#wedding gown silhouettes

[her-penetrating-soul]

"Sometimes it is the simplest, seemingly most inane, most practical stuff that matters the most to someone."

~Anna Marie Duke (Patty Duke)

[modafashioncouture]

Vera Wang S/18 Bridal

[sea-lanterns]

THE DRAGON'S BRIDE

synopsis: (dragon! AU) you were sacrificed to become the dragon's bride.

featuring: ningguang, yanfei, ganyu, xianyun, kokomi, ei

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, transfem characters (all of them), arranged marriage, hemipenes (double c.o.cks), double pene.tration, an.al, monsterfu.cking, size difference, size k.ink, mating cycles, ruts, marking, hum.ping, hand jo.bs, mat.ing press, rough s.ex, breeding, unprotected s.ex, creampies, womb tattoos, fu.cking in middair, not proofread.

art credits: the ancient magus bride

Every twelve years on the year of the dragon, the people of Teyvat offer sacrifices to Celestia’s most powerful beings; the heavenly dragons. Born with the power to bestow good fortune or destruction, the people of Teyvat have started a twelve year tradition, where they must sacrifice the best riches, treasures, food and gold they can, to honor these ancient beings, in exchange for another twelve years of success. 

However, on this particular year of the dragon, all the dragons residing in Teyvat have strangely rejected the people’s treasures. Worried that they might be facing a twelve years worth of bad fortune if they failed to please their dragons, the people of Teyvat asked the dragons, "Why did they reject such plentiful treasures?” 

The answers that were given were simple, yet heartbreaking.

“I wish for a bride. The most beautiful maiden in your region. I want her to be mine.”

Never had the people of Teyvat sacrificed a person before to the heavenly dragons. It terrified them beyond belief to wonder what would happen to the poor maiden who was chosen to become the dragon’s bride. But, in order to ensure another twelve years of plentiful success, the villages all across Teyvat began picking out the most beautiful woman they could find in their region, and that beautiful woman just so happened to be you.

Dressed lavishly in bright red silks, gold-clad jewelry, and chains binding your wrists together, you were left at the entrance of the dragon’s lair. The veil of your bright red wedding gown had covered most of your face, but underneath the fabric, a solemn expression of defeat wore down your face, tears running down your cheeks as you never expected that your wedding day would end up being sacrificed to a dragon. 

A gush of hot air emitted from the entrance, and heavy footsteps began approaching you while you stood there and sobbed. The red veil of your wedding dress obscures your vision, as you see the silhouette of a big, monstrous, hefty dragon begin moving towards you from within the lair…

Too terrified to keep your eyes open, you welded them shut, wishing for your death to be a quick and painless one. However, the moment you felt your veil be lifted up by gentle hands, your eyes flitted open and widened at the sight you saw: 

A beautiful, tall, draconian-looking woman, smiling softly at you before wiping away your tears.

NINGGUANG

The moment you two had met, Ningguang had transformed into her human form in order to make you feel more comfortable. Yet despite looking more human-like, she kept traits of her true self, such as her elegant horns, a golden, shimmering tail that protruded from her tailbone, and patches of gold scales that littered her skin in some areas. The human side of Ningguang was a good two feet taller than you as well, with sharp, red eyes that bore deep into your own, yet held a sort of softness with the way she gazed longingly at you.

On the night of your wedding day Ningguang’s eyes were angered at the sight of your wrists bound in shackles underneath the sleeves of your dress. Convinced that you were probably beaten at some point and treated like a prisoner before being wed to her, Ningguang tore those chains off in a fury, kneeling down in front of you and holding your small hands within her claws… You didn’t expect such tenderness from the tall, draconian-looking woman, yet your wife had taken the liberty of looking up at you, showing the respect she had for you as she kissed your bruised wrists with her lips. 

“I will not let them hurt you anymore.” She whispered under her breath, and from that day on, you lived with Ningguang as her prized bride, realizing just how much she cared for you in comparison to the people of your hometown. Accepting her warm embrace, you spent your days as her wife being spoiled beyond belief by Ningguang and all her riches. The dragon woman loved to adorn you in the softest silks imaginable, have her jewelry draped across your beautiful body as she kept you curled up against her in her nest. It was clear that Ningguang truly loved you with all her heart, and she was intent on keeping you “marked” with her, till the very end of her immortal life. 

Several months had passed of this pure, domestic bliss, until one day, Ningguang began showing signs of entering a rut; a mating period for dragons that gave them the urge to mate. Having sensed when your body had become the most fertile, Ningguang gently nudged your face one night with her nose, humming for her beautiful wife to wake up as she needed to tell you her needs. You were aware that her mating period would be nearing the days of your marriage, however you didn’t expect it to occur in the middle of the night when the both of you were sleeping!

Nevertheless, not wanting Ningguang to spend the rest of the night pent up until you could please her in the morning, you managed to stir yourself awake and sleepily drag your hand down the robe on your dragon wife’s body. Seeing that she was already quite aroused judging by the sight of the two tents stirring underneath her thin clothes, you dipped your hands down to give them a stroke, gently massaging her two cocks while you looked up at her for her expressions. 

Breathing heavily, Ningguang stared down at you with those sharp, yet comforting red eyes of hers. “Undress me properly, dear.” She spoke in an authoritative tone, a smirk pulling at her teeth before she flips over to tower over you with her body. Because she was so much taller than a regular human, she loomed over you like a dark shadow, eyes glowing a fiery red, as she helped you slip off her robe and reveal her slim, yet well toned body. 

Agile that she was, your wife quickly made work of pulling your nightgown off, kissing your neck and letting her two cocks drip their precum down to lubricate your thighs. Just like her body, lithe and slim, her cocks were just the same; on the slimmer side, yet still quite long with the way they hit against your cunt during your intense make out session with your lover.

Using her long fingers to massage your folds and get you wet enough to take both her lengths, Ningguang leaned down to whisper into your ear, unable to contain herself as she practically purred. “Such a good wife…so wet and warm for me…” She chuckled darkly at the way you got even wetter at her praise, your wife deciding that you were ready and pulling your legs closer to her so that they could wrap around her hips. In one swift move, Ningguang pushed the first tip in, spearing open your folds as her second cock rested just above your pelvis, still dripping precum onto your skin while she got you to adjust to her first penetration.

It’s no secret that dragons were big, strong creatures, yet when it came to their dick size, they surely put humans to shame. At the feeling of being stuffed full by just one of Ningguang’s cocks, you felt as if you were being engulfed by her entire body, your wife grunting and biting your neck as she slowly thrusted her hips into you at a slower pace. Each drag of her hips left the ribbed texture of her shaft rubbing wonderfully against your walls, making you whimper softly into your wife’s ear as she eases her way deeper into you, forming a small but noticeable bulge in your stomach. 

Hours would go by of Ningguang just folding you in half. Breeding you, fucking you, just claiming you as hers over and over again as she filled your womb with her seed. It seemed that your wife could go on for even days, but at one particular orgasm, something felt different. As she shot yet another hot load through your womb, you felt a sudden burning sensation on the skin above where your womb would be. At your surprised yelp for help, Ningguang stopped her movements and immediately opened her eyes, staring down at you before gasping at the mark that had appeared on your skin.

A womb tattoo had appeared, an emblem unique to Ningguang’s status as a dragon, as it showed that the rut had successfully claimed you as Ningguang’s mate. Too happy to even care about the sex at the moment, your dragon wife immediately peppered your face in kisses and wrapped her long tail around your body, still sheathed inside you whilst she trailed the mark with her fingers. 

“Bounded forever by this mark, I promise you will be spoiled beyond recognition, my love.” She whispered, wanting to be as close to you as possible, as your body had long accepted being the dragon’s mate a long time ago. The matter of her sex drive was no longer on the mind of the insatiable dragon, but the thoughts of actually having a future with you, was all that Ningguang needed to think about to satisfy her needs.

YANFEI

A dragon of morals and righteous principles, Yanfei was a dragon that intimidated you with how upright and intelligent she was the first time you met her. Upon first meetings, Yanfei had chosen her human form to greet you at the front entrance of her lair, her stature standing about just one foot taller than you, and having patches of green scales that littered her smooth skin.

The moment Yanfei laid eyes on you, the dragon woman immediately tensed up when she lifted up your veil, breath caught in the fiery dragon’s throat, as she never expected her human bride to be this beautiful. Her expression was quite adorable to say the least, a blush adorning the dragon woman’s features as she wiped away your tears that were streaming down your face. “Please don’t cry, my bride. Let me get those shackles off of you. You’re my wife, not my prisoner, I can’t believe they’d hurt such a beautiful thing…”

Though Yanfei was a dragon of morals and the law, it was evident that despite the calm exterior of her expressions, Yanfei was practically bubbling with anger. If she could, she would head down to your village to burn everything to a crisp for treating you so horribly, but because that was considered “unlawful” in her eyes, she settled for just having your abusers scorched to a cinder, while you were kept protected in her lair.

Of course, she’d never tell you she’d do that outright. Instead, Yanfei just keeps you in the safety of her den, surrounded by a library of law books from every time period and region of the world. When you showed even the slightest interest in reading one of the books from her massive collection, your dragon wife’s tail began wagging with how excited she was to show you and teach you the ways of the law. Whether or not you were genuinely interested in learning about the law is up to you, but it was worth it to see such a high and mighty dragon get so giddy and seat you in her lap, reading to you all the different laws she could find while stroking your stomach affectionately. 

Domestic life with your dragon wife is quite the pleasure if I do say so myself. Yanfei often spent her time with you curled up in her nest, one hand on your stomach while she spooned you from behind with her long tail wrapped around your thighs. Sometimes the two of you would get frisky with each other as Yanfei had a surprisingly high libido, but it usually only ended up with Yanfei fingering you from behind, or you giving her a small handjob while you read law books together in the safety of her nest. It never usually escalated from that, however things started changing around the springtime of your marriage…

This time, what usually was your “cuddling time” had turned into more of a “humping time” as Yanfei started to get more turned on when the seasons changed. Sensing that a rut was on the horizon, Yanfei whispered into your ear that it was time to claim you as hers once and for all, grinding her erections against your rear while breathless whimpers left her lips.

Eager to please your horny dragon wife, you turned around in her grasp and palmed her stiffie through the thin fabric of her clothes, adoring the way she growled with pleasure under her breath, suddenly pinning you down due to the draconian instinct of wanting to breed you right away. When you let out a surprised noise at her sudden string of dominance, Yanfei’s bright green eyes flickered with desire, steam leaking past her teeth with how hot her breath was, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t the least bit turned on at how hot this all was…

Fangs protruding from her teeth, Yanfei marked your body from your neck, all the way down to your tummy. With your clothes now strewn off, you got to see the mouthwatering sight of Yanfei’s two cocks just dripping with need, eager to slot themselves inside you and breed their wife silly with their warm, hot, seed. After a bit of prep, your dragon wife slowly slid herself in, her cocks a bit smaller, but on the girthier side when it came to actually fitting herself in.

With each thrust, Yanfei grunted and practically lifted your hips off the bed to fuck deeper into your cunt, serpentine tongue lolling out of her lips, as she couldn’t help but groan at the feeling of a tight, human pussy clenching so desperately around her. She wasn’t used to this, but hell did it feel so good. Pounding her hips into your thighs and purring at the way her cocks made a bulge in your stomach from how deep she was going inside of you. 

It wasn’t long before your dragon wife finally reached her high, shooting her hot, thick load into you and successfully breeding you for the very first time. You felt the burn of a womb tattoo successfully mark itself on the stomach of your body, and at the blissful sigh of pleasure, Yanfei cooed before kissing the mark with her lips and carefully nibbling on it to show her love. A lovestruck expression on the young dragon’s face, as she was extremely pleased to have her bride finally marked down for herself.

GANYU

One of the friendliest dragons that resided in Teyvat, rarely anyone is afraid of the dragon named “Ganyu.” The first time you met, Ganyu took on a very gentle and mature form that gave her the appearance of a beautiful, petite, woman. In fact, everything about her was beautiful. From her form, to her lair, to her whole personality as well. Never in your life had you encountered such a caring and gentle “beast,” as Ganyu made sure that you were very comfortable on the first night of your wedding day.

When you first entered her lair, you were astonished to see just how homely it was. Ganyu had taken up the precaution of setting up human-like furniture for you. There was a lavish bed instead of a nest, paintings that adorned the walls instead of crystals, and even a nice, luxurious bath in contrast to a dragon’s usual hot spring. It seems that your new wife was very well prepared in ensuring your utmost comfort, and just seeing how she fidgeted nervously, hoping for your approval, was enough to have your heart beating at how romantic this dragon could be.

Even Ganyu’s dragon form wasn’t terrifying to say the least. While you’ve heard of dragons who were as big as islands, capable of obliterating villages in one, foul breath, Ganyu was quite the fluffy little dragon. She took on the form of a very soft and cuddly creature, just a giant ball of fluff that oozed such warm temperatures. As her wife, you had the luxury of curling up next to her dragon form every night to sleep with, and your dragon wife made quite the wonderful pillow if you did say so yourself.

All in all, living with your dragon wife was a surprising dream come true. She was gentle, protective, soft and sweet with the way she cared for you during your marriage. Domestic life with her was like living on cloud nine itself, but things started to change when springtime rolled around, as you found your wife starting to act more…distant for some reason. 

Several times throughout the night, Ganyu would get up from her slumber to go somewhere in the woods and then come back. When you finally confronted her about this, she blushed and nervously admitted that the reason she kept leaving so often in the night was to “relieve” herself of her sexual frustrations. It had struck you then and there that it was Ganyu’s mating season now, and the poor woman had been spending her ruts alone as she didn’t want to freak you out or make you feel uncomfortable!

Ohhhhh poor Ganyu. Even as you were talking, there was a small tent beneath her clothes. She was just so aroused and pent up, but even then she thought about your comforts rather than her own instincts and lust. When you told her how you would be more than willing to help her out, that was all Ganyu needed to hear before excitedly pouncing on you and pinning you down on the bed. Too excited to control her own strength.

Admittedly, Ganyu didn’t seem like the type of woman with a big size. You were wrong. The moment those robes came off, you were met with the sight of two, girthy, hemipenes. Not long at all, but very thick in circumference. You could barely wrap your fingers around them when you tried to give her a hand job, and poor Ganyu was in awe at how small human hands could be in comparison to a dragon’s size. She was terribly worried for your pussy when she realized just how small you were, but the huge difference in your size was one of the biggest factors in turning her on in the first place.

Oh, Ganyu was big. It took almost a half hour of prep but somehow she managed to squeeze both her cocks inside of you. One in your pussy and one up your ass. It was extremely uncomfortable at first, but Ganyu was (as always) super patient and understanding, almost immediately wanting to pull out the moment you showed signs of discomfort. When you wanted to carry on however, oh; she was so smitten. To see her human wife being so determined to take her two draconian cocks, wanting to make dear Ganyu feel the relief she’s been waiting for, oh it made her feel over the moon with how much she loved you…

After a few more minutes of praise and sweet kisses, Ganyu would start to move. She was so startled at how tight a human could be during the mating process, yet she wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t the least bit turned on. In fact, as she slowly began to move, your tight holes squeezing her so blissfully, Ganyu began letting out breathless moans before thrusting a bit faster into your body. Each push of her hips felt like heaven to you the more you got used to it, and soon you found yourself cumming over her cocks several times throughout the mating process.

When Ganyu finally reached her first climax, cum gushing through your womb, the seal of your mating ritual had finally appeared on your tummy. A sign that Ganyu was your forever mate, bound by your love, and the moment Ganyu saw that you had been claimed, she practically cried tears of joy. “You’re mine…you’re actually mine…!” She couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss your new womb tattoo. “Thank you for allowing me to be your wife, my human bride…”

XIANYUN

A dragon of the sky, who lived high up in the mountains where no man lived, was a dragon that very few people have ever seen with their own two eyes. A mysterious yet elder dragon of the heavenly dragons, Xianyun was the one you were chosen to be a bride for, and waiting so high up the mountains for her arrival almost made you lightheaded with how little oxygen there was in the first place. Already stress-ridden with the thought of being a dragon’s bride on top of such low oxygen levels, you were on the verge of passing out while waiting for your wife, nearly toppling over if not for the gentle hands that cupped your face.

Upon feeling someone lift up your veil and caress your cheeks, you remember looking up and seeing a mature looking woman with piercing blue eyes. You were too weak to do anything, say anything even, but the moment you locked eyes on your dragon wife, she leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, breathing out a cold, whispery breath that brought air to your lungs. Now filled with the oxygen you needed, your wife wiped the tears from your face and let you rest against her, muttering under her breath. “Human mortals are such delicate creatures. Can’t even breathe properly when the altitude is high…”

Though it sounded condescending, Xianyun placed a kiss on your forehead and brought you into her domain. It was clear that despite her disdain for the humans of this mortal realm, she had a soft spot for the delicate beauty that was you. Her bride to be as she wanted to make sure that you were comfortable in her homeland above the mountains. She cared about you so much in fact, that even after kissing you to give you a spell that’ll allow you to breathe at high altitudes, Xianyun summoned an eternal wind current to regulate the oxygen levels of the mountain. All for you, and only you. 

Your dragon wife was a cold one. She gave off a blunt, almost bitter vibe that elderly women seemed to give off. Yet you knew she loved you underneath all that cold exterior, curling up around you with her long, lithe dragon body in bed, feeding you medicinal herbs whenever you got sick, and even bringing you with her on her travels by allowing you to ride her back as she flies. Although she didn’t show it much, you were her most precious lover, and throughout her immortal life, she has never been so infatuated with a human woman like you before…

It wasn’t long before the seasons changed, and your bond with Xianyun grew deeper. Though still somewhat cold and blunt, you saw her begin expressing more shows of affection. Wrapping her arms around you and stroking your thighs with her clawed fingers, you realized that Xianyun began getting more friskier than normal, something hard and firm pressing up against your rear whenever she hugged you from behind. She was not ashamed at the slightest, whispering under her breath into your ear, “My wife, I wish for a family of our own. As I am entering the mating season of this year, please give me the honor of breeding you with my kin.”

Ah, Xianyun. Only she can make something like asking for sex, very romantic yet awkward at the same time. Though you laughed at how she phrased her request at first, you gladly obliged and let the dragon woman take you to bed, letting her maturity and experience guide you for the mating process. Xianyun was no virgin, after all she was an immortal, however; she found your inexperience absolutely adorable, as she slowly stripped off all your clothes and took in the breathtaking sight of her human wife before her. 

She never found humans to be that pretty, but the sight of you was just too gorgeous to take in. Immediately once your clothes were off, Xianyun’s two lengths began to rise with need, erect and aroused with how vulnerable you looked under her gaze. You were just so…small. So small and cute under the shadow of her body, and Xianyun was eager to dig in. Breath hitching when she moved herself forward, sliding her cocks into you while groaning with pleasure.

Like her daughters, Xianyun was on the bigger side, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to take you all the way to the edge, gently massaging your hips as she slowly thrusted forward. She grumbled deeply about something like how she wanted you to bear her children, wanted to see your belly all pregnant with her hatchlings, it was just too much for you to bear and you found yourself gripping the older woman with need. 

Upon feeling your hands holding onto her so desperately, it was like a switch had been flipped in your wife. She immediately pushed you down into a mating press and began thrusting at an even faster pace, dragging the rigid veins of her cocks in and out of your hole(s), and making you melt in her arms from the overwhelming bliss. 

With one last growl, Xianyun slammed her hips further into you and pushed your knees up to meet with your stomach, filling your cunt with hot loads of her cum and making you bear the mark of Xianyun’s sigil. It burned in a way that felt pleasurable at your climax and the moment Xianyun spotted it, a smug smirk appeared on her face before stroking the lines of the mark with her claws. “Looks like this mortal body has accepted me as a suitable mate. I hope I have met your standards, my wife…”

KOKOMI

Chained to a rock near the beach of the seas, you were left to be the bride of the divine sea serpent; Kokomi. Though she was a very gentle and understanding dragon to the people of Watatsumi Island, she was capable of forging wars with other dragons from different regions, making the oceans shake from how brutal her battles were. You were very much scared for your life to even meet such a strong beast, and as you were left chained to the rock, waiting for your future wife, you felt your heart rate spike when you saw the waves part ways for the legendary sea serpent to take what was hers.

Shimmering pearlescent scales with fins that waded through the water, Kokomi emerged in her sea serpent form at first, coursing to a stop when the water grew too shallow. She transformed into her human form to walk the rest of the way, her clothes nearly translucent, glittering under the sun’s rays as she slowly waded towards you with  a gentle look in her eyes. “Oh, you must be my bride,” she whispers softly, a curious yet amused tone taking on her voice. “What a very cute human…you’re even smaller than I imagined.” 

Even when she was a dragon, her voice was soft and gentle. She patted your head gently before tilting your head up to meet her gaze, dragons were always bigger than humans after all, even in their human forms. “No need to be so scared, it’s time to go home, my bride. I hope you have a strong grip.” She quickly slashes the shackles off of you and eases you onto her back, beginning to waft back out to the waves and transform into her sea serpent form while you clung to her neck for dear life. Kokomi was a very fast swimmer after all.

After the quick introduction to your future dragon wife, you found yourself living amongst Kokomi within a huge, hidden grotto that resided behind a waterfall. Life with Kokomi was…quite intriguing to say the least. Due to being a sea serpent and living near the water, it took some time for you to adjust from living on land, to living somewhere that was almost fully surrounded with water! Your diet mostly consisted of fish and other various seafoods that Kokomi managed to hunt, though if you were unable to eat any of them, it surprised you to say the least to see that Kokomi would go out of her way to buy human foods from a nearby market, in order to satisfy your needs. If you needed anything, literally anything at all, you didn’t even need to leave the safety of her lair, as Kokomi would do it for you. Even though she was considered a “higher deity” in Teyvat.

Life was peaceful with Kokomi as your wife. She made sure to spoil you with everything you could ever ask for, and soon you found yourself falling in love with the gentle sea serpent. As the months slowly passed by and your love only blossomed even further, you began to notice signs of Kokomi getting more antsy as the seasons changed. She’s told you about this before, about how dragons (specially sea serpents) enter a rut-like process once every few months, but you didn’t expect it so soon. Nevertheless, you were fully prepared to help your wife ease up all tensions and stress, and the two of you set out to prepare for your “love making” in a special place…

Clothes stripped off before you could reach the sacred grounds, Kokomi took you to a hidden lagoon where sea serpents often took their mates to claim them for the first time. Seeing that it was not occupied at the moment, Kokomi helped ease you into the warm waters of the lagoon, guiding you to the middle before pressing her agile, lithe body against yours, causing her two cocks to rub up against your thighs.

She cooed softly at you before planting kisses along your neck, admiring the way your soft, human skin felt underneath her own. Kokomi was entranced, massaging your thighs to get them to open up, before whispering in a hushed tone into your ear. “This might hurt, but I promise I’ll go slow…” giving you one last kiss before sliding herself inside of you…

By no means was Kokomi huge, but two cocks was two cocks and you felt yourself being stuffed to the brim. As she slowly sheathed herself inside of you all the way down to her base, Kokomi let out an exasperated gasp before gripping your hips tighter from behind. She was blushing madly from how good you felt, all tight and warm wrapped around her, and she was beginning to get delirious from just how good your holes were, gripping her so needily. 

Her thrusts were shallow, yet addictive. Pounding into you quietly as the water sloshed around you with her soft movements. This “dangerous” sea serpent that people had told you stories about was currently whimpering into your ears out of pure ecstasy. Trembling while she fucked you from behind, as trails of precum leaked from both her cockheads to further stimulate your senses. Thanks to being a sea serpent, her body was naturally very slippery and wet, so fucking you deeper and faster was no hard order for Kokomi to do. 

So many dirty, wet squelches filled the air alongside your moans of blissful pleasure. Kokomi was getting close, whining behind you before finally ejaculating her seed into your womb. At the sudden sensation of the sea serpent’s cum filling your crevices, the mark of Kokomi bore itself onto your stomach, causing your wife to smile with pride at how you easily accepted her as her “mate.” “Well would you look at that, it seems like it only took the first try for your body to recognize me as a suitable companion,” Kokomi chuckled. “Well, who says we should just stop here, my love? Raise your legs a bit higher, I want to breed you some more…”

EI

Unlike the other dragons, Ei was a dragon that was given sacrifices every twelve years, not in exchange for good fortune or success, but so that she wouldn’t get angry and destroy the villages with her rage. The people in your region were deathly afraid of Ei for the sole reason that she could wipe out their entire population, so when she asked for a bride this year instead of the usual treasures they offered her, they basically sent you on a deathbed to meet your inevitable fate.

Knowing that you were sent to a brutal tyrant of a dragon to be her “bride,” you had accepted your death a long time ago. Waiting idly in front of the dragon’s lair, you braced yourself for a whole world of pain when you saw your “wife” begin to approach you. With tears streaming down your face from how terrified you were of dying, you nearly screamed when Ei suddenly lifted up your veil, eyes paralyzed with fear as you met the cold, dark eyes of your wife. When she raised her hand to get closer to your face, you expected a hard slap. However, what came in contact with your cheek was a soft, gentle touch that felt juxtaposing to how large and battle-stricken her hands were. 

Rough calluses was the first thing you felt against your cheek, and then the feeling of Ei’s large fingers wiping away your tear-ridden face. It was the complete opposite of what you had expected the dragon woman to do to you, but you were too afraid to comment on anything when she took you inside her lair to get you away from the cold. 

Life with a tyrannical dragon wife was very…unique, to say the least. She was not as sweet, or gentle as any of the other dragon women, but she showed how much she cared for you with acts of service rather than physical affection. Though quiet when expressing her love for you, Ei would always feed you the best and biggest portions of her hunt whenever you two sat down and ate together. Ei would make the thunderstorms quiet down when she saw that they were bothering you in your sleep, and she would even cease the storms entirely if that was what you wished. 

Not only that, but your dragon wife was fiercely protective over you. The other dragon women would be territorial, sure. But Ei was on a whole different level. Anything that threatened you, her bride, would be faced with the full wrath of one angry, tyrannical dragon wife, and the thing (or person) that threatened you in the first place, would be blasted to smithereens by her thunderous breath alone. Though she was very violent and quite scary at times whenever you witnessed her destruction, you knew she cared deeply about you and that’s really all that mattered. 

Alas, as the seasons changed, not even the stoic and tyrannical dragon was immune to the mating cycle that all dragons went through in a year. She tried to keep it to herself so you didn’t have to find out, but it was near impossible as Ei would constantly have a massive boner under her clothes, every time she woke up with you right next to her. Unable to take it anymore, she quietly requested for you to “mate” with her, in order to satisfy her instincts, and you being the sweet little wife that you were, agreed since you didn't want her to suffer on her own through such an intensive rut.

Ei was big. Like, very big when she first disrobed herself in front of you. Her tall stature was very lean, athletic, strong, and that corresponded with her dick size as well. Lean, tall, and strong. You found yourself salivating a bit when you saw just the sheer size of her, a bit intimidated, but very turned on to have her all to yourself. 

Your wife wanted to be gentle. She saw humans as the most fragile thing in the world, so when she lifted you up into her arms, your naked body pressing against hers, she blushed for the very first time, realizing just how big she was in comparison to you. At the recognized size difference, her two hemipenes twitched to life, erect and swollen to stuff themselves in your cunt, while poor Ei was left gaping at how turned on she was. With her strength alone, she slowly slid you down to fuck you in middair. Your legs dangled helplessly over her thighs as you whined from the burning stretch, a small bulge forming under the skin of your tummy from how engorged Ei was when fucking inside of you.

Eyes landing on the small belly bulge, you felt Ei growl with predatory instinct, keeping you held tightly against her while she pounded into your holes. Each thrust left you bouncing helplessly in the air, clinging to Ei’s broad shoulders while her cocks dragged their ribbed lengths in and out of you like a toy. The feeling of it was just too much, leading you to orgasm multiple times in just under an hour, and the wetter you got, the easier it was for Ei to go faster, harder, deeper. It was all too much for your small human cunt to handle, and the deeper she went, the more you clenched down.

It took a while, but when Ei finally reached her first climax, boy was it a big one. Your entire lower body shivered as she spurted ropes of hot cum deep into your womb, your legs trembling as she burned her way into your body with her seed, and making a large womb tattoo engrave itself on your skin. As the mark appeared, Ei showed signs of pride and ownership, growling under her breath before biting your neck lovingly to seal the deal. “Mine…” was all she said in that dark, husky tone of hers, as she continued to pound her way into you for another round of mating.

[randomdragonfires]

Parallel Lines, Act I

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other.

Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Infidelity; Major Character Death; Aemond and his issues are a warning on their own ok?

AUTHOR’S NOTE | All Valyrian lines were translated from english using a free online translator. They are likely to be grammatically wrong - but I don’t even know man. Yeah.

WORD COUNT | 9.5k - and not a single word is beta read. We die like warriors, I guess?

The moonlight spilled through the series of windows of her husband’s - not theirs, his - apartments in the Red Keep, casting a silvery glow over the austere elegance of the chambers. His wife stood by the window, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the night sky, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit interior, taking in the cool, stone walls that seemed to absorb the flickering torchlight. She glided through the hall where intricate tapestries depicted dragons in flight, their scales shimmering with threads of gold and silver. The grand fireplace dominated one wall, the warmth emanating throughout the space from the burning logs within. She folded her arms into her chest, as if to preserve the heat as she shivered from the cold night - her thin nightdress didn’t help. Above the mantelpiece, Vhagar's fierce eyes followed her every movement, a fierce presence in paint.

Moving through the chambers, she passed through his personal library, every page a stern reflection of his interests. Shelves of dark, polished wood lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, their faint scent of aged parchment and leather permeating the air.

He mostly smelled of smoke, fire and leather. Of books and dragons - both of which he is passionate about.

It makes sense then, that no one will ever catch a whiff of her perfume on him.

They were far from passionate, after all.

In the center, his heavy, ornately carved desk was strewn with maps and documents, a well-used quill and inkwell ready for his expert hand to wield. She leaned on the table to look at it all, and spun one of the wooden markers between her nimble fingers for a moment - as she had seen him do countless times - before leaving it back where she found it.

She stepped into the bedchamber, its stark stone walls softened by the rich, crimson fabrics of the large, canopied bed. Dragons were subtly woven into the bedspread and curtains, a constant reminder of the Targaryen lineage that she had married and given birth to.

How long has it been since she laid with him on this bed? More than a year, she surmised. They did their duty on their wedding night, and the Mother was graceful enough to make his seed quicken in her immediately. She laid with him for a few weeks after - and when the maesters made it known that she was with child, that had stopped.

A good wife knows how to keep her husband satisfied, they said. Her husband never sought her out. If the whispers of the few around her were to be believed, he frequents a whore in a Silk Street brothel.

Was she not a good wife then?

She gave him a son. He may be sickly, but he is a son nonetheless. Surely it must count?

With a weary sigh, her eyes shifted to the adjoining armory, where Aemond’s armor and weapons were meticulously displayed. This part of his room exuded an air of readiness, a silent promise of the warrior who would soon return to his space.

From the whorehouse, no doubt.

She turned back to the window, her thoughts as fluid as the shimmering waves below. The apartments were a microcosm of her husband's existence: regal yet austere, scholarly yet martial.

And no sign of marriage, leave alone happy or healthy. How could there be, when he doesn’t feel half the happiness with her that he does when left alone with his beast or books?

There was no hate between them, surely not. Her husband was agreeable, but that was that. There was never any doubt in her mind that he did not want her - or the idea of her - but had to marry her anyway. There was no passion, and she could count with two hands the number of times they have lain with each other in the past year that they have been married - even that was before she had become with child.

There was nothing, truly.

She tried with him, initially. But any illusion of interest that she thought he may grow towards her was shattered the moment she heard that the very night that she’d met him, he was seen moving out of the castle grounds and into the Street of Silk.

He didn’t even bother with making it discreet.

Their wedding was a morose affair. They were the very picture of a royal couple, but neither felt the part - more like a pair of chastised children made to listen after a screaming bout. Even when he took her, he took her from behind - and she was fully clothed. It was nowhere close to the slow exploration that some of her ladies promised. He’s a scholar, he’d be willing to learn for your pleasure, they had said. He’d not even kissed her after their wedding ceremony, not once - he simply demanded that she get on the bed, and took her like an animal while the Small Council and their families watched her eyes pool with painful tears.

What had she done to warrant such embarrassment? She didn’t know what she’d done to make him shirk her so, but it was the way it was. It just was.

When he kept calling her back, he’d taken to offering her wine when they were finished. She didn’t linger when her goblet was emptied. She simply walked out, and wished him a good night.

He never once asked her to stay.

When the news of the babe in her belly had arrived, she’d been relieved - she’d never have to lay with a man who did not want her, ever again. He didn’t seem overjoyed either, and simply hummed with a hand on her belly.

“There is blood of the dragon in you now,” he said. And then he let his thumb run over her cheek. It was the softest he’d ever been with her, and she relished those few seconds. For a moment, he looked so peaceful and content… a stranger. That’s when it occurred to her that perhaps there’s more to Aemond than what he lets anyone see.

She could have fallen in love with him, if he’d cared enough to show her. But it seemed that he’d only viewed her as a duty and a burden.

The ghost of his touch lingered, and she brought her own hand to her cheek as though the warmth still remained. What did the whores have that she did not? Or was it the same whore each time?

Jealousy is unbecoming of a princess, she reminded herself. But so is unhappiness and a constant sense of dread, surely?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. Her husband strode into the room, immediately aware of her presence. She felt the shift in the air and watched as the shadows of his boots slow, absorbing the sight of her. He removed his cloak with a fluid motion, letting it fall onto his chair before approaching her with the deliberate grace of a predator.

“Wife.” His voice was clipped and devoid of warmth, as though addressing a servant rather than the mother of his son.

She turned to face him, the pale moonlight highlighting the tension etched across her features. "Husband," she responded, mirroring his tone, though a flicker of hurt glimmers in her eyes.

Do you think of me as I think of you? Do you think of me at all?

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken words. Her gaze scanned his face, searching for any trace of the man whom she foolishly once thought would love her. Instead, she found only the cold mask he wore, a fortress against the world and his own buried emotions.

Against her.

“Has the council kept you long?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. They both looked outside the windows, with her leaning into the railing while he stood with his hands held back, ramrod straight.

Always on guard.

“Long enough,” he replied, his eyes drifting to the dark expanse of the bay. “There are matters that require my attention.”

“And our son?” she asked, a touch of warmth infusing her words at the mention of their child. “Will you see Aerys tonight?”

For a brief moment, something softened in Aemond’s gaze, a fleeting shadow of tenderness. She must have imagined it - it was too fleeting and quick to hold any kind of weight.

She was jealous of her own son, for he elicits more from Aemond than she ever has, as little as it is.

“Perhaps. If time allows.”

She nodded, turning back to look at him; to see him.

The weight of his indifference settled over her like a shroud. The Blackwater Bay stretches out before them, vast and unchanging, mirroring the growing distance between them.

“I worry for you,” she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the night. “War will come to us soon, will it not?” If it hadn’t come so far, she knew it would now. Vaemond Velaryon’s rolling head and King Viserys’ worsening condition only made sure of it.

He stood rigid beside her, his posture unyielding. “It is my duty,” he said, as if that alone suffices.

“I know,” she replied, sadness threading through her voice. “But you are more than your duty, Aemond. You are Aerys’ father and my…”

The emotions were high tonight, higher than they’d ever been. She didn’t know why she sought him out. There has been ample evidence to support that he would not care, and yet here she was.

She wanted safety, and the only person she could approach is the one who has never made her feel welcome or safe in any capacity.

Who else do I have here?

The tears mangle her vision and she swallowed what threatened to follow.

“I have given you a son.” She trembled, her voice threatening to give way to s stream of tears. “The shadow of war looms upon us, and you’ve set me aside and I worry…”

He lifted his head just slightly as the words sank in, but she was too dejected to care about his acknowledgement. He may be cold, and his reactions to her come far and few in between - but she could not bring herself to mull over it too at the moment.

“War is coming. I am as certain of it as I am of the sun rising on the morrow and I know you are too -” He opened his mouth to interfere, but she was quick to not give him the gap to take over her speech. “Do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise.”

“I was not.”

She turned to face him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her eyes as she wondered why the Gods had not seen fit to give her a husband who loved her. He was beautiful, a cruel irony that made her anger flare even more. Despite all the hurt he had caused, she could not help but feel drawn to him. To hide her tears, she looked to the floor, trembling as she forced out her next words.

“I know you do not love me. I know you do not want me. But I… I have given you a son. An heir to continue your legacy, and that… I like to think that it would be reason enough to ask you to not forsake me. We have not supported each other all this time, but the least you can do is assure me that you will keep us safe.”

A flicker of something unrecognizable flashed in his eye, and he turned to face her fully, leaning against the window arch. “Did you… truly think that I would leave you to die if it came down to it?”

“You haven’t given me reason to believe that you’ll want me around.” Her voice was bitter, dripping with contempt.

He was ethereal as he reached out, holding her jaw between his thumb and finger, bringing her closer to his porcelain skin and alabaster hair. Her gaze flitted about chaotically, struggling to meet his eye. Her body shivered from the cold, torn between wanting him to let her go and needing him to hold her tight.

“You are my wife. I swore to the Gods that I would honor and protect you. You and Aerys are my family, and I would be slain a hundred times over before I see either of you hurt. I may not be… I may not be the man you want, but I can assure you that I am an honorable husband who will safeguard you and our boy.”

She did not know what she expected. A declaration of hidden love? Certainly not. But somehow, his assurances fell short. “Honorable.” She tested the word on her tongue, finding it the most bitter sound she had ever uttered. Her cheek alarmed him, and she spat venom. “Honorable?” His grip on her chin tightened, and she took it as a sign to continue.

“I know you frequent the Silk Street brothels. I know you’ve been going there since the very first day we met. Unless the professions of whores have changed, it is safe to assume that you are not honorable or loyal. And if you are, it is certainly not to me.”

A whore out there enjoyed her husband’s undying devotion, while she sat in the castle hoping and praying he would recognize her, let alone love her.

His expression shifted, a storm brewing behind his eyes, but he did not release her. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a chasm of pain pulling them apart. She met his intense gaze finally, tears brimming in her eyes, the anguish of their fractured bond laid bare for him to see.

He tasted of smoke and fire, and yet her mouth craved him anyway. He was an eternity away from her—always, always—and yet her fingers yearned to touch him.

“I do not go there for…” He took a long breath before completing his sentence, almost as if he needed his composure to simply survive.

Not there for what? Was he not fucking the whores? What else could he possibly do?

“Do you think I do not know the sacrifices you have made?” His voice was a harsh whisper, a mixture of anger and something deeper, almost pleading. “Do you think I do not feel the weight of our shared duty, the responsibility to our son? My responsibility to you?”

“But you have never shown me,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “You have never given me a reason to believe that you care, that you see me as more than just a broodmare for an heir!"

For a moment, they stood frozen, the distance between them both physical and emotional. The moonlight casted a cold glow over their figures, highlighting the stark contrast between their proximity and their separation.

“It is not easy for me.”

“It should not be hard to love your wife. Or at the very least respect her.”

“I—”

She brought her hand up to stop him before any more of his lies spewed out and stepped away from him. She walked to the door at an amazing speed, her skirts swishing past as she tried to get out before her tears spilled out. In a late change of heart though, as her hand rested on the door latch, she turned.

“No lady should beg her husband to love her. No matter if he is a prince. It is beneath her, and I am no different. I will not beg…” If she had looked at him properly, she’d have noticed him flinch at her damning words.

“I will not beg you to love me after dismissing me all this time; I do have my pride. But I will beg you to save my life if it needs saving. That is all I ask.”

“You never had to ask.”

She took a breath and drank some leftover wine in the goblet next to her, not caring for whose it originally was. The thought would make her retch usually, but she was beyond caring.

“Your mother… she loves me surely, but I think she doesn’t like me very much. Your sister and I never managed to understand each other. Your brother… well he is a mindless lecher. I can’t quite figure out your grandfather at all. And you… you know what we’re like. I just… I worry that in this impending war within kin, I will be forgotten and left to die simply because my job is done with the birth of my son and I am too close to the storm and you don’t care and I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die-”

“You are my kin.” he said. It made her smile, albeit a woeful one. “You may need to remind me every once in a while.”

He didn’t respond. She simply left.

And even now, he didn’t ask her to stay.

She wished he did.

Aemond stood by the hearth, cradling their feverish son in his arms. 

Dressed in his somber blacks, he looked every bit the stern warrior, yet the gentle way he held Aerys belied that image. The babe was flushed and fretful, his tiny hands gripping Aemond’s hair and tugging insistently. Aemond hissed softly at the sharp pull, but did not dislodge the child's grip.

“Byka zaldrīzes,” he grumbles. It is strict, but not unaffectionate - she was familiar with that tone. She’d watched him use it with their son often when he thought no one was looking. [Little dragon.]

From the doorway, she watched them. They looked like a loving family - the devoted mother standing watch, her eyes filled with affection as she observed her husband and son. But appearances were deceiving, and both of them knew the truth beneath the surface.

Aerys, in his restless state, grabbed at Aemond’s eyepatch, tugging it down and exposing the scarred, empty socket. Aemond’s expression tightened as he shifted the boy from one arm to the other, quickly adjusting the patch back into place. In that brief moment, their eyes met, and she glimpsed the vulnerability he so meticulously hid. He seemed to close himself off even more, as if shielding his heart from her gaze.

It was a deep, almost dark blue. She noticed, she always noticed.

“I came to check on him before luncheon,” she said softly, breaking the silence that had settled like a heavy shroud. She always ensured that she made a solitary routine of her visits, ensuring that he’d have time alone with her son like he seemed to want. To be together - as a family - stumped her beyond belief, no matter how second nature it should be.

What was he doing here?

Aemond nodded, his voice measured as he recounted the maester's instructions. “The maester believes he will grow healthy with time. We must be diligent with the poultices and draughts.” His tone was clinical, as if discussing a strategy for battle rather than the wellbeing of their son.

She watched as he laid Aerys gently in the cot, the child’s feverish grip slackening as he drifted into a fitful sleep. She approached, brushing a strand of hair from Aerys’s forehead, her touch tender and light.

Aemond stepped back, retreating to the armchair close to the cot where a goblet of wine awaited him. He took a long sip, his gaze fixed on her as she sat at his foot, and peered in to take a look at their son. Facing away from him, she began to sing softly. Her voice, though tinged with sorrow, was soothing, and Aemond’s stern expression softened as he watched the scene unfold. For a moment, the room was filled with a fragile peace.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

She didn’t say anything and let the silence engulf them both when she finished her song. She then turned around and sat on the floor near his feet, her back leaned against her son’s cot as she looked up to face her stoic husband. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke - his words measured but with the intent of concern. He spoke them like he was testing them out on his tongue.

“The maesters… they say you’re being given herbs as well.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of her exhaustion in every fiber of her being. The birth had been horribly hard on her body, leaving her depleted and fragile. Only now was she beginning to regain her strength. The whispers of the servants echoed in her mind—comments about how all this suffering was for a sickly child. But those whispers meant nothing to her. She would move the ends of the earth for her son, no matter what anyone thought. 

He was the blood of the dragon. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, and she would not allow her son to be any different.

“Ever since the birth, I have grown… weak,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aerys took a toll on me when he came.”

Aemond’s eyes were detached, but she heard the slight concern and contemplation in his voice. “Were you in pain? In the days after?”

She hesitated for a moment, surprised by his sudden show of concern. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I was. I still am.”

His questions were gentle, as if he truly cared, as if he genuinely wanted to understand what she had gone through. This unexpected tenderness from him was jarring, and it took all her strength not to withdraw. She had longed for this moment for so long, the chance to finally, truly connect with the man she had married.

And now that it was here, it felt as foreign to her as the other continents of the realm.

“I should have been there,” he said, his voice laced with regret. He didn’t look at her, head turned away as he spoke.  “I should have been by you-”

She’d heard the rumors that her good mother worked hard to ensure she’d never hear. While she labored and went through all the Seven Hells giving birth to their son, Aemond was at a whorehouse, doing Gods know what.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I don’t want to know,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “I’d rather choose blissful ignorance than a painful truth. Especially when it comes to you.”

Aemond nodded slowly, regality exuding from him even in his slightest movements. “I have failed you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. He did not apologize, and she knew that he never would. This was the most she would get from him, and for now, it had to be enough.

It didn’t mean that it shocked her any less.

Summoning her remaining strength, she stood and moved toward him. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the armrests of his chair, bringing herself closer to him. The curve of her breasts nearly brushed his chin, and she could feel his breath, warm and shallow, on her skin. His goblet of wine lay forgotten on a nearby desk, the contents slowly going tepid.

He looked up at her, surprise and something deeper flickering in his eye. His expression was a mixture of pain and longing, as if he too yearned for what she did. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he moved his hand and covered hers with his. His touch was tentative, as if he feared she might pull away. But she held firm, her fingers entwining with his. 

He was warm to the touch. She remembered that much from the first days of their marriage, but it felt better to be reminded of it this way. Almost as though he was tender towards her, like they never spent any time being purposefully apart from each other.

She felt like they were getting somewhere, a tentative bridge forming between their fractured hearts. Carried away by the newfound closeness, she hesitated only for a moment before reaching out, her hand trembling as it neared his face. Her fingers were delicate, soft against the rough texture of his skin as she traced the scar that marred his otherwise perfect visage.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing at the intimate touch. She moved slowly, her fingers gliding over the jagged lines. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if she could heal his old wounds with her tenderness.

Her eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. Instead, she saw vulnerability, a crack in his formidable armor that allowed her a glimpse of the man beneath the warrior’s facade. His eye, the one not covered by the patch, was wide and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite name - something between longing and fear.

With a gentle caress, her finger traced the path of the scar down to his cheekbone, lingering there for a moment before moving toward the eyepatch. She felt his breath warm against her hand, the rise and fall of his chest quickening as her fingers danced over the leather. The eyepatch was cool and rough under her touch, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the tension coiling in him. Would he push her away? Would he retreat back into the cold distance that had defined their relationship for so long? But he remained still, his gaze fixed on hers, a silent permission in his eyes.

Encouraged by his silence, she allowed her fingers to explore the edges of the eyepatch, feeling the worn leather against her skin. Her thumb brushed over the strap that held it in place, her touch gentle and soothing. He shivered, a barely perceptible tremor that ran through him, and she felt a surge of something warm and hopeful rise within her.

His reaction was slow, almost imperceptible. He closed his eye briefly, as if savoring the sensation, then opened it to meet her gaze again. She could see the conflict within him, the struggle between the desire to protect himself and the yearning for this rare moment of intimacy.

She moved closer, her body almost pressing against his as she continued her exploration. The curve of her breasts brushed against his chin, and she felt the heat radiating from him, the tension in his muscles. Her fingers lingered on the eyepatch, tracing the lines where it met his skin, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her touch. His hand reached up, covering hers. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, suspended in a fragile, tender silence.

“Will you let me see?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His hesitance and silence said more than his words ever could. 

The moment stretched, taut and fragile, until it seemed to snap under the weight of unspoken fears. She saw the flicker of rejection in his eye, a retreat behind the barriers he had so carefully constructed. Her face fell, the light of hope dimming as she realized she had pushed too far. But she understood; perhaps he needed more time. Withdrawing her hand, she felt the ghost of his touch linger on her skin, a burning reminder of the closeness they had almost shared.

He grasped her wrist gently, as if he wanted to ask her to stay, but the words remained unspoken. She did not want to stay unless he wholeheartedly asked her to. His grip was firm, yet she felt the reluctance in it, the silent struggle to decide whether to hold on and let go.

“I should go,” she said softly, gathering her skirts. “Your mother and sister await me at luncheon, and it would be unseemly to be late.”

He watched her walk away, her steps slow and measured, each one pulling her further from the fragile connection they had started to form. Left alone with his son, Aemond felt the weight of his failure press down on him, a cold, heavy burden that settled in his chest.

Aerys slept in the cot nearby, his tiny body trembling with each breath as if the sickness that plagued him might take him at any moment. Aemond moved his chair closer to the cot, peering down at the infant with a mixture of fear and determination. The soft tufts of silver hair marked him as undoubtedly his, a tiny mirror of his own lineage.

How many nights had she spent alone, watching over him like this? Scared that if she stepped away, Aerys may be gone?

In a quiet tone that would otherwise go unheard, he whispered to his son, his voice thick with emotion. “Ao kostagon’t tepagon bē va īlva, riñnykeā.” [You can’t give up on us, child.] After a moment of composure, he continued. “Ziry braved vīlībāzma naejot tepagon ao naejot issa. Gaomagon daor henujagon zȳhon.” [She braved battle to give you to me. Do not leave her.]

Aemond's voice trembled, the words almost breaking under the weight of his desperation. He held his son closer, cradling the tiny, fragile body against his chest. He thought of his wife's strength, the pain she had endured, and winced at the realization of how badly he had treated her. His neglect, his coldness - they had all but shattered her. 

He had done enough to her. The last thing he wanted was to see her lose Aerys too.

The dim light of the chamber cast soft shadows on Aemond's face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow etched deep with worry. His eye, normally a piercing blue, now seemed almost muted, dulled by the depth of his concern. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on his son’s chest, feeling the weak but steady rise and fall of his breaths. Aerys stirred slightly, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of Aemond’s hair. The grip was weak, but determined.

“You are the blood of the dragon,” he continued, his voice a fierce whisper. “You will grow strong.”

The Dragonpit was packed, the air heavy with the murmurs of the gathered smallfolk and the flickering light of countless torches. She stood beside Aemond, her posture as straight and regal as she could manage, her heart pounding in her chest. The spectacle of Aegon's coronation was unfolding before her eyes, a momentous event that would shape the future of the Targaryen family.

Hers.

The ceremony began with the Grand Maester stepping forward, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror held reverently in his hands. The weight of history seemed to press down on the room, making every breath feel heavy, every movement deliberate. Aegon - looking more like a squabbling, crying child than a King - ascended the steps to the dais, his face a mask of acceptance.

And when her husband nodded to his new King, she bowed deep.

She watched as Aegon’s expression shifted from indifference to a flicker of recognition of the power now bestowed upon him. The crowd erupted in cheers, their loyalty and fervor palpable, yet she felt a pang of unease amidst the celebration.

Beside her, Aemond stood tall and vigilant, his eye never leaving the proceedings. She glanced at him, seeking comfort in his composed demeanor, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of chaos. The noise of the crowd swelled, and she could feel the anticipation hanging thick in the air, a tangible force that seemed to wrap around them all. 

Aegon, now crowned, raised Blackfyre high above his head, the ancient sword gleaming in the firelight. The sight was awe-inspiring, a symbol of power and legitimacy. Yet, beneath the grandeur, she sensed the underlying tensions and overheard the words that Helaena kept mumbling. 

There is a beast beneath the boards.

Her feet shifted, and she heard the hollow sound that the ground made when her shoe met the surface. A hollow sound that comes when feet meets -

The boards.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble that grew into a deafening roar. Gasps of shock and fear rippled through the crowd, and she instinctively reached for Aemond’s hand. Before she could react further, the floor of the Dragonpit exploded upward, sending debris and chaos flying in all directions.

Rhaenys, astride her dragon Meleys, emerged from the smoke and dust, her presence formidable and terrifying. The dragon’s scales shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its eyes blazing with fury. The people scattered, screams of panic filling the air as the beast roared, the sound reverberating through the hall and shaking her to her core.

Her heart raced, terror gripping her as she stared at the massive dragon, its wings spreading wide, casting a shadow over the entire chamber. Aemond’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her behind him protectively. She could feel his body tense, ready to shield her from any danger. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, a faint surge of gratitude washed through.

You never had to ask.

Meleys roared again, the sound like thunder, and the heat of its breath washed over them. She could see the flames flickering in the dragon's throat, the promise of destruction just a heartbeat away. Rhaenys, regal and unyielding, locked eyes with Alicent, a silent challenge passing between them.

Aemond stepped forward, his presence a wall of defiance and strength. “Get behind me,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos. She obeyed without hesitation, her body pressed close to his, drawing comfort from his unwavering resolve.

The dragon’s eyes fixed on them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. She could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumbeat in her ears, and the cold sweat on her palms. Every muscle in her body was taut with fear, and she kept her eyes firmly set to the ground.

This is how I die. Do you call it a dragonrider’s death when you don’t ride a dragon?

My son. AerysAerysAerys-

Aemond.

Rhaenys stared at them all, the weight of her decision hanging in the air. Meleys shifted, the ground trembling beneath its weight, and for a moment, it seemed as though the dragon would unleash its fury. But then, as if making a choice that defied all expectations, Rhaenys turned Meleys away, the dragon's wings beating powerfully as they ascended through the shattered roof of the Dragonpit.

The relief was overwhelming, a rush of emotions that left her weak at the knees. She clung to Aemond, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tried to process what had just happened. The hall was filled with the sounds of weeping and the murmurs of disbelief, the aftermath of the encounter leaving everyone shaken.

Aemond’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. She nodded, still trembling, her heart beginning to slow as the adrenaline ebbed away.

She did not notice how closely he held her when it came down to it - for the very first time. 

Aemond's fingers dug into Sylvi's hips as he thrust into her from behind, each movement fierce and relentless. Her back arched under the pressure of his hand, pushing her down onto the bed. The room was filled with the raw sounds of their coupling, echoing off the walls.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with her moans. His grip tightened, nails biting into her flesh as he drove into her harder, seeking release in the violent act. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating mix that fueled his aggression. "Gods,” He growled, his voice a low, primal rumble. He watched as her body responded to each thrust, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the sheen of sweat on her skin glistening in the candlelight. She was a willing vessel for his frustrations, and he took her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

Her moans turned into cries of pleasure, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her as she braced herself against his onslaught. He felt a dark satisfaction at the way he could bend her to his will, the power he wielded in these moments of raw, unbridled lust.

The climax came in a wave of intense pleasure, his body shuddering as he spilled into her. He collapsed over her, panting, his chest pressed against her back as he tried to catch his breath. The aftermath was a stark contrast to the ferocity of their coupling – a quiet, intimate moment where their bodies remained entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of their shared passion.

Her arms wrapped around Aemond's naked body, her touch tender and soothing after their rough encounter. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from the sheets.

Aemond's breathing gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling against hers as he allowed himself to relax in her embrace. His mind, however, was anything but at ease. He thought back to the scene that had haunted him since he left his chambers earlier: his wife, cradling their son, her eyes red from crying, her body and mind still fragile from the ordeal of facing a dragon at Aegon’s coronation.

"She was crying before I left to come here," he began, his voice a low murmur against her neck. "Holding our son, so shocked by near-death.. It didn’t seem as terrifying to me, but... she was so scared. She's worried, you know. About the impending war."

The Madame’s fingers traced gentle circles on his back, encouraging him to continue. "She doesn't have dragonrider's blood," he went on, almost to himself. "I didn’t know how to comfort her. I want to help, but I don’t know how."

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her touch grounding him. Her presence was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. He lowered his head to her chest, his lips finding her breast. He suckled softly, kneading the soft flesh, seeking solace in the familiar act.

Holding their son brought comfort to his wife, and for him, coming here to the Madame, was his escape. The warmth and intimacy they shared, however fleeting, was his way of coping with the weight of his responsibilities and the emotional distance between him and his wife. As he continued to be held, he couldn’t help but wonder if he and his wife would ever find this kind of comfort in each other; if he’d ever find the courage or the trust to truly tell her what he needs without worrying about losing her respect.

If he'd walked in and held her while she cried instead of leaving her to it and coming here, could he have made her feel safer?

Too many questions, not enough courage for answers. Too much pride and so little sense between them both.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as Vhagar soared through the stormy skies back to King's Landing. The cold wind bit at his face, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread gripping his heart. 

He had killed Luke. His nephew, his blood. 

The act had been unintended, a consequence of their reckless chase, but it was done. There would be no undoing it. If there hadn't been a war before, there certainly was now. The weight of his actions settled heavily upon him, more suffocating than the fiercest storm. As the familiar silhouette of the Red Keep came into view, a storm of emotions churned within him. Guilt, fear, and a desperate need for comfort twisted together, making his insides writhe. 

He dismounted Vhagar with a heavy heart, his drenched form slipping through the darkened halls of the castle like a shadow. His mind raced, an entire host of thoughts battering against the walls of his consciousness. He needed solace, a place to hide from the storm he had created. The whorehouse crossed his mind briefly, a familiar escape, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough this time. He needed... he needed...

Before he knew it, his feet had taken him to her apartments.

Her. His wife.

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. His wife was readying for bed, her state of undress evident. She wore a robe over her shift, her hair loose around her shoulders. The soft light from the hearth bathed her in a gentle glow, as he took her in. She turned to him in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of him. It was clear how rare this occurrence was, how unexpected his presence was in her chambers. But she was quick to pull him in, taking in his drenched form with a worried expression.

"Husband, what has happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He did not answer, his eyes trained on her as she moved. Her exposed skin drew his attention, and he found himself wondering. 

Was she softer? Kinder? Would she hold him in her soft arms if he so wished? Did he deserve it from her? Would she shame him?

She kept asking, but he remained silent, his mind too chaotic to form coherent words. She moved to find him something to dry off with, but he reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a death grip.

"Don't go," he whispered, his voice raw and choked, barely more than a breath.

She looked up at him, her confusion gradually giving way to a quiet curiosity. He gently guided her arms around his cold and damp waist, his touch unexpectedly tender. This was not a whore; this was his wife. She deserved to be treated differently. 

At first, she froze, her body tense and uncertain, but slowly, she let herself relax – at least as much as she could manage with a husband who had sought her out for the first time in a year.

He felt her hesitation and understood the significance of her yielding. The weight of his guilt pressed harder against his heart, but he clung to this moment of closeness, desperate for the comfort he so craved.

"What has happened, husband? Why are you here?" she asked softly, parts of her words muffled into his chest.

He remained silent, waiting to see what she would do. Her repeated questions slowly stopped, a resigned understanding settling in her gaze. In the silence, he became acutely aware of her form – soft, untouched by anyone but him, made for him. The thin layers of her robe and shift did little to keep his hands from exploring her.

His fingers trembled as they traced the curve of her spine, brushing against the delicate fabric of her robe. Every slight movement, every breath, every shiver she made became magnified in his mind. Her body responded to his touch with a delicate gasp, and he felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name – a need, a longing, a desperate desire for solace in her embrace.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, every intake of breath, every flinch and gasp. He noticed a stray hair that had fallen across her face, the way the delicate hairs on her skin raised at his touch, the way her eyes widened and then softened. Each detail etched itself into his mind, a stark contrast to the murder that had driven him here.

She tightened her arms around him, her touch gentle yet firm. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent – lilacs and something uniquely her that anchored him to this moment, to her. It was a comfort stronger than any he had ever received, yet calm and grounding at the same time.

His hands roamed her back, feeling the delicate curve of her waist, the slight tremor in her muscles as she responded to his touch. He pressed his lips to her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Her breath hitched, and he felt the vibration of her voice as she whispered his name, a question and a plea all at once.

"Aemond," she murmured, her voice breaking the silence. His body reacts in shivers and heat at the sound of his name upon her lips. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Had she ever said his name out loud before? He did not know. But he wanted to hear it again and again until the world as he knew it ended. Perhaps it was the guilt - over Luke, or over his neglect of his wife - he did not know. But it was all bubbling at the surface now, and he was much more open and vulnerable than he’d ever been.

He bent his head down, his eye locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze seemed to drown out the room, focusing solely on her. He could see the concern, the worry etched in her features, and it tore at him. He couldn't tell her, not yet. Not about the blood on his hands, the life he had taken, not why he was here and what he’d wanted.

But he could let her consume him, to forget. He could lose himself in her.

He felt the warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves against him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to forget the horrors of the night. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, memorizing every curve, every angle. Her skin was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, damp leathers clinging to him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Her eyes searched his, looking for answers he couldn't give. Despite her confusion, the turmoil in his mind quieted, replaced by the steady, reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat. She was his anchor, his solace, and he clung to her like a lifeline in the storm.

Wordlessly, he moved back enough to get a good look at her, his eyes tracing her form with a reverence that made her pulse quicken. He then slowly untied the front of her robe, the silk falling away with a whisper. His hands fell to her shoulders, pausing there for a moment as he sighed. As he pushed the sleeves down, his hands traced the newly revealed skin - his fingers glided from her collarbone to her shoulders, down her arms, and finally to her fingers, which he intertwined with his own. The robe slipped to the floor, leaving her in a thin shift that clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

His eyes remained locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate need to be anchored by her presence. He took her trembling hands and placed them on his damp leathers, his touch firm but gentle, giving her silent permission—no, a quiet command—to undress him. His breath hitched slightly as he waited for her to take the lead.

She moved slowly, her fingers deftly working the buckles and straps, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he stood before her in only his trousers. Her hands hover over his chest, her touch hesitant, almost afraid, as if she's not sure she's allowed to touch him. His skin was warm under her fingertips, his heart pounding just beneath the surface.

His hands covered hers, guiding them lower, to the waistband of his trousers. His touch was both a plea and a command, silently asking, demanding, begging her to take this final barrier away. She did, her movements slow and deliberate, until he stood bare before her, exposed in every sense of the word.

She did not dare try to take off his eyepatch, not this time.

He watched her intently, noting every flinch, every gasp, every shiver that runs through her. His fingers traced delicate patterns on her skin, exploring every inch with a tenderness that speaks of his desperation for her. He needed this moment, her touch, to forget what he'd done to Luke, to drown the guilt that threatened to consume him. Every breath he took was a reminder of his failures, every brush of her skin against his a lifeline that pulled him back from the proverbial edge.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder - not her lips, he had not kissed her on the lips since their wedding ceremony. His hands roamed her body, mapped out the places that made her gasp, the spots that made her arch into him. He was attuned to her every reaction, his focus entirely on her.

All he asked for in return - with no words - is that she make him feel safe for this one night.

With his body bare and hers still clad in her shift, he silently gestured to her bed with a tilt of his head. She moved toward it, her movements graceful yet hesitant, and then crawled to the back, letting her spine rest against the headboard. He stood there for a moment, watching her, his breath uneven and his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

He did not miss the way she looked at him. Desire flickered in her eyes, growing with each second her gaze roved over his body. Her eyes widened when they settled on his manhood, and he could see the anticipation building within her. She expected him to take her tonight, he knew. He hadn't given any indication otherwise in the last few moments, and she had no clue what he actually wanted; or why.

Would she welcome him to her bed if she knew he was a kinslayer?

The thought gnawed at him, but he chose not to tell her. She might not offer her true acceptance, but he would take her false comfort tonight – even if she thought it true.

He moved to the side of the bed with all his characteristic grace. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. When he lifted his knee to place it on the plush mattress, she shifted to make space for him. He laid down beside her, his movements deliberate and slow, as if fearing she might vanish if he was too hasty. She mirrored his actions, and soon they were facing each other, their warm breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Their eyes locked, and he saw her questioning gaze. Her next words, soft and tentative, knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Are you alright?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the worry etched in the lines of her face, the softness of her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she waited for his response.

"I will be," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

Tentatively, he placed his hand on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shift. He slid the material up, his fingers tracing the smooth expanse of her leg. 

"Gevie.” [Beautiful.]

His fingers continued their journey, moving to her inner thigh. Her legs shivered at his touch, and he smirked for a moment before he withdrew his hand and moved closer. Their bodies were now a hairsbreadth apart, the heat between them palpable. 

His hands moved to her breasts, feeling their fullness beneath her shift. He was acutely aware of every breath she took, every flinch and gasp that escaped her lips. Each reaction to his touch drew him further into the present moment, away from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. Her body was a haven, a sanctuary where he could lose himself, if only for a while.

Encouraged by her soft gasps, he continued to knead the mounds of flesh and pinch her pert nipples, his touch gentle yet insistent through the shift. Lowering his head, he nestled himself at her bosom, inhaling deeply. The scent of lilacs and milk overtook him, and he let out a contented sigh.

"You are a mother... the mother of my heir," he murmured into her chest, his voice a mix of reverence and disbelief.

She said nothing, but when her initial shock faded, she began to comb her fingers through his soft hair, humming the same song she sang to their son to sleep. The melody was soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. He didn't know if her singing was to calm him or herself, but he found solace in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took.

He took in the way her body trembled slightly beneath him, the softness of her skin, the rhythmic beating of her heart against his cheek. This was not the harsh, immediate and uncertain release he sought at the whorehouse. 

This was more, more, more.

Sleep came to him easily in her arms, draped in her comfort; devoid of any nightmares, dreams, or heavy thoughts. 

If she wondered why he'd simply laid with her rather than fuck her, she did not ask.

Would she welcome him again when she finds out what he did?

The council branded him a kinslayer when he told them what he'd done. He embraced it, staring into their eyes, defiant and unyielding. He told them he did it on purpose, each word a dagger thrown with precision. Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

Aegon patted his back, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "A job well done, drawing first blood in the King's name," he said, his voice a blend of admiration and malice. His grandfather's face remained a mask, revealing nothing. Criston was disappointed, his disapproval a heavy weight in the room. And his mother... 

His mother was disgusted, her eyes filled with a sorrow he had never seen before. When he stepped out and walked through the corridors, the word had spread like wildfire. 

Kinslayer. 

The whispers followed him like a relentless shadow. Servants and maids stepped out of his way, their gazes avoiding his. The tension was palpable, a living thing that tightened the air around him. He wanted to escape them all, to flee to the skies where their judgment could not reach him. But before then, he wanted to see them.

He stood near the doorway as she had a few days prior, watching her rock their fitful, sick son to sleep. Her movements were gentle, contrasting all the shock, anger and brashness he’d seen since he stepped out of her room before she awoke. He wanted her to look at him, to see beyond the blood and the sin. He was asking too much of her, he knew that. They were strangers bound by duty, their recent shared moments brief and fraught with his own selfish needs for comfort.

His heart pounded as she finally met his gaze. He was not prepared for the slight fear in her eyes. It cut through him deeper than any sword ever could. She looked at him as if he were a creature she could not recognize. 

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed in his mind, a relentless chant that drowned out everything else. He took a step forward, his hands trembling. "I—" he began, but the words died in his throat. What could he say? How could he explain the unexplainable, justify the unforgivable? She held their son closer, her grip tightening protectively. The room was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what he had done and what it meant for them. His mind raced, filled with a cacophony of anger, regret, and despair.

The need to escape surged within him again. He wanted to flee to the skies, to find solace in the cold, indifferent clouds. But he couldn't move, couldn't tear his gaze away from the image of her fear-stricken eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

With a heavy heart and a mind in turmoil, he turned and walked back into the shadowed corridors, each step echoing the relentless chant of his new title.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed through the empty halls, a reminder of the path he had chosen and the price he would pay.

If he’d told her last night as he laid in her arms, would she have understood?

He’d never know.

NEXT

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[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: dress for the occasion

everyone is always mentioning to dress like your venus sign. recently, i have seen a lot of tiktoks where people are like dress like your crush/boyfriend's venus sign to look like his dream girl. and i was like what about dressing for the occasion? which brought me here! grab your venus persona and take a look at the houses.

5h - prom, dances, dates, and clubs

5h cancer (4°, 16°, 28°) and/or 5h moon: elegance is key. you might be drawn to long, flowy gowns with shimmery fabric. something light but glowy! often the fabric is dark (black or midnight blue) or slivery/white. a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder cut tends to look beautiful on these people. often you are drawn to semi-sheer fabric as it adds some mystique to your appearance.

5h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 5h venus: light pastels or ivory are likely to grab your attention but a plain white or black dress is likely to give you that elegant/timeless look that you want most in pictures to remember your day (otherwise, you might take pictures in a colored dress and turn on a black and white filter). you want the wow factor! so a-line, a ball gown, or fit-flare dresses might be your go to look. a floor length dress is likely a must for you. silk, satin, chiffon, and/or organza are likely on the tags of these dresses even if you don't know what these materials are by the naked eye. dresses with a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder sleeves are likely to make you feel elegant. you may like very simple accessories - plain earrings, a dainty bracelet, small pendant necklace, classic heels, etc. a v-neckline, bateau, or strapless design is likely to fit your elegance same could be said about a low back dress.

5h aquarius (11°, 23°) and/or 5h uranus: you are likely to be drawn to the blue family (sky, sea, ocean, water, turquoise, etc.). iridescence/holographic/shimmery material might draw your attention in a store. you often go for something very atypical in the store (might be from seasons ago - its likely the last of its kind). something a-line, flowy, and/or high-to-low might be of interest to you - the cuts of a dress bring interest to your favorite parts of yourself (example, maybe its a two piece dress). something high neck or off the shoulder is likely of interest to you as well. a loose braid and/or waves might be all you need to finish out your look.

7h - wedding attire

7h aries (1°, 13°, 25°) and/or 7h mars: as a bride you should be wearing pure white. nudes or off-whites aren't likely to hold your attention anyway. grab the pure stark white. it is likely that reds are going to be an accent of this wedding - roses, nail, polish, bridesmaid dresses, etc. but if you aren't in the wedding party, go for the red whether its a fiery red or a deep burgundy, its the way to go! no matter if you are the bride, the guest, or a member of the wedding party - you should opt for a fit flare dress or mermaid silhouette. or be really dramatic and go for a deep slit, a plunge neckline, or something backless! the devil is in the details too so things like careful beading, sequins, or embroidery should be something critical to your look (if not the fit and/or the drama). alternatively, minimalism/modernism might be something you enjoy for your look.

7h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) and/or 7h mercury: as a bride, you might lean towards ivory or whites with an undertone of some color (like a blush). you don't tend to go for the traditional white color, in my experience. if you are a guest or in the wedding party it is likely you will find yourself in soft pastel colors! movement is of the utmost importance to you so opt for a-line or flowy gown. you might also enjoy wearing things that are asymmetrical - the hemline might be high to low or you might like the one shoulder strap design. these people also like details in their dresses whether it is lace, embroidery, beading, ruffles, tiered skirts, or glitter - the options are endless. chiffon, tulle, or organza might be the fabrics for you because they are light and breathable.

6h - everyday clothes and workwear

6h pisces (12°, 24°) and/or 6h neptune: soft fabrics like cotton, silk, or jersey in gentle, soothing colors such as ocean blues, seafoam greens, lavender, and soft pinks. loose, flowing clothes like maxi skirts, wrap dresses, or wide-legged pants that move gracefully. style would likely be bohemian and free-spirited, incorporating layers, delicate patterns, or subtle prints (florals, paisley, etc.). clothes would be cozy and easy to wear—think oversized sweaters, soft cardigans, and flowy blouses. might like jewelry that is delicate, handmade, seashells, pearls, and/or celestial themed.

6h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 6h venus: these people have a natural sense of style and an appreciation for their appearance. outfits would likely be classic, well-tailored pieces in soft, neutral tones like blush pink, dove gray, cream, and pastel blues. the fabrics would be light and luxurious - like silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, or satin skirts. well-fitted blazers, A-line skirts, and or high-waisted trousers make them look polished and graceful. they effortlessly blend comfort with sophistication. everything else is minimal yet thoughtfully chosen - delicate gold or silver jewelry, a stylish handbag, etc.

9h - graduation and religious events

9h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or 9h venus: elegance, luxury, and comfort ("it has pockets too!"). a sleek, well-structured dress in an earthy tones like emerald green, soft brown, or blush pink. the fabric might be luxurious, like silk, satin, or velvet. a silhouette would likely be timeless and flattering - a wrap dress or an A-line dress that cinches at the waist, emphasizing femininity and grace is well suited for this placement. delicate embroidery or subtle jewelry accents. understated but beautiful accessories, like a simple gold necklace or pearl earrings.

9h leo (5°, 17°, 29°) and/or 9h sun: bold, glamorous, and attention grabbing. vibrant colors like gold, fiery red, or royal purple. the fabric might be something that shimmers or catches the light, such as sequined, satin, or metallic materials. a silhouette could be daring and statement-making, like a fitted flair dress, a high-low hemline, or an off-the-shoulder design. ruffles, a thigh-high slit, or an open back, ensures all eyes are on them. accessories would be bold—think large, sparkling earrings, a dramatic statement necklace, etc. yes, realize what my sub-header is for this section.

9h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter: it's never just one graduation or church event and thus never just one dress/opportunity. the dresses would likely have a regal, flowing quality to it. jewel tones like deep sapphire, royal blue, or amethyst. flowy, A-line, and/or empire waisted dresses that gives a sense of movement. fabric might be lightweight and ethereal, like chiffon, tulle, or silk. intricate embroidery, beading, etc. accessories would be tasteful but luxurious, like a delicate gold bracelet or a jeweled hairpiece.

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[taylorswiftstyle]

The Eras Tour | The Tortured Poets Department section | Version 1

Vivienne Westwood custom

For my own predictions post guessing at tour designers for The Tortured Poets Department set on the Eras Tour I noted: “When it comes to designers, I feel Vivienne Westwood would excel at this assignment.” The theatricality, the dramatics, the corsetry, the Britishness of it all (that cavalry / Black Parade moment). It’s the perfect style match and I’m so happy that Taylor and team fully hit the nail on the head when it came to selecting the right design partner for this moment.

The white colour of the gown ties into the established colour-leached palette of #TTPD while also adding to line of similar white gowns she wore for the 2024 Grammys announcing the album and in the album’s lead single music video “Fortnight”. There’s of course the wedding gown comparison, particularly for the way the skirt seems to mimic the gathers of a bride making a harried exit after being left at the altar. The way her lyrics are scrawled all over the garment also seems to combine Taylor’s emotive vulnerability in wearing her heart on her sleeve (and centering the ownership of her work) while also reading a little like the scribbling psychosis from The Shining when a single phrase was repeated in a typewritten manuscript. A part of me wonders if there will be additional variants of this skirt with other TTPD lyrics as we saw on the backs of the different album variants and Taylor’s grief playlist titles.

It also feels notable to me that this is an area in Taylor’s costuming that is absent of her signature sparkle. Sequins aren’t just a glittery aesthetic that Taylor loves to wear, but they also serve a function for stage to draw eyes to a performer and catch the light. In the same way she’s said that she can show us lies when “the lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night” in bravely going on stage every weekend amidst trying to heal a broken heart I also think there was a lot of catharsis and healing in performing these songs, her proudly owned body of work, for tens of thousands every weekend.

Photos by Kevin Mazur/TAS24 via Getty Images

[jazajas]

i was doodling at work last night some designs for wedding dresses and decided to try my hand at drawing it digitally, so here is a the ceremony dress idea

i also was trying to figure out some things with Krita, so it was a two in one drawing day

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (1/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, hate sex, sex content, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. This story is an Anon Request, sorry it took me so long. I know anon wanted it to be a softer and sweeter story, but it didn't fit Aemond's character and what I think would be going on in his head. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of humiliation, violence and chauvinism. ]

Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight Epilogue

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

My other works: Masterlist

______

He thought the greatest humiliation of his life was behind him when he lost an eye, when his brother and nephews gave him a pig instead of a dragon. He thought that now that he was a man, rider of the greatest dragon walking the earth, he would finally get everything he deserved − a wife from a dignified, respected House, and with her an offspring, his inheritance, an extension of his lineage.

He could not hide his expression of disappointment, disgust and bitterness when his mother informed him that instead of one of Lord Baratheon's daughters he would be marrying Lord Arryn's niece − his grandfather, intent on strengthening his brother's position on the throne felt that depriving Rheanyra of the support of the Eyrie, her mother's kin, would greatly weaken her in the ongoing war.

He would have endured this change without a word were it not for one thing.

The woman was a fucking widow.

Already intimate with another man who had taken her maidenhood, she was worn, marked, like an overbitten apple that now someone had to eat to the end to keep it from rotting.

He imagined in the back of his mind how the court, which both feared and mocked him, would spread rumours that the One-Eyed Prince was not only crippled but must marry a woman devoid of value and her greatest virtue, for no other lady would agree to be his wife.

However, he knew what duty was and intended to fulfil it.

Despite his mother's suggestion, he did not want to see her before the nuptial day. He felt that he did not want to further exacerbate her bad enough appearance in his eyes; he feared that she was not only worthless but plain ugly, her mind empty and shallow.

Although the nuptials were to take place in the noble family, knowing that this would not be her first wedding it was decided that the whole ceremony would be modest, only the most loyal lords and relatives who supported their cause were invited.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror in shame and disgust, at his emerald tunic adorned with golden threads swirling in embroidery reminiscent of dragon's heads, he thought it seemed too refined for such an occasion, for such a woman who could offer him nothing.

He knew that there was no fault of hers in her husband's sudden passing from this world, that it was pure politics, but he could not help thinking that it would have been better if she had died with him.

Waiting for her in the Great Sept, he felt nothing − he had not even bestowed a single glance on her when he heard the sound of trumpets, indicating that she and her father had entered the temple and were heading towards him.

As he felt her presence beside him he immediately noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was dressed in a blue gown, flowers of the same colour in her hair − curiosity forced him to at least glance at her and he swallowed loudly as his gaze met her violet eyes.

The colour of the Targaryens.

He froze, feeling his heart suddenly begin to beat faster, unable to look away from her irises, from her long, dark lashes and eyebrows surrounding her eyes like a sky surrounding the sun − unintentionally his gaze studied quickly her entire silhouette and face.

He swallowed with difficulty, turning his head away, realising that her figure was pleasingly girlish, she was young, too young in his eyes to be a widow − her dark hair was tied back, myosotis tucked into her curls at the sides of her head, her gown made of some thin, smooth, shiny material shimmering blue and purple at the same time.

He couldn't focus on what the Septon was saying; he only glanced at her again when Daeron handed him the cloak with which he was to cover her − her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows arched in sorrow as if she was in pain, her eyes gleaming, slightly reddened, as if she was barely holding back tears.

He felt like asking if she was so disgusted with him, but no sound came out of his mouth.

With a stony face expressing indifference, he threw his cloak embroidered with a three-headed red dragon over her back and then took her hand in his, small and surprisingly smooth.

She didn't look at him when, in a trembling, soft voice, she repeated the words of her vows with him. He tried to remember her doing it for the second time in her life, that she was someone else's, warming someone else's bed, but he couldn't.

She seemed so innocent.

They hadn't exchanged a word during the wedding feast; he watched from the corner of his eye her demeanour, her face − she seemed to him absent, sad, ashamed.

He thought with a squeeze in his throat, filled with jealousy and envy, that she was a beautiful young woman, and someone had her before him.

He took a loud, impatient sip of wine from his cup, its tart, slightly sweet aftertaste spilling over his tongue, dulling his mind.

He felt like his head was going to burst.

They both tried to put it off for as long as they could, however, eventually his mother suggested that his spouse was surely tired and should retire to bed.

He pressed his lips together at her words, rising silently, looking at this strange, frightened girl out of the corner of his eye, her face turned towards him, her eyes open wide in terror.

"Come, wife." He hummed coldly, without emotion and heard her swallow hard − she followed him quietly as he left the hall, heading down the dark torch-lit corridors to his chamber.

He watched indifferently as her servants helped her undress from her beautiful gown, slowly untangling the curls of her hair, one of them wanted to remove the flowers from them, but he protested.

"No. The flowers are to stay. Let at least some semblance of innocence and purity remain." He sneered, saw that the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyebrows arched in pained humiliation.

He cocked his head, intrigued that she endured his words and what was happening with such humility.

He thought that if she behaved like this, perhaps he would take pity on her and actually put his child inside her, so that she could somehow regain her dignity, to be the mother of his heir.

"That's enough." He said at last, when she was left only in her nightgown, from under which he could see the outline of the pleasing shapes of her womanly body, waiting patiently until they were left alone.

She was looking somewhere far away, sad, tired, humiliated, her face, although pale, as if filled with mourning, was smooth and pleasant, the shade of her eyes seemed to him more blue in the firelight.

Proof that they shared ancestors, a common heritage.

For some reason he felt some kind of affection for her at the thought.

He got up from his seat with a loud creak of wood, walking with a slow, lazy step towards her − he saw that she twitched but did not look at him, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her nervousness.

He walked around her, looking at her as if she were an object, assessing her figure, the shade of her hair, the shape of her face from every angle. She swallowed quietly and lifted her chin, looking at him with some kind of challenge, a decision that she would accept what was about to happen and give him no reason to mock her.

He hummed at the thought, stepping behind her, feeling her flinch all over as she felt his large hands touch her waist and then slide lower, to her womb − he felt surprised, licking his lips with his tongue, that his manhood swelled hard in his breeches when, in some sudden, involuntary reflex, her small hands grabbed his wrists, yet not stopping his movements, just trying to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening.

She let the air out of her lungs nervously, closing her eyes for a moment as his nose sank into her sweet-smelling, smooth hair, his hands stroking her lower abdomen trailing over it in tender, slow movements as if he imagined she was already carrying his child, his reason for being proud and pleased with her.

"This poor man, whose name I can't even remember, died without an heir. Why?" He whispered in her ear, a note of menace in his voice, his fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown and her stomach, forcing her to take a step back, bumping into his throbbing manhood pushing against her buttocks. He heard her gasp softly, swallowing loudly, her body quivering in his embrace.

"The will of the Gods." She replied softly, her voice melodious, warm, pleasant to his ear. He hummed again, acknowledging her answer, his hands again beginning to stroke her womb in an unhurried, tender gesture.

"Why would I need a wife who won't give me an inheritance? Hm?" He asked in a tone as if he was curious and intrigued − he felt her whole body tense up in fear knowing that he was mocking her.

She drew in air loudly, suddenly tightening her fingers on his arm as his hand slid lower, between her thighs, the tips of his fingers began to brush her there with calm, steady strokes.

His free hand rose higher, to her neck, tightening around it warningly when he felt her buttocks begin to rub against his length, feeling a pleasant wave of heat surge through his spine and lower abdomen. He looked down at his fingers between her thighs, even through the material feeling the moisture leaking through it.

"A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse." She cooed softly, responding with a rocking of her hips to the touch of his fingers. He involuntarily chuckled at her words, charmed that she understood exactly his approach, that her mind was not obscured by bottomless female fantasies, but stood in reality.

"Why would I need a chipped sword, an empty book, or a blind horse?" He asked lowly, his hand from her neck moved higher − his fingers cupped her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head towards him, to look at him, her violet eyes misty, bright, beautiful.

She smiled and giggled softly, startling him completely, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"It's amusing to hear you speak about blindness, husband. I hope the lack of your eye doesn't bother you anymore." She whispered with a satisfaction that made him snort in fury − she squealed quietly and closed her eyes as his fingers dug into her cheeks and shook her, as if he wanted her to come to her senses and remember who she was standing in front of.

"You are nothing, whore. Do you understand? Nothing. A worn-out cup to be filled with seed. I don't have an eye, but I do have a fucking dignity that my mother deprived me of by forcing me to marry a creature like you." He hissed, shaking her head violently once in a while, wanting it to get into her little empty head what he had just said.

She looked at him with hatred, her gaze seeming darker, more dangerous to him, her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click of her saliva as she whispered a single word in his direction.

"Pathetic."

He didn't even know when his hand tightened in her hair, slamming her head against the table that stood in front of them forcing her to lean forward with a violent gesture − she squirmed loudly and cried out, clenching her fingers on the tabletop as she tried to catch her balance − he kicked her ankle with his foot forcing her to spread her thighs wider.

"You like it rough, hm? You find yourself better at being a whore than a wife? Very well then." He growled, his free hand undoing the buckles of his tunic, untying his breeches quickly, releasing his throbbing erection, giving it a few sure squeezes at the base, for some reason what was happening, their quick, rapturous breaths aroused him even more.

"Fucking male pride. Take what you want, you won't break me." She hissed with such hateful envy that he chuckled out loud, somehow impressed by how brazen she was.

"There's a little dragon burning inside you, isn't it? We shall see. I'm a man full of patience." He sneered, lifting her nightgown up in an impatient motion, exposing what was between her thighs, her rosy, puffy folds glistening with her moisture.

She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the sound of discomfort as he pushed against her, forcing the fat, pink head of his cock between her tight walls. He sighed heavily, feeling how wonderfully she clenched around him on all sides, hot and surprisingly soft.

"− fuck −" He gasped out, spreading her thighs wider with his leg − she cried out loudly as he sank all the way into her with one sure thrust, her fleshy muscles throbbing againt him in panic.

They both began panting loudly as, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he began to pound into her with the impatient, aggressive stabs of his hips.

"− fucking whore −" He growled angrily, clamping his hand painfully tight on her hair, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan as he suddenly quickened his pace, looking down, feeling a wonderful thrill of elation at the sight of his manhood opening her slick folds wide again and again with deep, brutal thrusts of his hips.

"− bastard −" She cried out, responding however to the pushes of his hips with a fierceness from which his voice stuck in his throat. He was no longer sure, groaning low with pleasure, feeling the way her walls squeezed him wonderfully, sucking him inside, whether what they were saying was true or just a test of strength and dominance, an attempt to establish who would have the last word.

"− shut the fuck up − to think you still have the strength to babble − shall I put it in your mouth so you'll finally be quiet? −" He snorted through clenched teeth, gripping his free hand over the soft, smooth skin of her firm buttocks, slamming into her like mad.

It seemed to him that they were both moaning and panting too loudly, as if they were in some kind of frenzy, his thighs slapping against her bare skin with a sticky smack again and again, barely sliding out of her.

"− fuck − o-oh fuck, stop −" He gasped out as he felt her muscles suddenly clench greedily against his manhood at his words, intensifying his sensations. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he heard sweet, loud moans of fulfillment begin to erupt from her throat, her body trembling all over − she whimpered when he didn't slow down, chasing his own fulfilment.

"− I know − fuck, just a moment longer − shhh −" He hushed her and groaned low, sighing in relief when he felt that wonderful, relaxing feeling, bliss in his mind and whole body, delight as his seed spilled deep inside her, right where it belonged.

His hips rocked inside her a moment longer with her mumble of displeasure, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged, her fingers trailing over the table top as if she couldn't calm down.

"− it's alright − easy − it's alright −" He whispered, panting heavily, stroking her soft hair with slow, tender gesture, her eyebrows arched in pain as she wept loudly, tears one after another began to run down her face.

He wasn't sure if she was crying from relief that she had it behind her or from grief that she had to go through this again.

"− I know − I know −" He hummed, running his fingers over her smooth, dark curls, for some reason feeling the need to reassure her, fulfilled and content after what had happened between them, his half-soft manhood still twitching deep inside her, all slick from their shared moisture.

"− I don't blame you, wife − that man was weak, as was his seed − you will soon bear me a son −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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

[adore-laur]

the girls asking Harry & their mom how they fell in love ?

——

With bath time for the kids done and dusted, you fall onto the couch like a rag doll with your eldest daughter in your arms wearing a fluffy white robe. She's about to get the princess treatment—her favorite thing is when you comb through her curls with apple-scented detangling spray. Harry holds your youngest and rhythmically walks around the living room to make her sleepy. She's in her zip-up pajamas, and she smells like fresh lavender. Her eyes are not yet closed, but Harry knows what tricks to use. Before long, she'll drift off and be transferred to her crib, all clean and fed.

As you yawn, the little arm tucked in your embrace wiggles free. It'll take significantly longer for her to become sleepy, but you're hoping some snuggles and soothing hair brushing under the dim lights will speed up the process.

She points aimlessly toward the fireplace, yet her eyes track above it. The artificial plant? The pillar candle? The row of picture frames?

"What, baby?" you ask, kissing her damp curls while readying the comb and spray.

"Pretty dress," she says, aiming her finger more precisely. You follow it and smile sweetly. On the mantel shelf, there’s a photograph in an elegant gold frame. It has been proudly displayed there for nearly five years as a keepsake from one of the most euphoric days of your life. It's an eight-by-ten photo of you and Harry after your marriage ceremony, sitting in the sleek black limousine that chauffeured you both to the reception venue. Through the open window, the hired photographer captured the moment Harry tried to unclip your lace bridal veil. Your legs, covered by the lush and heavy silhouette of your gown, were thrown over his lap even when there was plenty of space to spread out.

The reason that particular photo is the chosen one for the living room is because of how you and Harry are looking at each other in it. His fingers, one in particular the forever home of a gold wedding band, were tangled in your intricately styled hair, working to unclasp the many pins lost in the strands. But his eyes were feasting on you—captivated, ecstatic, and soaking you in like you were the only thing that existed. His smile was the brightest part of the photo. He was mid-laugh, with his dimples deep, nose scrunched, and cheeks pushed up so that crinkles formed near his eyes. You can hardly remember what he was laughing at. He was giddier than a kid in a candy store, with unrestrained hands and excitement. He never did end up successfully removing your veil. His mother later helped him out, and it's now packed away in a storage box in the back of your closet.

Your expression in the photo is quite similar to his—irrepressible joy mixed with fierce love for your better half. The high resolution captured the residual tears in your eyes, which were caused by the overwhelming emotions from when you greeted family and friends after the ceremony concluded. It was a gorgeous, sunny day. The afternoon sunshine poured into the limousine and accentuated the details of your exquisite gown and Harry's traditional tuxedo. You parsed through countless photos after the honeymoon, and Harry agreed that this one encapsulated the intimate love you shared with each other the best. It always brought you back to that day and that indescribable feeling. It still makes your heart pound. You would marry him a million times over just to cherish every single second again.

When you and Harry started a family together, the mantle shelf was filled with more precious photographs over the years. Now, with two children, anniversary milestones, and vacation memories under your belt, it's a beautiful display of the life you built and experienced with Harry. It's a reminder of what life is all about.

"That's mommy's wedding dress," you say proudly, beginning to comb through her hair. Harry stops his laps around the rug and stares at the picture too.

"You wore it when you met Daddy?" she replies, a cute sense of curiosity quieting her voice.

You laugh and catch Harry's gaze just as a crooked smile breaks loose on his lips. "No, I wore it when I married him."

"Oh. What did you wear when you met Daddy?"

"Gosh, I don't think I even remember," you say, searching your brain for that night at the dive bar. It was a late-night encounter, and you were tipsy.

Harry, still staring at the wedding photo, says, "An open-back dress. Black, long, and form-fitting." He shakes his head, lost in thought. "Effortlessly gorgeous."

"How in the world do you remember that?" you ask, a blush crawling up your neck.

"The disco lights were dancing across your bare back." He shrugs, like the memory is permanently stamped inside his brain. "I'll never forget that sight."

"It was a funeral dress?" your daughter asks, piecing together the visual her father verbally painted.

"Definitely not," Harry says, sending a secret smirk your way.

"Where did you see mommy in the black dress?" She lets you move her head around as you spritz her hair with the detangling spray.

"We were at the same... restaurant," you say slowly, careful not to mention bars around her. Better to keep her innocence alive as long as possible.

"What did you eat?"

"We didn't eat," you reply. "We had strawberry and lemon drinks." You intentionally leave out the infused with alcohol part.

"What did Daddy say?"

You smile, loving her endless questions. "He asked me questions about myself. Made me feel comfortable and special. Unfortunately, our conversation didn't last very long. Mommy was tired and had to go home."

"And Daddy thought he was never going to see her again," Harry added theatrically. "He was really bummed out about it, but by some magical force, he crossed paths with her a month later."

"Magic?" Your daughter whispers the childlike word, her eyes wide with interest.

"It sure seemed like it," Harry says, gently sitting beside you so as not to wake the baby. He looks at you, and somehow, his eyes transport you right back to the start of it all. "Took us three tries to finally get things right."

You lean forward to kiss him tenderly. "Look at us now."

He reciprocates the kiss—his is a bit more urgent and sentimental. He then admires his daughters, both on the verge of sleep, and rubs his palm over where his heart is. "Thank you for choosing me, baby," he says to you. There seems to be emotion lodging in his throat, but he clears it away and breathes in deeply. "I'm yours every day. And I love you for infinite reasons, but growing our little family has the number one spot in my heart."

You toss the comb aside and hug him, your daughters cocooned by two souls that somehow found each other more than once. By magic, fate, or simply coincidence, you truly lucked out.

——

[greedyhoneyz]

On Bended Knee

ೃ࿔*:･pairing: bruce wayne x reader

.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: upon newly blossomed wings comes the season of spring, freed at last as wedding bells ring.

.ೃ࿔*:･cw: none.

.ೃ࿔*:･authors notes: this is a modern take on bruce. like i imagine him being a major socialite (like jfk jr) in the late 90s/00s (him being so closed off from the media) and his kids (nepo babies) when they are older use social media and show off their parents for people who are curious about what bruce’s been up after his parents murder. ….or it can be hella modern like battinson or something idk 🤷🏾‍♀️

When the first day of spring bloomed, buds sprouted from beneath ageing trees and flowers sang hymns of spring’s deep soul and blessed the warm air.

April 15th. The early morning sun had peeked over the courtyard, and a pleasant breeze from the north rustled through, cooling the guests and family members as they waited in their seats, across from the walk leading to the pavilion. Flowers and white streamers decorated the bannisters, a ceremonial mixture of whites and champagne pinks.

Sweet strains of classical music fluttered through the air, tuning out the occasional conversation as the groom wadded through feelings of nausea and discomfort. He swayed on the heels of his dress shoes, his arms tightly glued to his back and nipped at his bottom lip. His careful eyes dressed the courtyard, scouring across the row of friends, family and his groomsmen before he squinted at the grand doors latched above.

The groom heaved, shifting anxiously on the heels of his feet, and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt for the fifth time that hour. He bit his lip, eyed the backyard door from afar, and mumbled a few words of prayer, interlocking his fingers together and peering up at the sky.

The bridal chorus, a vivid and light piece, began to play from the orchestra as the grand doors flew open, a wash of petals fluttering out into the air.

One by one, in a synchronised fashion, the bridal procession descended from the mansion steps towards the aisle. Flower girls, dressed in the sweetest whites, showered pink roses across the aisle as the bridesmaids, dressed in blush gowns veiled the accession of the bride with gleeful smiles.

The bride, arm in arm with her father, bared herself from behind the procession and merrily ascended across the aisle. Her gown, a princess-cut bodice encrusted with heavily laced beadwork, layered with a soft skirt flared below her veil, floating along as she waltzed, in her hands a bouquet of Stephanotis’.

She was magnificent, beguiling and alluring. All were words that floated through the depths of the groom’s head as he stood with bated breaths, gazing at her with a heavy heart and glassy eyes.

As they drew closer, the groom slowly stepped down from the pavilion and extended his arm to unravel the chain between father and daughter once the pair came to the end of the aisle. He peered at his bride with pride riddled through his eyes as her father turned and placed a longing kiss on the side of her head. He loosened her arm from around his and raised it. He set her hand in the groom’s and slowly retreated into the audience, watching with dread and contentment as the groom carefully guided her up into the pavilion.

The bridal tune faded, and the pastor stepped up to the microphone, Bible in hand. He smiled at the assembly of family and close friends and began. "Cherished family and honoured guests, I would like to thank all for coming out on this glorious day,"

The sound of his polished voice carried well from the speakers on either side of the pavilion as the pastor opened the Bible before him. "Let us begin by offering thanks to the Lord." The procession bowed their heads and the pastor began his prayer.

The groom’s eyes softened at the sight of the swooning silhouette of his bride. His bride gleamed, in awe at the pure poetry pooled within his eyes and replied with a flustered smile shadowed from beneath her veil, before fluttering her eyes shut.

“Dear Lord…”

Once the prayer had concluded, the pastor led the bride and groom through their vows. Their vows to each other expressed their tenderness and devotion to one another. And when it ended, their rings were exchanged.

Scampering across the aisle, the bride’s nephew dressed in a blue tuxedo waddled up the stairs, a pillow nestled between his tiny fingers and hurriedly handed the groom the rings before scampering off to his mother who waited expectantly at the bottom of the stairs.

With an enamoured smile across his face, the pastor turned to the groom and began. “Do you, Bruce Thomas Wayne take….as your lawfully wedded wife?”

Bruce gaped at the woman in front of him. Though her beauty was sheltered behind her veil and the glaring sunlight, he still caught a glimpse of the bashful smile that lingered on her face. “…I do.”

Twirling the ring between his fingers, Bruce grinned at his bride. He held her smooth hand, scoring his thumb across her skin and gently slid the ring onto her finger till it rested by her knuckles.

The pastor smiled and turned to the bride. “Do you…..take Bruce Thomas Wayne as your lawfully wedded husband?”

(name) giggled, flustered at Bruce’s bright stare and nodded. “I do.”

She took the ring resting in her palm and slid it onto his finger.

"By the power vested upon me, I now declare you, husband and wife." The pastor held up his hands, bringing the crowd to their feet.

"You may now kiss your bride."

Lifting her veil, Bruce gently draped the white fabric behind her head, letting it fall across her back and stared at his wife.

As their eyes met, the world seemed to fade away, the world around them forgotten. She felt his hand tenderly touch her cheek, his fingers tracing a line down her jawline.

She beamed, tilting her head ever so slightly and fluttered her lashes, luring him in with a simple, feathered whisper.

He kissed her, soft and gentle, then with a growing intensity. Their kiss was full of tenderness and passion, a dance of two souls perfect in harmony.

His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close as they found themselves castaway, the world around them ceased to exist.

Their embrace lasted for what felt like an eternity, their lips parting only for brief moments for air. They explored each other's mouths with a gentle urgency, their tongues intertwining in a dance of passion and desire.

And as they finally broke free, they peered into each other's eyes with an inviting warmth. It was a moment that would be forever remembered, a moment of softness, tenderness, passion and pure exquisite love.

[targaryen-dynasty]

KINKTOBER SLEEPOVER.

No. 4 -> GIF.

Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Baratheon!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; p in v, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, praise kink, corrupting, forbidden love, slight size kink, READER HAS BLUE EYES AND BLACK HAIR (typical Baratheon traits)

WORDS: 1.7 K

NOTES: Another glorious request! Thank you tons @cryingforlife! 🫂

When House Baratheon came to the capital to celebrate the impending wedding of your older sister to the current prince regent, you had not expected to be called to the small council chamber around the hour of the wolf on the first night.

There not even had been time for you to change into one of your gowns, the black-golden robe you had fetched on your way out clearly serving to keep your appearance modest and partly appropriate. 

Your black curls had flown with each hurried step you took, and the servant had done nothing to inform you on why your presence was requested so urgently… and by whom. 

With the door closing behind you, there had been little to no light coming through to lighten the room, almost shrouding it in complete darkness safe for the several candles that illuminated the shapes of the table, the chairs and the silhouette of someone sitting in the king’s place at the head of the table. 

Despite your pleas of ‘we can not do this’, ‘we should not do this’ and ‘what if anyone sees us?’ Aemond was very adamant to have you sitting on the council table, the skirt of your white nightgown barely rucked up high enough for him to stand between your parted legs. 

“Let them see,” he growled in return, his lips pressing against your throat, slightly muffling his words. He pulled back enough to meet your blue eyes, and only then you noticed that he was not wearing his eye patch, the sapphire catching some of the light the candles granted. “Mayhaps then your father will realize that he should have given me your hand in marriage… not that of your dim-witted sister.” 

The gasp you released was loud, and you weren’t sure if it was because you felt offended by his words – were you really? – or because he had slid a hand between your legs and dragged his fingers over your clothed cunt.  

You were quick to seize his wrist, your eyes wide with shock. “I–I have never…” you stuttered, more afraid of the pain the act would bring than having your virtue taken by him. Aemond cocked his eyebrow at that, clearly amused by the meek attempt to stop him. “You really wish to deny your king what he desires?” 

Did you?

No. 

You vividly remember the anger you felt when you had heard your father denying his request to take your hand in marriage. It had happened not long before Lucerys Velaryon had sought out the Round Hall, the refusal most definitely adding to Aemond’s anger that had cost the life of his nephew. 

There was little you knew about the prince back then, yet you had felt drawn to him from the very beginning, and turned ireful at the disrespect of Maris asking if Lucerys had removed his stones as well as his eye. 

You docilely shook your head, which caused him to hum, pleased by your obedience. 

While Aemond leaned in to claim your lips in a heated kiss, his fingers pinched the linen of your smallclothes to tear them down your legs, and, with the air being sucked from your lungs by him, you barely even noticed – until the cold air hit your soaked core. 

You watched with wide eyes as Aemond sank to his knees, all shame and the fear of being caught vanishing straight away. There was nothing else than desire and lust filling your veins, especially with such an influential man kneeling between your legs.  

Bowing his head forward, he pressed a kiss to your cunt that had you drawing in a sharp breath, the heat flushing your skin. Out of instinct, you entangled one hand into his silver hair, whereas the other gripped the edge of the table, keeping you grounded. 

He used his tongue, dragging it through your folds, flicking it over your little bud and pushing it inside of your cunt. It didn’t take long for you to turn into a squirming mess, more so when his tongue was replaced by one finger, the whines you released melting into moans.  

But you quickly noticed that there was a certain urgency in him, seeming as if he needed something in particular – feeling his cock being embraced by your tight walls. 

When Aemond surfaced, his strong jaw and lips glistening with your arousal, you moaned yet again, eyes flickering between his and his lips with your mouth agape, not knowing where to settle. 

Now it was you initiating the kiss, your hands coming up to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, pulling him in with such force it had him grunting. As you got to taste yourself on his lips and tongue, you whimpered, merely pulling back when you felt him fiddling with something between your bodies. He was undoing the laces of his breeches to free his hard cock.

At the sight of it, you swallowed thickly, mumbling an ‘tis not going to fit’ which had Aemond scoffing. “I shall make it fit,” he said, flashing you a smirk that was nothing short of smug. 

His hard cock stood tall when he pushed his breeches and braies down, and the prince regent wasted no time in gripping your thighs to draw you even closer, your arse balancing on the table’s edge. 

You felt his hand grip your hip, followed by the pressure of the tip of his cock prodding your entrance. Even though you felt your cunt clench around nothing from the mere anticipation of finally getting to sheath him, you shut your eyes and took in a deep breath. It was tight at first, not to speak about the burning that came with it, but since you were wet enough, he slid right in. 

Your cunt choked his cock so tightly, he needed a few seconds to adjust, making him terribly aware that he was not going to last for too long. His cock twitched and throbbed with need, and he released a shuddered breath while you sighed in relief. 

“The pain will ease,” he rasped, trying to relax you, and it worked, urging you to open your eyes and melt into his touch. 

Aemond was generous enough to start with a slow, deep grinding that soon enough turned the stinging pain into pleasure, intensifying the pressure you felt in your stomach from the moment he had eased inside. 

“Gods be good,” you panted, bringing your hands up to grip his shoulders. 

Placing one hand on your chest, Aemond gently pushed you down on the table. It then traveled up to your throat, clasping around it. He didn’t mean to cut off your air, it solely rested there to pin you down as he increased the pace of his thrusts. His other hand grabbed yours, intertwining your fingers and planting it firmly on the wooden surface. 

You just stared at him in awe, lips still parted and eyes wide, while your body moved over the table with the force of his thrusts. “That’s it,” Aemond praised, an unusual softness to his voice. Your face turned red at that, only noticing how much you actually enjoyed it as a fresh wave of your arousal dripped out of your core and coated his length and the sac of his stones. 

And then it dawned him.

Aemond angled his hips and found the spot that caught the breath in your throat, your whines and whimpers turning into wanton moans. “Such a good girl,” he rasped. “You are taking me so well.”

The moan you released was the epitome of lewd, and it was a sight to behold as you arched your back with the sound leaving your lips. 

“Fuck,” Aemond breathed, your cunt tightening around him in a way that was sure to milk him for his spend. “You were made for me,” he rambled, “you were made to fit my cock in this sweet cunt of yours.”

Your throat was released with him bracing his hand on the table right next to your head, supporting his weight as his thrusts grew harsher and determined, repeatedly brushing the spot that had you seeing stars. Your lids were heavy, and the coil inside of your belly tightened at a rapid pace. The sensation was rare for you, not even your fingers bringing you close enough to peak. 

Your face contorted in pleasure, and your breathing turned more erratic, telltale signs that let him know you were close to bliss. “So, so good,” he groaned, his eye flickering to where your fingers were squeezing him with a vice-like grip – matching the clenching of your walls around him. 

If it wasn't for him making you feel so good, the pace and force of his thrusts probably would have hurt, but you were far too lost in him taking his pleasure, conquering and claiming you as if he had done so plenty of times before. 

“I–I…,” you trailed off, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Look at me,” he hissed, the command crystal clear, “I want to watch when you peak.” 

The profanity of his words pushed you straight over the edge, moans and whimpers leaving your throat. You tried so hard to keep your eyes open, to fix them with his good one, yet, when the pleasure got too much, you closed them. Your back arched off the table, and the sight beneath him with your spasming cunt choking his cock brought Aemond to completion. 

It was reckless, and, as prince regent and your sister’s betrothed, he should know better, but he pushed in to the hilt for one last time and spent himself deep inside of your twitching walls. 

Stilling his hips, he closed his eyes in what seemed to be a rare moment of exhaustion, giving himself and you a few seconds to steady your breathing. Pulling out even before his cock had softened completely, he tugged it back into his breeches and helped with your attire. 

There was a thick tension clouding the shared silence between you, and when his eye met yours once again, the young dragon wondered briefly what your life could have been if your father had granted him your hand in marriage. 

If that could have been his one true chance of finding love and validation in something other than duty. 

[novaursa]

I need this kind of drug please Dareon targaryen x reader velarion Dareon kidnaps his loving niece of dragonstone after he finds out that he will marry jacaerys in 1 moon Dareon and her get married on while she argues with him, she pulls him by the hair so he lets her go, she takes his virtue after the moonlight act If you want you can go wife but you are mine not your brother's oh can you stay uh figure out with me a way to avoid this ridiculous war

Wedded in War

- Summary: Your uncle steals you from Dragonstone and takes you as his wife; true to his name: Daeron the Daring.

- Paring: niece!reader/Daeron Targaryen

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The cool winds of Oldtown bite at your skin, tugging at your gown as Daeron pulls you through the crowded streets, his grip firm on your wrist. The Starry Sept looms ahead, its dark silhouette bathed in the fading light of the setting sun. The scent of salt from the nearby harbor mingles with the distant smell of incense, and despite the beauty of the ancient city, all you can feel is anger seething in your chest.

“How dare you take me from Dragonstone!” you snap, your voice low but filled with fury. You tug against his grasp, but his hand tightens, his pace unrelenting. “You had no right, Daeron! You must take me back. You will take me back.”

His face, pale and sharp in the dwindling light, remains tense. His violet eyes flick to you, but he does not stop, does not yield to your demands. “I couldn't leave you there to marry Jacaerys. You were meant to be mine,” he says, his tone desperate yet determined. “I love you, Y/N. I won’t let you go so easily.”

His words ignite a fire within you, burning with the weight of your stolen future. “This is madness!” you shout. “Do you not see what you’ve done? You’ve stolen me from my home, from my family!”

“You’re Targaryen blood,” he responds, stopping at the steps of the Starry Sept and turning to face you. The people passing by give the two of you strange looks, but you don’t care. All that matters is the rising anger within you and the thrum of your heartbeat. “And Targaryen blood must stay pure.”

Your chest tightens at his words, his intention sinking into you. He had taken you not out of love, but out of duty, out of a belief in keeping the family line strong, unbroken by outsiders. “So, that’s all I am to you?” you spit, your voice shaking with a mix of fury and pain. “A means to an end? A symbol of blood and fire?”

His hands come up to your shoulders, his gaze pleading as he draws closer. “No, you’re more than that, far more. I’ve always loved you. Since we were children.” His voice softens, and you see something in his eyes beyond duty, beyond the pressures of his station. “This isn’t just for the bloodline, Y/N. I will love you, cherish you, protect you. I swear it on my life.”

You hesitate, your heart warring with your mind. There’s truth in his voice, an undeniable sincerity in the way he looks at you. But the weight of what he has done presses on your chest, suffocating and confusing. You had been promised to Jacaerys, and now everything has been turned upside down.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice breaking slightly. “Marry me. Stand by my side, as you were always meant to.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught between his words and the bitter reality of your situation. Can love truly grow from such treachery? You don’t know, but even as your thoughts swirl in chaos, you can feel the pull between you and Daeron, the undeniable bond forged in dragon’s blood and shared history.

With a deep breath, you nod once, barely perceptible, and his shoulders sag with relief. Before you can think further, he pulls you into the Starry Sept, where the High Septon waits.

The vows are spoken in hushed tones, and your fingers tremble as Daeron slides a silver ring onto your finger, the weight of it foreign and heavy. The Starry Sept is grand and cold, its vaulted ceilings seeming to reach toward the heavens, but it feels like a prison. Your heart aches as you repeat your vows, your mind still reeling from the events of the past few hours. 

When it's done, the ceremony leaves an emptiness within you. You’re no longer the daughter of Rhaenyra, destined for Dragonstone and a future with your brother, Jacaerys. You are now the wife of Daeron Targaryen, bound by the oaths you swore beneath the Seven’s watchful eyes.

Later, in the solitude of the chambers prepared for your wedding night, you sit by the window, looking out over the darkened city of Oldtown. Daeron stands nearby, silent as he watches you with an unreadable expression. The bed looms in the background, its presence thick with expectation, with the weight of the night ahead.

“Do you hate me?” he asks quietly, his voice almost swallowed by the sounds of the city below.

You don’t answer immediately, unsure of how to put your feelings into words. You look back at him, at the young man who had taken everything from you and offered only himself in return. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I feel.”

He approaches slowly, cautiously, as though fearing you’ll turn away. His hand brushes against your cheek, and despite everything, there is tenderness there. A part of you wants to flinch away, to push him from you and demand he return you to Dragonstone. But another part, deep inside, wants to believe him, to believe that perhaps, in this dark, twisted way, he loves you as deeply as he claims.

“I swear to you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, “I will never hurt you. I will love you every day, with every breath. You are mine, Y/N, and I am yours.”

The words, soft and full of promise, melt the last of your resistance. You reach up, touching his face, your heart a chaotic mix of anger, confusion, and something that feels dangerously close to love.

The night is a blur of emotion—of whispered vows and lingering touches. You both lose yourselves in the heat of the moment, shedding the weight of your shared innocence in the embrace of one another. The world outside ceases to exist, replaced only by the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand. For a moment, you forget the war, the bloodshed, and the sacrifices.

Afterward, as Daeron sleeps beside you, his silver hair fanned out against the pillows, you lie awake, staring at the ceiling. The sheets feel too heavy, and the silence too loud.

Will this sacrifice, this union born out of desperation and desire, truly end the war? Can love, even one as complicated and fraught as yours, be enough to save the realm from the fires that rage on the horizon?

You don’t know, but as you drift toward sleep, you find yourself clinging to the fragile hope that perhaps, just perhaps, it might.

[cherriecove]

A Courtship of Politics and Passion (Part 5)

Jacaerys Velaryon x Hightower!Reader

Summary: Cannon divergence, Rhaenyra Targaryen is queen after the Dance of The Dragons. In order to secure peace and ensure her son is able to take his rightful place on the throne after her she decides to make allies out of previous enemies. Cherrie's Note: Masterlist | Previous Part |

Their wedding had been nothing short of a spectacle, the likes of which the Red Keep hadn’t witnessed in years. The grand hall glittered with gold and crimson banners, bathed in the warm glow of countless candles. Lords and ladies from every corner of Westeros gathered to witness the union of House Targaryen and House Hightower. Their silver dragons and green towers hung side by side, a fragile symbol of peace after generations of bloodshed.

Queen Rhaenyra sat at the head of the hall, her face impassive as she watched her son, Jacaerys, take his vows. This marriage, her careful strategy, was more than a mere joining of two houses; it was a lifeline for a realm still reeling from civil war. Her son’s marriage to Y/N Hightower, a descendant of their greatest enemies, was a gamble—one that could either bring lasting peace or unravel everything she had fought for.

Jacaerys stood beside Y/N, reciting his vows with practised solemnity. Yet, even as he spoke the sacred words, his thoughts were scattered. The murmurs of the court had plagued him for weeks—whispers about his bride’s true loyalties, questions about whether the old grudges could ever truly be buried. He scanned the crowd, catching sight of both smiling faces and hidden frowns behind masks of feigned courtesy. Was this the beginning of peace, or merely a brief respite before more bloodshed?

Y/N, clad in a gown of shimmering silver and green, wore her duty well. She was poised, regal, every inch the noble bride expected of her. But beneath her composed exterior, she felt the weight of a thousand eyes. They were watching her closely, some hopeful for peace, others eager for her to slip and reveal her true allegiance. Could this marriage really heal the wounds between their families? Or would she forever be viewed as a foreigner, a Hightower in the den of dragons?

When the vows were spoken, and the Septon declared them husband and wife, the hall erupted in applause. The realm celebrated, but for the couple at the heart of it all, the true challenges were just beginning.

Later that evening, as the festivities carried on below—laughter, dancing, and toasts in their honour—Jacaerys and Y/N slipped away to a quiet balcony high above the bustling streets of King’s Landing. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded hall. The sky stretched above them, dark and clear, the occasional silhouette of a dragon cutting through the stars.

Jacaerys leaned against the stone railing, his hand brushing lightly against Y/N’s, though his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "Do you think this marriage will truly bring peace?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with the weight of uncertainty. "Or have we merely delayed the inevitable?"

Y/N turned to him, her expression thoughtful. “I think it’s the only path forward,” she said softly. “But peace isn’t something that just happens with vows. We’ll have to fight for it. Every day.”

Before Jacaerys could respond, a distant commotion from the courtyard below caught their attention. Shouts, growing louder, broke the quiet of the evening. The flicker of torchlight illuminated a small crowd that had gathered, and two men—dressed in the colours of their respective houses—were at the centre of it. 

Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed. “What now?” he muttered, already moving toward the source of the disturbance.

Y/N followed quickly, the skirts of her gown sweeping behind her as they descended into the courtyard. By the time they arrived, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. The two men—minor nobles, likely too far into their cups—stood nose to nose, shouting over each other. The air was thick with tension, and it was clear the situation was moments away from turning violent.

“He insulted Lady Y/N!” the first man, clad in green, a distant cousin perhaps, his face red with anger. “Called her a traitor—said she should be sent back to Oldtown!”

The Targaryen soldier, just as enraged, barked back, “He threatened me first! Your kind should know their place—this is Targaryen land!”

Jacaerys strode forward, his voice cutting through the noise. “Enough!”

Both men turned to him, suddenly sober in the presence of the prince. The crowd fell silent, eyes wide as they watched the scene unfold.

“What is this?” Jacaerys demanded, his tone sharp and commanding. “This is a wedding, a celebration of peace. And yet here you are, ready to spill blood over petty words?”

Y/N stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “You disgrace yourselves and your houses with this behaviour,” she said, her gaze hardening as she looked between them. “We are here to unite, not to tear each other apart. If you cannot hold your tongues, perhaps you should leave.”

The men exchanged glances, their anger deflating under the weight of their prince and princess’s disapproval. Slowly, they bowed their heads, muttering apologies.

Jacaerys sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the crowd began to disperse. He turned to Y/N, shaking his head. “Even at our wedding feast, there are still those eager for conflict.”

She smiled, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. “It’s only the beginning, Jacaerys. We’ll face this again. And again. But we’ll face it together.”

Her words hung in the air, a quiet promise that resonated deeper than any vow spoken earlier that day. They stood there for a moment, watching as the last of the crowd melted back into the night.

Jacaerys turned to her, his expression softening. “You handled that well,” he said quietly, admiration lacing his words.

Y/N gave a small smile. “We’re going to have to handle a lot more than drunk nobles if we’re going to keep this peace.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers once more, though this time with intent. His gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, the weight of politics and expectation seemed to fade. “Then we’ll do it together,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

Her eyes met his, and in the stillness of the night, with the distant hum of the city beneath them, something shifted between them. It was no longer about the marriage their houses had demanded or the fragile peace they were trying to maintain. It was just them—two people standing at the edge of an uncertain future, bound by more than duty.

Y/N took a step closer, her breath catching as Jacaerys’s hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her gently toward him. “Together,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she lifted her gaze to his.

Without another word, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was tender but filled with the promise of something more. It wasn’t just a kiss born of obligation or expectation—it was a quiet declaration that, whatever lay ahead, they would face it side by side.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against one another, the world felt just a little bit smaller, the weight of their responsibilities just a little bit lighter.

Jacaerys smiled softly, his hand still on her back. “Come,” he said, his voice filled with warmth as he pulled away slightly, offering her his hand. “Let’s return to the feast.”

Y/N took his hand, allowing him to lead her back inside. As they re-entered the grand hall, the music and laughter of the celebration enveloped them once more. But this time, as they stepped onto the dance floor, the eyes of the court no longer felt like a burden. Instead, they danced together, not just as husband and wife, but as partners—ready to face whatever came next, together.

Taglist: @rafslytherin

[theroyalsims]

BREAKING: ANYA, GUS STUN IN NEW PRE-WEDDING PHOTO; MORE ROYAL WEDDING DETAILS MADE PUBLIC

We're now only a week a way from the royal wedding, and it's official! Brindleton is abuzz with Royal Wedding Fever!

Today, the Palace surprised us with a brand new photo of the soon-to-be newlyweds and oh, boy! Do they look great together! Along with the new snap, more details of the royal wedding have been revealed.

The wedding will begin at exactly 10 o'clock in the morning. The Crown Princess will be accompanied by her parents, The Queen and Prince Jacques, aboard the Queen's exclusive state limousine as they head off from the Palace towards Brindleton Abbey. It has also been confirmed that Prince Jacques will be walking HRH down the aisle. The Queen will be escorted by her son, Prince Nicholas.

Gus, meanwhile, will travel to the Abbey from The Brindleton Plaza Royale Hotel. He will be riding in another state limousine, along with his mother.

After the ceremony, the procession will take place. The bride and groom will board a horse-drawn carriage - the same one used during The Queen and Prince Jacques' wedding - weather permitting.

Following the procession, the couple will grace the Palace balcony, and they are set to be joined by the members of the Royal Family and the groom's family.

In the evening, a private reception will be hosted by Her Majesty at the Palace.

The Palace also revealed that the wedding cake will be designed and made by world-renowned pastry chef, Flora Albadawi-Craneholm.

As for the gown Anya will be wearing for the ceremony, the Palace remained tight-lipped, although many royal fashion watchers are claiming that the new photo shared is a massive hint of what's to come.

Dressed in a strapless white dress with a layered skirt and a silk belt, HRH looked beautiful standing beside the love of her life. The photo appears to have been taken at the Palace gardens.

Andrea Preaseley, editor-in-chief of Brindleton Sogue, predicts that Anya's wedding dress will be modern - much like HRH:

"I think we'll be seeing a sleek silhouette, and more modern elements. Anya is very much a modern woman, and I think she's bound to surprise us with her wedding ensemble. Maybe off-shoulder since she's very fond of those, maybe even a strapless number. I think there'll be a tiara, for sure, but the veil is 50-50. I'm very excited to see the entire look."

Don't get us wrong - we love this update, but do you think they'll reconsider and push the wedding to tomorrow? Pretty please?

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Successful Wedding (Failed proposal part 2)

Azriel x f!Reader

Part 2 of Failed proposal

Warnings; angry Nesta, swearing

Masterlist.

You asked for a part 2! Hope you enjoy it!

Clear night sky, a warm breeze and the city of starlight. You thanked the Mother for the weather and sat in front of the mirror dressed in a grey robe. You were currently in the River house getting ready for your wedding.

“No!” Nesta shouted “I told you to put stardust on the roses.” Silence “I don’t care go find some”.

She entered your room with a huff, and you glanced at Mor’s reflection who was doing your hair. Both of you started biting your cheeks to suppress the giggles.

“Those idiots!” she exclaimed.

“Calm down Ness, I don’t care about stardust. As long as Azriel and all of you are there the wedding will be perfect” you smiled.

“No! You didn’t get to enjoy the mating ceremony or the days after it and, we destroyed the proposal. This wedding will be perfect!” She huffed.

“Okay get out you will make the bride nervous” Mor waived goodbye at Nesta but sighed when Feyre burst in.

“Nesta I need you to terrorize Cassian, he is trying to steady the arch and he is destroying it.” “I’ll fucking kill him. Who let him out of the cell?” She growled and you flinched.

Poor Cassian. You thought.

“He started whining about not seeing his brother getting married and about how the thought broke his heart and Azriel fell for it.” Feyre explained and offered a tight smile.

“Illyrian idiots” Nesta mumbled before marching out. “50 bucks Cassian won’t be at the wedding” Mor shouted.

“Make that 100” Feyre responded and followed her eldest sister.

“Mor… do you think that everything will be okay? I fear that something is going to ruin the wedding too and I don’t mean the arch or the flowers… something bigger.” You sighed and stared at your friend.

“Oh sweetie no, everything will be fine. We will have the time of our lives.” She smiled reassuringly.

“I hope so” you mumbled and stared at your reflection.

  ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Call your shadows back” Rhysand scolded “Let the girls handle everything, you and y/n need to relax. It’s your day afterall.”

“I just want everything to be perfect” Azriel sighed and paced in his room.

“Don’t worry brother, Nesta can handle everything” Rhys smirked.

“That’s what worries me” Azriel frowned “She might actually kill someone and ruin the decoration with the blood.”

Both of them started laughing and Azriel felt calmer.

“No no Ness I’m sorry” Cassian’s voice boomed through the halls making them furrow their eyebrows. The door slammed open and Nesta walked in dragging Cassian by his ear.

“Lock him somewhere, put a leash on him I don’t care but if I find him again in the garden touching the decorations, I will take y/n and leave.” She stomped her foot to make a point and left with a huff. Both males stared at their brother with quirked brows.

“I’m sorry I just wanted to make sure that the arch wouldn’t drop on your heads” Cassian said sheepishly.

“Don’t make me lock you in the cell” Azriel growled and picked his suit.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Time for the dress” Mor exclaimed after putting the silver circlet on your head and setting the crescent moon between your brows. It was the same color as Azriel’s siphons, and you smiled before slowly caressing it with your finger.

Mor helped you into the dress and you stared your reflection in awe.

It was a white ball gown silhouette dress with small crystals that made you look like you were floating around the stars. It had a deep V neckline that showed off your tattoos and highlighted your breasts.

“It’s perfect” you gasped.

“You are perfect” Mor smiled, and you heard two more gasps.

Feyre and Nesta were standing under the door frame wide-eyed.

“You look amazing” Nesta wiped a tear while Feyre nodded with her jaw dropped.

“Thank you” you smiled.

You took a deep breath and let the girls lead you downstairs where some priestess waited and started chanting the moment they saw you. Your friends sent you kisses and hurried off outside to take their seats.

You walked in the middle of the four priestesses and started walking outside, their chanting got louder as you moved closer to your mate. Azriel was dressed in a black suit looking more handsome than ever, the first two buttons of his shirt were undone showing off his toned torso. He looked like he was created by the night and stars, and you blushed at the thought of taking off his suit.

The shadowsinger scanned your silhouette and his breath hitched. You could see a rosy shade appearing on his cheeks and his shadows darted to you, slithering around your dress and caressing your cheek. Once you approached your mate Nyx stumbled between the two of you offering to you your wedding bouquet. You giggled at the sight of the little bat dressed in a suit and crouched taking the bouquet and leaving a soft kiss on his cheek. He smiled shyly and ran back to his mom shout-whispering “I did it!”.

Azriel chuckled at the little boy and stretched his arm to you.

“You look mesmerizing” he smiled softly and kissed the back of your palm. “Likewise” you muttered coyly, and his smile grew.

Gwyn grinned and started chanting, her eyes turning white and her voice louder at each prayer.

“Cauldron strengthen this union, Mother bless their love. Bless them with happiness and fortune. Bless their bed and future seed. May all the gods be by their side new and forgotten.” She finished the prayers and picked the wedding bands giving one to Azriel and one to you.

“I vow to always love you, protect you and honor you. I vow to be gentle and understanding and make your days lighter till death do us apart.” Azriel spoke and placed the ring on your finger.

“I vow to be by your side in sickness and in health, to love and cherish you. I vow to be the light in your darkness and protect you from any harm till death do us apart.” You said and placed the ring on his finger. “Mother bless you” Gwyn shouted, and all your friends started whistling and clapping.

Azriel cupped your jaw and leaned in capturing your lips with his own and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you angel” he breathed into the kiss.

“I love you hubby” you giggled making him chuckle too.

You walked to your friends with huge smiles on your faces. “I heard that in mortal lands you throw the bouquet and the female who catches it is the next in line?” you quirked a brow and Feyre nodded. “Oh okay. Nesta catch” you shouted and threw the bouquet at her. She caught it and stared at you wide-eyed, Cassian poked her waist, and she spun around noticing her mate on one knee.

You couldn’t hear what he said to her but suddenly she burst into tears and hugged him tightly shouting yes again and again. Cassian gave her the ring and they both smiled at you thankfully. “Congratulations” you cheered.

You spent the rest of the night drinking and dancing with your friends. At some point you were all so drunk that you ran around the streets of Velaris singing and dancing and enjoying the cheers of the passing by faeries once they noticed your wedding dress.

Azriel grabbed you by the waist once you reached the main square and pressed you against his body. “My wife” he mumbled and kissed you passionately while your friends danced around you.

“Our perfect wedding” you whispered and let the happy tears escape.

I think you needed this after Scattered vows :)

Dedicated to the people who asked for part 2;

@mulansaucey , @natashachelsea

[threadtalk]

I can practically smell the candy cane on this British dress from 1849! Surprise, though--it isn't a holiday gown... it's a wedding gown!

As many folks know, the concept of the white wedding dress is fairly modern, dating to the middle of the 19th century. And even then, it wasn't ubiquitous. Wedding gowns weren't the "wear it once" they are today, and many women sought to find dresses they could later incorporate into their wardrobes. Even my grandmother, who married in the 1940s, wore a brown dress for her wedding. Part of that was a financial decision, of course, but I love the idea of colorful, practical wedding wear, too.

This dress is silk damask, which is always exciting for me. That means the pattern is reversible! Not something you would notice by just looking at it.

In classic 1840-1850 transitional wear, it's got a lot going for it: the very tailored waist looks very 1880s, while the silhouette is firmly in the 1840s. Those candy cane arms, though!

From the Bowes Museum.