, “No, I don’t want to talk to him.” Maria is shaking her head negatively at him as you talk, to pass the message.

Joel’s face goes cold and emotionless. “Well, tell her if she wants her belongings, she needs to come and get them herself.”

It’s been five weeks now and you can’t keep living in your best friend’s and sister in law's clothes. You’re gonna have to go and grab your stuff yourself.

Because it wasn’t enough what you’ve been through, what you’ve heard until you reached that goddamned bedroom door, what you’ve witnessed when you’ve entered, now he’s making you go back there to humiliate you. As you’re checking your calendar for your work schedule to decide on a suitable day, it hits you. You have Joel’s calendar on your phone, too. You always do, it was the only way to have some time together between his visits to work sites and board meetings and bussiness trips and fucking-behind-your-back, apparently.

And then you remember that day where you both stole some time off and decided to spend it cuddling with each other on the couch, talking nonsense and laughing at silly things and hugging and kissing and fucking all night long.

A brainstorm of thoughts run through your head instantly. How could he do that to you? He looked so happy in your arms. Maybe he was right, maybe it was nothing, maybe you should understand, you of all people, you should know. Do you need to do an STD test? How careless could he be? Where there others? Did he ever love you? Do you want to know?

Does it really matter?

You focus again on that day. He’d told you about a big deal coming up, one of the biggest in his career, if not the biggest so far and how important it was to the future of the company.

You searched frantically through his calendar until you found the date of the final meeting, the date where they’d seal the deal. Because there is no way they weren’t. If Joel wanted it so badly, he’d find a way to make it happen.

And you knew your husband, ironic as is sounds now. He was focused to a fault. He wouldn’t even check his phone that day. He’d done it every time since you were together. History indicated that he probably had other reasons, too, for not checking his phone in a timely manner, but you wouldn’t dwell on that. Not right now. Because now you had your chance.

That date was your chance.

Alarm disabled.

Joel’s phone is vibrating momentarily, not that he noticed, it was silent and tacked away in his jacket pocket, the jacket itself hanging on the back of his chair.

Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, he’s chanting in his mind, under all this calm and confident demeanor, he’s sweating inside.

This is it, this is it, this is it, he repeats like a mantra, watching his opposite CEO, Leo Marks, playing with the pen between his fingers. He’s inspecting the contract again and he’s so close, so close to what he wanted. The room is silent, the long table full of seated lawyers and consultants from both sides, holding their breaths in charged expectation.

Joel knows that Marks is going to sign. He knows it. He worked for it. He convinced him, he made his vision clear as day and he lured him in. This is it. He got this.

Then your face appears in his mind. No, not today, he can’t do this today. You will have to wait. Like you always have. Joel shakes his head slightly, as if to remove you from his thoughts. His fingers get itchy, he wishes he could just check on you. Yes, he just want to check on you.

Are you alright? Are you thinking about him? Do you miss him like he does? Do you stay wide awake at night replaying the same scene over and over until you feel physically ill? Do you know that he thinks about you? Did he show you at all that night? Maybe he should have appeared at your friend’s door out of the blue. Maybe you think he doesn’t care. All he was trying to do was give you space. Respect your boundaries. Let you work everything out.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know why. He knows his number is still blocked. He checks every night, when he's too exhausted from the lack of sleep and prays he could listen to your voice, or the soft sound of your breath when you slept next to him. But he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, anyway and then he sees it.

38 minutes ago.

Alarm disabled.

Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled, the only thought repeated in his head. He immediately searches the cameras for you but no movement is recorded right now. Maybe you already left. His heart rate spikes, his temples feel the pressure of his blood pumping violently in his veins. Cold sweat pours out of his body.

He’s squeezing his eyes shut, mentally counting all the places without cameras inside the house. What if you are still in there and he just can’t see you?

Fuck.

Mark’s voice extract him from his thoughts, “Mr. Miller, everything looks in order as we agreed.”

Joel snaps his eyes back to him, slightly irritated, “Of course it does, your legal team already did a thorough check all these months to get us here today.”

“Yes, yes,” Marks laughs entertained, “I just wanted to look it over one more time, I mean, we really are going to…”

What if you’re still there? What if this is his chance? He could always try to reach you after the deal, convince you to hear him out. Yeah, he can do that. He doesn’t need to chase you down. He can wait a little bit longer, can’t he? He can have it all, right? He was the man that had it all.

A mail pops up on his phone, a compliment note from the management of one of both your favorite hotels in Europe, thanking you for choosing their establishments for your stay, once again. Shit. You’re fleeing the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?

“..Mr. Miller?” Marks insists.

“Hm?” his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

“I said, before we sign, I need you to walk me through it one more time.” he demands like a little child asking for its favorite bedtime story. “I mean, this is the project of my dreams. I need your reassurance that this is as important for you as it is for us, that it’ll be your only focus for the foreseeable future.” he looks at Joel expectantly.

His only focus.

For the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“HONEY!”. Your blood runs cold in your veins to the sound of his baritone voice. Your hand freezes over the shelf with the t-shirts, not making a sound. You didn’t take that long, why is he here? Why isn’t he in his meeting?

Joel enters the bedroom but you’re not there. Fuck, you hear the curse running softly from his lips. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t breathe.

He moves to leave and check elsewhere but then he stops. You hear soft steps and you see the door of the walk-in closet opening. His wide form blocks the light from the outside, his broad shoulders almost taking up all the space of the frame.

He looks disheveled, his baby blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top, his hair a mess, like he kept combing his fingers through them. You don’t dare meet his eyes though. You keep your gaze as far as his chin goes, concentrating on the bare patch there. His sole presence electrifies you like he’s already touched you. Your whole body feels on fire and frozen simultaneously. God, you missed him.

“I was calling for you.”, he breathes out and you can feel his fear pulsing through his body. He’s scared you’re gonna run. That’s why he doesn’t leave his spot, blocking the door.

“I know.”

“Were you hiding from me?” his brows are furrowed in a seemingly pained expression from what your peripheral vision could help you understand.

“No, I just chose not to answer you.”, you lower your head, looking at your feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” you say hastily, but he’s waiting for a real answer. You breathe deeply, “It- it felt too domestic, you calling for me, me answering back, like how we were before.” He nods, biting his bottom lip. “What are you doing here, Joel?”

“In our house?” the edges of his lips are slightly turned up, his head tilting to one side.

“No, this is your house as you said yourself.”

“Darlin’, you know I didn’t mean it like that..” he sighs in regret, his head deepening in his shoulder blades in an effort to attract your gaze upwards.

“But you’re right.”

“I built it for you.” his voice soft, like it’s a secret meant to stay that way.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his brows raise in genuine surprise.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“You first.”

He looks perplexed, he forgot your question.

“What are you doing here, right now, Joel?”

“I got the alarm notification and.. it was the only way I could talk to you, honey..”

“But- your meeting-”

He searches your eyes, although you refuse to look at him, analysing your confused expression and it hits him. He smiles in understanding, nodding his head. “So, you chose today on purpose..”

You don’t respond, you keep looking everywhere but his eyes.

He laughs through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t drop everything to come and see you?”

“I really did.”

He gasps in disbelief, almost offended.

“Baby, look at me, please; look at me..” he pleads with you softly. You close your eyes as if in fear you would obey, your chin trembling from the effort to remain calm.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to look at me, now.” he presses in a more authoritative way. He thought he could order you around? Break you?

“No.” you shake your head.

Joel calls you by your name but before he has a chance to spit another soft command-

“I SAID NO!” you open your eyes, targeting them to his chest, tears spilling uncontrollably now. You can see from your periphery the look of shock on his face, because you’ve never yelled before. Ever.

“Why, sweetheart?”, he retreats back to his soft side.

“Because that’s exactly what you want. And you can’t always get what you want, Joel, not anymore.” You can’t hold back your tongue now.

“Jesus Christ,” you grit through your teeth, “what do you want from me, hm?” your eyes keep dancing around his face but never on his eyes. He looks dumbfounded, his lips part slightly but you don’t wait for an answer. “What else do you want? Is this some kind of ego thing? You expected me to shout and break things and hit you and tell you to leave her and come back to me? Because your ego is safe, Joel, if that’s what you worry about. I didn’t leave you, you did that first when you went behind my back. So, you walked out on me and not the other way around. Happy? Ready to go on with your life?” You’re grabbing the shelf where your hand previously rested so hard, trying to steady yourself.

For the first time Joel is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t find the words to defend himself, to convince you about his feelings, to soothe you at the very least. He begins to have a glimpse of how he appears in your eyes right now. How much damage he’s done, even before that night. How much ground he’s lost over time.

“Darlin', I just wa-” he begins softly, almost like walking on eggshells, but your body visibly tenses, you jaw shuts tight, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Stop, just stop! Stop saying what you want! Stop making this about you! Don’t you see? You keep asking me for what you want! Have you stopped for a second, just a second, to think what I want? What I need? I don’t- I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I-” he closes his eyes in distress, “I love you.” His last retreat. He’s trying anything that could help him. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He’s not capable. But he used to be. He was the most empathetic person you knew. What the fuck happened?

Your eyes snap though the open closet door at his admision and on to the perfectly made bed.

His gaze follows yours behind his back and shakes his head once more in regret.

“It really didn’t mean-”

“Joel-” you warn him, “have some self respect and don’t say what I think you’re about to say. At least have the guts to admit exactly what you did, I’d appreciate it more.”

He exhales heavily, you’re not giving him an opening to fix this. You’re hanging onto every word he mutters. Not a single one of them is left unparsed and he's not used to that. He knows that if he does not control his anger right now, it's game over.

Heavy silence is hanging between you, each one lost on their thoughts.

“Do you know when you really lost me, Joel?”, you ask him eventually.

Half an hour ago he would swear he had all the answers, but now? Now he sees he’s in the deep, so he stays quiet, searching your eyes that still won't reach his, for answers.

“You lost me when you humiliated her in front of me.”

His face goes white, shocked, he can’t believe his ears. His mouth opens and closes but he makes no sound, how on earth does he respond to that?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, you pinch the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. “You valued her enough to endanger our wedding, you valued her enough to bring her to our own house, to our bed, Joel; you valued her enough to fuck her raw, to let her know that you were unhappy with me, before I had a chance to realize it myself-”, Joel interrupts you almost panicked “I’m not un-” and for the first time your eyes pierce his in such an anguish that the words die in his throat. “-and then you just diminished her like she was nothing, just to prove a point to me. While she was naked, vulnerable on our bed. And trust me, this is not me defending her, she is as responsible for this as you, but you’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.”

Now he’s the one averting his eyes from you, looking down on his overpriced shoes, his demeanor defeated, this is not the Joel you know anymore.

“And what was the point, Joel? Hm? What? That she means nothing? Then why were you with her? Why did you choose her? Why did you spend your precious time on nothing, while I had to make an appointment to see you? That’s what you did with me, too? I mean nothing, too? Just a warm hole to fuck when convenient?” he snaps his head back to you, shaking it in denial frantically, his eyes blown wide and red from all the emotional stress you push onto him.

“But I guess I got my answer about a month ago, hm?” It’s one of those moments that epiphanies hit you as you speak uncontrollably, you just can’t stop your mind from running wild, your mouth from spilling bile, your heart from pounding so hard in your chest, your ears start to ring, your grasp on the shelf tightening even more for balance.

“And that tells me a lot about who you really are. It’s not just about the fucking, Joel, Jesus-, -for the brilliant man I know you to be, you’re stumbling through your blindest moment.”, you shake your head in disappointment, tears still running freely down your face, licking your jawline and falling like a waterfall to the carpeted floor. You feel so done, you find it pointless to explain any further.

“I- I don’t know you, Joel, I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did,” you conclude, “maybe you’re right,” you slowly nod to yourself, “and everything is my fault after all.” you whisper, not sure if you want him to hear that part.

He did. “I never said that it was your fault, baby. When did I ever say that?” his face is contorted in pain, “None of this is your fault, none of it, you hear me?” he wants so desperately to cross the fucking room and hold you tight, crush all your pain and insecurities and self hatred under an asphyxiating hug. He also knows that he won't make even two steps before you flee, or step back from him and he can’t for the life of him witness that. Because that’s how much he needs you. He prefers you standing there, where he can see you, where he can have you, even if you wither and die under the enormous trauma he’s putting you through.

“So stupid.. I was- I am so stupid..” you’re repeating to yourself almost deliriously, rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart, you don’t talk like that, don’t- don’t do that to yourself.” Joel tries to bring you back.

“But this is you, isn’t it, Joel? The real you?” you bite back. “This isn’t me, really? How do you like the new me, Joel? Do you take pride on your creation?” you laugh bitterly at him. “Yeah, how you’d always call me? Polite little thing? Sweetheart?” you’re infuriated now, a rise fighting to explode through you. “How does it feel, Joel? To know you’re responsible for changing someone to their core? To know you had that much power over them?”

Joel’s shaking his head once again in desperation, hot tears spilling from his eyes, god, had he ever cried before? this is not a battle he can win, he sees that now. The damage is too great. What on earth was he thinking?

“Please, please honey, can we just take a breather, sit down and talk about everything?” he pleads with you, a last thread of hope shinning in his red rimmed eyes.

“Take a breather..” you mutter through your teeth, “you mean the breather you took while you were fucking someone else instead of talking to me?”, Joel shuts his eyes in defeat, there’s nothing he can say anymore. “I think you got it backwards, Joel.”

You take a steadying breath and command your legs internally to hold on a little while longer and move forward; clothes, suitcase, life left behind.

“Don’t contact me again, unless is via your legal team.” is the last bullet that hits Joel’s chest, right through his broken heart.

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