#they get to ride dragons and rip and tear

[ravenrambles6229]

Born to be a ninja, forced to pay taxes

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Unforgivable (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond and you are tired of being pawns. Instead of chess, you decide to play draughts.

Requested: Yes! Because nothing is more PDA than murdering the man who dares touch your wife.

A/N: Isn’t like, a rite of passage writing Baratheon reader?

Warnings: Mature language, attempted SA (Bedding ceremony, ripping clothes), implied smut. Enemies to lovers to the cursed play.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.”

Being a second born son isn't easy. Getting all the responsibilities and none of the recognition stings, yes. But nothing does more than knowing you are the spare, and that the throne is right at your fingertips. It is like throwing a steak in front of a dog and ordering him not to slobber.

Aemond is not a dog. He is a dragon. And that makes it much more worse. He can’t help but crave, but want. Sink his teeth on it and snarl, tear apart until nothing is left. As he rides towards the Stormlands, with the very real possibility of running into one of his nephews in his future, he thanks the Seven for his self control.

As he left, his mother had reminded him of the importance of behaving with the utmost decorum. To secure the alliance, Aemond must perform his duty and forget all thoughts of vengeance.

Were it to turn into an all out war, they are greatly disadvantaged. The number of dragons they have is not enough to form a real opposition to Rhaenyra. If they have enough soldiers, though, perhaps it will make the whore think twice about starting it.

But even without her, Aegon needs this. He will forever need to prove his legitimacy as a King to the rest of the realm. After all, their father had nearly twenty years to make him heir and had only done so as an afterthought. Everyone would wonder what did that say about his character. His brother needed to prove himself a capable ruler, one that would unite the Seven Kingdoms and protect them under his banner.

This is a war that will be fought through connections and resources, not violence. Aemond’s hatred cannot jeopardize that. Duty must come above everything else.

He only hopes duty doesn’t come with the face of an ugly cow. Securing the alliance with the Baratheons is vital, and his grandsire had made it apparent Aemond should use any means necessary to get what they required.

“Play your cards right, Aemond.” He had said, staring at a map of Westeros. If looks could make an entire nation bend the knee, it was for sure that after that glare, all the Kingdoms would be for Hightower. “Offer them trade, lowered taxes… Borros is an easy man to fool. Never was one for the letters, that one. But if he won’t budge… He has five daughters.”

Aemond had only nodded. Despite not being spoken out loud, the message was clear. Try not to, but if necessary, marry one of the little fools. For that was what they were, with a father as Borros Baratheon. Everyone in the Stormlands knew their lord could not read. And the so-called Four Storms were praised for their beauty, grace, and manners. Not for being particularly learned.

Five daughters. Surely, his grandsire had been wrong. Everyone he asked agreed there were Four Storms. It had struck Aemond as odd, that he would make such a simple mistake. Otto Hightower was a figure larger than life, a great thinker that commanded every room he was in, and blessed with an excellent memory. But it was not as odd when considering the amount of stress the poor man was under.

Everything felt urgent and not quite real. Aegon’s transition had been an easy one in the logistical side of things. His grandsire and mother had been already running the realm. But despite being prepared for Rhaenyra’s resistance, they hadn’t expected her to actually gain supporters. They had prepared, but Aemond still felt as if none of this could actually be happening.

His lack of a bride, purposeful in case an alliance was needed, was soon to come to an end. He felt much like he imagined maidens must feel like. Aemond was about to be sold to the highest bidder, and in this case, that was Borros Baratheon. And whichever of his little fools was the least annoying.

Well, he was in no need of a clever wife. If it were necessary, Aemond would pick the more pleasing one and be done with it. He could place her in another wing of the Red Keep and not have anything to do with her.

When he enters Storm’s End, Aemond is taken aback. He had done his research about the Baratheons. Four Storms. A couple of sons. Borros and his old Lady Wife. But the gossip he had been privy to had been outdated. Because next to Borros Baratheon sits a girl in a smaller throne. You. His new bride.

Borros doesn’t stand up to greet him. Neither do you. Aemond fights to remain calm, despite the display of disrespect. He focuses his attention, instead, on the contrasts between the two of you.

Borros is sprawled without a care, legs spread and belly sticking out. You sit primly, legs crossed at the ankles. You are a beauty, next to the man you are married to. A maiden in the bloom of youth, around Aemond’s age. What could have possessed your family to marry you to such a beast?

It had not been an indiscretion. You do not show any sign of being with child or being nursing. You also sit very proper and proud. If you are a little deviant, it doesn’t show in the way you hold yourself.

The lady of Storm's End, mother to the Storms, has to have passed recently. Otherwise, it would make no sense why Aemond had not heard of it. And while he understands the urges men tend to have, when faced with a second chance at marriage, this is a bit much.

Aemond was in no place to judge, considering his birth had been the consequence of a similar match. Yet Borros Baratheon was no king in need of heirs, and you were young enough to be his daughter. Seven Hells, if Aemond’s guess about your age was right, you were around the eldest Storms's ages. Disgusting. Your beauty was wasted in such an unmannered, daft beast.

“Prince Aemond.” Borros says, lazily scratching his belly.

“Lord Baratheon.” Aemond hates himself for it, but forces himself to bow his head. Then, he turns towards you. “Lady Baratheon.”

“To what do we owe the honor?” The answer is dripping in sarcasm. Borros, of course, must already know why Aemond is here. He has either already made his choice about what side he is on, or he intends to make Aemond grovel. Neither sit right with him. The thought of humiliating himself for a Lord’s pleasure is one that makes his back stiffen and anger burn hotly in his stomach.

He is a Prince of House Targaryen. Not some beggar that has come to plead for aid. But Aemond grits his teeth and starts sprouting the script he had written in his head as he rode here.

“It’s with great sadness that I inform you of my father’s passing. Of course in these trying times, we must remain united, and no house has stood with Targaryens…” The speech has as much emotional conviction as if he were speaking about the reproduction of cattle, which is to say, none. He knows this is not what will convince Borros. He is a simple man. Borros likes good food, good wine and women. The language he speaks it's not flowery, heartfelt speech, but rather gold and land.

“So you seek an alliance.” Borros extends his hand, impatiently. Aemond nearly bristles at the interruption. He only manages to keep his temper in check through years of taking Aegon’s insults. “Pass me the letter your grandsire has written.”

“Here.” Despite knowing the man doesn’t know how to read, Aemond hands it to him. Men’s egos are fragile things, and he knows too well how the sting of embarrassment can fuel hatred. He is not going to risk his chance and insult him.

Borros opens it. He scans it over, noticing the royal seal. Then, he shifts towards you.

“Girl, come here.”

Aemond's brows raise. Did Borros keep you by his side not only for his personal satisfaction? The existence of your little throne makes more sense that way. Surely, not even that fool would be so crass as to have you on display just to show off his younger bride.

You go to him, barely acknowledging Aemond. You skirt around him as if he were part of the furniture. He gets a whiff of your perfume, something expensive and decadent. It’s that what makes Aemond take a second look at you.

You wear a black velvet dress in one of the latest fashions of the capital. You are dressed better than most ladies at court, hands, and neck dripping in jewels. Your hair is held back by a golden hairpiece that emulates the antlers that the Baratheons are so famous for.

Perhaps you are a way for Borros to flaunt his riches. A power play meant to intimidate visitors. Not only has he managed to get a younger bride, but he showers her in jewels. It might be a way to show off his manliness, to show his vassals and other lords that he is still powerful and virile. It has to be the stupidest thing Aemond has ever seen.

You take the parchment from Borros's hands. All tiny steps and swaying hips, you get even closer, to whisper in his ear. Your muttering is fast and frantic, and despite how acute Aemond's hearing has gotten since the loss of his eye, he can't make out the words.

The expression on the Lord's face shifts, from annoyance to amusement.

“Taxes? Lowered taxes?” Borros asks, nearly laughing. “That’s all you are willing to offer?”

It had been, in fact, all that his grandsire had been offering at first. The best thing to do when starting a negotiation was to start lower than what you actually intended to offer. Then, when you gave in and offered more, the other person would feel like they were winning.

“No, my lord. Merely the starting point. If you read the last few paragraphs, you will see trade…” Aemond tries to redirect the conversation back to the important part, but he is surprised to find that he can’t. Because you cut him, smoothly, and with a smile so sharp it might make Vhagar nervous.

“We will see you offer us a trade deal that’s worse than what we already have. Are lowered taxes and worsening of our trade deals what we should expect from our new King? I shudder to think how King Aegon treats his enemies, if this is how he treats…”

Aemond's eyebrows raise. So you speak. And quite eloquently. Strange for a trophy wife. Even stranger, that your husband allows it. Men who marry little girls young enough to be their daughters are not known for their consideration towards women.

“My Lady, with all due respect…” Aemond needs to stop you because if what you say it's true, then his grandsire has made a grave miscalculation. Or a shrewd attempt to fool Borros Baratheon. Knowing him, the second one is more likely. He has a tendency to underestimate other’s intelligence. It was a flaw often found in bright men. Aemond suffered from it himself.

You do stop speaking, staring at him with hatred in your eyes. You either hate men, him, or being interrupted. Perhaps all three. Your eyes narrow, and you look on the verge of doing something very unladylike.

Gods. If you were Helaena, or his wife, he would already have reprimanded you. Aemond turns towards Borros, hoping to get some show of camaraderie from the man. Women, so easily offended. Surely, he would put you back in your place.

But instead of scolding you, the man gave Aemond an angry scowl.

“I will not tolerate any disrespect towards my daughter, Aemond Targaryen. Let her finish.”

The omission of his title would have stung in ordinary circumstances, but not this time. He was too busy gawking over the fact that you were not Borros' wife, but his daughter. You two were nothing alike.

Daughter. Of course. That’s why the man defers to you, why he has you seated to his right. At least that count his grandsire had gotten right. Five daughters, indeed.

“As I was saying. I do not understand why we should take your side. We have yet to receive an offer from the other contenders. Your terms are not generous enough to declare yet.” Your answer is clipped. You are clearly annoyed with him, but you do raise good points. Aemond sees no trouble in listening to you. If Borros wants to indulge you, a little girl playing politics, he won't be the one to stop you.

“So you think, my lady, that you should play both sides?” Aemond arches an eyebrow, leveling you with a glare. No matter how many good points you make, he is not above intimidation to get what he wants. He knows he cuts an intimidating figure, with the dark clothing and the eye patch. Many of the women at court avoid him for that very reason.

But unlike the women at court, you do not wither under his gaze. You bloom. Your back straightens, and you give him a calm look. Your eyes are sweet, almost as if Aemond were flirting with you and not looming menacingly.

“It’s hardly that. I’m simply waiting to make an informed choice. You barge in here, unannounced and in a hurry, hoping to pressure us into an alliance you clearly need.” Your speech is well pronounced and to the point. As soon as you voice it, you seem to lose all interest in him, brushing past to get to your tiny throne.

Aemond turns and stares, unashamedly. The nerve on you. While you might have seen through him, it didn't allow you to just disregard him like that. Who did you think you were? You were just a lady? He was a Prince, the blood of the dragon!

“And we Baratheons are no pushovers.” Borros adds, approvingly. He seems to take your opinion, turning towards you for approval. The man clearly loves you. “We are stags.” Your eyes narrow. Your father clears his throat and rushes to add. “And does. We do the pushing.”

It’s not a good line, but it gives Aemond an opening. If the man cares for you such, it's not wealth that will sway him, nor the promises of land. There is only one thing a man with five daughters could want, especially regarding his favorite one.

“I do have something else to offer.” Aemond says, eyes firmly on Borros. He is purposely excluding you from the conversation, knowing it will sting. Good. You have been horrible to him so far, you deserve it.

“Do tell.” You insert yourself regardless, and he turns to you with his more welcoming smile. You have just dug your own grave, and you don't even know it. It will make his victory much sweeter.

“I would marry you. You are beautiful, and clearly intelligent.” Aemond's expression turns malicious. Your face pales, turning an awful gray shade. You know as well as him that you can't deny him.

“And what use do I have for a second son?” Your hands go to your hips, and you jump out of your tiny throne. You stalk forward, all bared teeth and bravado. Gone is the pretense of sweetness. When cornered, you bite and bite hard.

The insult stings, and Aemond has to fight the urge to slap you. You got quite the mouth and a talent for knowing where to strike. It’s a dangerous combination. He wants nothing more than to exert vengeance, but confronting you now would be unwise. Instead, Aemond fantasizes about what he will do to you if he ever gets you as a wife.

Pinch you. Tug on that pretty hair. Maybe smack you in the arse until you were begging for forgiveness. His mouth twists into an ugly smile. The mental images give him the strength necessary to turn towards your father and try to sway him.

“My Lord, you cannot keep her here forever. You surely know what will happen when you are no more. She will depend on the mercy of his brother. The Lady needs someone to take care of her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way you are baring your teeth. Whoever said you were a doe was wrong. You look more like a boar, pretty features twisted in rage.

Lord Baratheon laughs. This time, it's not mocking, but full of humor. Aemond decides it to take it as a good sign.

“And so you now ask I give you my doe. You are a bold man, Prince Aemond.” Definitely a good sign, then. Now he is suddenly a Prince again. Aemond turns towards you and gives you a smug grin. Your hands wrap so hard around the fabric of your pretty gown, he hears a ripping sound. Your father remains oblivious.

“I would be her fiercest protector. Staunchest supporter.” Aemond hurries to reassure him. Borros just needs a little push to give in. He can practically savor it. What does a father fear the most when handing a daughter away? “I would never force her to obey me beyond the reasonable respect a wife should have for her husband.”

It is, of course, a load of crap. He fully intends to take you down a few pegs. But what Borros doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Father…” You cut in, urgently. Your father is too busy looking at Aemond like he is his hero to notice. The expression on his face is close to orgasmic bliss, as disgusting as the thought is. Any more, and the man will burst from happiness.

“She would want for nothing. I would treat her as it befits a woman of her station. There would be no greater joy for me than getting her hand in marriage.” Aemond pleads. That is true. At least halfway. You would live comfortably, he would make sure of it. And he would be glad to marry you, if only to be able to get his revenge. Would you want for nothing? Doubtful. You would probably want your family, a loving husband, being away from the Red Keep… But financially, you would be set.

Borros stands and gives Aemond a pat on the back. His expression lights up, looking ten years younger. In contrast, your face falls. You look between the two of them, shaking hands, and look ready to bawl.

“It will be an honor to join our houses, Prince Aemond.” The man boasts, joyfully. Aemond smirks. As petty as it is, he feels as if he has conquered a Kingdom. There is nothing sweeter than the look of pure defeat you wear.

But hearing your father so happy about the match seems to be the last straw for you. You step between the two of them.

“Why not Floris? She is the prettiest among us all. Or Maris? She is very learned!” The offer is desperate, and by the look on your face, you know it. Your face scrunches up in disgust, as if you cannot believe your words. Betraying your sisters for your own safety seems low. Aemond can tell you don’t mean it, but knowing that you are trapped so well you are lashing out pleases him.

Your father's hand goes to your wrist, and he pulls you forward. You go easily, and Aemond makes a mental note of it. He finds interesting how easy you are to subdue if handled properly. Your father seems to have a knack for it.

“You will have to forgive my doe.” Borros says, ruffling your hair affectionately. You stare, looking like a disgruntled kitten. It's clear you are not impressed. “She has the Baratheon temper, but can be quite sweet too. Hence, the name.”

“Of course.” Aemond says, magnanimous. He will need to play the devoted fiancée until he has you out of here, less your father regrets the agreement. But after… Oh, he is going to have fun taking you down a few notches. “Only looking out for her sisters. After all, it's odd the eldest is not married and this one will be.”

You smile at him. Your smile promises pain. Aemond wonders, for the first time, if you have similar plans for him. If you do, he welcomes the challenge. It will be even sweeter when he prevails.

“She is very sensible.” Your father plays with a stray curl behind your ear, tucking the hairpiece more firmly. He remains ignorant of the heated glares Aemond and you are exchanging. “Always has wanted to be swept off her feet, though.”

“Father, perhaps he should take a look at my sisters first. The famous Four Storms.” The words come out between gritted teeth, eyes still burning a hole through Aemond.

“I don't need to, my lady. Are any of them as politically inclined?” He does not dare reach for you, with your father on the way. He would like to touch you. Aemond is not sure about why he feels that urge, but he thinks it is due to your infuriating nature.

“They are not. Cassandra, the eldest, is the friendliest. There is also Floris, the most beautiful, and Maris, the most learned. Ellyn, I'm afraid, is too young.” You rattle, counting with your fingers.

Borros coughs. He eyes Aemond warily, as if expecting him to suddenly announce he doesn't want you anymore. The man loves you, but he is not blind to your faults. Something about his attitude makes Aemond think that this is not the first time you try to spook a suitor.

“I see.” Aemond answers, coolly. “I do not want a Storm. I want a Doe.”

You glare even more. You go sit on your little throne. By the Sevens, you truly are disagreeable. Spoiled, pampered, and with a temper unlike he had ever seen. A match made in the Seven Hells.

Your father gave Aemond a curt tilt of the head. Aemond sighed, and went to kneel by your side.

“I want to court you, if you will let me.” He grabbed your hand. Your skin was very soft, but your palm felt clammy and cold. Curiously, he dared slip his hand lower, checking your pulse. The beat of your heart was not steady, but rushed, and it filled him with a sense of achievement. You were terrified. Smiling against your skin, Aemond pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I did not lie when I said I found beauty in your mind and words.”

It was no lie. You were beautiful in the way young maidens were, sweet and untainted. But you had a mind as sharp as any man. It was a combination Aemond would have admired greatly, were it not for the fact you were a terrible, spoiled brat.

“A war is about to break out. I don't see where you would find the time.”

“If your father allows it, I would take you with me.” Aemond stepped slightly closer. Perhaps, he could entice you. “Would you enjoy riding a dragon?”

“Ah, so you can abandon me in some forgotten wing of the Red Keep and have me away from my family?” It comes out bratty, and scared. A little girl who fears being alone.

Borros tenses at the tone. Almost as if acting on pure instinct, he reaches towards you. His hand goes to grab at your arm, making sure you are still there. Aemond will have to tread carefully, else he missteps and loses all the progress he has made with the man.

“You would have a seat at Aegon's council.” Aemond takes your hands in his. He is on his wits end on what he could offer you. Never before has he met a woman so unimpressed by anything he has to give. In your tiny, sheltered world, everything is perfect already.

“Gods know he needs it.” Borros muttered, under his breath. Aemond ignores him, choosing to squeeze your hands instead.

“I would listen to you.” He pleads, but you, terror of a girl, are ignoring him. Your eyes are focused elsewhere, no longer in his. A guard is hurrying forward, and Aemond can tell the wheels on your head start to turn.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon!”

Aemond, kneeling next to you, straightens. You curl your hand around his.

“Don't!”

“My Lady…” Aemond fights your grip, trying to detangle himself from you. Your hand goes to his nape. You squeeze, as if directing a dog.

“You said you would listen to me.” Your grip is firm. “Prove it.”

Aemond is seething with rage, with the urge to chase and tear Lucerys apart. But you do not budge. Your hand turns into a chain around his nape, a collar for a dog. You force him to remain kneeling at your feet as your father dispatches Lucerys.

Humiliation bubbles up at his throat, choking him. Not even the Pink Dread incident had come close to this feeling. Utter, profound, embarrassment. He can feel his nephew's eyes lingering on you, in the display of affection that seems so casual. A suitor kneeling for his lady, resting his head on her lap. It could be affectionate, were it not for the fact that it’s you.

Aemond is not hiding his face in your lap to feel you pet him, no matter if you behave like he is. Instead, you are forcefully keeping him in place, and he rather look the lovesick fool than the weakling who can’t fight a woman’s grip.

You pet his hair. You smile. He is powerless to stop it. It is then Aemond realizes that you are more dangerous than he had thought. You were so used to bending men to your will, he had not noticed that you had done the same to him.

Not any longer. He would make you pay. He vowed it.

“When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

You liked your life. Your sisters were sweet, if a bit distant. Your father was caring, to the point of actually listening to your opinion. The library was full of books, and you had warm furs and pretty dresses. Life was good. Why would you choose to leave this behind? Storm’s End was your safe haven, the place where you could be yourself. You wouldn’t trade it to go live at the Red Keep with a bunch of incestuous deviants whose reign was under question. You refused.

The thought of going away and having to play the dutiful wife to Prince Aemond made your stomach turn. You were not stupid. You knew the amount of freedom you had here was unusual. There, your voice would be silenced. Nothing you said would be of consequence as it was here. Even if they listened to women, they wouldn’t listen to a stranger. If you were King Aegon, you would rather have your mother’s council over the one from a strange goodsister.

Making sure the door to your rooms was locked, you threw yourself on the bed and screamed from rage, muffling the sound in your pillow. You were frustrated beyond belief. Anything you had tried, Prince Aemond had countered. And your father! Oh, your father had given you away so easily, as if you were no more than cattle. Did he truly believe that you would be treated as promised?

How could your father be so blind? He had not felt Prince Aemond tremble from rage, when he heard the voice of his nephew. The one who had taken his eye. He had not seen his expression sour as you interrupted him and proved yourself to be smarter than he was.

You stood up and looked around. You kicked your bed, and quickly regretted it. Your shoes offered no protection against the impact, and you swore.

“Seven Hells!” And you looked around, embarrassed from your outburst. But there was no one around to witness it, and that fact enraged you even more. You wanted to make your annoyance known.

Your rooms were empty, not a single maid in sight. They were probably tending to your sisters. There was to be a feast in honor of the Prince, but you had no plans to attend. Hence, you had called for no attendants.

You started to pace. Aemond Targaryen would regret taking you from your home. You vowed it. Despite knowing you were falling victim to childish pettiness and letting it cloud your senses, you couldn’t help it. You were angry. Angry. Angry. You wanted to claw his remaining eye out, pull on his hair, elbow him as hard as you could.

Women had everything to lose when it came to marriage. It was their destiny. They lost their connection to their house and were sent to another. They changed hands like property. And the men, the owners, had everything to win. Trading a daughter off like one would do to a rook before starting a game of Cyvasse, they gained an alliance. And receiving a woman, they gained a dowry and vessel for their children.

You knew the day would come where you would be plucked from your home, but you had foolishly hoped that being one of the many Baratheon daughters spared you from that fate. There were so many of you, your father could not hope to marry you all. You wanted to be more than just a way for a man to gain heirs.

But instead, you were going to be carried off towards a place far from your home, where you would not get to be a person fully. You doubted Prince Aemond would give you the same leniency your father gave you, or that he would listen to your opinions. No matter what he said, he was still a man. And not any man, but one you had humiliated.

Men did not often like realizing you were smarter or bolder than them. Those characteristics had served you well to keep marriage away during the years, but it seemed like this time they had failed you. Not only they had made Prince Aemond interested in you, they had also angered him. After seeing the look on his face when his nephew had entered the hall, you could tell he was not one to forgive and forget.

You could have handled it better. By the Seven, you were smarter than him. Why had you been so hostile? If only you had thought to manipulate him back then. How could you have been so stupid? You grabbed a vase and threw it to the floor with all your strength. It shattered into tiny pieces with a loud noise. It didn’t make you feel any better.

You sobbed. A look at the broken pieces and you thought of your maids, having to pick it up. The thought made more tears come to your eyes. There was a warm, wet feeling clogging up your throat. You were not such a bad person as to make them clean a mess you had made purposefully, so you kneeled and started picking up the pieces.

The commotion clearly attracted someone’s attention because there was a knock on your door. You ignored it, and continued obsessively picking up the pieces. You placed them all on top of a cloth, arranging them neatly. The ceramic was sharp, and the borders made your hands sting, but none drew blood.

The knocking became louder.

“No!” You shouted, denying whoever it was. Probably one of your sisters, checking up on you. Or a maid. Or guard. Who knew. You just wanted to be left alone to wallow in your misery.

“My lady, the Prince is requesting….” Of course, they weren’t checking on you. You did no longer matter. Now, you were little more than cattle, mattering only in regard to your owner. This what not the life you had envisioned, not at all.

“And I said no.” Why should what Prince Aemond wanted matter more than what you wanted? You wanted to be left alone. Be able to come to terms with what was going to happen and think of a plan. What was your next move? You had no time to think of it. Already he was imposing his presence.

The servant did not answer. You thought you were finally going to be left alone, but the respite was brief.

“Sister.” Floris’s voice echoed in your rooms. She had a loud, commanding tone, similar to your own. She had gone ahead and opened your door. “You should not behave like this.”

“I do not care.” You sat down on your bed, arms crossed over your chest. Despite knowing you were in the wrong, you didn’t need her to rub your mistakes in your face.

“You should.” Floris took a dress out of one of your trunks. It was one of your yellow gowns, made with intricate gold stitching. She laid it down on your bed, smoothing the skirts down, and gave a pleased sigh. “It is like a fairy tale. You get to be a princess.”

“I do not want to be a Princess.” You looked at the dress and scooted towards the edge of your mattress, trying to avoid it. Floris spanked your thigh, hard enough to make you yelp. “It is the truth! I don’t…”

“Then think of it this way.” She interrupted, annoyed. She, too, had the Baratheon temper. “That man that you are rejecting and humiliating is the man you will spend your life with. Who will have power over you. You are smart. You know this.”

“Father could…”

“Father is not going to change his mind.” Floris frowned. She smoothed your hair down. The hairpiece was making your head hurt, but just like your father, she only tucked it in more firmly. Your head felt heavy. Floris wiped your tears away, examining you with a critical eye. “You are a lucky girl. You have our father’s favor. Win the Prince’s.”

“I told him it should have been you.” The confession slipped from your lips, unprompted. It brought a smile to her face.

“Then you are a fool.” Floris smirked. You could tell she meant every word. Your sister had always had ambitions above her station, much like yours. But hers were more in line with what was expected of your sex. “Had it been me he had chosen, I would have not thought it twice. Fix your face. Before he decides to fix it with his fists.” She gave you one last look, before leaving you to your rapidly darkening thoughts.

You did not need the reminder of what Prince Aemond could do to you, once the two of you were married. You knew. But she had put it so coldly….

Floris was hungry. She had always been. Ever since you were children, she had always craved more. In a household full of girls, she had gotten used to fighting for her due. And not only that. Floris always managed to thrive. Were it her in your shoes, you had no doubts she would have Prince Aemond wrapped around her finger and a plot to get him either power or riches so she could keep a lush lifestyle. Her advice was blunt, but well-intentioned. This was an opportunity, and you should treat it as such.

You got up. You washed your face. By then, it was very late. The storm continued hitting the castle with the same vigor. There were hardly any servants in the halls. You went to sit at one of the windows, watching the rain fall.

Despite the late hour, something told you he would come to you. Sitting on the windowsill, you could taste the tang of metal against your tongue each time you breathed in. The night felt electric. You knew it was just what storms were like, but something about this one felt foreboding.

Watching the water made you feel calmer, and more focused. As the droplets tumbled down the sides of the castle, you reflected. But no rationalization helped you vanish the thought that this night was significant. Destiny was changing right under your eyes, and you could do little but watch it unfold.

“Here you are.” He spoke, after an eternity. You turned your body towards him, but made no move to get up. Somehow, watching him loom over you felt wrong. Like he shouldn’t be.

“Here I am.” You replied, before softening your voice. “I was waiting for you.”

Instead of softening himself, Prince Aemond scowled.

“You are the most impudent woman I have ever met. Haven’t you learned that you should address your betters properly?”

His comment grates on your nerves. You want nothing more than to scream at him. But then, you remind yourself of what this is. An opportunity.

“I apologize, betrothed.” You say, very gracefully. “Do you wish to sit with me?” And you add a good bat of your lashes for good measure. It usually works on your father, so why not on him?

The Prince frowns. He seems to take your much more subdued behavior as sarcastic.

“You are absolutely impudent. When we marry…”

You interrupt him before he can say more.

“You will hit me?” You raise your eyebrows. “Is that what you mean to say?”

He reaches for you. You flinch back, before remembering you are right at the windowsill. The window is high enough that the fall would kill you. You scream, panic taking hold. You reach for him, for the sides of the castle, for anything that could save you from certain death. Aemond grapples at you, desperately grabbing your shoulders and hair in a death grip.

“I have a right to discipline you. And I will, if you do not mind your tongue.” He snaps, pulling you against him. He is careful to move both of you away from the window. Your heart beats harshly in your chest. If he had lost his footing, if he had been a second slower… You could be dead. You could be dead.

“Discipline. Discipline.” You repeat to yourself, in a daze. “As if I were a child.”

“You behave like one. I will treat you like one.” His expression is very telling. Your face heats up. You swallow. Dead. He could have killed you. You are not too sure how you feel about your confrontation with mortality.

“And if I apologize?”

“I am not sure if I will believe a change of heart.”

And oh, how it stings. He wants to humiliate you. It makes your anger flare up again. You clench your fists and stare at the rain. You count to ten in your head, watching the droplets fall outside.

“Of course, my Prince.”

"Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,"

The storm passed, and so did your tantrum. You had become very quiet and subservient. The perfect wife. It unnerved Aemond.

Had the near-death experience rattled you as much as it had him? Aemond kept thinking it had been his fault. He shouldn’t have reached for you in such a manner, yet at the same time, the fear in your eyes had filled him with vindication. Your heart had beaten as fast as the one of a frightened bird. He had been able to feel it through your pulse points, jumping under his hands.

He had had your life in his hands. And it had felt great. That was what power was all about, Aemond thought. And oh, how low you had been brought by it. Gone was your uppity attitude, gone your terrible manners. You had clung to him like a frightened child, pale and anxious. Something roared inside him, Aemond had finally felt like the conqueror his ancestors were. A true dragon.

You had not made mention of the incident to anyone else. Of that, he was sure. His soon-to-be goodfather would have not allowed the wedding to go through. And your sisters would be much more afraid of him. Instead, Aemond had Borros singing his praises and little girls chasing after him, begging to play or older ones trying to curry favor.

Despite having been humbled quite throughoutly by fate, you were not one to sit idle. You were a spitfire, and so, Aemond could not help but believe he was being lulled into a sense of safety before you would strike. But what were you planning?

Your blank looks and serene smiles gave nothing away. No matter how cutting his remarks, or insulting his words, you did nothing but stare. At most, you would fake a laugh. Suddenly, it was as if you had become as empty-headed as your sisters. It drove him up the walls. He would have given anything to know exactly what you were thinking.

Your composure finally broke on the day the two of you were set to depart. You were to travel with Aemond to the capital, which meant flying on Vhagar. A look at his dragon, and your face crumbled. Perhaps, you remembered the last time the two of you had been alone and in the heights. Perhaps, you feared the oldest dragon alive.

“Girl, here.” Lord Borros ordered, passing your belongings to a servant. You stared sullenly. Your father gave you a look, becoming you over.

“I do not want to go.” You stomped your foot. Your antler headpiece shook with the motion. It made your face scrunch up even more. Were you…? Oh, you were. It was priceless. No matter his constant harassing, not even once had you looked close to tears. Not even when he had crudely remarked how he was going to bend you in half and spank your pretty little arse for your defiance before taking you during the wedding night. Not that he was actually going to do that. Aemond just liked frightening you.

“Lord Baratheon…” Aemond warned. He was unsure of what or why he was doing it. He should be loving this. You were finally breaking under the pressure. But instead, he felt oddly empty. It was much better, much more stimulating, when you fought back. Now, it felt oddly like a kidnapping. As if he were taking some poor, delicate girl from her home against her will.

It was stupid. Marrying was the duty of every noblewoman, and you were not a girl. You were his age, for the Seven’s sake! But you looked so hurt, so defenseless… It was not at all like he had envisioned.

What was different from that meeting in the tower than from today? Was it, perhaps, that in certain lights you looked disturbingly like his mother? You had the dark Baratheon hair, and when he watched you from behind, you looked just as powerless.

A Prince was not supposed to hurt women. It was what made him superior to Aegon. The maids in the corridors did not run from his mere sight, nor did the noblewomen avoid sitting by him at feasts. He was thought of as dutiful, not a deviant.

But frightening you had felt delicious. There had been something so primal in your fear, something that had made him feel sure of himself for the first time in years. Aemond had been in control then. He knew his mother and grandsire would be disappointed in him, but he couldn’t help it. He was as twisted as any other Targaryen. Must be the Valyrian blood.

Aemond had been raised under the faith of the Seven, and so, still had some empathy and principles. If he had not been as pious as he was, he would have been as lost as his brother after his first taste of real power. Aemond wasn’t, and so, still felt capable of being sorry for the woman he had so admired at the beginning. Despite all your disagreeable qualities, you were sharper than anyone else he had ever met.

“Girl, you are going.” Borros looked like he was starting to get angered by you. Privately, Aemond felt a bit annoyed at his hypocrisy. He said he was not escorting you to the capital because he had business to oversee as the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond could tell that wasn’t the real reason. He would rather not give you away because it would mean saying goodbye to you forever. You would no longer be his, but Aemond’s.

His ire, the only way Borros had of showcasing his feelings, had not spared anyone lately. Your Lady Mother had been called a dumb whore more times that Aemond could count, for not preparing you better. Your poor sister, Casandra, had been belittled by him after daring to ask about the fate of the dresses you wouldn’t take with you.

“If a daughter of mine is becoming a Princess, you can bet she will take all the dresses she needs, and I will not have you behaving like a vulture.” He had screamed, red with rage.

Floris had wisely hidden herself in her rooms. You, instead, had screamed right back that he was fuzzing too much and that he was overbearing. Which Borros was. The man fuzzed over you, making sure you had the best of everything to take with you, to the point of overwhelming. The row had been spectacular, and it had ended with you giving him the silent treatment, as he muttered fondly about his proud little doe.

It made Aemond think of his father. After his death, he had only felt panic and a sense of urgency. Never grief. But this man, so rough, so ignorant compared to his own father, would be wept thoroughly. He could already tell.

Right now, of course, similar as you were, neither of you got it. Instead, you gave your father a look of absolute betrayal and ran off, trying to hide your sadness at his scolding tone.

“Ah, that one. She is not used to harshness.” Borros shook his head, as if whatever you were going through was a product of female hysterics and not the fact that you were grieving the loss of your home and family.

“Or being told no.” Because you wouldn’t be like this if Borros hadn’t raised you like this. Most noblewomen resigned to their fate early on, they were not raised with delusions. Borros had a point, your mother should have prepared you better. He should have, too.

“I am afraid I might have done her more harm than good. I have always had a soft spot for her. Out of her sisters, she is the most like me.” Borros voiced exactly what Aemond was thinking. His reasoning, though, made him have to try hard not to cringe. While not exactly the prettiest woman on Westeros, you were tempting enough. You had nice manners, when you cared to use them, and a sharp intelligence that spoke of a deep cultivation of the proper arts for a lady.

“She has my temper, I mean.” Borros chuckled, once again guessing his thoughts. In looks, you took after whatever ancestors were blessed without a warrior’s physique. “And she is much more gifted with her letters.”

“Oh.” Aemond said, quite dumbly. He had underestimated Lord Baratheon, just as he had underestimated you. The great beast of a man wasn’t just a beast, but rather gifted with talents of his own. While he may not have been able to read great treatises of philosophy and history, he could read intentions and thoughts just from a man’s face.

“A good thing, in a man. But in a woman? She is not used to not being heard, she is loud and takes a lot of space. The world is not kind, not kind at all, to women like that.” Lord Baratheon spoke, again showcasing a deep insight Aemond would not have thought him capable of.

His mind wandered. Rhaenyra. Loud, brash, bold. Charming when she wanted to. Yes, the world wasn’t ind to women like the two of you. After all, weren’t him and Aegon trying to usurp the throne right from under her? Just because they didn’t agree with how she had chosen to live?

It had been the wrong choice, sure. But it had been the path Rhaenyra had picked for herself, just as you had planned to do before Aemond swept in. Lost to perversion and sin, perhaps producing your own bastards. No. Your course needed to be corrected, and thank the gods Aemond was here for it. You needed to learn your place. He would listen to you, but you would always follow his lead. That was the only way to keep you on the right path.

“No, it is not.” He agreed, still thinking of how he could help you. Stubborn little doe that you were, Aemond knew it wasn’t going to be easy. And worst thing? You were brave. Many women would have cowered at the sight of him, or at the threats he had thrown your way. Not you. Not even once, beyond that time in the tower, you had looked afraid.

“You have to promise to not try to break her.” Borros warned, clapping a hand against Aemond’s shoulder. The man threw all his weight behind the gesture. It was considerable, and Aemond was once again remembered of why they wanted the Baratheon alliance so badly. Borros Baratheon was a brute, yes, but a great warrior. Deadly with the Warhammer.

His hand squeezed Aemond’s shoulder so hard, he thought he might bruise. A threat, thinly veiled. Aemond prided himself on the fact that he did not flinch under it.

“Many men would. It is the easiest approach.” Because it was. What could you do with a woman who was not afraid, and who was used to doing as she pleased? The same thing his Uncle had done to Rhaenyra. You broke her. In whatever way it was necessary. Either through pleasure or through pain.

It was known that women were more carnal creatures. They lacked the impulse control men had. They were more prone to sinning, and they were more often controlled through their basal needs. That was why they had no business on the battlefield or in the throne. And why the thought of having a home and nurturing children spoke to them. They were just all instinct and emotion, with an overall lack of rationality.

“But you are not just any man, are you? You are a Targaryen. Your house needs strong women.” Borros argued. Aemond cringed at the word. He was right, despite the unfortunate wording. You were not just any woman. You had shown yourself capable of more rationality. Perhaps Aemond had to nurture that in you and get rid of your most instinctual behaviors. Teach you by example, until you understood the role you had to play.

“Then what? She will not come willingly, that much is clear.” But how? How? That he now knew what he had to do did not mean he knew how to get there. It could take years, and right now, you had to leave before sundown.

“Her anger will pass. And a bit of advice. She works better when it is the carrot and not the stick.” And it made sense, it showed rational behavior. You didn’t balk at the first sign of pain, but you were greatly tempted when faced with rewards. Much like him, you endured.

You had been raised a brat, yes. But an intelligent one.

“Come, you spirits

That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,

And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood.

Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse,

That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between

Th’ effect and it."

The view from atop Vhagar is spectacular, but you can’t seem to enjoy it. It is a unique opportunity. Aside from those with valyrian blood, no one gets to just ride a dragon. Much less, the most ancient one. But Vhagar is too terrifying for you to sit at ease on her, and you keep thinking of that night in the tower.

You don’t want to die. A fall from here would mean plummeting to your death. You are overly conscious of your every move. You don’t want to die this far from your home. Lately, it feels as if death lingers around you. There is danger everywhere. On top of the stairs, near the training grounds, on top of Vhagar.

Aemond seems to be having the same thoughts because he grips you so tightly to him that it nearly hurts. Every time you breathe, his hands move with your stomach. He is holding you so close it’s making you feel awkward, but you are too afraid of falling to say something.

Storm’s End and the Stormlands are becoming smaller in the distance. Without meaning to, you start to tear up. You no longer can see the banners from the top of the towers, and you can’t remember what they looked like. It’s such a silly thing, being unable to figure out if it is the Baratheon sigil or just a plain yellow one, but it makes a pang of sadness take hold of your heart.

You suddenly wish you had spent your last days memorizing your childhood home and spending time with your family instead of trying to vex Aemond. He is now all you have. The only person outside yourself who will remember your home once in the capital. You bet Aemond never paid as much attention to the details as you did, but surely, he must remember something.

Perhaps that thought is what prompts you to curl your hands around his wrists, seeking comfort. He stiffens, and moves his hands higher up your bodice. You let him go without a word.

“What are you doing?” Aemond whispers against your ear. The wind makes it hard for you to hear him otherwise.

“I am scared.” You answer, trying to project your voice over the wind. He gives a put upon sigh, but reaches for your hands. When his hands envelope yours, you nearly jerk in surprise. Aemond is warm, and touches you very gently. Much more than he had the night of your betrothal. You had not expected him to conform to your unspoken offers of a truce, thinking him as proud as you.

“You should not be. Vhagar is a well-experienced flier.” He soothes, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. You lean back against him, and Aemond seems to welcome the gesture. His breath changes slightly, but you can feel him relaxing against your back.

“It’s not about Vhagar.” You sniffle slightly. “I…” But how to explain? How to explain all of this to a man? This feeling of loss, of not belonging. Of being taken, yet at the same time doing your duty. He would never understand it.

“Why are you scared? Aren’t you so proud, so self-sufficient?” It seems Aemond hasn’t forgotten the slights you committed against him. While he might be willing to indulge you when it comes to fear of Vhagar or heights, he seems annoyed by anything else. You wish he wasn’t. Being comforted by him had felt really nice. For a second, you had actually thought everything was going to be alright.

“Don’t be like that.” You plead, voice breaking slightly. You don’t want to sob, but you feel on the edge of it. Aemond’s hands squeeze yours. He sounds tired when he next speaks.

“You have not apologized.”

“Nor have you.” You say, taking a deep breath. You are trying to keep your tone even, but anger leaks from your next words like poison from a wound. “I admit my tone was not the best. But you treated me like cattle. Or worse, a pawn.”

“Pawn?” He asks, the words seeming to give him pause. You jerk one of your hands from his grip, angrily wiping away your tears.

“On your brother’s game. Do not insult my intelligence, Prince Aemond.”

“We are all pawns. You, me, Aegon.” His tone is sharp. As if you should know this already. Are all men such fools, you wonder? Why would anyone be a pawn on someone else's game when they can play King on their own?

Cyvasse has always been a pastime of yours. You learned how to play it as a child, on your father’s knee. As he planned his ambushes against the dornish and commanded you to watch closely, watch better. There was always an out. Prince Aemond could not see it now, but you could.

“I do not want to be a pawn.” You whisper to him. A test. A prod, to see if he is willing to change the game.

“Neither do I.” He answers, grimly. Prince Aemond kisses your temple, soft and sweet. And the idea grows in your mind. Perhaps, this is not a Cyvasse board but a draughts’ one. They are easily mistaken, after all. Both checkered. But in draughts, even the most simple of the pieces can dominate the board.

And there it is. The opportunity you have been looking for.

“Is this a dagger which I see before me

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.”

The day of your wedding ceremony, a storm rages around the Red Keep. You and Aemond exchange your vows inside the royal Sept, with an air of grim determination. None of your family is in attendance. His, instead, fills the seats of the Sept.

His grandfather proudly boasts of the alliance to anyone who is willing to listen. It is no secret to anyone that the dismissal of Prince Lucerys from Storm’s End has made Rhaenyra’s cause take a blow.

What did Borros Baratheon see, that convinced him to betroth one of his daughters to Aemond? The nobles ask themselves. Surely, if even a renowned fool like him could see something wrong with Prince Lucerys, it must be obvious for the whole realm to see. The question mark on the legitimacy of those Velaryons changes into an exclamation sign. His poor, Strong nephews, doomed not to inherit anything at all.

“Well done, Aemond.” His grandfather had said to him, pulling him aside after Aemond had returned with you and the promise of Borros Baratheon himself leading his men into battle. “The girl, she reminds me of your grandmother. Bright, but well-behaved. I am glad you found enjoyment in your duty.”

And surprisingly, Aemond had. He had warmed up to you on the ride home. You were sweet when you wanted to be, and he had finally managed to find some common ground with you, which made you more interesting.

You still had impulses. But when asked to cooperate and behave in front of his family, you had proven surprisingly agreeable.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to cause your Lady Mother a fright. I understand she is heavily burdened.” Your last comment had been said with a puzzling smile on your lips, and Aemond had found himself losing sleep over it. What did you mean by that? Were you making a subtle dig at him? Or was it at his siblings? Or perhaps, simply commenting on the near civil war about to break out?

The memory follows him all the way to the hand fasting and the wedding feast. The storm outside does not subside, perhaps a goodbye to the doe that is now becoming a dragon. You tear up during the hand fasting, and even manage to look the hopeful bride. If Aemond had not been betrothed to you, he would have thought you loved the idea of marriage. That you loved him.

You do not. It does not bother him. Both of you have agreed that love will come with time. For now, you are both trying. You are much better at it than him, less cold and guarded.

“I want us to be friends, at least. Care for each other.” You had said, holding his face in your hands as you shared your first dance as a married couple. Aemond had not been expecting the gentle touch from you, focused on not missing a step. He had startled. But you had guided him to look you right in the eyes, expression sincere. “Or I shall wilt so far from home, husband. We have been doing better.”

“We have. And I care.” He had brushed your hair away from your face, sensing your melancholy. It must have been hard on you, Aemond mused, getting married without any of your family present. You had been behaving spectacularly, but you were still very sensitive. Your father had warned him about it for a reason, after all.

“I do too.” You had reassured him, eyes glassy, before hugging him. Aemond had decided then that he would need to protect you from any harm. You were awfully fragile, nothing to do with the Storms you had as sisters. His doe. Dramatic, vain, but so sweet.

His new resolve faces its first test when the feast starts to die down. The bedding ceremony approaches, and your eyes, nervous, go from the increasingly drunk Aegon to Aemond and towards the empty seats left behind by his mother and grandsire.

Aemond only needs to follow your gaze a few times to understand what you are trying to convey. Gone are the only two possible moderating influences on his brother, his mother had retired when Helaena had become upset by the noise and his grandfather claimed being too old for such a celebration.

The crowd gets rowdier and rowdier as the end draws near. They are drunk and eager for a show, and know the best one is about to be provided by the two of you.

Aemond has already decided to endure this. While the thought of those hands all over his body it's not a pleasant one, he doubts the women would dare go any further. You, though. Your laugh is stilted and your eyes keep darting to the exit. Determined as you are to appear brave, you force your lips into tense smiles.

It’s not long after before someone calls for the bedding. All bravado, you get up on your own when the men, led by Aegon, approach you.

“Gods, you are a lucky bastard.” He says, as he starts to tug at the sleeves of your dress. Something tightens in Aemond's chest and he sees red. He had hoped that he had conveyed to his brother that he cared for you, but Aegon either didn’t care, or was stupid enough not to notice.

How could he? Even his grandsire had congratulated him for finding pleasure in duty, it was that evident. And Otto Hightower was not exactly the most perceptive of men when it came to emotions.

Aegon eagerly rips one sleeve out of the bodice, and you can't hide your flinch. Aemond sees it even among the crowd of women that are trying to divest him of his own clothes. Some lord's hands are greedily wrapped around your waist, squeezing your flesh. There is panic on your eyes. Brave, stubborn, little doe that you are, you don't say a word.

But even if Aegon had not noticed, how did he dare touch something that was his? The only thing to his name, and he dared envy it, try to take it away. Aemond had endured Aegon’s needs going first his whole life. Seven Hells, even marrying you meant catering to him and putting aside his own desires. But his brother was too selfish to even keep his hands to himself and not fondle his bride.

There is another ripping sound. The other sleeve of your dress, now gone. You struggle to keep the bodice up, a hand against your chest, but some lords are already jeering and tugging at the waist of your dress. You whimper, barely audible.

“Enough!” Aemond orders, pushing away the women and grabbing his gambeson from one of them. Enraged, he nearly throws the men off you. “Enough. No one touches her.”

“Brother, we were just having a bit of fun…” Aegon shouts, and Aemond grimaces. This close, he can smell the alcohol on his breath. What a poor excuse of a King he was, drunk and groping a woman who wasn’t his to touch.

You flock towards Aemond like a scared bird. He places his gambeson over your shoulders, trying to cover you in case the dress fails to stay up. You shrug it on, gratefulness shining in your eyes. It only serves to irk Aemond further. He wants to strangle Aegon and his stupid friends.

“I do not care.” Aemond barks, and pushes Aegon off him. “Where is the Septon? Send him in, now.”

“You should not take that tone with me.” Aegon warns, puffing up his chest and advancing again towards you. You flinch, huddling impossibly close to Aemond’s side.

“I do not care! What do you think this is? First night?” Aemond snaps, right back. The confused crowd stands back, starting to notice something is wrong. “Did you ever paid attention to your history lessons or were you drunk then, too? It is abolished!”

“I…I…I” Aegon splutters.

Aemond huffs. He grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, to the delight of the crowd. Many men cheer and hoot, but he makes sure to keep their hands away from you.

“I laid their daggers ready;

He could not miss ‘em.”

Your hands still shake when he sets you down. For a moment, you had thought you were being carried off to be bedded, and all the nasty promises Aemond had made you before your truce had come to mind. He had a right to it — now. Your father was not coming to save you.

Panic had threatened to drown you. But then, once the two of you were out of sight from the crowd, Aemond squeezed one of your hands and placed you down on the corridor for you to make your way there on foot.

“Thank you.” You say to him, once in his chambers. Yours, now. The thought brings tears to your eyes, and you are not sure why. You knew you were going to marry him, and he was not as bad as he seemed. Why were you crying?

The day had been taxing. Emotionally and physically. Sadness and excitement had all mixed into one, and the wedding preparations had not allowed you a second to rest. You had been on your best game, bringing Aemond over to your side, and enchanting the court. Laying the groundwork for when you decided to move your own piece.

You had not planned for the reality of Aegon Targaryen, though. Being almost assaulted on your wedding feast was not what how you envisioned meeting the King. It only steeled your resolve. You had to get rid of him.

But no matter how politically sharp you were, you were still a woman. The threat of assault and rape would forever hang over your head, no matter how high in the game you were. And it hurt. Because you could never win.

You sob. You had been doing everything right. How could this have happened to you?

Aemond approaches you from behind, loudly. He is almost always silent in his movements, a predator stalking prey, so you know he must be exaggerating for your benefit. One of his arms wraps around you, trying to comfort you. The touch is tentative, hesitant. When you do not pull away, Aemond hugs you fully from behind, pressing his forehead against your nape.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity. Until you were no longer shaking in his arms, until you had no tears left. Only then, Aemond pressed a soft kiss to the first knob of your spine. And to the second. And the third. He softly traces the places they would be under your skin, lavishing them with attention.

You don’t stop him. His touch is comforting and familiar. Aemond has saved you twice now. That night, when you were enemies in a tower. Tonight, when you were already his woman.

When he reaches your bodice, he doesn’t tear the broken garment apart. Instead, he unmakes every button with care. The dress slips from your form with a soft murmur. For a second, the reminder of Aegon, his friends, and what they had tried to do to you, makes you tense up.

Aemond doesn’t say a word. He just hugs you to him, cradling you in his arms. When you are calm again, he kisses your nape once more.

Your eyes dart towards the bed, in the middle of the room. Around it, some candles provide a low lighting. Aemond kisses your shoulder, and moves one of the straps of your shift aside.

You shudder. Your knees feel weak. It’s a new feeling, but one that fills you with warmth. Pooling in your stomach, towards your core. Making you slick between the legs.

His kisses move from your shoulders, down your arms and towards your wrists. Each kiss feels soft and warm. It makes you forget about King Aegon and his friends, and their dirty little hands all over you.

Aemond touches you softly enough to want to lose yourself in his touch. It is clear he has done this before, and that he cares. Your husband, your improbable ally. So you do. You lose yourself in him, in his body, in the kindness behind every touch. It is only as you come to be, laying with your head on his chest, that you think of it again.

You are satisfied and warm, laying under the covers. Aemond is by your side, eye closed. Softly, you run your nails down his chest, watching the skin and flesh give. His body is so different from your own, thin and elongated, but softly muscled from all his training. There are some scars on him, pink raised flesh standing out among the white.

“You are smarter than him.” You say, your voice low. You are speaking treason.

“Hm?” Aemond’s hand starts caressing your back. His eye remains closed.

“Your brother.” You reply, listening attentively to his heartbeat, You try not to tense under his ministrations, not give your move away.

“I was more dedicated to our studies.” Aemond’s heartbeat starts to feel faster. You feign calm, focusing on other things. It would not do to let your excitement show. You trace a more silvery scar on his side. You wonder how he got it. Training? Riding Vhagar?

“Your education was fit enough for a King.” You say, after a while. You are so close you can taste it. Shifting to lay on your stomach, you peer up at him from between your lashes.

“It is.” Not was. Aemond’s eye meets yours. Your look turns knowing. “It’s no use. He was born first.”

“The world is cruel. Princess Rhaenyra, too, was born first.” You say, boldly. What is it, to usurp a usurper?

Aemond smiles. Slow and cruel.

“He should not have touched you.”

His hand goes to rub at your shoulder. There is a mark there. His teeth, bruising and awful blue. What had possessed him to do such a thing, you did not know. Otherwise, your lovemaking has been soft and tender. Not at all what you had expected.

“With a brother like that, you have to learn to share.” You whisper, once again treason.

His grip on you tightens.

“The only man I intend to share you with is the one who will be my heir.”

It is only years later that you come to know the truth. Both of you are old and scarred by the many atrocities you have committed. The first, of course, the hand you had in the murder of the King.

The chronicles will tell, years after, that it had been a confusing incident. Someone had poisoned Aegon. Not you or Aemond, of course. A servant on Prince Daemon’s payroll, who had been tipped about what wine the King would drink. With him, goes each one of his sycophants. It starts a war. Aemond and you stand, silent watchers of it all, as both sides tear each other apart, conveniently sent to a diplomatic mission with Dorne that bears no fruits.

Is it more of a crime to be the hand that wields the sword, or the man who in the face of an atrocity just watches? His nephews die. All and each one of them, including Aegon’s children. Until both of you can march into King’s Landing, Baratheon forces at your back, and take the Iron Throne.

“Do you remember our wedding night?” Aemond asks, as you watch your grandchildren play on the foot of the Iron Throne. You sit on his lap, cradled comfortably. It has been worth it, you think. It has all been worth it.

“Of course I do.” You smile, so in love with him it hurts. Your sword and shield. Your King. The one that you chose to place on the throne.

“There was a mark on your shoulder.” Aemond rubs the spot where a scar has formed after all the times he had bitten you when you made love. “His fingers were all over it, and I thought, if I lack an eye, he will have to lack a hand.”

The next king wears an antler crown. History books will not remember you or know what you did. But both Aemond and you do, and as you share a secret, vicious smile, you know it. The most dangerous thing to walk the Red Keep was you all along.

[madame-fear]

req: a reader who has dragon dreams sort of like helaena, and foresees what happens at storms end, so she begs lucerys not to go? or syraight up sneaks along with him?

*ೃ༄ 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐁 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐓 𝐕𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐑 (𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨) .ೃ࿐

★ amira speaks! : This was very entertaining to write my dear Nonnie, thank you very much for requesting it and I truly hope you enjoy it + it was what you expected !! 💕 — summary : [ — ✧ request ] — word count : 1.3k

— pairing : lucerys velaryon x prophetic!reader — genre : slight angst, but turns into fluff. mentions of reader seeing Luke’s death at Storm’s End.

“Mother will be sending me to Storm’s End in the morrow.”

It was daunting, to remember his words as you spoke earlier during the day.

It was daunting enough for you to know, that Lucerys would be going to Storm’s End by himself while his brother Jacaerys was to be sent to Winterfell. You understood the implicances of the imminent war and the need for alliances between Houses, especially if Rhaenyra had to claim her birthright — but at the same time, something inside of you felt wrong at the thought of Lucerys going to seek alliance to House Baratheon.

A gut feeling, perhaps. And when it came to guiding yourself by your own intuition, you were never wrong. Most of the time, Rhaenyra often seeked your thoughts and intuition in certain cases, and whenever you spoke about the rights or wrongs of anything, it never failed in certainty.

But what was worse, was when you foresaw situations through your own dreams. Your breath hitched sharply, and the sound of your silk sheets being continously ruffled as you shifted ubcomfortably from one side and another invaded your chambers. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have those type of foreseeing dreams, and you dreaded it. Especially when it came to life-depending situations.

By the moment you abruptly woke up from your sleep, panting heavily and with your body drenched in your own sweat, the rowdy noise of the violent storm you had seen in your dreams remained disturbing you. You mentally could still hear the wicked, mocking laughter of Aemond Targaryen while riding Vhagar, haunting Luke as he chased after him, calling out for the young Velaryon and the “debt” he owed him — his eye.

The noise of the loud thunders cracking violently leisurely faded away as you had foreseen Luke getting away from Storm’s End in your dreams, seemingly missing Aemond out of sight as the bright skies were clear. But, suddenly, what jolted you awake trying to steady your gaspy breathing, was the sight of Vhagar harshly eating Luke as a whole, and ripping of Arrax from parts of his own body — falling into the vast sea above them.

Remembering the horrid sight, knowing deep inside of you that that was exactly what would happen to him if he travelled to Storm’s End, a lump was formed on your throat. Your lips quivered, trying to calm yourself down and fight back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes at any moment. Luke didn’t deserve such horrendous fate. It took you a few minutes until your quivering body recomposed itself, but without doubting it, you had to go tell Lucerys. You knew he would believe you in the blink of an eye.

In a hurried manner, your hand rapidly tossed the ruffled silk sheet barely covering your body, immediatly getting out of bed. Your delicate lips were partly opened, allowing soft pants to escape from them as your shaking body quickly guided your steps out of your chambers. As you got out, you shut the door behind of you quietly, surreptitiously sneaking into the halls.

Through the dimly lit halls, your feet felt as if they dragged themselves through the floor, with faint footsteps as you tried to reach Luke’s own chambers. With each quiet, sneaky step you made, you could feel a wave of corporal trembling — wobbling weakly from the fright and angst you felt at the sight of the dream. You fought hardly to hold back the tears to escape right there, and you could never want for Luke to see you in such dreadful state.

It felt an eternity to arrive to his quarters, and when you did, you wasted no time on knocking the doors; swinging open the wooden doors. Not only you hadn’t knocked because you didn’t wish to alert any passing guard, but as well because it felt like an important emergency to let him know of the dreams you had.

With his eyes fluttering open sleepily, Lucerys rapidly turned around; his brunette curly hair completely messy from having been suddenly woken up. The Velaryon Prince lazily rubbed his eyes swiftly, frowning his eyebrows in confusion. Closing the door behind of you sloppily, Luke began speaking, in a groggy, yet concerned tone. “(y/n)? Are you alright?–” you intrrupted him, crawling quickly on his bed to desperately approach him.

“Don’t go.”

“W-What?” he stuttered briefly, propping his body on the mattress by his elbows.

“I said don’t go.” you repeated slowly, breathing out some pants. The lump on your throat intensified, nearly choking you. “Don’t go to Storm’s End. Please.” those last words came as a plea, and maybe, they were.

Leisurely, his eyes blinked a few times until his sight properly adjusted to you, and his surroundings. His eyebrows remained furrowed, but his facial expression softened the moment he noticed tears beginning to gently roll through your soft skin, across your cheeks. Before he could mutter a words, a rather loud sob spurred from your lips, gazing down at the bed timidly.

“I saw you—” you paused, trying to catch your breath and stop yourself from tearing any further. His hand tenderly was placed on your arm, rubbing it. “I-I saw, in my dreams... Aemond chasing you,” the words struggled to come out. His green hazel eyes widened slightly at your dream, immediatly moving his hand gently to slip his fingers under your chin, trying to lift it to make eye contact with you.

“H-He was shouting after you, a-and...” you trailed off, feeling some more tears leaving their hot trails through your cheeks as you tried to catch some air. “A-And he... No, Vhagar, killed both Arrax and you. I-I saw it.” merely remembering the image and having to express it to Lucerys made your body feel weak. You nearly choked yourself with the lump formed on your throat.

His heart nearly dropped inside his chest, not managing to stutter a word out of his rosy lips to give you a proper response. All Luke felt able to do, was quickly wrap his arms firmly around your body as you collapsed in tears and sobs on top of him. “I-I don’t care if I have to convince you, or your mother, a thousand times–” you muttered in between sobs, desperately hugging him back. “— But I beg of you, Lucerys, please don’t go there. I can’t stand the thought of you being harmed in any way.”

Your nails scraped on his nightclothing, as if you felt the need of feeling him alive and well under your desperate clinging to his body. Lucerys, with his breath sharpened slightly at the thought of what you had foreseen in your dreams — knowing they always became true — embraced you tighter, pulling you closer to him as his hand moved up and down on your back; his caresses were an attempt to soothe you.

It felt as if his heart shattered at the mere sounds of your fervent sobbing, feeling your spilling tears leave wet spots on his nightwear. Your nose nuzzled his neck, inhaling his sweet vainilla scent, and hiding your crying face on the crook of his neck.

Luke returned the same affection for you, rocking your body slightly to the sides, seeking to comfort you as his eyes fluttered shut. You felt so comfortably warm, and Lucerys could never do anything that would possibly harm you both physically, and mentally. “I-I will not be going.” he responded, in a whisper. His nose nuzzled back your neck, moving his lips upwards to tenderly smooch the top of your head.

The mere thought of his uncle seeking revenge and chasing him down to the point Aemond managed to kill him, was frightening enough already. And of course, he could only imagine both the pain and fear you were going through when dreaming the situation, feeling every bit of the adrenaline.

“It’s alright, issa dōna riña.” he whispered back in between smooches, his hands continuing to sweetly stroke your back in a leisure manner; hearing your saddening sobs fade away at the comfort of his warmth, and his affection. Convincing his mother of not going to Storm’s End wouldn’t be a difficult task, now.

“I’m here for you now, and I’m not going anywhere else.”

♡ taglist : ♡

@jacesvelaryons @jjamieberry @anemicroyalcore @countsmoon @beeebo234 @manuholland6 @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @dopepersonacloudllama @phantasyy @tasty-nutella @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @bellarkeselection @feliuuuksks @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @juliavilu1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @jamiemydeer @snowprincesa1

[sunnyie-eve]

5. Beautiful

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Series: Devious Opportunity

Pairing: (Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin! OFC Targaryen!)

Word Count: 1.1k

Notes: Hinted Smut, Incest, Pregnancy, Childbirth,

| MASTERLIST |

The two pass time catching up and just talking and sitting in silence. At the moment Aegon had his head resting on her lap as she played with his hair, "Lets go for a ride on Sunfyre." He sits up with a smile.

"And we run into my father up there on his way back?" She laughs.

"What if we just fly far away? Leave Westeros together. No one to stop us from seeing and talking to each other."

"Aegon, I can't do that." She tells him so he shuts her up by leaning in with his hand cupping the back of her skull making their lips touch. Aegon let his tears fall freely, and Celeste could taste them in the kiss. Sighing in slight relief as she cupped his face, her soft skin on his encouraging him to look at her.

"I'm here for you." She tells him holding his face as she placed feather light kisses all over him, hearing him let out a quiet whimper as she finally connected her lips with his on her own. Aegon suddenly became more forceful, his desperation pouring into the kiss, grabbing onto her waist with a bruising grip.

Right before the sunrises both Celeste and Aegon wake up from their little rest then she watches him fly off heading back to Kings Landing. She felt a bit bad because their last words to each other was her telling him to just move on and forget about her. She didn't want him getting in trouble from Otto, his mother, or her father. She cared about him and didn't want him going through it.

"You know how hard that is going to be for me?"

"Ageon, please for me so I don't have to worry about you." She tells him.

"Celeste please."

"Aegon, I care you but I don't feel the same." She lies to him, "I don't love you like that. I didn't feel anything during our time together."

He stays quiet getting on Sunfyre leaving her and that would be the last time they ever saw or talked to each other until another two years.

Walking back to her room she sees her father sitting on her bed waiting with a disappointing look on his face, "You have nothing to worry about, father. I told him to forget about me." She tells him.

"Aegon came all the way here to see you?"

"Yes, he just left." She looks over at him, "I'm not sorry."

"I know," He stands up walking up to her, "But I'm sorry." He lets her know before leaving her room.

-

Sitting on the sofa in her room reading Jace wonders in taking a seat next to her, "Are you here to bug us again with your presence?" She asks keeping her eyes on the pages.

"I'm not bugging them just you." He smiles, "They like when I poke at them." He pokes at her swollen belly making the babe move.

"They're moving because you're bothering them, Jace." She turns her head to look at him still poking her belly with a smile.

"I say differently. They love their uncle Jace."

"Technically you aren't their uncle. You're their cousin." She corrects him so he hits her.

"I'm their uncle." He smiles then notices the look on her face as she touches her stomach. "I'll get my mother." He gets up rushing out of the room.

Screams of pain ends up shaking the walls as hours pass by, "I can't do this anymore! Please make it stop!" Celeste yells, clawing at the bed-sheets.

"You can do it dear. You're a strong girl." Rhaenyra holds one of her hands to help her through it, "You're doing a great job."

"I can't take it anymore." She cries squeezing her hand as one of the handmaids dab at her forehead with a cloth.

"You're almost there."

Celeste groans in pain, "I can feel the head. Just a few more pushes." She's told.

Groaning even loudly, her teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked her frame. Pain radiated down her spine and into her groin. She felt like she was being ripped apart at the seams.

"You hear that? You're almost done. You're doing so good."

She squeezed onto Rhaenyra's hand as hard as she could, pushing with all the strength in her body. The harder she pushed, the sooner it would be over. She needed it to be over. With a final push, her vision began to blur and blank mind went blank.

Before she knew it, loud cries pulled her back to Earth, and coo's from the handmaidens filled the room. She laid back with a sigh of relief. As she relaxes Rhaenyra smiles at the baby before Celeste is told to keep pushing.

"I'm not done?!" She groans still pushing.

"It's twins." She's told as she gives birth to the last one.

"Both are girls." Rhaenyra tells her with a smile.

Celeste holds both of her babies to her chest while looking at them she starts to cry feeling something she's never felt before. "Is this feeling normally?" She laughs wiping her tears away.

"Yes, especially with your first." Rhaenyra tells her.

The handmaids clean up both Celeste and the babies before leaving her to rest for a bit. Laying in her clean bed she looks over at the babies next to her in a crib. She couldn't help but find her girls so beautiful. It was love at first sight with her.

Later when Celeste was well rested enough Jace and Luke were excited to meet the baby, "We hear it was girls!" Luke shouts so Jace tells him to quiet down.

"Yes," Celeste smiles.

"What did you decide to name them?" Jace asks as she hands them each a baby..

"Dahlia," She motions to the one Jace was holding, "And Astraea," She looks at the one Luke was holding.

The boys found them both beautiful just like her mother was. They took turns holding them till Daemon entered the room so they left them alone. Daemon walks over looking at Celeste holding the girls. Stepping closer he takes in how they looked.

"They're about identical to you when you were born." He speaks up.

"I didn't know you were even around then for that." Celeste says not looking at him but her girls in her arms. "Do you want to hold them?" She looks at him and he steps back, "Father, please."

Daemon steps forward taking Dahlia from her first and she could have sworn she saw him smile a bit, "That's Dahlia, she has a mole near her eye while Astraea has one on the tip of her nose." She lets him know who was who.

"I thought I was doing the right thing with you. I should have had you with me." He lets out looking over at her.

"I forgive you, father."

[starogeorgina]

Killer queen

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.04

“Muña!”

“Tré!” You call out as your son runs to you with his arms outstretched. The dragon keeper who accompanied him out of the pit nods, then excuses himself. You lifted your son up and kissed his chubby cheeks. “Did you have fun?”

Smiling brightly, he nods his head. Only a week after your son was born, Aemond began taking him dragon riding, so your son, who had just celebrated his fourth name day, was well acquainted with Vhagar. Tré learning to ride a dragon properly so young made you feel more confident for when he would be able to fly on his own dragon, Breeze, when they were both large enough.

His dragon came from a clutch of eggs laid by Aelora. Breeze’s body was silver and glimmered in the sun; his calm nature matched his bonded riders perfectly.

Tré points behind you, “Kepa!”

You watch as Aemond leaves the dragon pit and walks towards you. His toned figure is being hugged nicely by his riding gear as he struts towards you, looking pleased with himself. He rips his leather gloves off with his teeth before stroking the side of Tré’s cheek and brushing stray hairs behind your ear, saying, “You shouldn’t be lifting him in your condition.”

“Nonsense,” you say, shaking your head. “You just worry too much.”

Aemond’s hand rests against your swollen stomach. “I have every reason to be worried.”

Since the maester had confirmed you were pregnant again, Aemond had been treating you as if you were made of glass, which was understandable given how sickly you were during your first pregnancy. Goosebumps spread across your body as you watched Aemond take in your appearance, his eye blown with lust. He loved seeing you in revealing outfits, and the silver dress, which was almost completely backless aside from the thin fabric holding it together at your neck, seemed to be riling him up.

“I have a small counsel meeting to attend soon,” you say, handing your son over to him. Once you became a mother, you felt unsure of where your place was in your family; mother and father were king and queen after all, and having a baby made you want to take on more responsibilities to ensure his future was secure, so your grandsire suggested you attend your father's counsel meetings to learn the way of politics. “However, I will come find you after it while Tré is attending his lessons.”

You smiled, watching as your son snuggled into his father's chest, their silver hair blending together. Aemond still caressed your bump with his free hand while sighing, “I spoke to mother this morning. She wants to know how long we plan on waiting until we try for another once this baby is born.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her that we would have our own fleet within the next few years.”

You frowned at him; your first labor had lasted for days and was the worst experience of your life. Several times you begged for someone to end your suffering; of course the pain was worth it the moment your son was brought into the world, but you spent many years contemplating if you even wanted another, then decided you wanted your son to have a sibling, someone to grow up with. A subject you and your mother came to blows over several times.

Aemond chuckles. “I am only jesting, my love; you have already given me the family of my dreams. I would never ask you to go through this again.”

“I know,” you gulp down, feeling a wave of emotion hit you. “I should get going; I will see my favorite boys later.”

You walk away before tears spill from your eyes. By all means, you weren’t hurt or upset by your mother's question; you were angry. Angry that despite you having already made the decision not to have any more children after giving birth to the baby currently growing inside you, she insisted on trying to convince your husband otherwise.

—

When the council meeting was over, you spent some time trying to track Aemond down. He wasn’t in the nursery, library, training yard, or with any of your siblings, and Vhagar was flying riderless outside. It didn’t overly concern you as you knew he must have been inside the keep, but it was irritating as you wanted to spend some alone time with him.

When the knight opens the door to your bedroom chamber, you are welcomed by the sound of singing. You step inside and observe as Aemond sings a lullaby in High Valyrian as he pulls a black-scaled dragon egg out of his satchel.

You lean against the wall and say, “Fatherhood suits you.”

“And motherhood suits you.” Aemond turns around, giving you a devilish smile. He strides towards you, his hands gently gripping your hips, his lips now ghosting your own. “Especially this part, when you are full of my seed and swollen. The dragon growing inside you is strong. It’s easy to tell by the way you are glowing.”

“Hmm,” you nip at his lower lip playfully.

Aemond takes the opportunity and clashes his lips with your own, starting a long and passionate kiss. Just as his hands move to cup your heavy chest, there’s a knock at the door. Looking irritated by the interruption, he swings the door open himself, frightening the servant standing on the other side.

“My Prince,” the man says, giving him a neck bow before moving his attention to you, “princess. Prince Aegon sent me to tell you he’s awaiting you in the dragonpit.”

“Thank you, Silas.”

The servant smiles before bowing his neck again and leaving. Aemond rolls his eyes; he never understood your learning the names of all the servants who you interacted with daily.

You knew Aemond was furious by the way his jaw twitched as he watched you put on a black shawl to keep the chill off your bare back. Sternly, he says, “I thought you weren’t dragon-riding while pregnant.”

“No, I said I wouldn’t be riding on the dragon's back alone,” you corrected. “We will ride out on Sunfyre and fly back on Aelora.”

Unamused, Aemond repositioned his pants so that his hard-on was no longer visible. Huffing, he picks up one of his many books and sits down by the fire without saying another word. Aemond’s real issue wasn’t you going dragon riding; it was because he was jealous. Aelora would rip anyone who tried to mount her aside from you and Aegon to shreds, and your older brother would never let him forget it.

Your husband hadn’t made an effort to hide how envious he was of your connection to Aegon; a part of you always wondered if it was because it was the type of sibling relationship he craved himself, but you wouldn’t dare ask him, knowing the question would embarrass him. “Oh, my darling,” you say, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “I am simply trying to make the most of my time before the new baby comes, because when she is here, I imagine most of my time will be taken up with her and Tré.”

“I suppose you are right; besides, you’ll need to give our brother plenty of attention now before the new baby arrives. You know how competitive he can be.”

You pout at his words, “Aemond don’t-”

“You keep referring to the baby as a girl,” he says, kissing the back of your hand, changing the subject. “One of each would be nice; I hope she obtains her mother's beauty.”

You kiss him on the lips, then on the top of his scar above his eye. “It would only be fair since our son has gotten all of his good qualities from his father. I will see you once I return.”

“Be safe.”

—

On your walk back from the dragonpit, you hear two servants whispering in the hallway. They notice you staring and immediately curtsy. Smiling, you walk towards them and say, “Hello, I believed I heard my name.”

“Forgive us, princess,” a red-headed girl says frantically. “I meant no disrespect; I was just saying how beautiful your Targaryen hair is.”

“Oh,” your general said, surprised by her honesty. The same servant commented on your attire most days, commenting how wonderful it must be for a princess. “What do you like about it?”

Her face flushes red. “The braids, p-princess.”

“There’s no need to be so afraid. Do you like my braids as well?” You ask, facing the other servant.

She nods.

“Follow me.”

You lead the confused servants through the hallways until you reach your empty bedchamber. You had them both sit in chairs by the fireplace and begin braiding their hair to be similar to yours. During which time you learned the blonde's name was Laura and the redhead was Shayla.

While twirling strands of red hair around your finger, you ask, “How old are you? You look rather young to be working here.”

“One and two, princess.”

You had learned Shayla was the youngest of four daughters and that both her parents had died of a fever; her only living relative who was an adult sent them out for work immediately. “And you were the only sibling sent to work in the keep?”

“Yes, princess, my older sisters were sold to one of the brothels on Silk Street.”

Your hand immediately moves to your stomach, and you rub at it protectively. It terrifies you to think what kind of beasts the poor girls must have to deal with daily. “Do you know which brothel they are in?”

“I’m afraid I do not know princess; I haven’t seen them since the day we were sold. I do miss them terribly.”

You open your mouth to reply, but stop when Laura says, “Forgive me, princess, but it’s getting late. The head of the kitchen will scold me if I do not arrive before the sun sets.”

Hearing the fear in her voice, you give her permission to leave. When she’s gone, you return your attention back to the girl in front of you and ask, “What are your sister's names? And your last name?”

“Ava, Charlotte, and Bridget Our last name is Ford. Princ-”

“You do not need to call me priciness in every sentence,” you laugh softly. You make a mental note to ask Aegon in the morning to help you find these girls before finishing Shayla’s braid, saying, “Thank you for sharing with me. If it pleases you, I’d like to practice braiding your hair again, if that’s okay.”

Her eyes light up. “Of course, Princess.”

The young girl leaves your bedchamber just as your husband arrives; her grin never fades as she curtsies him on her way out, which puzzles Aemond, as most servants are too afraid to even look at him. He brushes it off and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “How was dragon riding?”

“Excellent; although I think I’m getting rather fat for it, I struggled to strap myself in.”

He presses a kiss behind your ear and says, “I shall inquire into finding straps with more stretch in it.”

“Perhaps,” you turn around to face him, not missing the devilish glint in his eye. You take hold of his hand, moving it to your breast and squeezing. “But I believe we have some time to make up for my husband.”

[jhuzen]

// spoilers for dan heng IL ( and long thirst / ask hehe)

… .. .. back again with thirsts of deflowering the pretty dragon king… THE NEW LEAKS OF HIS ANIMATIONS MAKE HIM EVEN MORE ETHEREAL, I AM GOING FERAL. HIS EXPRESSION DURING HIS BURST…. THE ELEGANT SMUG LOOK. HE DESERVES TO GET HIS BACK BROKEN, LEGS TURNED INTO JELLY, TEAR MARKS STREAKING DOWN HIS BEAUTIFUL FACE.

i imagine the first time of "making love" to ( ahem. breeding. ) danheng il could go two ways, starting softly with gentle kisses on his forehead, slowly slipping off his intricate garments, murmuring adoring words of praise as you worship every inch of him… aeons, he'd probably start crying from uncontrollable emotions of feeling so loved after all the shit that has happened ( and arousal. the old dude would probably find "being taken in the most 'purest/bare state'" so exciting )…

…before slowly wrecking him as you grab him by his tiny waist (whore.) or intricate horns and pound into him while he screams, scrambling to grip any surface to stabilize himself before he goes truly brainless from your actions, undecided whether he should try bucking forward to 'get away' from the overstimulation or lean closer to you to experience more of that addicting pleasure. ( he'll probably end up choosing the latter. dragons are such greedy creatures. can you blame him for wanting more? )

.. throw in some dirty words about how he'll look so lovely when he's with child, how he'd be such a great mommy ( the logical part of his brain wants him to argue that it's not biologically possible, but he's too cock-drunk for that part to even work so he nods dazedly, letting out a whimper at your vulgar words [ and jokes on him, by the end he'll be bred so good that he bends biology ] ) … call him your mate to scratch that primal part of his brain… and maybe press the bulge on his stomach that's slowly forming as you continue to make a mess out of him.

Or you start off the session immediately acting feral and ripping his clothes off and going to town on him lmao.

EXCUSE ME?? THE ABSOLUTE AUDACITY. TO KNOCK ME OFF MY SOCKS AS I READ EVERY WORD. I AM. LICKING. THIS. UP. TOO GOOD. I LOVE IT.

just dan heng getting so impossibly flustered. imagine if this mf actually gets addicted to it, the subsequent sessions after-

DUDE. him desperately spreading himself open for you with his shaking hands to “help” you because you said you’re too tired to fuck him. oR HIM RIDING YOU, letting out these soft desperate whines because hOW THE HECK CAN YOU REACH THAT GOOD SPOT IN HIM AND HE CANT DO IT HIMSELF?

i’m addicted at the thought of him being such a helpless pillow prince. so dumb yet so eager. there is charm in every sloppy head he gives you, his inexperience showing because he’s an old ass virgin. he’s willing to learn but he just fucks it up every now and then, but he’s trying!!!

and i am here to spread my agenda about the motorcycle joke. his back completely bent because you’re holding his horns while you ruthlessly fuck into his cute little hole ajdisjdkc my mind is broken.

and i don’t want to be that guy but-

ajsijwdkc suckin on his tiddies while lactating if he ends up breaking his race’s biological code is giving everything.

[feyhunter78]

But Darling (I'd Still Die For You)

Description: You has arrive at Storm's End in place of Lucerys. While attempting to secure an alliance, you run into Aemond, and your reunion becomes a Greek Tragedy.

You glare at him from across the room, trying to hide your relief at seeing him unharmed behind your anger. He’s dressed in his riding leathers and that black overcoat, you always thought he looked particularly handsome in. Somehow, he still looks put together, but you’re a mess. Damp hair, wind chapped skin, and your cloak torn from a close call with a guard. His eyes devour you the way a starving man devours a feast, and you shiver, hoping you can blame it on the cold.

 Lord Baratheon watches the scene and beckons Aemond forward before turning back to you.

“Prince Aemond has betrothed himself to my daughter in exchange for my loyalty, what does your queen intend to offer me?”

All of Rhaenyra’s sons were either betrothed or too young. “Me,” you say. Ignoring Aemond’s gaze on you. “I will marry you and give you a son.”

Lord Baratheon leans back in his throne. “A tempting proposal. Give me a moment to weigh my options.”

“Of course, my lord.” You bow your head and head towards the doors, intending to go and hide underneath Ziras’ wings until Lord Baratheon makes his decision.

The rain batters you, but you pay it no mind, searching the sky for your dragon. The heavy doors swing shut behind you, and you’re halfway across the courtyard when a hand grabs your wrist.

“You are already married, y/n.” Aemond hisses, spinning you to face him.

“So are you, Aemond, and yet you betroth yourself to a Baratheon girl.” You shoot back, shaking his hand off you.

He grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “You know I would never betray our vows. I would say the words, shut the doors, and she would be dead before dawn.”

“Will you fuck her first? I’m sure all of King’s Landing will be waiting outside the door for the bedding ceremony.” Your words are meant to come out venomous, but instead they sound pained.

Aemond’s free hand wraps around your hip and pulls you to him. “No one knows what she sounds like, I will stuff her corpse in a wardrobe and take you instead. Let the whole of the court know how well I bed you.”

Heat pools in your stomach, but you bit the inside of your cheek, the metallic blood taste reminding you why you’re here. “I will not have innocent blood on my hands because you were too much of a coward to marry me properly.”

“I married you in the ways of my house, and before the eyes of The Seven.”

“Your mother still does not know! She sent you here to make an alliance through marriage.” You protest, tears stinging your eyes.

Ziras circles above you, and you rip yourself from Aemond’s grip.

“I will tell her. I will tell the entirety of the continent after I dispose of the Baratheon girl, just do not marry her father.” He pleads, his hand brushing your arm as you step away from him.

You wonder if this is how Queen Alicent felt, marrying a man old enough to be her father for the good of those she loved. Having to stand in front of Rhaenyra and bear the brunt of her rage, knowing she would never understand her reasons. “How can you ask that of me?”

Aemond runs a hand through his hair angrily. “How can you think of wedding another man? Would you kill him as well?”

You throw your hands in the air and laugh, the sound watery. “Then one of his daughters would take his throne and neither of us would get his army. I do not wish to be married to anyone but you, but I would also rather an army go to Rhaenyra than Aegon.”

His voice turns cold. “You would rather follow a traitor than your own good-brother.”

“I am a loyal subject of the crown; I have always been.”

“Then why will you not return with me? Why do you insist on running?” His hands are shaking, and you longs to comfort him.

“Why will you not come with me? Do you not love me more than Aegon? The brother who has insulted and belittled you, your entire life. The drunken lecher who does not even wish for the throne.” Tears fill your eyes, and you blink them away, reaching a hand out to him.

He takes your hand, covering it with his much larger ones. “I love you more than life itself, but that does not change my duty. Duty must come before love. Rhaenyra cannot sit on the throne.”

You laugh again, the sound broken and hollow. “Is it because she is a woman, or because her sons are bastards?”

 “A woman does not belong on the throne; it has never been done before.” His hands still shake.

You wipe at your eyes furiously. “So, if I said that it should be you, who is king. If I asked you to kill Aegon, to kill Rhaenyra so that you and I could rule together, would you do it?” You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Would take the Iron Throne and make me your queen?”

Aemond cupped your face, his silver hair plastered to his skin by the rain. “Do you wish that of me? Would you betray your queen to rule by my side?”

You close your eyes, tears mixing with the rain. “Aemond, I love you.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “and I love you, so if you wish to be queen, I will make you queen.”

Your voice broke. “I do not wish to be queen if the throne is covered in blood.”

Aemond sighs and takes a step backwards. “There are only two options, dear wife. You refuse to marry Lord Baratheon and return home with me. Or I kill my two eldest siblings and hope the smallfolk love you enough to ignore the fact that I will be both kin and kingslayer.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Those are not options, Aemond, those are impossible choices.”

“We are in an impossible situation.”

Ziras lands behind you, and you turn towards your dragon, seeking the comfort of his emerald eyes. “I will not be responsible for bloodshed, not in this way.”

Vhagar touches down above you both, her roar shaking the ground.

“Take one more step and Vhagar will attack.” Aemond’s voice is deadly calm.

You turn on your heel. “You would kill me, my love?”

“I would kill your dragon.”

You freeze, staring at him, every bit of warmth inside you freezing with you until there’s nothing left but ice and rage. “You would threaten my dragon. My Ziras?” You took a step towards him. “You nearly became a kinslayer for your dragon, and I nearly died, for mine. How dare you?”

Ziras roared behind you, his eye narrowing, smoke billowing from his nostrils.

“I do not wish to tear him from you, I only wish to make you aware of the consequences.”

You could strangle him with your bare hands for the arrogance that radiated from his words.

“Harm my dragon and I will kill you before Vhagar can turn her ancient head towards you.” You seethed, reaching for the dagger at your side.

Aemond’s eye, always quicker than any movement of yours, saw the twitch of your hand. He had his own dagger out before you could close your fingers around the handle of your own. “Do not test me, wife.”

You circled each other, daggers in hand, eyes watching each other’s moves.

“I would never husband, I know better than tha—” Your words were cut off by a sudden impact and surprise flashed across your face. You dropped your dagger, your hand going to the arrow in your chest. Ziras let out a sound that could only be described as a scream, and he darted in the direction the arrow came from.

Aemond’s dagger clattered to the stone, and he lunged forward, catching you as you fell.

“Aemond.” You said, your hand bloody when it came away from the wound. Your eyes were wide, panic clear in your voice.

“Y/N, oh gods, Y/N.” He breathed, carefully snapping the arrow, so he could inspect the wound. The arrow had pierced your heart. He gently lowered you both to the ground and pulled you into his arms, his hair falling forward and hiding your faces.

“It hurts.” You whimpered, tears running down your cheeks.

“My heart, please, don’t leave me.” His words tumbled from his lips as he held you closer, resting his forehead against her.

You felt the warmth of his tears on your face and reached up to run your fingertips against his scar. “Let me see you husband. I want your true face to be the last thing I see.”

Aemond pulled off his eyepatch and you smiled weakly. “There he is, my love.”

“Y/N, please. I will side with Rhaenyra. Or I will fly us to somewhere far away, no one will know our names, we can start over. No blood will be shed, just please, stay with me.” He begged; voice thick with tears.

You reached for his hand, and he intertwined your fingers. “I want to, I want to stay, Aemond I’m scared.” Your eyes found his. “I do not wish to be parted from you.”

Aemond shook his head, “you will not be, Ñuha dōna, you will not be parted from me.”

You gave a weak laugh, “I’m dying, and you still live, we will parted.” You felt him press something cold into your hand, then his hand settled around the arrow in your chest.

“Do you love me?” He asked, an intensity You’d only seen once before in his eyes.

“Of course, Aemond you will never be unloved by me.” You said, lip trembling, when he positioned your hand over his heart.

“I wish to die by your hand, let me follow you to the Stranger.”

A sob fell from your lips when he yanked the arrow out. “Aemond, you do not need to follow me, I will wait for you.”

He placed his hand over yours. “Now, sweet wife, be swift.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you pushed the dagger into his heart. Realization settling in your mind. He was yours, your soulmate. You could feel the life leaving you, and you kissed him gently, your tears mingling together the same way your blood had all those years ago. “You were mine.” You whispered, before the darkness took you and you went limp.

Aemond held you, his lips still pressed to yours, savoring the last of your warmth. He knew what you meant; he’d known you were his soulmate since the moment you met. True, he did not have confirmation until your last words, but he did not need fate to tell him who his heart belonged to.

He pulled his dagger out and used his last remaining strength to pull you fully into his embrace as he laid back upon the ground. Your face, finally able to soften after moons of war, was the last sight he was blessed with before he joined you in the Stranger’s arms.

[bearslonelywinter]

The lies we'll tell: NMJ x Plus Size Fem! Reader

Summary: Being the secretary to a powerful CEO is no easy feat. But with his lingering dragon like eyes, things could get a bit more interesting.

Warnings: Possessive behavior, Smut, bit of fluff, unprotected sex, dirty talk, dom!Namjoon, sub!reader, work place bullying and talk of diet culture. Also, very light editing done. FLITH.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

A/N: Hi hi! This is my first story posting on here. I used to write a lot back then but I am just now getting back into the swing of things and I hope you guys enjoy~ <3 I am very nervous.

You spent the majority of your early morning in the bathroom trying to readjust your tight skirt. You had no idea why you let your best friend, Jia decide to pick out your clothes for today.

"Ah, shit," you whisper to yourself trying to bring it down more and more but the skirt keeps wanting to ride up your plump thighs.

"Why, why, why! Did I let Jia talk me into this," you whisper to yourself when you hear one of the stall bathrooms unlock.

A tall slender woman appeared. She's pale, short jet black hair that stopped right above her shoulders with a cute grey business casual outfit that complemented that pale skin. She looks at you through the mirror with all of the cookie cutter sinks lined up, washes her hands and reapplies her bright red lipstick.

"Such a shame," she says.

"Excuse me?" you ask.

"Oh? You heard that? Sorry, sometimes my thoughts slip out." She smirks, eyes rolling in disgust as she see's you keep struggling to pull down your skirt. "I was saying that it's such a shame . . . no more like a disappointment that our CEO hired you over me. I'm sure I'd be more of a prize to look at," she pauses putting her lipstick away in her bag and fixes her hair. "He pick someone who is supposed to keep up, how can you do that when you can't even keep up with yourself?"

Your face was red, boiling over with anger within you. Nari, Nari was a mean mean woman even when you first met her when you both were young interns. She has always had her sights on the CEO of Bangtan Corp. She was young money and blew it off while partying in her early twenties from the rumors you heard. Daddy is broke but still has connections which lead her, here . . . you about to rip her a new one.

"I'm sorry, last time I checked I'm the one close with the CEO? Not you? Huh, such a shame that your pretty little head still can't comprehend that. While I am struggling, I will and still will come on top. Don't you forget that," you snapped.

Her face is red, just about almost as red as that obnoxious red lipstick she has on. She quickly walks out of the bathroom, pushing past another woman. "Woah! Be careful, sheesh," the woman's voice shouts. It's a familiar voice. "Hey what happened with Narcissus over here?" Jia asks.

Tears sting your eyes and all you can do is hold onto the ends of your skirt still trying to pull it down. "Hey, hey! What's going on?" Jia asks while getting closer. You look up at her in the mirror. She is a bit tanner, long light brown hair she keeps into a ponytail with cute bangs to frame her face. She usually has light brown contacts in but today, her dark eyes are only focused on you.

"I'm sick of her shitty attitude towards everyone, I'm sick of people doubting my skills because I got picked to be Mr. Kim's secretary and most of all I AM SICK OF THIS SKIRT!" you couldn't help but shout a bit while trashing about.

Clearly over-stimulated, Jia shushes you while petting your hair. "Y/N, hey girl it's going to be alright, look at me!" she exclaims.

"No."

"Look at me, Y/N, I'm not playing games here."

You give in, facing towards her and away from the big mirror.

"First and foremost. Nari over here, that bitch. Don't worry about her, she can be a bully with her little group and keke all she wants but, it will not get her far, not with the high school mentality she has. Secondly, you speak three different languages, you were valedictorian in your collage and you can crush a cantaloupe with these thighs," she says, giggling while taking a good little slap to your inner thigh.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better, how?" you ask while rolling your eyes.

"Because! I was going to say before you interrupted me. Thirdly, you're hot."

"Oh come on now, you're ju-"

"Y/N, no I'm serious. Look at you," she says while she gets behind you and makes you face towards the mirror. "Look at how cute you did your hair today, your makeup is on point and matches so well with your dark navy blue skirt, long sleeve white silk blouse and your small pearl necklace you have on. You're too cute. I know you think your skirt . . . is a bit too short and I'm sorry for that. I just thought you needed to feel beautiful as much as you look right now."

There's a pause. You take a look at yourself, a really good look at yourself. You see how your curves are fitted well. How the black small belt holding your skirt is making your waist come in and how flushed your hips are. Your black sheer tights highlight your thick thighs and how your black chunky heels are making your back straighten, giving you that boost you need. To top it off, your breasts look perfectly round, the white blouse has a small little plunge showing the tops of them off, beautifully.

Jia takes notice and gives you a soft smile.

"Are we about to kiss?" you joke.

"No! But, I'm down if you are!" She laughs a hearty laugh all while you wave her off. You grab your large bag off of the sink counter and pull out a grey sweater. "Ugh no, please not the sweater," she says.

"While I appreciate you basically eye fucking me, this skirt is still inappropriate for work," you say. You wrap the light feeling sweater around your waist and tie the arms around the front of you. The longer part covers your bottom. "I have to schedule some meetings now. See you after work?"

Jia gives you her big smile. "Of course! Dinner at your place?"

"Dinner at my place," you agree. "Don't forget that wine I left at your place okay!" you say as you leave the bathrooms.

"What wine again!?" she yells.

* * *

The office space you've shared with Mr. Kim has always been so intimate. You were placed in a small waiting room and the doors that were almost immediately behind you, is where he resides. Like a dragon underneath a mountain with his pile of gold, gold like secrets you'd say.

It was around 12 p.m. About lunch time for Mr. Kim and yourself. You'd always have the kitchens below deliver his lunch to his office while you waited outside at your desk to eat yours. But this time, when you knock with hot soup and meat in hand, he doesn't answer.

You knock again, no answer. You wonder if you should just leave him a text message. No, you thought. From the first time you met him in your interview with him, to officially receiving the job - he has always told you, whenever you needed him, to go straight to him.

But you didn't need him, you just needed to give him his food. You stand there, feet firmly planted into the ground, your breathing getting shorter. What could go wrong, you thought. Just say excuse me, give him his food and get out of there.

You took a deep breath, knocked once more and let yourself in. The room is big, adorned with navy blue color painted on the walls with expensive monochromatic art pieces lined beautifully and two statues of white marble dragons in the corners by his big black wooden desk. The large ceiling tall windows, with the view of the city of Seoul really pulled the room together. You took a step further, your heels meeting the soft plush gray carpet that's in the middle of the white tile flooring. Two black leather facing his desk, the back of his own leather swivel chair, is faced away from you.

You take notice of a small glass cup that was empty but you can see the coloring of the recent drink he has recently drank, brown. Whiskey of some sorts you believe, knowing Mr. Kim has always texted you to buy whiskey for his clients who request meetings with him. You crept closer. Placing the hot soup with the meats onto the table, trying to not disturb him.

"Hi, Mr. Kim. Your food is ready," you whisper. No answer. You slowly move around the desk, to see if your CEO is still alive. But there he was, his beautiful tan skin, his plump lips and his black hair that framed his face oh so perfectly. He was asleep.

You linger for a moment, looking at him. He's wearing a two piece all blacked out suit. He looks tired to you. You know with all of the meetings in the last couple of days with international affairs, especially with trying to dip his toes into the music industry with a new artist can be difficult and it's finally caught up with him.

Seeing him sleep is peaceful to you. You could take a picture if you wanted to but all I can do is soak up the silence and his beauty.

"You know, if you're just going to stand there you might as well bring your lunch in here and join me," he says. You took a step back and see him sit up a bit while he opened his eyes. His dragon like eyes. They roamed your body as he casually licks his lips from what you assume the long nap he had. "A grey sweater? Are you cold, Y/N?"

You cock your head in confusion all while you look down and remember about the stupid sweater you had to wrap around yourself. "Oh! I am so sorry Mr. Kim. I had a wardrobe malfunction and I just needed a quick fix before trying to tackle all of the scheduling done for today," you say quickly.

"Is that so?" he says. "Well my proposal still stands, grab your lunch and join me. You're already here"

Your thoughts were racing. Oh no, I disturbed him. He's going to shred into me for invading his space, you thought. "O-Of course, sir," you say quickly exiting the luxurious room to your little desk outside. From under your desk was a mini fridge. You grabbed your chicken salad with your black ice cold water bottle and came back into the room with him.

He set one of the guest chairs closer to the large wooden desk, opened one of the boxes and began to blow to cool down his noodles. You quietly, place your lunch in front of him all while pulling out the chair so you sit down. Even when he is sitting up, he towers over you, you rub your legs together. He notices.

"Is that all you brought darling?" he asks. His words sending chills down your spine. A pet name.

"Yeah, I just really need to watch what I eat sometimes . . . I'm sure you noticed," you say, wanting to shrink into the leather seat.

"No, as a matter of fact. I notice the lunches you usually bring in. Have you been eating enough?"

You want to just disappear. It was so invasive, like he can see right through you. While it made you feel this way, you wanted him to pry more. You wanted him to know every part of yourself.

"M-Mr. Kim. I-"

"Namjoon, please call me Namjoon."

"Namjoon sir . . . I . . . uh, it's just been hard when hearing all the comments and people saying things towards me. I just want to make sure that I look good, to make you look good . . . sir."

You look at him, the dragon eyes are back. He's peering into your soul all while you feel so small. He leans forward, hands in front of his face, he cocks his head and sighs. You see how plump his lips are, how sharp his eyes are and how his hands . . . oh his hands and what you would give to feel them.

"I'm sorry, I said too much," you say to try to ease the tension.

"Nothing you say or do will ever make me look bad, darling. Why you should tell me who is making such remarks to my secretary."

Your heart flutters, you expect him to brush off the matter or to even shame you like others have. But, should you really give a name? Nari was an awful woman yes, but this was messing with her income if you were to interject. You hesitate. He notices.

"If you're worried about me firing them. I wouldn't do so, let me ease your mind," he says leaning back his chair, spreading his legs a bit farther apart, eyes still on you. "Give me a name and i'll make sure they will never bother you again."

This time, his voice rumbled in your bones. He meant it, you can tell he did. You open your mouth a bit, he leans in a bit more - awaiting your answer.

"It's this woman who was in the communications division with me from when I first started here as an intern . . . she was also one of the people running to be your secretary when we both saw the internal portal application."

"Ah," he says. Finally happy with your answer.

"You promise you won't get her fired or anything? As much as I dislike her, I don't fancy messing with people's money. That's not something I'd want to do to her."

"You have a good heart," he says, lifting out of his chair to move the food to the side. "Stand with me, Y/N."

Almost like an instinct, you stood with him. He motions for you to come to him and you did. You walk over to his side of the desk and he makes you both look out into the city.

"I read your file a while back, when I first hired you two months ago. Trilingual woman in her early twenties coming to a big hit company like mine. I was intrigued you know?" he says looking down at you.

"That I spoke three different languages? I don't think it's that impressive . . ." you trail off.

"That's not an easy feat, Y/N. You passed all of the communications tests with flying colors, me and my team gave you impossible tasks but you managed to outwit everyone and surprise everyone with how efficient you are. I had to see you."

You blush, you never realized how much at hand Namjoon put into the tests you and others had to make. You felt proud and if you could, you'd call your mom and tell her you made the CEO proud of you. You were beaming and loved the praise he gave you. He notices.

"And when I saw you . . ."

Oh no, here we go. All of a sudden your mood became sullen, he's going to tell you how disappointed he was when he saw you or whatever horrible thing.

"When I saw you, you took my breath away," he says.

"Wha-"

"You are so radiant. Genuinely such joy. I saw how you made your co-workers laugh, you made lunches for everyone and you're just so beautiful."

You felt as if this was a dream. Was the number one bachelor in all of South Korea, the CEO of one of the biggest companies . . . was complimenting you? Your mouth gap open, you took a step back to try to gather everything he just said. Your heart is racing as your face is turning red. He smiles.

"All while, you look great doing it."

That was your boiling point. You had to go, get out of here before he takes too much notice of how much you're unraveling in front of him. Before you could, you felt him behind you. You looked up to see in the big windows, a reflection of you two.

"You know what I see when I look at you?" he asks.

"I, umm . . . someone who can make you proud?" you ask. It was a dumb dumb response you thought to yourself.

"I see a beautiful, sexy young woman," he says while he unties the sweater around your waist and throws it to the side. You can finally see how big your hips are. While fully clothed, you felt exposed. His hands stay on your hips. "Now tell me, what do you see now?"

You wanted to rub your legs together again. Even from the sheer reflection of you two in the window, his eyes are only focused on you. You just nodded your head dumbly in hopes he understands what you're saying yes to.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk . . . use your words, darling."

Your breath hitches, you wanted to curl into a ball and wanted to run. He's seeing right through you, he's toying with you. He knows, he knows how bad you want him. The side glances you two give to each other for weeks and how you always straighten your back when he comes in and out of his office. He knows.

Namjoon was a man full of focus, his job, with his own projects and with his women. Once he saw you, he had to see what you were hiding underneath those clothes. Today was especially hard for him when he saw how short your skirt was and how your sheer black tights looked so snug on your thighs. He had to tear into you, no he needed to tear into you.

"I-I see you want to tear into me," you respond.

He smiles and brings his head in closer to your ear, "You'd be correct." You smile back at him, one of his hands is going for your waist while the other remains on your hip. "You're running the show, darling. Tell me when or when to stop."

Thousands of thoughts are running through your head, you should stop this. You have to stop this, he was your boss, your senior and someone who is much older than you. But the way your heat aches in between your legs, says otherwise.

"I want you to bend me over this table and have your way with me," you breathe out. He smiles, you see that malevolent smile. He kisses the side of your head.

"As you wish."

He hikes up your tight skirt as far as it'll let him, showing him the pink lace colored panties you have. You looked away from the reflection of you, but then his soft lips met yours. He deepens the kiss. He parts and you're breathless once again. His eyes peered into your soul.

"I need you to see how pretty you look," he says, slowly turning your head to the reflection. You cringe on how you look, your thick thighs and how the panties you have have already dampened from how wet you are. "Look at my pretty girl. So beautiful." You buck a bit at his words. Wanting him to touch you more. You needed more, more, more. He unbuttons your long sleeve blouse, one by one slowly making sure you're still looking. He throws your blouse across the room, showing your pink bra.

Your breasts were pushed up so deliciously for him but you were too worried about how your stomach looked, your arms went immediately to cover your mid section. Namjoon takes notice and lifts your arms up. His arms wrap around you.

"My baby looks beautiful, no matter what," he says. He comes from behind you, kneels in front of you and looks up. "Everything, every inch of you is beautiful." He hikes up your skirt more. He's kissing your knee, to lower inner thigh, to your upper thigh now. You had to lean against something, you were getting weak in the knees. You lean back against the large wooden desk as he lifts your left up and propped it on his shoulder. Kissing every inch on your inner thigh.

Your core was heating up, you wanted to beg him to stop teasing you. Namjoon looks up at you and smiles. His hands rides up your thighs all the way to your hips and back in between your thighs again. He goes for the outer layer of your sheer black tights right where your core is. You moan out as he rips the middle of them. Your pink panties in full view in front of him.

"You're this wet already, darling?" You face away until his voice brings you back. "Look at me baby." You turn to look at him. "You're not going to keep your eyes off of me," he says. You nod. "Use your words baby."

"Yes . . . sir," you say. You know you picked the right words because once you said that, he places thumb and glides it over your clit. You moan out softly. Keeping your gaze on him and he's watching you fall apart. He smirks as gently moves your pink panties to the side, getting a full view of your pretty pussy.

"Divine," he says while popping a finger in slowly. You moan out, feeling your slick dripping down your thighs. He's slowly reaching inside of you, making your squirm in his grasp. You wanted more, you needed more.

Another finger. His ring finger along with the middle finger inside of you slowly pumping in and out while his thumb grazed over your clit occasionally. You were unraveling, moaning his name, moaning swears. He found it amusing that you never broke eye contact with him, Namjoon needed to test you more.

In a swift motion, his plump lips attacked your core. You cry out and grip the table behind you. Needing some stability. "Ah fuck!" you cry.

His tongue is dancing around your clit and moving down to your hole where his fingers reside. You never break the view you're seeing. His dragon eyes peering into your soul like he wanted it. He wanted to take everything from you and make it his . . . and the way he was eating you out, you'd let him.

You feel yourself on the brink of coming. You had to let him know, let him know he makes you feel good. "N-Namjoon, I can't hold it anymore!" you scream.

He detaches and as he stares at you he says, "Be a good girl and finish for me."

You about lost it, his fingers pumping in faster with his tongue dancing now on your clit. You cry out. You run your fingers through his soft black hair, wanting to pull on it. You restrain yourself and simply press into him more. "I-I can't do it anymore. I'm coming!" you cry out feeling a wave of pleasure wash over you. Your eyes rolling back and you fully lean on the desk.

He leans up to kiss you and you accept. You taste yourself on his tongue. It's so sinful, yet it feels so right. Both of your tongues dance in and out of each other's mouths. He begins to unhook your bra and throws it across the room. Your nipples are ready for him to play with. He looks down, kissing your neck, your chest and then down to your right breast. Popping your nipple into his mouth he begins to circle around your nipple and with his other hand playing with the other. Your knees buck but you also wanted to do something for him.

You made him look at you. He was taken a back. A bit surprised as you slowly descend down on your knees. Seeing the tenting in his black slacks. You peer up at him, his face filled with amusement.

"I want to also make you feel good," you say.

He smiles, he decides to lean back into his own swivel leather chair, spreading his knees apart. Inviting you in. "Go on then," he says.

You crawl to him, a sight he was happy to see. Your plump bottom is in the air and way your breasts bounce. He wanted to just say fuck it, grab you and fuck you on the floor. But he knows with a woman like you, you need time and he was so willing to give you plenty.

You crawl and finally plant your knees on the ground. You fumble with his thin black belt and his zipper but you got it down. His thick long hard cock sprang out almost hitting his stomach from just the sheer length he had. You swallow, a bit intimidated on how it looks. He was most definitely bigger than anyone you've been with before.

"I want to taste you," you say to him, softly gripping his cock and pumping your hand up and down. He groans softly which only makes you so much wetter.

"Take me in that pretty mouth of yours then darling," he says leaning further back. You couldn't take it. You spit onto his throbbing cock and swirl your tongue around the tip. Just as he has done to you, you'll do to him. "Ah, fuck," he whispers. "Y/N, fuck."

You took him into your mouth as you could try to swallow as much as you could of him. You bobbed your head up and down, letting your tongue swirl around and your saliva dripping onto his pants. Namjoon was about to lose it. The sight of you was something to behold. He never thought a woman he had his eyes on for months is now under him, taking him so perfectly. Mine, mine, mine he thought to himself. She is mine.

He's groaning and it's making you so wet, you wanted him, you needed him inside of you and he could tell by the way your other hand has left his shaft and he can see you playing with yourself. Namjoon couldn't take it anymore. He grabs your face and lifts you up to kiss him.

You deepen the kiss and then bite his bottom lip. He takes a look at you, smirks and bites your bottom lip back and pulls, causing you to moan in his mouth.

He grips your bottom as he lifts you up onto the table with such ease you puts you into shock and excitement. He's towering over you, taking off his work jacket along with his silk black button up. His body is godly, tan and ripped and seeing his cock basically line up with your entrance is the only mental image you needed to save in your head. You could come from just the sight of him alone.

He slowly, yet softly pushes you down to lay on your back and hiking your legs on his shoulders. He leans down, your face to face with him.

"You're in charge here. Say the color red if you want me to stop or if I'm hurting you. Say the color green if I am good, okay baby?" he asks. You nod your head. "Use your words," he demands.

"Green, sir."

"Good."

He rubs himself against your entrance and you're just waiting, you moan and groan as for him to hurry up. He sees you're eager, so is he but he just wants to drink in every moment, every facial expression you're making . . . he wants to savor the moment he first enters you.

"Namjoon, make me yours," you say as you flutter your eyes towards him causing him to become painfully hard. He can't take it.

He slides in, causing your back to arch and ache against the wooden table. He's filling you to the brim with his cock. He's panting and looking down at your face. You want to turn away, embarrassed on how full you are but his eyes remain trained on you.

"What color baby?"

You moan out, "Green sir."

That's all he needs before he starts sliding in and out of you. He's picking up the pace and all you can feel is him, think of him and look at him. Namjoon filled your senses with just the idea of him. His hard thick cock rocking in and out of you causing your breasts to bounce in his face. With his hand he starts to pull and twist at one of your nipples causing you to moan out his name.

"Namjoon, fuck- please, more!"

He smirks, fucking you harder and faster pounding into your sweet pussy. Making the sweetest noise for him. He too is unraveling. He lets go of your nipple and runs his hands down your stomach and finds your clit again. "Come, come with me this time," he says, rubbing his finger over your clit.

You're turning red, spewing swears and having your eyes filled with just him. His black hair swinging over his brows and eyes as he's fucking into you cashing his own high. His plump lips being bitten down because all he can look at is you and your body.

He slides all the way in this time, hitting your cervix and you cry out. Back arching and toes curling. "Namjoon! I'm coming!" you scream. He leans over, shutting you up with a kiss and then he presses his forehead against yours.

"Come, come with me," he says not moving out all the way but moves so the majority of him is still inside and your clit is still being played with. He's groaning, moaning. "Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. You're a fucking dream. I can't wait to fuck you," he says, pushing deeper. "Over," he pushes further, "And over again," he finally says, groaning as you both have a wave of pleasure washed over you both.

You both are panting. His head buried in between your breasts, you chuckle. He looks up at you and smiles. You both share a quick kiss.

"I'm guessing, I'm having my lunch breaks in here from now huh?"

He smirks, appreciating your joke after the intensity you both shared. "I'd be damned if you start having lunch with another man," he joked back. "You're my pretty girl, mine now."

"What am I going to tell Jia now that I'm spending my lunch time with you now?"

He ponders for a moment and shrugs. "Oh, the lies we'll tell them, it's going to be fun and it'll be our little secret, darling."

[infraaa]

no , buna ziua or hello . Idk if the reqs are open or not but if they are may i request of a Longan Dragon smut oneshot with a bratty reader?(mate , smut oneshots of Longan are inexistent , i need more, i crave for more longan stuff)

『yeah I def agree w you babe but like… holy shit. are we gonna die or are we gonna d i e die die D I E . . .』

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃

longan dragon x bratty!gn!reader

tw // bratty behavior, master dynamic, hair pulling, asphyxiation play, double penetration, oral with another partner, degredation, voyuerism, bondage, riding, dragon rut, MAJOR CNC/SOMNOPHILIA

baker's notes // BAD DRAGOOOOOOONNNNNN AHAHAHAHAH

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

“A-AaaAaaA-AAahh! L-L-Lonnngaaaan-n-n-n! T-Too’o muuuch!”

Guess what time it is! It’s spring time, which means all the animals across the globe get to repopulate and multiply like jackrabbits. Dragons are no exception. Longan’s ruts hit them like tidal waves— they’ve been around for so long that they stopped keeping track of when they start and stop, and when the next rut may come up. They wake up in their ivory silk bed, hot and sweaty… ugh, disgusting. They take a shower, try to clean themselves up, but it’s nothing to do all that. Because they have another problem on their hands. You.

See, you see their ruts come up and you find this as an opportunity to be as bratty as possible. You wanna try and help them get through this period, however the way you do it… oh honey, you gotta be careful.

You started wearing their clothes, their beautiful and deicate dresses, having them tailored to you kind of. Drinking out of their cups, parading out in the middle of the night while they oversaw the oceans below with their white silk robe on, with barely anything underneath, with your scent wafting into their already sensitive nose... like oh my god, they're about to tear their own goddamn ivory hair out.

Until one day...

One fucking day. Oh G O D S. You fucked up. You fucked up bad. Time to wake up. And oh you woke up aight.

Because when you woke up, you could feel something at your sex... prodding there, as well as rough yet diffused grunts of pleasure. You felt your lower body lift up and tilt to the side before your eyes focused in the morning light of your bedroom. When your eyes focused in, you could see two misty golden orbs in a black sea, looking down on you with primal intent, sighing with a clean glare laden on their brow. Two cocks swirled at your sex with urgency, wanting so bad to enter you... oh if they didn't have any kind of restraint left, which they really didn't at this point, they were pulling atoms together and using them, as thin as paper, as hair, to hold themselves back from literally plowing into you wwith inhuman speed, possibly ripping you in half from the wanton heat they were facing, the hellish need and want for your body, for you to please them, to hear your name from your wettened lips laced with their own... ugh! So arousing, the thoughts cloud their mind like a spell...

"Longan?" You called out softly in your sleepy voice. With hearing your voice finally something in them snapped. They quicky brought a hand to your throat, but without a squeeze, which even then left you gasping. "Shut your mouth." Longan spat huskily, almost leaving those last fibers behind. But what led you to this point? What led you to being in this predicament? It only took one night for them to finally say, "screw it," and bite the final thread of his patience clean off.

You were at Lotus's Paradise once, and since Lotus... clearly doesn't seem to give a shit, neither did you, and Lotus thought that it would be convenient to play captain save a hoe and decided to go down on you in their chambers, and Longan came back to get you, and as they and Hydrangea were cruising through the halls, they heard you moaning and crying out in pure pleasure. And sure enough, they walked in on you getting head by one of Longan's kind, and as Hydrangea ran off in embarassment, Longan sat at the doorway and watched you writhe as you sat on Lotus's sofa with your legs spread wide open. Holding onto Lotus's horns, you look up to see your partner staring at you, breathing deeply with intense bedroom eyes and heat in their cheeks. Of course, you wudened your eyes, not even thinking that they would arrive early. You saw them mouth out the words...

"Take their tongue you dirty slut."

You were suprised to see that Longan didn't even do anything to you or Lotus after that. However, they did do something to themselves. They kept themselves trapped in their bedchambers, away from you. They shouldn't have done what they did, but they really needed to let some of that tension go. One thing that Longan will refuse to do is masturbate. Not only is it unclean, but it makes them feel embarrassed and weak. Even witrh these feelings towards such an act, they could no longer take it. They couldn't get those moans, those lewd noises, the way you played with yourself and the way your back arched... it wouldn't leave their head, plaguing them like a parasite wrecking havoc on their brain. They stroked their hemipenes almost furiously, trying to be as quiet as possible. Their rut however made this exceptionally difficult as you walked towards the room tey were in.

And that's how you were now in this predicament with a surprisingly angry and horny Longan Dragon above you, prodding one of their cocks at your entrance as it begged to feel you at long last. But then they had a thought... they didn't want this to be pleasurable for you, for them to do all the work and plows your shit in... of course, they could still plow you, fill you up like a water balloon, but they wanted you to work for it. They bent down close to your ear, arching your back over in their arms as they held you to their cold chest.

"Here is what is going to happen," they started at the shell of your ear in an ominous whisper. Their claws dug at the skin of your back, making you squeal. "I am not going to forgive you any longer for your disobedience towards me. I have given you chance after chance to make up for your behavior, but you never took any of them. So, I am obligated as your partner to punish you properly. You will not backtalk me, you will not disobey me, you will not question me. You," they stopped for a second to lick at the skin of your neck, the sweet smell of your neck making them shudder all the way down to the claws. You moaned quietly at the feleing of their cold tongue touching your skin, leaving a cool trail of saliva in its wake. They continued when they started to pull at your hair, digging theur claws deeper into the skin of your upper back. "I am going to sit down, and I am going to place you on top of me, and I am going to fuck you hard... and fill you up with my cum. I do not want to hear any fucking crying, any complaining that it hurts, you are going to be my good pet," they roughly got off of you, dragging you along with them as they took to a sitting position, with you hovering above them as your wet sex started to pulse in excitement. This is exactly what you thought would happen. They brought a finger to your face and snapped it to regain your focus, "daddy's good little slut, and you are going to give me what is mine, you hear me?" You panted with a smirk, confident in the fact that since you knew that top meant control, you felt cocky in your position. "And what if I don't, huh?" They growled.

"Oh... oh you fucked up big time, little slut."

And then… SLAM! You screamed as you felt their hemipenes dig into you, holding onto your thigh with the other hand tracing down to your wrists to hold them together behind your back. Thrusting upward, making you bounce on top of them in blissful agony— looking into your now pleasure and pain filled eyes as you just couldn’t stop screaming and moaning, and all that. “Who’s screaming now huh? Who’s screaming now? I wanna hear that, matter of fact, I’ll make you scream louder than you’ve ever screamed you little bitch!” You felt all of your bratty reign come to a crushing halt, feeling the dragon under you power bottom their way through hell. A shaky hand of yours tried to escape their oh so tight hold, however, as thry forcefully made you bounce and move you suddenly realized you were indeded starrting to cry. You wanted to be punished by them, that was your whole motive behind this ensemble you've been putting out for the past couple days. Yet you could slowly feel your body give way to submission to Longan's allmighty power.

You already felt your climax coming up on you.

This soon?

"L-Longa-ah! I'm... I-ah!" A hand rushed up gto your throat and started to squeeze at it-- not too tight though, may the gods forbid they actually kill someone so weak as you so swiftly, especially during such a rough, intimate act? No, no...

"C-Cuuummm...!" You shouted through your gargled breath. They smiled, their fangs gleeming bright white in the darkness. They didn't even get to deny you because before they could, youj spilled all over his hemipenes desperately, almost like a supervolcano. That's when they took you and slammed you down on your back to finish up. Of course, with your crying and whimpering, they were going North Memphis on your ass.

"SHUT UP AND TAKE IT!"

And you did. Like you always did when they were in rut. But after they finished and left to go get a towel from the bathroom to clean the two of you up, you thought that this bratty behavior wasn't cut out anymore. The pain you felt was always astronomical, but always worth it. And it wasn't like they were done with you, oh no.

You have three days left to go.

[fruit-salad-ship]

Dragon au val

For the pet one dragon au, val is a kitsune who can grow herbs as the blood of a kitsune can grow a forest adopted by crew. Either by plum searching for herbs to heal peach as freshly escaped weak immune system the poor thing got sick.

Or peach sees val locked up and val is just this adorable looking thing caged and miserable forced to use its blood for herbs and peach frees them and val now chills

Both ways val likes playing tricks on plum its fun.

val being a straight up trickster, and a lil shit is manditory. If the king who owned peach as a dragon could keep her contained, whos to say he didnt have other mythical beasts under his ownership.

Maybe Val and Peach were next to each other in the cages, often talked, were friends, and when peach broke out, she smashed the lock for Val too and ran with her, with the help of the one guard (grey) and her maid/keeper (plum)

They look back and shes there wishing she knew what her breath attack was, maybe it could just straight up destroy the lock, trying to pick it with a claw, plum runs over to her "JUST RIP IT OFF YOURE A DRAGON!" and the lightbulb moment for peach goes off, grabs the whole door and tears it off its hinges without a single issue. Friend aquired, Val gets up on her back and they run like mad to get out.

Peach gets hit with huge ballista bolts on the escape, injured but free, they run, carrying the crew on her back as far as they can go, hitting a forest before she cant go any further, one leg seriously hurt, a tear through her shoulder. Shes in a bad way, but it doesnt bother her, shes free! PLum and Grey desperatly trying to find herbs and Val is watching, assessing, and grants them what they need to make healing salves and things to stop fever or illness settling in. Peach was the only friend Val had in that hell hole, she saved her, and now theyre free, those two are ride or die. The human may brew what they can, meanwhile Val curls up near her dragon friend and waits for her recovery.

[trash-monkey]

Little Brother

Chapter 7

Brother wakes me up for the day which I have put myself in the monkey back position when brother turned onto his stomach in his sleep last night and found out I'm going to be clingy today when I'm on verge of tears and a tantrum after ripping me off his back in my half-a-sleep state in order for us to get ready so he sticks my pacifier into my mouth hoping that would calm me down and it did, after brother's morning workout which he had a hard time doing with me sticking to him like glue but I did give him an easier time taking a shower. Once the both of us are dry we put our clothes on and brother fix our hair, he put the draw string bag tightly on my back before we leave on his motorcycle.

'I know I'm being selfish not wanting to leave brothers side today but give me a break I'm a child again!!!'

"Am I looking after Ren again?" Shin smiled wide while asked when seeing us coming into the house.

"Sorry, Ren is being clingy today." Brother shakes his head no as he pulled his shoes off before helping me do the same which Shin gives a nod in return as his smile turns soft.

"Don't worry! I believe little Ren just wanting to spend sometime with his big brother!" Shin teased before telling brother that Mikey is just finishing up breakfast and asked if we want anything.

"fuit, pwease?" I asked as we all walk into the kitchen which brother sits me into the high chair by the dinner table, Grandpa Sano peeled an orange and cut an apple before placing them onto my tray while Shin gets me water which I immediately started eating and drinking. Brother and Mikey has been done with their own breakfast a few moments by the time I get done with my own which brother lets me down from the high chair after cleaning my sticky hands.

"Bye Grandpa Sano, Uncle Shin, Emma!" I wave bye to the three as brother lead me out of the house with Mikey beside us after getting our shoes on, brother sits back onto his motorcycle before sitting me in front of him as Mikey gets on his own.

"I want him to ride with me." Mikey pouts at seeing brother picking me up from the ground to help me get onto the his motorcycle.

"Hell no!!" Brother immediately snapped outl causing Mikey to whine and pout harder as they drive somewhere, I watch as the scenery goes by in the early noon sun and before I know it we arrive at a crowded shirne. Teen guys are talking and standing around the place wearing some sort of uniform which is mostly black with some golden lettering, I hold brother's hand as we walk behind Mikey heading towards a place in the shirne that towers over the group.

"Ashi!!" I called out in excitement when seeing his lilac hair standing next to a shorter guy with blond hair that's cut and styled in a way to show his black root at the base of his skull, hearing being called at he turns to see me running to him with a large smile.

"Ren? What are you doing here?" He questions after picking me up and placing me on his hip as he's completely surprised to see me here during a gang meeting.

"Me with bu!!" I pointed to where brother is with Mikey talking to some short guy with fake bright blond hair which brother focus on after making sure I'm in good hands.

"Mitsuya Senpai, who's this?" The guy that's been standing next to Takashi finally specks up.

"Chifuyu, this is Ren Draken's younger brother." Takashi revels this information to his Vice-Captain which caused him to look closer at me with surprise.

"I can actually see it and the haircut helps making him look like a mini copy of Draken, Hey there I'm Chifuyu." He smiles at me.

"Hwllo" I give him a shy wave as I lay my head on Takashi shoulder which he noticed my draw string bag on my back.

"What you got in there, buddy?" He hold me up higher on his hip as I was starting to slid down.

"Me clwthes, toyws, pacie, and me favwright drwgon stuffy." I told him as I slightly kick my feet.

"Oh, the dragon stuffy that Dragon got you the other day! Did you name him yet?" Takashi asked which I shake my head no.

"Now, that's curious as ever stuffy should have a name." Which I give a fake confused expression and with a little of aww.

"Rwally? Even Lulu and Ma-ma stuffies got names too?" I asked curiously wondering what the two sisters would call theirs own stuffed toys.

"Yeah, Luna has a small white baby cat stuffy I had made for her which she calls Posy and I also made a purple one for Mama that she calls Poppy." Takashi strolls over and sit on a concrete bench which he moved me to sit beside him instead on his lap, Chifuyu also sit with us.

"No, even though you look cute with it but you're getting a little too old for that." I whined softly when Takashi removed the pacifier I just had put into my mouth as I have the urge to suck on it when going to get my stuffed dragon out of my draw string bag.

"No, me want." I whined softly again when trying to reach out for it in his hand although I know he's right and he only rise it up higher in the air away from me, I pout at him.

"I know you do but it's not good for you so don't give me that little lip." Takashi just smiled me as he slips my pacifier into his pocket.

"Mitsuya!" Draken calls out as he stomps through the crowd to where we're sitting with the fake blonde following behind him looking scared shitless.

"Mitsuya, this is Takemitchy and he'll be looking after Ren while the meeting is going on." This 'Takemitchy' guy is very short compared to my brother's massive frame and well almost everyone is, I can clearly tell his styled hair is a fake blonde color which was a horrible job.

"Hellwo" I waved at him with a shy smile as I slip off of the concrete bench and walked up to him which he returned the smile more shyly then me, I gently take his hand in my smaller one which causing him to jump and my brother being the imitating person he is isn't helping the poor guy either.

"It ok me call you Takie?" I asked knowing I won't be able to say his whole name as I gently lead him to the concrete bench to sit with me as brother and Takashi do their gang stuff, right then when seeing from the distance I'm in good hands Mikey started the gang meeting so everyone expects us two got in line to their proper place.

"You can" Takemitchy responded a lot less nervous and shaking now that we're alone as he sits down next to me after I had climbed up onto the bench which he helps me up on when seeing me struggling to do so.

"Me like you eyes, they pretty!" I told him which is the truth as I never seen eyes that blue before.

"O-oh, thanks I guess." He rub the back of his neck with a awkward soft smile but my attention is taken when hearing a frog calling behind me which I turn to the edge of the forest that is behind us to see a large toad sitting on the grass, immediately I slip off the concrete bench with a goofy smile while leaving my draw string bag with Takemitchy.

_______________________________________________

[thefringespod]

Its #AudioDramaSunday once again and I'm back with an actual round up of listens for the week! Starting off with @innbetween which I got caught up on this week! I love that The Lowlifes got so caught up in the spirit of love that they (minus Rukes) were ready to host a wedding. Absolutely iconic of them, they all lost the brain cell in that moment. I also got through the early access for the next episode and it was very very fun

New @tellnotalespod made me feel every emotion under the sun. Parts of it were very lighthearted and fun! Car rides! Secret plans! Frank is queer! And then parts of it had me close to tears at my desk. Leanne really put me through the wringer this week and I love them for it <3

Public release of @souloperatorpod ep 4 was this week and it was so fucking good. The more that is revealed about this town and the people living there, the less I feel like I understand (positive) it's absolutely incredible. Also the editing on this was one phenomenal 10/10

@woebegonepod has once again done things to my heart that I will never recover from. I'm so worried about Base working for the Compound. I'm worried about all the iterations in the Compound. I am still worried about Michael and this ep did not help that. An excellent ep as always

Magnus Protocol has given us *so much* in terms of lore and red string board theories. I love Colin. I'm certain bad things will happen to him. I want to protect Sam but he's proving to be very hard to protect. This show keeps getting better each episode, i can't wait for more

@kingmakerpod episode 19 has proven that the most terrifying thing out there is children with magical powers. A thirteen year old mentalist? Nope, don't like that. Thirteen year olds should not be able to read minds, Colette is right about that one

The new ep of The Grotto *destroyed me* it was so good. Also I'm in it! Which was very fun! This episode had @taytayheyhey ripping my heart out of my chest and also had my favorite song Athan has written for the show so far. If you're not listening to The Grotto you *gotta*

Here on the Fringes, we've released this seasons dragon episode! The dragon episodes are very dear to my heart and hearing people's responses to it have been lovely 💜 Early access for this week's episode is also up right now at patreon.com/PineTreePods!

And that's all for this week! Busy week ahead with work, podcast things, and an appointment for a new tattoo but there are also some excellent shows for me to listen to to get through it 💜

[useless-moss]

Have a rtte character named Nels Doryu who I haven't posted much about (cause he's technically reality shifted me and I feel a little shy about him) but he's just. Fucking unhinged to be honest.

Like I have it all planned out that he's kind of a neutral party, but also not really. He understands Viggo has a business to run and will even help out the hunter's with supplies to maintain a sort of truce, but he'll also help out the riders to a certain extent. His agreement with Viggo is basically "don't touch my dragons and I won't kill you and I'll even get you some supplies every now and then."

He's wild and has little to no sense of morality. He'll kill a person for any reason without hesitation. He'll let the pack be dragons and completely tear an enemy apart. He won't hold them back like Hiccup does. If they jump to defend him from an opponent and the way they go about that is ripping the persons head from their shoulders, he'll stand by and watch it happen without even flinching.

His whole lore is that he was separated from his tribe at a young age and found by a pack of wild night fury's (because yes I'm cringe and I want more night fury's in the httyd world get over it), the queen of which, who had been separated from her own hatchling recently, sort of took him in to deal with her own grief. Since then he's fully become a part of the pack.

Also yes this is also a 'most people live' au. Those 'most people' being Ryker, Viggo, and Krogan because god damn it I WANT MY BOYS. I WANT THEM TO THRIVE AND BE HAPPY. I WANT VIGGO TO BE TAKEN ON A BAREBACK DRAGON RIDE AND RYKER AND VIGGO TO FIX THEIR FRACTURING RELATIONSHIP AND KROGAN TO ESCAPE DRAGO. LET ME SEE THEM HAPPY.

Sorry for the rambling and info dump I just wanted to get that out of my brain before I explode

[terracottapie25]

Pairing:Fred Weasley x reader

Warnings:smut ,mentions of death,sad

Sorry if it's cringe or uncomfortable fore some of youI tried my best .

One Saturday night yn was getting ready for bed when she heard a knock at the door.She got up and opened it just to find Fred standing there with tears in his eyes.She pulled him in and hugged him ,letting him cry into her shoulder.

They pulled apart and yn calmly said"what's wrong baby ?Did something happen?"Fred just shook his head and pulled out a letter.She carefully grabbed it and read it slowly.It said that his great aunt passed away from dragon pocs this morning.

Yn took Freds hands and led him to the bed where they sat for a minute him just resting his head on her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair,slowly but surely calming him down.

Freds head then turned and he started planting kisses on yns thighs ,a small whimper then escaped her mouth which caused her to tug at his heir making him groan against her skin.

Soon enough yn pulled him up and started to kiss him passionately.With Fred pressed against her thighs causing her to feel just how hard he is .

From a simple make-out they went to Fred dry humping her thigh and her giving his neck dark red hickies.After a minute or a few of this Fred started getting rid of his clothes .First his shirt then his pants leaving him with just his boxers on.When it came yns turn Fred looked her in the eyes as to asking for permission to take her clothes off to which she gave him a small nod.So he took them off but leaving her underwear still on just for a little longer.

Fred then stood up taking his boxers off and grabbing a condom from his pant pocket,he then ripped the packing open whit his teeth putting it on while yn just stared at him dumbfounded .He was a lot bigger than she imagened which caused her to almost drool.

He slowly walked back to the bed putting his hands under yns thighs and dragging her to the end of it in one swift motion.He took off her bra and then kneeled on the floor before her .He then took of her panties very slowly before gliding his finger over her slit causing her to moan and whimper at the action.Fred then smirked and licked her pussy a few times before sucking on it and adding a finger for more pleasure. Just from one finger yn was a total mess laying back with her hand gripping Freds hair making him groan here and there sending vibrations through her core.

He proceeded to add another finger then after a minute he added the third one making yn almost cum the second it entered.Fred fingered her fast and rough makingh her cum extremely fast but he slowed down and ride her trough her high.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of her making her whimper at the empty feeling.Fred stood up and licked one of his fingers tasting her and moaning at her sweet juices,he hovered over her and taping his other two fingers on her lips for her to open her mouth which she did.In one motion he had her sucking his fingers while pumping himself a few times, when he was satisfied with yn he pulled his fingers out and turned both of them around so that she was sat on top of his thighs.

Fred held her up by her waist so that she was right above his cock, then he slowly made her sit down both of them moaning like crazy at the sensetion.Yn then slowly started rocking her hips back and forth to get used to his size but it was like Fred had other plans cus he had her bouncing up and down on his cock at a very fast speed causing her to put her head on his shoulder while he begane kissing her neck.

It felt to the both of them as if an hour went by but it was just a few minutes when yn started to feel her orgasm building."fre-ed i-im clo-ose" she told him breathlessly,"me to darling me to".then a few seconds later yn was coming even harder then before ,her pussy griping on Fred cock .Fred then came hard just a little after her , letting her slow down and she then collapsed against him exhausted.He pulled her of him and putting her on the bed.

Fred stood up trowing the condom in the trash waving his wand casting a cleaning charm on both of them.He then pulled on his boxers and dressing yn in his shirt and new panties.

After that was done he turned off the light and joined yn in bed cuddling her seeing a smile pop on her face from a simple ation as that even in her sleep.

[star-girl69]

We Do Not Wilt - Chapter Four - We Do Not Drown

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!FemOC

a/n: i added this chapter in bc i felt like it was weird for may and daemon to be married and be such high ranking royals without at least TRYING for an heir, you know? this chapter is of course really triggering, but i also just wanted to get the point across how deeply may is intertwined with the ideas of duty and honor. she feels it is her duty to give daemon an heir, so she’ll keep trying no matter how much pain it brings her. as always i hope you all enjoy!!! (also i apologize this chapter is so short, i’ll be posting another shorter one later today to make up for it!!)

warnings: mentions of blood, death, miscarriage, child loss, suicidal ideation (??? that might not be the right term for it), i think that’s it??

—-

Lady May looked out the window. She heard the shuffling of servants behind her. It had been nine years since Laenor and Rhaenyra’s wedding. Even longer since her and Daemon’s.

Yet no children blessed their union.

“The remains are being taken to the Maester’s, My Lady. We shall take our leave now.”

May made a sound of acknowledgment. The maids gathered themselves and left, leaving only the sound of curtains flapping in the wind. May closed the balcony doors, and the noise stopped. The room was empty now.

This was the third child she had lost prematurely. She wasn’t sure if she could continue it any longer. She hadn’t called anyone. Not Alicent, not Daemon.

Alicent pitied her too much. Daemon worried too much.

Tears fell down May’s face.

The door opened again.

“I told you, that will be all.” She sniffled, trying to pull herself together. Trying to sound strong.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” She could hear Daemon’s smirk. She didn’t want to face him. Not yet. “How is my lady wife doing?” He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her stomach. At this point, she still looked pregnant. The swelling hadn’t gone down, and wouldn’t for a few weeks. May often thought that was the worst part. Walking around with an empty home inside of you. “I hope you haven’t given your sweet mother too much trouble, little dragon.”

If she hadn’t lost the baby, she would have smiled. Laughed, even, turned around and kissed him. Maybe the baby would have kicked. And Daemon would kiss her stomach, making some comment about how this child will be the most fearsome dragon the world has ever seen.

But her baby was dead.

“I failed you,” May whispered, letting the tears fall more freely. Daemon’s arms tightened around her, confused.

“You could never fail me, my love. Tell me, what makes you think this?” She pulled away from him, stepping towards the vanity. A sob ripped through her.

“My- my womb. It will not grow our children.” Her eyes fixed on a spot of blood on the floor. It was small, the maids must have missed it. His eyes followed his wife’s.

He stepped forward, grabbing her waist and spinning her around.

“You have not failed me.” He repeated. “I would rather have you than 10 children.” She scoffed.

“You want an heir. You want a legacy. You do not want to be forgotten. All men fear death, husband.”

“The only thing I fear is losing you.” His nose slotted next to hers, pulling her close. His hands were tender around her waist, drawing small circles. “I will make this better for you. Tell me how.”

May lifted her face to look at him. She smiled softly. There was nothing he could do.

—-

Caraxes was always a welcome sight. The dragon keepers brought him out, and he perched on a hill, overlooking a small bundle on a pile of wood.

The funeral was small, as all her children’s were.

She took a step back, placing one last kiss to the canvas that contained the remains. She imagined it was a real baby. Happy, healthy, with a dragon egg by her baby’s side. He would be fearsome. He would ride the world as if it was his dragon. She turned around, took her place next to Alicent. Viserys smiled kindly at her. She couldn’t return it.

She felt Daemon’s eyes on her.

“Dracarys.” His voice was hoarse.

And Lady May watched as her child burned.

She wanted to join.

—-

“Alicent, I-“ May stopped. “Oh, Princess Rhaenyra. Ser Laenor.” She looked upon the baby in Rhaenyra’s arms. “Congratulations!” Her mouth was a tight line. That should be her. The Princess smiled in pain.

“What happy news this morning,” Viserys proclaimed, walking in behind May.

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Laenor smiled, a proud father. That should be Daemon. May stood next to Alicent, who grabbed her arm in a comforting manner.

“Where is he? I wish to hold my grandson,” He took the babe in his arm. “A fine Prince,” He praised. “Sturdy. You’ll make a fearsome knight.”

“Does the babe have a name yet?” Alicent asked, as May looked away from everyone.

“We haven’t spoken-“

“Joffrey.” Laenor interrupted his wife. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

“That’s an unusual name for a Velaryon,” Alicent mused.

“I do believe he has his fathers nose,” Viserys smiled, handing the child back to Laenor. Alicent stepped forward, cooing over the child.

“Lady May, would you like to hold him?” Rhaenyra asked, smiling kindly. May smiled back, and Laenor handed the babe to her. She looked down at him. This should be her child.

But she could not fault Rhaenyra for her fertility. She could not fault the child for being born. He was quite adorable, she supposed. Tears filled her eyes before she knew it. Laenor saw, quickly taking the child back so May didn’t have to make a fuss.

“He is very handsome, Princess.” She tried to will her tears away. Laenor stood in front of her for a moment, blocking everyone else from seeing her. May smiled gratefully at him, and he nodded with a smile. She composed herself, and he turned back to Rhaenyra.

“You need some rest,” He spoke to her, and Rhaenyra nodded. Viserys smiled brightly. Alicent’s was tight. May took her leave quickly, heading back to her chambers.

It had been a year since losing her last child. The pain had subsided. But never truly went away.

—-

[dailyadventureprompts]

Doesnt the Skyscour Clan feel like the sort to follow the Revolation Tyrant Mnyull? Or, rather, ride at his front...

Imagine the days leading up to impact, portals tearing onto unsuspecting planets, ships descending from the silver void, legions of untold number raiding whole wildspaces.

Then they suddenly scatter, with or without their prize, the star vikings and astral war boys clear out as if smoked like bees.

Only days, if even that, are given to the raided few before a cosmic armageddon makes impact.

Campaign: Shore of the Silver Sea

As this eagle eyed reader mentioned, there’s been a trend in my writing over the past few months, seemingly unconnected occurrences that herald something great and cosmic, the emergence of a new campaign to launch your parties from the beach of the mundane into the vast and wondrous depths of the astral sea.

Our Story begins as many do, in the aftermath of a great storm: With the party having only a few nights past taken shelter in a portside tavern known as the Long Walk, waiting out the rain and the wind in the traditional manner: sitting by the hearth with the other patrons as they listen to the old salts spin yarns. One of those patrons was fellow of the royal botany society, who was more than happy to hire the party on as guides and escorts as he explores and documents the flora of the coast. This intrepid ( if a bit tepid) expedition rapidly heats up as the party stumble across a hidden cove and the fresh wrecks of two ships, one civilian, one royal navy, cast far from the sea and left without survivors.

This discovery leads the party to getting caught up in a silent tug-of-war between the navy and a secretive faction of smugglers, with one wrong decision ( likely them filling their packs with plundered goods) ending the party up on the wrong side of the law.  On their way back to town however, the party watch as a light falls from the sky over the barony, forever changing their fates as they return to a realm that’s been touched by the stars.

Early Game

One of the tall tales told by the sailors at the Long Walk was of a marauding reaver king who invoked the ire of the sea god, who in turn brought down a wave so mighty that it smashed the reaver’s fleet to splinters and buried him in the rubble of his own castle.   Buried so they say.. along with all the treasure he had taken from raiding richer ports... and while the story is likely exaggerated... it wouldn’t hurt to go take a look, would it?

Strange rumours trickle in from the hinterlands, odd folk on the roads, sightings of unnatural animals, talk of a cave where whispers of the past and imagined tomorrows dance. All of these threads will lead the party to a meeting with a potential mentor, an old lighthouse keeper who holds the mystery of the stars and stands against the cold cruelty of the void. Perhaps he can shed some illumination on the party’s current struggles

The star’s falling has caused chaos in the region’s capital: an arson spree, the baroness forcefully conscripting oracles,  sightings of a dragon out in the wilderness. Trekking along with a professional hunter, the party discover that they are not on the tale of some feral drake looking to move into new territory, but a full dragon who seems to be purposefully searching the region with the help of a masked rider.

As it turns out, the dragon and rider are travellers from the astral sea, pilgrims following an omen from the goddess of guidance and starlight. They followed the star across worlds until it landed in the barony, and was eventually misplaced by a hapless young man rounded up by the baroness’s agents shortly after becoming an accidental oracle and asking the party for help earlier on their travels. Reuniting the star with its chosen seekers grants the party a vision of the future, of an attack they will not have time to avert.

Mid Game

Hollowed out by eons of immortality and war, a clan of astral elves has ripped open a portal and begun raiding the original port city the party started their adventure in, snapping up goods and taking hostages. Here is a decision point: should the party rush to save the innocents before help can be raised, they will be overwhelmed, taken captive and hauled away to the raider’s stronghold. Should they rally their new allies and arrive in force, they will be too late, and will have to seek out another means of travelling beyond the reaches of the waking world.

In the latter option, the party will find themselves portalling to Lydestrum, a city of glass floating in an eternal gyre of mist and wind, and the hub of their outerworld adventures. Here they might begin their search for the pirates by seeking rumors at the alien filled docks, make an alliance with local powers by helping to wrangle some storm-tossed architecutre, or simply sign on to a spelljammer ship and begin to learn their space-legs.

The bright maiden Urania is not the only goddess at work among the stars, for as the party explore the city they hear the name and see the handiwork of Nyx, Mother of Primordial Darkness. Catching a night blessed thief is enough to earn the party Nyx’s attention, who decides to rope the party into a little wager involving her astronomic counterpart and the disaperance of a sacred lantern before an imporatant voyage.

After meeting an artisan who can make marvelous weapons out of light, the party end up getting snared in local politics after this new friend is kidnapped from their shop. The trail leads them into conflict with blackmarket dealers from the plane of exiles and getting mixed up with the glass city’s political powers. 

Tangling with the astral sea’s criminal element may have just paid off, as the party have managed to snag themsleves a star-chart pointing to what just might be the haul of a lifetime: The long abandoned manor of an archmage hidden in the vastness of the silver sea. What they find instead is a labyrinth of nightmare and splendour and fungus, which just might hold power and secrets that will aid them as the campaign closes.

One of the expeditions sailing out of the star port has its aim on discovering the much speculated origin of an eerie signal coming from a haunted nebula. As luck would have it, this happens to be a regional base of the elven pirates who attacked the party’s homeworld, who destroy the ship they’re travelling on, capture their companions, and leave the party stranded in the frigid barrens of a meteor field. Searching for shelter, they find the origin of the signal: the partial wreck of a long abandoned jammership still attempting to deliver its message. With a little elbow grease and some ghostly aid, the party can take this ship as their own, bring vengeance against he pirates, and begin hunting for the villains who set this all in motion.

Late Game

The party’s enemies are not simply slavers and pirates, they are recent converts to the following of Mnyull the revelation tyrant, a god of interplanetary conquest. He has tasked the rabid immortals with the reunification of their long scattered army, and the reactivation of the ancient weapon they were once tasked with guarding, a labour to which many including the party’s old friends have been put to work. If Mynull’s plan comes to completion, whole systems will be forced to submit, and if the party can bring evidence of this to their allies in Lydestrum, they may just have a chance to fight the pirate fleet on equal terms.  

Fighting an army is one thing, defeating a god is another, and so the party are counselled to seek out the great celestial sage who makes weapons at the star-goddess’s behest. Therein the party must undertake a sea-spanning quest to gather the materials necessary to withstand their struggle: Venturing into shadowed vaults within the core of a moon-sized forge, seeking out the most dangerous and beautiful of lights at the edge of known space.

The Revelation Tyrant cares nothing for the fate of his pawns, merely that victory is achieved in his name, and so has planted the same vision of supremacy into the Skyscour elves as he did the leaders of Lydestrum.  The idea of a weapon that could strike far away worlds, tribute and glory delivered by subjugated neighbours, a threat to that glory by a challenger from afar and the need to strike before that challenge is made. No matter who wins the battle, Mnyull benefits from the outcome, as the leader of the victorious force will be struck by further visions and ascend as the Tyrant’s physical avatar.

The Party will be hunted, possibly by former allies, into the depths of wildspace, unable to return home lest they single out their humble world as a target for the weapon. In that lonely and desperate moment the goddess will appear to them: Nyx, merciful but resigned will offer them a shroud, a means of hiding their world from Mnyull’s sight and sparing themselves the conquest others will doubtlessly suffer provided they give up sailing the astral sea forever. Bright Urania offers them a chance, a divinely ordained heading to slip back around their pursuers, back past the fleet they helped to provision and the weapon they ensured would be completed, and right to the foot of the tyrant’s throne. It is only a chance though, no guarantee they can pull it off without loss and sacrifice, no guarantee that they will win in the end.

We all know what the party will choose, Nyx does too, and when the heroes jet off to go on their suicide mission they’ll do so with the ancient goddess working from the shadows to turn aside the eyes of wary sentries. She’s had a cold, dark vault beyond the boundaries of reality picked out for Mnyull for quite some time. She just needed him to make the mistake of incarnating himself in one place so she could stick him in there all at once.

Art