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theglamorousferal · 2 days

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Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au Part 1

AO3 Prompt Part 2

Fuck me, that's what I get for not wearing my helmet tonight. Jason came to with numb hands and legs, burning shoulders, a gag tight in his mouth, and a pounding headache. His ears rang and a groan escaped his throat before he could keep quiet. He slowly cracked an eye open and when he wasn't blinded took stock of the situation he was in. He was kneeling, tied to a post behind him and in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle of some kind. At the edges of the circle there were candles, a bright Lazarus green, and beyond that were robed figures.

Great, cultists. Perfect. The ringing in his ears started to fade as chanting filled the room. After the first repetition of unfamiliar words the flames of each candle one by one turned black, and once it came around, the edges of the circle started to glow bright green. The glow followed the path written in what Jason assumed was blood until the entire thing was glowing bright enough that Jason had to squint to try and make out any of the symbols and commit them to memory, any little thing could be a clue after all.

As the chanting got louder and louder, the glow shone brighter and brighter. He could feel a build up of energy and his hair began to stand on end like lightning was about to strike. The light became blinding and the pressure in the air built up until he felt he couldn't breathe, he could smell ozone in the air and suddenly the light returned to normal, he collapsed forward and his cheek hit carpet.

"Oh my Ancients! Are you alright?" He heard a feminine voice say and let out a pitiful groan. "That's probably a dumb question, one second let me grab something to cut those ropes and I'll help you up."

He heard shuffling and opened his eyes to a purple shag carpet with the magic circled burned into it and registered the ozone scent shifted to a burning smell. He tried moving his arms and yelped in response. He heard a thud and a quiet curse as his apparent savior stopped rifling through their drawers with a quiet "Aha!" He turned his head towards the sound and his mind stuttered to a halt for a moment.

Stood there, with a sword at least as long as the Demon Spawn is tall, was a woman Jason would expect to find in Themyscira. She stood almost seven feet tall with long red hair pulled back into a high ponytail braid, a helm-like crown adorning her head. Muscled shoulders had a black capelet from one and a pauldron on the other. She wore golden bracers like Wonder Woman on her forearms and armor similar in shape, but black with a symbol blazoned across the chest, under the armor she wore a teal toga. He turned his attention to her face and found a sheepish expression in those teal eyes.

"I absolutely forgot I had my sword with me today because of the council meeting. Let me just-" she quickly strode forward and cut first his feet and then his hands free, and after giving up on the knot, carefully cut the gag from his mouth. She knelt down and helped him to sit more comfortably. "Do you think you can make it to the couch? it's very comfy, I use it when I need a break between council meetings."

Jason tried standing and his legs protested feeling like pins and needles and tv static. He shook his head and she nodded thinking to herself. "Okay then, here."

Jason blue-screened as he realized he was suddenly being held in a bridal carry by this woman like it was nothing. He blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears as she carried him to her honest to god fainting couch and placed him upon it like a swooning maiden.

"So, um, hi, my name is Jasmine, please just call me Jazz regardless of whatever you hear anyone else here call me. Do you need some water? I'm gonna order some water, and some painkillers maybe? Honestly, I'm just gonna ask them to send one of the yeti healers to take a look at you and I'll need to ask someone who can read ghost speak to translate whatever brought you here." She rambled and made her way to one of the doors and spoke with someone just outside.

Jason laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get himself focused on the situation at hand. So facts so far: he was just used as a sacrifice of some kind, he was teleported somewhere unknown to him at this moment, and whoever he was sacrificed to seems to be some form of royalty and was arguably the most attractive and so far kind woman he's ever met. He nodded to himself and carefully pealed the red domino mask from his face.

"Jason." He said to her as she turned back to him after closing the door. She stopped for a moment, eyes wide. "My name, it's Jason."

She blushed a moment. "Right, yes, nice to meet you Jason, I wish it was under literally any other circumstances." She said walking forward to shake his hand.

"So, uh, where are we?" He asked, gesturing to what Jason assumed was a window, but wasn't certain because the sky was green and purple and had floating doors and islands in it.

She closed her eyes and seemed to take a fortifying breath. "Right. What do you know about the supernatural, besides the obvious that apparently magic circles work?"

Jason thought about what he could say here. Should he bring up his time in the All Caste? Should he bring up the Lazarus pits? I don't know enough about the situation yet. "I know that magic is real, kinda hard not to what with heroes like Zattana and Raven making headlines and the fact the city I live in is hella cursed."

He watched some tension leave her shoulders, but not all the way. "Good, I won't have to go over that particular world-shattering revelation, though I'll probably ask you more about those heroes you were talking about, I haven't heard of them." Jason was stunned for a moment, but she continued. "We are in a sort of, Between. We are in the Infinite Realms, the existence between existences. The Infinite Realms is the space between the dimensions of the multiverse. We are currently in the castle of the ruler of the Infinite Realms, more specifically my office." She hesitated before continuing. " I'm, sort of, the Queen Regent actually." She said embarrassed.

Jason processed that for a moment, and she let him. So, the multiverse is real, and he was apparently just sacrificed to the ruler of the dimension between dimensions. She let him sit with that information, letting him come up with his own questions, when there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me your majesty, you called for a healer and scholar? I had not left yet from the earlier council meeting and figured I could be of assistance." A tall yeti with ice for one of his arms and frozen horns atop his head appeared in the doorway. What also appeared seemed to be a literal skeleton that pushed a tea cart with a pitcher of water and little finger sandwiches on it into the room and left again.

"Frostbite! Perfect, first, can you take a look at Jason, he was apparently sacrificed and judging from the blood in his hair he at least has a head injury. Then the circle he appeared in burned itself into the carpet, I'm still not great at reading ghost speak, especially in an older dialect, I can't figure out what it says." Jazz spoke in a rush as she walked toward the cart to get some water for Jason.

Frostbite had a kind smile as he turned to Jason and pulled out a first aid kit from seemingly nowhere. "Yes, hello, you must be Jason. How are you feeling? What hurts in particular?" Jason went along with the examination, and gladly accepted the glass of water from Jazz as she handed it to him. "Well it looks to me like you mostly just need to rest and maybe take some painkillers. Here," The yeti carefully handed him a small cup with two over-the-counter pain pills in it. "Alright, now let's take a look at this circle!" He stood to his full height, carefully ducking to avoid knocking his horns on the chandelier. He observed it for a moment, humming to himself from time to time. "Right, so this appears to be a binding ritual, somehow tied to the Solstice celebrations. Typically it entwines the soul of the sacrifice to the being they were sacrificed to. Somewhere in the archives there is likely more information about it, but you'll probably have to spend quite some time searching."

Jazz looked pained for a moment. "Okay, do you think it can be broken?" Her face showed hope, but with an underlay of resignation.

Frostbite thought for a moment. "There are some, though most are permanent. I can send over some of my scholars to help locate the correct ritual, I would suggest asking the Master of Time as he would know for certain, but you know how they can be." He straightened before bowing to both Jazz and Jason. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Queen Regent and Lord Jason, I must make my way back to the Far Frozen to gather those to help your search. Good day." With that, the yeti left the two of them alone.

Jazz sighed heavily and put her face in her hands. She growled, frustrated, before she straightened after having made a decision. "Okay, so you're probably going to be staying her for a little while while we figure all this out. Let me show you to a room so you can rest a bit, and I'll have one of my aides bring you some clothes so yours can get washed too."

She led him through the passageways of the gothic castle, it's black stone bricks and tapestries of silver seeming to glow. They stopped at the third of a row of doors and went inside. The room was large, twenty-foot ceilings and a bay window with a sitting nook framed by two large bookcases stood across the room. A massive bed with an intricate quilt portraying what seemed to be a battle between supernatural entities was braced against one wall with a grand fireplace on the opposite wall.

"The door to the left of the fireplace leads to the bathroom, the first thing I did when I took over was make sure there was hot water and large soaking tubs in all the bedrooms here. There should be bathrobes of varying sizes in the closet that offshoots the bathroom. If you need anything, I'm probably going to be in my office for the next few hours and there is always the bell by the door for stuff like, food or whatever. Um, I guess I'll leave you to it?" She shuffled nervously out the door, leaving him standing there, hand half raised in an awkward wave goodbye.

He chuckled to himself for a moment before striding over to the bed and sitting down to start unstrapping his body armor and boots. Once stripped to his boxers, he made his way to the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find not only a large soaking tub, but also a shower with a bench to sit. He quickly showered all the grime from the last few hours from his body, careful to get the matted blood in his hair untangled. Once finished, he started filling the tub before walking towards the closet where he found not only bathrobes, but also bath salts and bath bombs. Deciding to indulge, he grabbed one of each in similar enough scents and dropped both into the bath tub before easing himself into the hot water. He hissed at the temperature before it started easing the aches across all his muscles. He shut off the faucet and then leaned back and allowed himself to think.

So, he thought, I am in an alternate dimension, in the castle of the extremely attractive Queen Regent of said dimension, and my soul is apparently bound to her for the foreseeable future. He thunked his head on the walls of the tub contemplating the facts laid before him. He startled, shooting forward with his back straight.

"Wait a minute!" He said to himself. "Wait a god damned minute!" He smacked his forehead with his hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm in a romance novel plotline! Bound to an entity of unknown power against my will, but the entity is actually a kind and beautiful woman! Holy shit! I can't screw this up!"

Decision made, Jason Peter Todd, closeted romance novel enthusiast, began to plan.

#dpxdc #fanfic #dp x dc #dcxdp #dc x dp #sacrificial bride au #i have no idea where this came from #it burst forth from me #like alien spawn #anger management ship #hardcover ship

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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To Hunt a Silver Stag (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wore a crown of deer antlers atop your head. Charms were woven into the gaps between the tines, attached to golden thread; jewels of starlight strung like teardrops from the moon. Your feet, staying still on the hard stone of the Great Hall, are bare though attract no dirt or dust—it is as if the very ethereal aura that coats your gown of pure white repels any such thought of uncleanliness or corruption of this mortal plane.

You are so very far from home.

Standing in the center of your soon-to-be husband’s court, your eyes seem not to be on the man himself, who watches you greedily from the throne of black iron, but instead behind him. Blank of any emotion, your long lashes blink in the direction of the stained glass windows with a horrible longing. Whispers from the multitude of court attendants go in one ear and out the other—useless to you. Their time would be gone in a blink, and yet here you would remain, immemorial. Their words were nothing, and their utterances would turn to dust faster than their bodies would.

You can’t help but wonder if those colorful depictions in that glass window, of God and his valiant angels, are mocking you as you blink at them slowly. Not only for what you are and where you now find yourself in the kingdom of your enemies but for being so full of the very qualities that would normally resign a woman of this age to the stake.

Independent, confident, and curious, among others.

A voice raises above the rest, and your eyes blink elegantly, the silver hue to them unnatural in all senses. Yet, you do not look away from the mighty white stag, its soldered bits of thin glass a patchwork of an overwatching Lord. Saint Eustace is there, staring at it, just as was told from generation to generation.

A pagan man converted to Christianity, the symbol of a cross set between antlers very much like the ones adorning your head. Humming under your breath, your eyes dip down, chin moving. Below the window, there stands a tall knight, and your gaze locks with his softly.

“Today,” the King’s voice echoes over the crowd as brown orbs stare at you, blinking. “We are here to celebrate the joining of two great bloodlines!” He stands with a grand cape over his shoulders, falling to the floor as his boots stand at the top of the stairs to the throne. Yet, this knight holds your attention more than your Promised does as the cheering starts, loud; making your ears twitch.

At your waist, a golden belt is engraved with expert attention, stories woven into metal that even seem to move with the magic embedded into it. It seems to hum with an energy that makes your eyes narrow in confusion upon this stranger.

He had brown eyes, the knight, and the hues reminded you of brown that you could see in the trees of your home—those old beasts that grew still with the magic of your line and your gentle touch. Surrounding him, there was silver armor and a strip of red fabric that went over one shoulder, hanging beside the items of his station; a sword and a dagger on a brown leather belt.

Brows furrowing, your head tilts slowly, unblinking, as the eye contact persists.

A bold man, it seems.

The knight’s eyelids slightly widen, as if realizing he had been staring, and his face swiftly moves to the side, his short hair close to his oval skull. You hear the faint clearing of a throat come into the shell of your pointed ears.

Sighing, your focus returns to the matter at hand, the crown’s adornments clinking together as your head rotates. The speech.

King Michael spreads his hands out, a man far into his older years but still had the gleam of malice in his eyes. Those beady things. They remind you of a rat—a small creature, while intelligent, that cannot win unless through tricks.

“We all know that magic has slowly been disappearing from the lands,” the King utters, voice echoing off the walls. Your hands are holding themselves near your abdomen, grace embedded into your bones. Watching how he speaks, you can’t deny he was influential. But influence didn’t matter when you had no wife—no children. He has a dying line, and that means weakness…which is why you’re here, after all. “And in that time, our war with the Fae has fallen into a stalemate.”

Your expression sharpens, fingers twitching. Stalemate? There were humans in your lands—spreading their fires and swinging their defiling iron swords. There was no war here except the one that this King was perpetuating.

But you held your tongue, even if your silver eyes narrowed in an ancient, bitter, anger. Your head raises itself higher, hanging gemstones swinging. The knight near the stained glass is back to watching you—his feet shifting from under him, hands behind his armored back with loose shoulders.

“...Today, myself and the King of the Fae have come to an agreement in confidence, and in the fashion of old, I am to be wed to his daughter, a princess!” Gasps, cheers, clapping. They spring up from all corners of the Hall, bouncing. Your body longs for nature, to be away from rock and metal, these suffocating walls that close in with the gaggle of wretched corpses walking. “Peace shall be beholden to all of us! Magic shall come back into my bloodline through our many children, and all will share in its wealth!”

You had compared yourself to a broodmare when your father had given the news of your journey here. A womb to be filled until you could give no more; restrained to a bed—away from any privilege and right.

And you’d been sent here anyway. A price needed to be paid, your father had told you. A daughter to stop the war. A child to bring back mortal magic and keep the peace through generations. Was your head to be put to the block for that? Who was to say that children would bring peace? That there weren’t more conflicts to come?

This was a momentary sacrifice, and here you were wearing white.

You hum under your breath and feel shackles tie themselves to your ankles; tying you to this place. But what other option did you have?

Your ears listen to the loud rapturous cheering, the exclamations of love that mean nothing to you—you do not love these people, do not love their need for violence and their pride. You want to go home, to find where you can rest among glades and grass. Converse with the birds and the beasts to learn of their news of far-off lands; run your hands through clear streams and watch plants grow where you walk.

As your stone body stays still, silver eyes unblinking, the knight near the window is the only man in the room not gazing at you like he wants something from you. While Lords have their eyes filled with lustful envy of your age-less skin—your finery and wealth; the promise of strong children, the knight is the only one with an open expression.

He only watches, handsome face holding the whispers of stubble and eyes that would make many moral women wish to be his wife.

Admittingly, your attention keeps going back to him, just as his own is stuck on you even as he tries to look professional. Back straight, armor glinting, sword pommel fiddled with by long fingers.

The King is walking down the stairs, one withered leg at a time. You don’t offer any help.

“My bride,” Michael licks his lips when he’s in front of you; but he’s more fixated on your stomach than all else. What it will hold for him. “My beautiful Fae bride. My wedding will be known through history for ages to come.”

My.

The world holds its breath. The knight’s jaw clenches, though no one sees it.

You take a heavy breath into your lungs to hold back your snapping tongue. As the words meet the air, they come out as unemotional as a wave at sea. Wind holding mist.

“Certainly.”

—

As it turned out, the castle itself was even less homely than the material that was used to build it. You walk slowly through the halls, hands behind your back and your crown glimmering—the trail of a thin and flowing gown making you look like a specter. One crudely carved window after another passes by your right shoulder, and you look out of every slit; seeing the silver shades of moonlight. In contrast, everything on your left was washed with firelight from the blazing iron sconces, your ears twitching to the pop of wood and fabric saturated in animal fat.

Everything here was horrible.

A prison, you think, slowing near one of the larger windows in the hall. A cage.

Staring outside, trying for only a moment to understand the disgusting castle and adjoined town you look at, there’s a faint noise from far down the corridor.

Wasting no time, your head moves slowly to the side, blinking. There isn’t anyone to be seen, but yet again, your slightly pointed ears twitch.

A firm heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Staring at nothing, you listen for a moment, taking it in as your visage fights with blue and red light, shadows littering the small cracks and the marks of stone—your hands slightly tighten, but you hold no fear.

You refused to be afraid here; you would go to your spiritual death with a high head, and nothing less.

“It’s unbecoming to stalk as if a wolf,” you call, voice smooth and even. A beat of bird’s wings. “Four-legged beasts have perfected it, yet, the same cannot be said of you.”

There’s a lapse of silence—a swirling of slight tension that comes not from you but another. The heartbeat in your ear lightly skips. Startled. A shadow cusps one of the connected hallways, a gleam of silver armor. You blink slowly.

“Apologies, Ma’am.” The Knight. The one from the Great Hall. “I…didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

His lithe form doesn’t try to hide from your accusation, instead, his body moves to the middle of the stone floor and straightens—one hand going to his heart and the other behind his back; bowing. The darkness of his complexion seems to glow in the light, smooth skin besides the marring of small scars along the left cheek. Tiny things, only two lines.

For no reason at all, your body lightly turns towards him, watching.

“I’m not nervous,” you respond. “Please, stand straight.”

He does so without hesitation, though his eyes are avoiding yours. A guilty pull is to his lips that you can’t help but quirk a brow at. Yet, you remain emotionless, and outside the shadows of flying birds shift past.

“What is your name, Knight?” You see his expression slightly tense at the question, but you continue easily. A test, perhaps, if this man was worth your time. “I recall your face.”

“I can’t give you that, My Lady.” Brown eyes go to meet yours, and the silver flecks in your orbs glimmer. “My orders were clear.”

“And were those orders also to follow me?”

He clears his throat, feet shifting. “...Maybe.”

You hum, moving your body slowly and walking forward to him. The man blinks in surprise, straightening even more but a firm set to his eyes. His attention never wavers, unless it’s to glimpse your crown and belt, perfect pieces of artistry lost to this section of humanity. No mortal craftsman could imagine making something as such. He liked them, you notice at the light impression of awe in his gaze.

Anyone with sense would.

Stopping just a few feet away, you tilt your head.

It was common knowledge that you never gave your name to one of the Fae, your betrothed would have told everyone close to him to avoid doing so. Just as you would never tell your real name to anyone—not even under dire circumstances. Names hold power, and no person in this castle would make you even more of a prisoner than you already were.

You know the names of beasts and plants, flora and fauna—they bend to you, let you manipulate them to your will, though you often find no need to. The animals from any land prefer your company, anyway. The castle’s hunting hounds have already become well acquainted, just as the messenger birds had.

But mortals? No. No, there were no names that you knew besides the King himself, and even then it was a fake one. Second names and such, are common.

“Your title, then,” you say to the Knight. “If you’re to be a constant face to me.”

“Gaz is just fine, I’d say.” He nods his head, a slow smile moving his cheeks. Your brows furrow. Strange fellow. “A pleasure. I really do need to say that I wasn’t following you for long—I was only concerned you might have lost your way.”

You stare.

“Lost?” Owlishly, your head shifts.

Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the base of his neck. “Yeah—lost. It’s, uh, it’s a big castle, My Lady—”

“Stag.” Wide eyes blink, this meeting is only awkward on his part and not yours. In fact, for how humans go, he was acting far better than most. Usually, there was iron being brandished by now.

“What was that?”

“My title,” you explain, your crown’s gems bright in the light. The fire crackles, popping. “Stag. I do not need my status stated. I know what I am, Knight.”

“Then I’d say the same,” your fingers twitch, liking the word game he plays. Inside of your sockets, the unnatural makeup of your eyes shimmers.

“Very well,” you pause, picking your words. “Gaz. A strange choice to be sure.”

He chuckles, nodding in a very stoic-like way despite the nearly boyish nature of him. “Well, Stag isn’t exactly common, either.”

You hum in your throat, unblinking; staring. Your intrigue grows the longer the man talks. Just like in the Great Hall, his form attracts all of your attention to it, against all laws that you seem to know in your soul.

“Pray tell,” you shift, moving back to the window with your feet not making a single sound. Gaz watches on, eyes flickering between the hanging gems and how you tread over the stone as if you had wings. Your form slips back to the window, and your focus once more goes outward. “Has the King told you to spy on me, Gaz?”

The title, even if not the one of his birth—not the one written on his soul like a brand—still made the air quiver with might. You were older than most of this kingdom, the Knight knew. Older than the oak trees of the nearby forest; older than rock and wind and air.

Power dripped off your tongue like water to a leaf.

But it wasn’t your influence that made the man answer you. It was his own nature.

“Yes,” Gaz says, taking a few steps to where you stand, watching a flock of birds dance above the courtyard, silver moon-drips illuminating white feathers. “But I wouldn’t call it spying. Officially, I’ve been put in place to keep you safe, Princess.” His dark brows crease when you don’t pay him any mind. “I take my job very seriously, yeah?”

“I can see that,” you utter, eyes still on the birds. “The only thing I need protecting from is the iron ring on your right hand.”

He startles, blinking for a moment.

“...Parden?”

Silver eyes pierce him, watching; waiting.

Gaz looks down, locking on the hand that has been resting on the pommel of his sword. Cape swishing, he makes a noise in the back of his throat. His sigil ring—the one that had been given over at his dubbing ceremony sat on the first digit, the engraving of his King’s coat of arms glimmering back.

A wolf; a snake caught in its fangs.

Brown eyes dart back, and he sheepishly smiles, huffing a chuckle of sorts.

“Comes with the job, unfortunately,” yet still, his other hand easily grasps and slips the thing off, tucking it away into the leather pouch swinging from his belt. “I thought that was a myth—the Fae being harmed by iron. Conjured up to give people something to cling to.”

“I can name a million things that men and women like you consider myth,” you mutter, starting at that pouch, deep in thought. You hadn’t expected him to give in that easily. Your shoulders loosen their rigidness, but your chin never drops its high pride. “Every story comes from somewhere—be it reality or wives’ tales. Who’s to say that the words don’t give them life in one form or another?”

“Bloody hell. Not a discussion to take up with me, I’m afraid,” Gaz huffs a chuckle, smirking. While still hesitant around you, the conversation wasn’t anything that made him want to not be around you. Everyone deserved to have their character shown, and what he was seeing so far wasn’t ringing any alarms. “Sound more of a scholar than a Princess, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Your lips quirk. “I prefer philosopher.”

“And what’s a Fae philosopher doing out in the middle of the night, then?” A breeze wafts through the window, blowing on your dress and making Gaz’s cape flutter in its bloodish tint. The torches whip and dance. You take a low breath, bird chips coming closer.

“Speaking with an old friend.”

A white dove lands on the stone opening of the window, fluttering wings coming to fold along its sleek form until it shakes and settles all at once.

“Lysander,” you say in greeting, nodding your head. Gaz watches, barely moving as his lips part in astonishment.

Your hand extends itself, bearing no rings or bracelets. All you needed was your crown. Tiny eyes blink as an angular head turns to the side, tiny coos sparking from a rounded breast. Pale feet grasp your perfect flesh, such a tiny weight settles before you lift effortlessly; wings flapping to keep balance.

“What news, then?” You ask in a whisper, bringing the beast to your crown. Lysander settles on one of the tines, head dipping down as feathers puff. Into your ear, words take shape.

You hum in answer, blinking at every clicked sentence; tapping talons.

Gaz stares blankly, eyebrows pulled up on his head and unable to articulate himself.

So many stories about your people—he hadn’t thought half of them to be true. While he’d been stationed in many places during the duration of this war, he’d never actually encountered one of the Fae before. Gaz had been told they were like a plague; they came in when you weren’t looking, spoke magic into your ears, and forced you to come back to their home and live as mindless beasts. Cupbearers and entertainment.

Of the countless knights he’d been in line with, he knew the true names of none of them. A precaution. Forethought.

Yet…you don’t look dangerous.

But the man is far from stupid.

“He says the fires from your forges burn his eyes,” your voice snaps him back to you, and he straightens, fingers twitching. Gaz finds your face already turned his way, owlish in its movements. “The smoke makes his throat ache.”

“I,” he pauses, mouth opening and closing. Brown eyes dart to the sharp-beaked dove; the thing very much like you in the way it watches him. “I’m…sorry?”

Your lips pull in a frown, sighing with a shake of your head.

I can never survive here, you find yourself thinking. I believed this is what I had to do, but if this is how I’m going to live…

“Tell me about your King, Gaz,” your body swiftly turns, feet carrying you down the corridor once more with long, even, steps. “If I’m to marry him, I will know of his nature.”

The man clears his throat and follows after, where you hear the clinking of silver and the scabbard against his thigh. He glances over at you, walking if not a bit behind yourself in proper fashion.

“What do you want to know, Ma’am?”

Your unnatural orbs shimmer, and the bird on your crown hunkers down; puffed contently and eager to rest his wings from a long flight.

“Everything. I will not be unaware of my fate.”

“Well,” Gaz sighs, rubbing at his chin with his opposite hand. He licks his lips, mind running to answer the best he can. “You’ll not want for anything—finery and wealth will—”

“I do not care about mortal revelry. I need neither fine things nor wealth.” Your voice curtly moves along the open air. The Knight’s boots connect with stone while your bare flesh emits nothing. “His character, Knight. Is he fair—just?”

Gaz’s face tightens, glancing from you to the hallway as he takes a moment to think.

“My King has…become troubled with the turning tides of the war. I’m sure when your marriage is official, he’ll go back to how he was before.” He doesn’t seem certain, but loyalty is a trait that a knight knows well. You had been set as his charge, of course, not under the best of circumstances, but he would do his job how he believed would benefit all parties. Even if his guts were stiff at the thought of a forced marriage.

“My Lady Stag?” He asks, and your heart jerks unexpectedly at the muttering of your title.

Blinking in confusion, your hand coming up to rub at your collarbone like a willow branch, you almost miss the question entirely.

“Where you come from, if I can ask, of course, what’s it like?” Your mind strays from marriage ceremonies and consummation—momentary peace slipping in on waves of this man’s smooth accent.

Mouth opening, only to close once and open again, you decide to indulge this man with your answer. If only because he speaks of your home.

“Green,” is the soft utterance of your answer to him. “It’s green. More trees and rivers than you can count in your lifetime. Animals each more fantastical than the last; all of which your people now call nothing but hearsay.”

You can sense his attention, sucking up knowledge as if he had the years to know and understand it all.

Lysander coos, shaking his feathers out, and you glance upward without moving your head. You chuckle like a blade of moving grass.

Blinking, Gaz slowly begins to smile, cocking his skull to the side boyishly. “What’s so funny, then?”

Your high nose twitches.

“He says you’re as if a Wyvern hatching. A curious thing.” Brown eyes drift to your companion, whose peaked eye pierces like black fire-stone. Gaz’s mouth releases a puff of a chuckle, chest jerking.

“Hell, never thought I’d get insulted by a bird.”

“Humans have not the ability to speak with beasts,” you ease out, walking on. “On that, I have to say you are at a sure disadvantage.”

“What?” Gaz’s amused voice is in your ear. “Minus the whole immortality thing?”

You side-eye him, visage calm with decades of understanding. “Not everything is built to last forever.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of you. Eyes locked, you both stare, legs carrying bodies across the unfeeling stone until the area Lysander had told you about takes form. You shift a slow right and exit into the inner courtyard, large stone walls making a small square of patchy green grass and dying plants. A fountain sits still.

“If this is to be a game of equal exchange, Knight, I desire to ask the next question.” Your eyes take it all in, hand moving out to capture the blackened leaves of a Medlar tree. Frowning at the dead fauna, you hear Lysander take to wing, flapping until his ghostly form lands on the far-off fountain’s edge.

“Alright,” Gaz nods, looking around at the dying place with a frown as well. He’d never come here before, but the state of things was…sad, really. “Ask away.”

“When you leave the castle—the town,” you let power move to your fingertips, and you feel the tingles of it running the lengths of your arms like ice and fire; taking a low breath. “What do you see? I admit, I’m not used to having company with humans. I know not how their souls feel.”

Gaz walks into the small enclosed space, humming as he taps the pommel of his sword. His shoulders shrug as his head tilts up, blinking at the stars.

“I wouldn’t see it as you would, I gather.”

You look over your shoulder, amusement in your face mixed with a slice of intrigue. “That wasn’t my question. But, no, you would not.”

“Figured,” he chuckles, nodding at you. Gaz articulates himself dutifully. “I see a place far more peaceful than the one here. Outside the stone and smog—it’s beautiful, truly. Calm. You can actually think above the noise, you know? I usually find myself wanting to get out more often, but my duty ties me here.”

Your eyes soften slightly, thumb running the face of the leaf as you take in his words. Lysander stoops to take a sip of water.

“You’re…” You lack the words, only humming and stopping yourself.

“Why are we here, Princess?” Gaz asks you, gazing around. “I had only expected you to walk to the kitchens—the library, even. Don’t get me wrong, you can go as you wish, but I’m not sure this is the most…” He grunts. “Sightly place to end up. Everything’s dead.”

“Nearly,” you whisper, a tiny smile taking over your flesh. “Not quite.”

Gaz’s frown is lost to you, as is his comment that he mutters, “Looks it.”

Leaning forward, you press your lips to the leaf you hold as if a precious object. Into its blackened and shriveled form, you whisper its name—its true name, one you had learned through years of patience and trust that bordered on an entirely trance-like state. A Medlar is a tough and stubborn thing, like the fruit it bears, it will hang on until all else is gone to dust. Its roots are strong, and from them, you had listened to the earth sing its songs one buzzing note at a time.

All things speak, you just have to know how to listen.

There’s a surge of wild order, a dichotomy of will and freedom; the sing of an axe and the memories of young saplings just gracing their leaves to the sun. A circle of death and rebirth as old as the stars that still shone in a sky of black.

You know many names, but those of the trees were the first to come to you, and it was only proper. Before anything, there were trees.

The Medlar shakes, its leaves dropping down one at a time until they come in groups, in clusters—bare branches shiver like dogs do until creaking ballads move over the air.

Starling, Gaz had taken a large step back, hand snapping to the handle of his sword, the blade half drawn. Lysander flies past his face, blunt talons skating the close-cropping of his hair before the bird grapples to your crown. Flinching, the knight watched with a mixture of horror and pure wonder.

The tree was sprouting new greens.

You step back, and from your feet, the dead grass quivers, before the smell of groaning earth makes his nose twitch; fresh blades show themselves anew. The dove atop your crown jumps from one sharp tine to the next, dodging lines of gold—eyes glinting and wings flapping excitedly.

Life is in the very air.

You smile to yourself, silver eyes moving as a nearly ancient-looking spark flares to life in them—a long breath entering your lungs.

Gaz’s face begins to heat as he watches, his heart pounding with something he can’t understand. He stares at your bright face before his fast-blinking eyes move to the grass growing all around; the bushes dancing, flowers opening up and turning to you. Birds gather on the edges of this verdant and fertile land, darting one by one to the fountain and to the trees. Singing.

The knight steps back, feet dancing over the ground with an airy laugh stuck in his throat.

“Holy hell…” he breathes, nearly panting.

Wide eyes move back to you, expression open, innocent. This was a moment when you truly believed you’d never seen a face more bare than this; more giving.

“You…” He laughs. “You’re tellin’ me you could always do that?” You chuckle, and it is a sound that could make roots grow in his heart, flowers bursting from his lungs. “I…I’m speechless, really. This is,” he laughs once more, turning a full circle, with his hand going to the back of his neck in shock. It was entirely new—all of it. Ivy climbed the stone, and the animals spoke and flew in the air; excitement something that transcends species. “This is extraordinary.”

You were something incredible.

Chuckling, you raise a slow brow, feeling a foreign heat move over your cheeks. It’s a moment before you speak, taken aback by the reverency.

“My thanks, Knight,” your head nods his way, a simple dip of your chin and nothing more. “But this is only a small courtyard. A fraction. If I so wished, forests could grow from ashen ground.”

“How?” He asks you, eyes glittering more than the moon.

Smaller birds join Lysander on your head, finches, perhaps, and sparrows. They tweet and chip, speaking their thanks. You reach up and let one move onto your finger, bringing it back to eye level as you move to softly connect your forehead to its own. Moving back, you hum and watch the bird fly off.

“Ages of practice,” you elegantly tip your head his way, careful of your cargo. “Quite verbatim.”

Gaz is speechless, unable to recall something in his life that had made him feel so special to be able to witness it. Magic to humans was a dying thing—you’d be surprised if he’d ever even seen it in this magnitude before.

“...Amazing,” he utters under his breath, smiling like a fool.

For all of your Fae trickery, your games, you had to be honest. “I don’t believe I thought you’d be this moved by it.”

“Really?” He blinks at you, a boyish twist to his face. “How could I bloody not be, Love?”

Your air gets stuck in your throat, eyes minutely widening.

Gaz quickly comes back to himself, straightening and clearing his throat as your face suddenly blazes in a way that startles you. Heart pattering like a horse’s hooves not only at the…different title but his awe at your magic as well.

“Forgive me, My Lady,” you choose not to correct him. “I overstepped.”

His body bends forward in a deep bow, hand to his heart, resting over his armor as the cape drapes its crimson fabric to the now vibrant grass.

It had briefly eluded you that you were to be married soon. A comment like that could get the Knight and his tree-bark brown eyes put to the sword. You hold back a long sigh, eyelids fluttering shut softly.

“Is he kind?” Your question is small, but it moves like a knife.

Gaz stares hard at the ground, once dead and nothing but a reminder of nature. He clenches his jaw, a worry swirling in his gut. The man knows who you’re asking about, and he holds the same dread he did in the Great Hall as you were led like a sacrificial lamb to the altar.

Maybe the Knight was broken, but even if he’d never met one of your kind before, he knew that no person deserved to be bartered for the illusion of peace—forced to give children like they were only objects. But maybe he was also just a man not meant for this lifetime.

It was the way of things.

Gaz swallows the tension in his shoulders. He will not lie.

“...No.”

—

This tall knight had become a constant at your side. Officially, he’d been placed for your protection, but you knew it was because the King didn’t want you to cut and run.

But unless there was a very good reason to, he should have known that you were not the running type. It was a battle of wits, and even into your marriage, you would always come out on top.

It started easy enough—Michael would invite you for tours of the castle ‘making it a home’ he’d said in front of his court. It was a power trip.

He’d talk about his wealth like it would make you swoon; like you cared at all. You could only hide your sneer for so many hours, even with your infinite amount of patience. Time had mellowed you like the rocks of the ocean, but even they cracked when the storm was strong enough.

Yet still, you considered yourself too intelligent for baseline insults.

“My palace was much the same, your Highness. Our towers rose high—nearly gracing the clouds themselves.”

“Oh, lovely, my King. Pray tell, do you also have pet dragons? Oh…unicorns, perhaps? My, I had the most lovely unicorn companion when I was just shy of my two-hundredth birth year. A little thing—all legs and neck. Beautiful creatures.”

“Gorgeous little trinkets. Tell me, do you have a coffer for fallen stars? They create the most magnificent illumination for late-night reading.”

Gaz nearly lost his composure at times, even if no one else could tell except for you and your pointed ears; twitching at every breath that was fought to keep still. The over-the-lip huffs and chuckles. In fact, you found yourself perpetuating the back-handed insults just to hear those noises. Such small and meaningless things, in the grand scheme.

You took…enjoyment from it.

Seeing the effect it had on the King was also a bonus—his raging eyes, snapping tongue held back for only his reputation and little more. He wanted to take you by the arm and shake you, you knew, yell in your face.

Kind, King Michael was not. Gaz had been correct.

In the nights, you would discuss with the Knight—sitting in the dense and growing courtyard with your body comfortable on the grass; Gaz’s on the fountain’s edge.

You have much of the same confidence in one another as you do tonight.

“Do knights marry for love?” Your voice wafts out, petting Lysander with a single finger in your lap; itching at his neck as he coos. “Do they get to choose?”

Gaz fiddles with his cape’s clasp, fingers dancing over the silver make. He has made a motion to always take off his ring when it’s just the two of you, easily slipping it away until he was forced to put it back on. He doesn’t know if you feel it, but he believes the two of you to be well-off acquaintances—perhaps even friends.

The man enjoyed speaking to you. He reveled in the limitless knowledge that spilled from your tongue, your stories and tales. Gaz, unlike so many others, enjoyed your company not for the power that it offers in a physical sense, but for the words that you freely give. Often your sentences were like honey to him, seeping into his head.

A princess speaking with a knight? Unheard of. A Fae princess? Blasphemy.

It was easy to forget that you were older than many generations of his family line.

“No,” he says, glancing over. “All knights take a vow of chastity when they commit to service. None of those alive in this kingdom will wed unless they willingly break their oaths.”

Your head tilts, crown resting comfortably a small distance away on a rock.

“That sounds lonely.”

Gaz smiles, “Worried about me?”

You stare, eyes traveling the little deaths on his face—the lines, the scars. “If it’s what you wish to do with yourself, who am I to tell you any different?”

The man’s face softens, lips pulling as his cheeks heat under the moonlight. “Figured you’d have some opinion of it.”

You hum, raising a brow. “It’s your life—it’s so fleeting. Tread it as if water between your fingers. Before you know it, it’ll be gone.” Lysander leans into your flesh, shivering. “Live it.”

“For someone who says they don’t know humans that well,” Gaz grumbles, though his chest is light. “You sure know a lot about them.”

“Intuition,” your mouth twitches in a smile. “And a bit of reality.”

Delicate looks are shared.

You do admit, you liked these conversations with Gaz. The long nights and the feeling of grass under your flowing dresses; the horrid contraptions that your betrothed had tried to make you wear stuck far back into the wardrobe of your room. Heavy items—suffocating corsets, unlike the simple but elegantly sewn one you wear now. You could feel it trying to sneak in when the days drew on.

Control.

It was all becoming more and more apparent. You did not want to live like this.

Your face goes troubled as the calm silence moves over the Medlar with its reaching branches. Fireflies hang like miniature stars as you take your crown and slip it back on; to feel the comforting weight of antlers.

The knight pauses as he slips his cape off of his shoulder, blinking over at you in a slow confusion. You look troubled. He’d never seen that expression on your face before.

“Stag?” Your head swivels, as if in another world.

“Just thinking,” your voice moves into his ears, making them hum with energy. Gaz’s brows furrow, a frown taking over. After a second, he stands, moving closer on quiet feet.

You watch him as he goes to kneel near you, one arm moving over the bent nature of his leg while the other holds fabric—letting it cascade over the earth. Brown eyes narrow, and a joking tease moves with the undertone of slight concern.

“I’m usually the talker, I know, but when you look a bit like that it makes me nervous.”

You frown. “Look like what?”

“Like someone’s got a sword to your neck, Princess.” The air is cool here, the deep throws of night taking you by the breath in your throat. A smooth smirk. “It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

If you leave, if you find a way out of this…the war will never end. It will go on until stone cracks like glass and generations forget why it even started in the first place.

But why were you put to the axe because of it? Why must you take the blade to the stomach—an object of greed?

Gaz’s amused voice moves lower at your immobile lips, going serious.

“Hey,” a hand outstretched to your arm, hovering. “Really, is everything alright?”

“Gaz,” you pause, voice still level despite your heated pulse. It’s like a snake curls itself in your guts, roots growing in your veins. The courtyard seems to shiver all by itself, leaves curling into themselves from bushes and trees. Lysander’s feet shimmy, head moving about.

This knight had been kind to you as well as honest about his intentions. Chivalrous. Such qualities are hard to come by anymore.

“I don’t believe I want this.” It’s a breath more quiet than a lapping of waves. Gaz stills, fingers above your flesh twitching. “I can’t live in a cage. I refuse.”

Silver meets brown, holding it firmly.

“I will not be a prize to be chained to a birthing bed.”

The man’s face pulls at that, tightening.

You don’t know what to expect. It isn’t fear in you—no, nothing like this could make you afraid. Apprehensive? Perhaps. Age made you cautious. At any moment he might flip his tune; run off to tattle to a King he, seemingly, likes just as much as you. Which is to say, very little. But there’s still the possibility, the knowledge stacked over ages and ages of strategy and mind games.

A knight of a tension-ridden kingdom, swearing fealty to a King whom you’re betrothed to. You’d just expressed treason, in a way. It could put you to the sword; to the rope. To irons. Your mind runs through the millions of possibilities, not able to settle on a single one before—

A cape settles over your shoulders, startling you.

Hand snapping to grab the front, your head snaps up, eyes wider than you can remember them ever going.

Soft browns meet you, a thin smile. Fireflies buzz about, and a dove sits under your still finger, watching with beady orbs intently at the scene. A Medlar quivers.

A stag and a knight breathe the same air. A godly creation and a saint ensnared in a song far larger than they intend, as the world shifts past all around them. Silver starlight leaves long reflections breaking from the hanging glory of your gems, but the patches of light on Gaz’s face capture yours in that instant far more than they should have.

Impossibly so. Unnaturally so.

Does this mortal have magic of his own, perhaps? You have to ask yourself. There was no other possibility.

And when he speaks…it’s like whatever ice has been layered over your antediluvian heart breaks into fire. There wasn’t even a fight from him.

“Then tell me what you need.”

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crow-raven-crow · 5 months

Note

Hi,

I was wonder if it would possible if you could write a Brienne of Tarth x fem!reader? Where Brienne returns to winterfell after being away after a while and she sees reader once again. Fluff and maybe some soft smut.

Please and thank you.

𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮..

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~4k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: FLUFF !!, soft love, established relationship, SMALL angst, slight anxiety/dread, COMFORT, nsfw, vaginal fingering, oral sex, literally like the softest smut i think ive ever written, LOL DONT EXPECT ACCURACY AHAH

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

You hurried inside the Guards Hall of Winterfell, the heavy wooden door creaking on its hinges before nearly slamming shut with the frigid wind of winter. The ancient stones of the castle caused your steps to echo down the corridor, a sigh of relief leaving you with the warmth that enveloped you, as you made your way down the hall. The blazing torches casted a golden light along the walls, allowing shadows to dance against it, penetrating the white beams of light that bounced off the snow outside.

Your furs clung to you, adorned with the sigil of House Stark, and gave you some solace from the fangs of winter. Your face was flushed and slightly damp from the light spray of falling snow, and the immediate heat was slowly becoming too much as you took your gloves off.

You ventured deeper into the heart of Winterfell, seeking comfort in the quarters you shared with your blonde knight, even if she was gone on her own mission. The torchlight guided your way deeper into the hall, your own shadow kissing each flame as muffled murmurs of others made the fortress feel more alive.

As you approached the main room at the end of the hall, your now uncovered hands reaching into your pockets for your key, you threw nods and smiles at your fellow guards, getting bows of their heads and small smiles in return. What once filled you with fear and insecurity now felt like nods of approval, reminding you of how far you've come as a knight, for it takes a certain amount of trust and skill to work directly with a kingdoms head family.

When you first settled in Winterfell, their curious and sinful stares were never far behind, making you question both your worth as a guard and as a lady, but it didn't take long for them to come face to face with the fire that burned within you. It earned you your respect amongst them, the common goal to protect those of Winterfell, the common goal that you had shown them time and time again. You no longer were just any other woman in their eyes, and the same was true when Brienne came into the picture.

It didn't take long for the two of you to become close, even if it did take a while to push past her walls. If anything, her arrival strengthened your place within the ranks and made your bond stronger with all of those in Winterfell, especially the Starks. They knew you as their head family guard, and you've seen each other in different contexts over the years, but there was a certain softness that Brienne brought to you that they never thought they would see. You both suffered through very similar things, and though those were things you both bonded over, you couldn't help but want to give Brienne the world that she didn't think was possible. You had completely fallen for her, and thinking back to where you both had started always brought a smile to your face.

As you stepped into your quarters, it was as though the heavy mask of your role had come off, your shoulders relaxing as a breath you didn't know you were holding came out as well. In quick, practiced movements, you discarded the layers of furs that were draped over you, revealing a simpler armor set underneath. The sound of your shuffling filled the quiet room, your gloves being placed onto a side table and the small clicks of your armor coming off rang through the room. You turned towards your armor stand, placing each plate into its home and your scabbard with its belt along side it. As your fingers softly traced along the Stark sigil, you made a mental note to polish the pieces later.

You moved deeper into the room to start a fire, grabbing each log and meticulously placing them before a comforting glow lit the chamber's stone walls. It's golden hues reflected in the armor across the room, making you take a moment to really appreciate where you were at. Thoughts of Brienne began to fill your mind, tugging on your heartstrings and making the room feel much lonelier than it was moments before. It's been over a month since you've seen your knight, and you forced yourself to push through each day just as you knew she was.

When you stood, your bones suddenly feeling much heavier, you grabbed the pile of letters she had sent you over the course of her mission. You brought them over to your bed, spreading them out in small piles before sifting through each one. Your fingers traced the weathered edges, imagining what she had seen in each place she stopped, imagining her writing each one at the end of her day after all the others had turned in for the night.

You scanned over her most recent one, your fingers tracing the inked lines as though you had watched those words appear on the paper. She would be home soon, she had said so herself, and the idea sparked hope within you… but you knew how quickly the duties as a knight could change, that caution tempering the hope that begged to rage on in your chest.

With a deep breath, you let your emotions settle, taking in the written words from your lover as though they were prayers you were to memorize, reading each sentence with her voice echoing in your head like a siren beckoning you out to sea - something you would fall for again and again, if it meant that you'd get to go back to her.

As though the gods were listening, the resonant toll of the bell echoed all throughout Winterfell, cutting through the frigid air. Its deep tones rumbled through your chest, bringing you to your feet. All your actions froze as you listened for the bell, your heart threatening to burst when you realized it was from the East Gate. The room transformed into a flurry of movement as you quickly ran to gather your scabbard and rapidly tied the baldrick around your hips, before running out the door. In your haste, you had forgotten all about the snow as the outside world became a blur, your only focus being the possibility that Brienne was finally home.

The echo of your footsteps against the stone floor quickly morphed into the loud crunch of snow beneath your feet as you left the Guard's Hall and rushed toward the East Gate. The air bit at your exposed skin and made every breath you took in sharp, but the hope that your lover was just feet away overshadowed any ounce of discomfort that you could've possibly felt, easily flooding your body with adrenaline.

You waited with some of the other villagers and guards in the courtyard, some of them noticing you buzzing with excitement and clouded over in focus, as your eyes were fixed on the opening gates. You watched with a pounding heart as families were reunited, as guards made their way to the stables, as traveling merchants moved in the direction of the nearest inn. Your eyes darted from face to face, taking in who they were before moving onto the next.

Your hands fiddled with the rings on your fingers, you body feeling all too hot and your hands all too sweaty as though you weren't standing in the snow. You stood with the feeling of your heart growing heavy, with the feeling of your throat slowly starting to close, as the crowd dispersed just as quickly as it had appeared. You waited with the burning hope that you had gotten stuck with, even as other guards shot your their apologetic glances, even as Catelyn Stark squeezed your arm in comfort, as the crowd grew smaller.

A heaviness took over your body, making your shoulders sag and a sadness fill your eyes as the quick realization came over you: she wasn't there. As though it was your post, you waited for the crowd to clear because, after all, you were still a knight of Winterfell.

Just as the gate looked like it was about to close, it stilled, freezing for a moment before opening back up again. It's loud creaks gained the attention of the ones walking away, the ones filled with the same disappointment and aching heart as you were. A rumble of life passed through it just as the one that came before - a smaller group of more returning home, crossing the threshold into Winterfell. Your heart felt as though it had been revived, those around you watching your demeanor change, as your eyes began to light up with hope all over again.

Amidst the glowing faces of excitement, a distant glimmer of gold caught your eyes, drawing your attention to farther down the path. The crowd around you seemed to blur into the background as you held onto the potential promise that coursed through your veins. Every second closer intensified the rapid thud of your heart, drowning out everything else and nearly bursting at the sight of Brienne mounted on her horse.

The snowflakes seemed to dance around her, an ethereal glow radiating from her that would make even the newest gods jealous. Her brows furrowed as she scanned the crowd with an intense focus, the height from atop her horse making it all the more easier to catch sight of you. You watched as she seemed to relax, your shared gaze lifting the weight of separation that had been dragging you both down.

As Brienne dismounted her horse, the onlookers smiled and instinctively cleared a path as your body moved on its own. They had all seen you fall for each other one way or another, and you always knew this would be a piece of your home when they always seemed to cheer you both on.

The distance between you two came to a quick close, your hearts beating against each other just as fiercely as your smiles when she lifted you into her arms. Brienne's hands, strong yet gentle, found their way to your hips as she placed you down. Your arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her as close as possible, as though the action would make all the time spent apart fizzle away. The cold touch of her armor made a shiver run through you, but it was quickly ignored as you relished in the feeling of being back in her arms.

Her hands smoothed their way up your sides, creating a path of electricity along your body, before she softly cupped your face. Your hands found their place on the backs of hers, your thumbs tracing along her knuckles, as your eyes jumped between her own. You could always find a way to get lost in Brienne's eyes, the deep, defined blues always swirling with layers of emotions and unspoken words.

She leaned down slightly, a small laugh leaving your lips, before she closed the distance between you two. Her lips pressed against yours in a way that translated thousands of words - a soft, tender kiss that you had longed for since the day she left. You felt her lips curve into a smile, a sigh leaving her, as she felt you step just a bit closer.

When Brienne pulled away, the closeness lingered as she rested her forehead against your own, your hot breaths turning into steam the moment they met the cold air. It was as though the world around you seemed to hold its breath - the falling snow, the ancient stones, the depths of Winterfell baring witness to the love you held for each other.

"Hello, my love.." The sound of her voice made a choked sob leave you as tears suddenly formed in your eyes. The voice you thought about, the voice you were apart from, the voice you fell in love with was finally back to gracing your ears. She was always gentle with you, even if she knew you could handle your own, but she treated you with the softness, with the love that you never thought anyone in the Seven Kingdoms could give you.

"Hello, my Brienne.. I'm so glad you're back," your voice was nearly a whisper, showing the wear and tear that the time without her has brought to you.

"Always, for you. I'll always come back to you." If it was at all possible, it seemed as though your smiles only widened, the tell-tale blush lingering on both of your faces as you both finally broke away from the crowd.

It was easy for you both to move back to your shared quarters, your movements together still like second nature even after the amount of time that had passed. You had a bath ready for her by the time she had come back from the stables, and you helped her take her armor off as you talked about her travels.

Just as you were about to start polishing your armor, you felt her hands wrap around your waist and pull you against her front. Sweet kisses were placed on one of your shoulders, before you felt her hold tighten. You turned around in her hold, bringing one of your hands up to move her gaze to your own. After a silent question, her eyes only softened, her fingers starting to trace absent minded patters under your shirt before she spoke.

She leaned in, stealing another kiss from you. It was longer than the one in the courtyard, now that you were away from the eyes of all. You chased her for another as she pulled away, earning you a satisfied smile. Her lips rested just centimeters above yours, her words coming out in a whisper, "I love you."

The words echoed in your soul like ones you never planned to forget, her voice filling your body with an electricity that no one else could charge, that no one else could even come close to causing. It made your cheeks flush as though you had heard those words for the first time, but who could blame you when she looked at you like you had painted the sky with your own hands.

"I love you too.." It came out soft, yet eager to fill her ears. You watched as those words alone seemed to settle her, grounding her in her spot and reminding her that she truly was home with you. She placed one last kiss against your lips, before heading towards the bath.

When she came back to the room, seemingly refreshed and in her robe, she stopped in her tracks and watched you in the candle light. You had taken the opportunity to change into something else, or something less, as the golden hues radiated off your skin as if you were a god. The sheer robe you adorned left little to the imagination, the dark colored undergarments seeping through the thin fabric and revealing the perfect hold they had on your body.

She walked closer, her movements unknown to you as you cleaned up the rest of the table, until one of the floorboards creaked and gave her away. You turned towards her quickly, the sound making you jump, before your expression morphed into a smile. The action had made your robe fall off one of your shoulders, something that didn't go unnoticed by the knight, as her eyes lingered over the expanse of your exposed skin.

She was quick to bring you closer, your bodies glowing in the radiating warmth of the flames. She kissed you in that light, in the warmth that welcomed her home. You lived in the way she made you feel, the energy of the gods running through the both of you as all your emotions ran through each kiss.

Everything felt right, at peace, at home, like everything else was able to melt away for what felt like the first time in forever as you stood in each others hold, as your lips connected again and again. There was a glow that you both adorned that wasn't present before, one that had slowly dulled as the days apart grew longer, but one that reawakened and was ever burning for as long as you had each other.

As each kiss ran soft, the next came back more wanting. Your hands circled around her neck, keeping her close and playing with the soft strands of her hair. Her own had slipped under your robe, tracing over the skin that she had longed to touch again, leaving goosebumps in every path she took.

You walked her back towards the bed, undoing the tie of her robe before she sat down. You slowly moved to your knees, resting between her legs, your lips trailing down her neck as your hands freely roamed her body. You took your time worshiping her, leaving light scratches along her hips and thighs or bringing more attention to her chest with your lips.

You listened as her breathing grew heavier the closer you got to her breasts, a heavy sigh and a deep hum leaving her lips after you licked over her right bud, capturing it in your mouth soon after. You felt her squirm under your touch, her robe slipping down her shoulders and exposing more of her to you.

After showering her breasts in attention, your lips made their way down to her thighs, being sure to kiss and bite every curve of muscle your knight gave you. One of her hands ran through your hair as you kissed down one of her thighs, using her other as support to lean back and expose more of herself to you. The smell of her arousal made the coil in you tighten, and the sight of her blown pupils only proving to you how good she was feeling.

As you kissed up her other leg, you brought one to rest on your shoulder, and you felt your own arousal begin to pool between your legs at the sight of her soaked core. You kissed along her slit, your touch featherlight and causing broken whimpers to leave the blonde, before running your tongue through her folds.

She threw her head back, a deep moan leaving her lips as her back arched. Your pace was sickly slow to her, your tongue working in and out of her entrance as the flame within her only grew larger.

Her fingers made their way into your hair, pulling on the strands and making a moan escape your lips. The vibrations only pleased her in more ways than one, her hips bucking at the sound. You took the opportunity to move your tongue to her clit, circling the sensitive bud and sucking, causing a near pornographic moan to leave her lips.

You continued, urged on as her moans grew louder and more frequent, as the hold on your hair grew tighter and as her thighs threatened to close around your head. Her thighs shook as her peak came closer and closer, her eyes screwed shut as she chased the pleasure you gave her. With her jaw slack and her brows furrowed, she came hard against your tongue, her thighs closing around your head.

Your actions didn't stop, didn't slow as you allowed her to ride out her high. You groaned at the taste of her, being sure to lap up everything she gave you, before pulling away breathless. Your breath was hot, your chest heaving as you caught your breath, but your focus was stolen away as her fingers guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her.

She pulled you up with a gentle touch, guiding you onto her lap before capturing your lips once more. Her fingers worked on the tie of your robe, before smoothing the fabric down your arms and off your body.

A whimper left your lips as her thumbs swiped over your nipples, and she took the opportunity to start kissing down your neck. Each of her movements were soft, slow as though anything more would scare you away. Her lips lingered on your pulse point, the feeling sending heat straight to your core, before she shifted your position.

She turned you both, pushing you down and laying your head against the pillows, your body shining in the moonlight that seeped in from the cracks in the blinds and the gentle glow of the flames in the room. Her lips picked up where they left off, slowly trailing down to your breasts. Her lips and fingers worked together, mapping out every curve and dip of your skin and committing it all to memory.

She gave your breasts the attention that they deserved, her tongue swirling around each bud and forming them into hardened peaks, all while whimpers and small moans escaped your lips. One of her hands trailed down, rubbing up and down your thigh in slow movements, before swiping a finger through your folds. The action made you gasp, your bottom lip quickly coming between your teeth, as you felt her lips move lower and lower.

She collected your juices on her fingers, teasing your entrance before thrusting two of them into your core, moaning at how you immediately clenched around them. She moved them in and out at an agonizing pace, the sensation already making you see stars, as she curled them perfectly in the right spot each time.

Her lips trailed lower and lower, a few kisses being planted at the base of your thighs before you felt her tongue flatten against your slit. Your hips bucked at the feeling, a silent beg for more, before you felt her lick through your folds, her tongue circling your clit right after.

You wreathed under her, your breathing growing heavier as moans shot out of you. The familiar tightness in your core started to build, making the pleasure you felt come back in tenfold. Your hands moved to her hair, pulling at it and begging her not to stop. Your thighs shook with each lick, each thrust into your core, your pleasure building itself closer and closer to the delicious edge.

Every touch was absorbed with every ounce of love she held for you, and you showed her you knew that as her name fell from your lips in desperate moans. She curled her fingers just as she sucked on your clit, and the action made a loud moan escape you as it stole all the air from your lungs. You felt your thighs shake, and another curl of her fingers made ecstasy crash into you.

She helped your ride out your high, her ministrations only slowing when she had licked everything clean. You felt her lips travel up your body, her hands smoothing over your sides and giving you a warmth that you welcomed. Her lips met yours in a tender kiss, one full of the love and adoration you both held for each other. She broke away, moving to lay on her side, before pulling you into her arms.

She wrapped the covers over your bodies, but nothing could match the comfort you felt when her hands started tracing patterns along your back, when her body radiated heat and a smell you found intoxicating, when your head rested in the crook of her neck as her voice traveled through the air with sweet nothings for only you to hear.

You took a moment to look at her, your hands coming up to cup her face as your eyes scanned over her features in the growing late night. You couldn't help the smile that always seemed to grace your lips in her presence, one that she never failed to match when she saw it. With another soft kiss, pulling a hum from her chest, you settled back down in the comfort of her arms, tangling your legs together and enjoying the sound of her heartbeat as sleep took over the both of you.

Knights always held their honor high, and you'd both be sure to always honor the promise of coming back home to the one waiting for you.

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: BRIENNE MY LOVE AHHHHHHHHH

I SAY THIS ABOUT FUCKING EVERYTHING BUT THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE I LOVE BRIENNE

i had somewhat of an idea for this when i had first gotten the request a while ago and im SOOO glad it morphed into THIS!!!! this is my first time writing for Brienne, and im really happy with how it turned out

im on like.. id say the beginning of season three of game of thrones and every time she pops up on the screen i literally kick my feet and scream like im so down bad for her its genuinely so funny to me

here you go anon!! im SO sorry it took this long, but i hope that it was worth the wait !

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

as always, feel free to ask to be added !

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou @ladybathoryy

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

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marthawrites · 4 months

Text

Red Lions and Hidden Dragons

Unnamed male character x Lannister!fem reader & Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!fem reader

Word count: 2.9k+

About: Close kin to Jason and Tyland Lannister, you arrive to King's Landing with a party of fellow lions to celebrate the birth of Prince Maelor Targaryen. You weren't expecting to catch Prince Aemond's eye, but once you do, neither of you can forget it.

Includes: SMUT. This is porn with plot to set it up. Featuring lust at first sight, allusions to obsession (from reader and aemond), voyeurism, unprotected vaginal sex, male masturbation, allusions to exhibitionism, stalking, male receiving oral sex, reader receiving oral sex, minor degradation, vaginal fingering, and somnophilia

Note: Hello lovely reader! This might be one of the filthiest things I've written. Double warning: This fic is heavy on the voyeurism and Aemond is a creep. If you do not like that then do not read this. Reader is a Lannister and is implied to have blonde hair. Everything else is up to you! Reader's lover is implied to have ginger hair. Everything else about him is up to you. As always, I hope you enjoy this (filth)!

Golden sunlight warmed your honey curls as they cascaded down your back in gentle waves. Following close behind was a guard armored in the colors of House Lannister. A woman walked beside you who also donned your House's colors in a more practical attire–sword not included. “Is it everything you wanted it to be?” She asked you with bright curiosity as her gaze swept over the Red Keep's gardens.

Spring's blooms weighed heavily in the air and if it weren't for a forgiving breeze all of those fragrances would be unbearable. Your nose tickled with an edge of a sneeze you could never quite expel. “It's absolutely lovely,” you replied with a happy sigh, leaning into your friend and lady-in-waiting. “Although… if I don’t go inside soon my eyes will be pinker than a pig’s bottom and leakier than a cracked chalice.”

She laughed. “I can bring supper up to your chamber if needed. Sneezing on any one in the royal family could be punishable by death!” She gasped with feigned severity.

You rolled your eyes. “The only one I’m worried about sneezing on is Princess Helaena. With her little Maelor only being just born the last thing she–and he–needs is extra germs.”

You and your family, closely related to King Viserys’ Master of Ships, Tyland Lannister, had only arrived this morning. It had been a long trip. Jason Lannister, Tyland’s elder twin, sent a party of lions to King’s Landing to celebrate the little princeling's birth. “Perhaps you will catch the eye of a lord–or Prince–while you’re there,” he had whispered to you with a wink upon your departure.

Politicking had never been your strong suit. Would it truly be so wrong to marry someone for happiness instead of glory, lands, and wealth? You thought not, but the rest of your family thought yes.

“If the Princess even attends a public dinner,” she answered slyly.

With a light-hearted shrug you looked over your shoulder and asked the knight, “Ser? Do you remember the way back to the Great Hall?”

“I do, Lady Lannister. Ready to return?”

“We are.”

Once inside the Red Keep you immediately felt better. No more tickly nose, or itchy eyes, or scratchy ears. You arrived back just in time, too! Judging by the collection of people and their plates, supper had been served only a short time ago. You and your lady found a seat where you could. Nodding a polite greeting to Tyland, you sat and fixed a plate. While politicking wasn’t one of your strong suits, people watching was.

You ate, and you watched.

Who observed the watcher?

Smearing creamy butter on a still warm roll, you tried to keep tabs on the conversations around you. Truthfully, it was half a bore. Sooner than later it all jumbled to indistinct murmurings. Paying half attention at best, and once you finished all the savory flavors of meats and potatoes, you helped yourself to fruit for a sweet palate cleanser. Wonderfully ripened berries and crisp grapes took over your senses. On one particular juicy bite–when you barely covered your mouth in time to catch a dribble of springtime strawberry juice–a blush rose to your cheeks as your gaze swept over the crowd to see if anyone witnessed your etiquette mishap.

A few seats down, and across the table, the glint of a single violet eye danced with your mishap.

Aemond Targaryen. Prince Aemond Targaryen. Your napkin nearly slipped from your fingers as you realized he watched, and saw, and didn’t turn away from your guilty gaze. His one seeing eye trailed from your chin, down the front of your bodice, and back up to your face. The combination of his perfectly neutral facade and naturally bowed mouth made him impossible to read. But the glint in his eye? You swore it gave away his amusement. Perhaps even something more.

The blush in your cheeks dispersed–spreading and lowering–and with a delicate curve of your mouth you gave the King’s second silver-haired son an entirely different look. With extra care, now, you bit into a plump grape, daring to hold his gaze. Your heart hammered with anticipation and excitment and part of you wondered if he could see the pulsepoint in your neck thumping.

He squinted at you; so slight you might have missed it.

Desire roared in your belly.

It was nearly the end of the hour of ghosts when Aemond made his way to the library on silent feet. The castle was quiet except for a few guards and servants carrying out night shift duties. He paid them little mind as he walked with a small stack of books tucked beneath his arm. Sleep eluded him. Even reading did little to settle his mind. He thought, with a hint of hopefulness, that a walk might allow him to finally relax.

A slight squeak of door hinges was the only sound announcing his arrival. It seemed no matter how many times it was oiled it always squeaked. Most of the time it didn’t matter much. But, on late nights like this, it made Aemond feel as if he interrupted something holy. Sacred.

He’d always been a studious boy–so much so that it followed him into adulthood. Perhaps that is why he felt a pang of guilt upon midnight arrivals; he found as much solace in this place as he did the training yard. Sometimes he had half a mind to bring a pillow and blanket here to sleep in one of the chairs, the floor, or, more comfortably, a settee.

Quietly, out of habit, he walked between the rows of books, tomes, and scrolls, and placed each piece of borrowed literature in its place. Before he truly heard anything, the fine hairs along his neck stood. His pupil widened to take in the dark. A little voice in his head told him to stay quiet and look.

A phantom? He hadn’t felt the fright of ghost stories for a long, long time.

But, no, it wasn’t a thing of nightmares lurking in darkened corners of this peaceful place that caught his attention. It was someone. And, judging by the sounds that perked the fine muscles behind his ears, it was more than one person.

Soft sounds made their way to Aemond’s ears as he stalked on silent feet. Heavy breathing. An inward hiss of breath. A muffled voice–low and sultry–sent his cock stirring to life in his pants. And then, right at the peak of a barely contained moan, a giggle.

Staying to the shadows Aemond peered around a bookshelf and what he saw knocked the wind out of his lungs. A woman–not just any woman, but you–straddled over the lap of a man with your skirts bunched up around your waist. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, its legs thumping against the rug-covered floor with the force in which you rode him–in which he bucked up into you. Aemond saw why you giggled and a hot rush of blood flew up to his head and down to his cock alike. Your breasts were free from your crimson supper gown and they bounced as you fucked whosever cock it was that you were riding. One of the man’s hands squeezed a mound of your soft, perfect tits, letting it bounce against his palm as his mouth sucked your other nipple.

Stepping further back into the shadows, Aemond, as discreetly as he could, moved a few books upon the shelf so he could watch between the newly formed gap. He had the best–truly the best–sight of you. Your cheeks were colored so prettily, lips parted in the epitome of bliss, and your eyelids fluttered as you ground down against him. Aemond saw your hand push through and squeeze your lover’s ginger hair as he nipped and suckled over your peaked nipples.

“Think anyone will show up here?” You asked, rolling your hips against him in a gloriously wonderful grind.

If Aemond were any further away he wouldn't be able to hear you. His ears were perked right to you, however, and he heard your voice–all raspy with pleasure. He palmed at his cock over his pants, the bulge prominent and uncomfortable in its confides.

“If you keep being loud I bet someone will,” he teased before kissing you. He gripped your hips firmly with both hands and began to coax you up and down on him again. Before you could break away from the kiss those same soft sounds from before filled the air. This time they were louder, sharper, both of you chasing pleasure to climax. “Can't believe you wanted me to fuck you here tonight. Of all places in this big castle. Shit–Gods, yes, keep bouncing like that. Keep fucking bouncing like that.”

You barely held your moans back and the little ones that slipped free had Aemond palming at himself firmer. Your moans, and slapping skin, and bouncing tits had the prince dizzy with desire.

How in the actual Hells was this happening?

He nearly spent in his pants when climax washed over you. You were so lovey, and so perfect, and so greedy with your need it made Aemond want to tie your lover up and fuck you right there too.

You could take it. He knew you could. You'd be debauched enough to take two men and still claw at them for more.

Your lover's seed covered your belly in a splattered mess and Aemond nearly groaned out loud.

He'd lingered too long. He shouldn't have even stayed like he did–should have left as soon as he realized what was happening. But that didn't stop him then and it didn't stop him now as he lingered behind for an extra moment, watching you fix your clothes back into place.

The edge of your desire was finally sated. For now, at least. With a satisfied sigh you smiled and tilted your head, looking down at your lover while he whispered something to you. You laughed and rolled your eyes.

That's when you saw him. What? No… it couldn't be! The shadow of the prince just there! Just behind that book shelf.

Aemond side stepped and ducked slightly. Shit shit shit. But it was too late.

“I think I saw someone,” you gasped with an excited warble to your tone.

Whatever else you said, or whatever your reaction might have been, would remain a mystery. That's all Aemond heard before slipping out of the main doorway–the door's squeak the only evidence that anyone else had been in the library.

As much as Aemond wanted to see you during the morning meal, he didn't want to risk it. Would you squirm in your seat beneath his gaze, or would he beneath yours?

Once finished, he exerted himself in the training yard–the image of your blissed out face and bouncing tits still seared onto his mind.

Fuck.

How long were you visiting the Red Keep? Surely Aemond would go mad before long.

After training and before lunch, the prince found himself loitering along a balcony that faced the gardens. It was a quiet spot, one not often frequented, and it served as a perfect place for him to relax and collect his thoughts after training. It proved to be an uneventful rest until a glimmer of golden hair and red breezy gown caught his attention from below.

You.

He stared, watching like a hawk from above. You were on the arm of the same man from last night. Based on his attire Aemond recognized him to be one of the Lannister servants.

Pathetic. The man was a servant. Not a husband, or betrothed, or even someone worth your name. You were a loose wanton thing. Licentious. Aemond watched you drag your male servant off the main pathway until you were out of sight.

And then, on a jolt of lust filled curiosity, he grabbed a nearby spyglass and looked for you again.

A few minutes passed before he saw you through the reflective lens. And when he did the front of his pants immediately became tighter.

Hidden amongst the garden's layout you and your secret lover kissed and touched and pressed together. He saw your mouths move with words he wished he could hear. You were light and playful and eager. Fuck–so eager.

Aemond watched as you sunk down to your knees and pulled his cock out. You took it in your mouth over and over, again and again, like you’d wanted nothing more than to have him in your throat.

Did you enjoy this more, you pretty little whore? Or did your red headed lover?

Aemond's need screamed for friction–for anything–but he remained painfully hard and untouched as he watched, not wanting to miss a single second.

Time ticked by so slowly, so quickly, and before long Aemond saw you swallow, smiling up at your lover as he tucked his spent, softening cock back into his pants. You turned your head, then, looking along the balconies, and Aemond barely had time to step out of sight.

You saw his silver hair and the reflective glare of his spyglass in the late morning sun.

The prince wasn’t half as sly as he thought.

You barely spoke to Viserys’ second-son–barely knew him–yet it did little to stifle the lust drowning your blood.

Two days had passed before Aemond caught you for a third time. Duties kept him busy and he wasn’t able to stalk around the castle after you.

The first time he stumbled across you had been a complete accident. So had the second time. Well… mostly. If he hadn’t caught sight of you entering the gardens he wouldn’t have begun spying on you from the balcony.

The third time, however? He hoped for it.

Might have even prayed for it.

Watching from within the safety of a slim corridor behind the room’s main wall, Aemond peeked through a series of small holes specifically made for spying; servants and their incessant prying. You were sitting in a chair with your legs draped over each arm. Your male servant knelt between your spread legs and feasted on your cunt. His soft groans and slurps, combined with all of your sweet gasps and moans, made the sounds of Aemond freely stroking his cock nearly non-existent.

It was too much. Too fucking much.

You were too perfect. Putting on a show for him and everything. He knew you liked being watched. Why else would you be taunting him, luring him, snaring him in your lewd traps time and time again?

The man slipped his fingers into you while staying on your clit, and the way you tugged at his hair sent Aemond biting down on his lip.

“So sexy like this,” the ginger’s raspy voice rumbled up at you. “So sweet and tight.”

You sighed and giggled, turning his face back against you. “I'm not done. Keep going,” you said, sultry.

He did and you lost yourself.

But before you could finish he asked, “shall I wear an eyepatch next time? Lean into your little fantasy with the prince?”

“Gods, yes.”

He worked you with fingers and tongue again, pushing you to the edge of pleasure. “Say his name. No one is around to hear. The one eyed prince here, right now, eating your sweet cunt.”

You squeezed both hands in his hair and came undone; a tiny, shuddered, “Aemond..!” escaped your lips at the peak of your climax.

Aemond's cock pulsed mightily in the choke of his hand; streaks of his seed dripped down the finished wooden wall. He had to have you.

It was the hour of the owl when Aemond prowled into your chamber. You looked peaceful sleeping, so pretty.

He stood at the side of your bed, head tilted slightly as he looked down at you replaying all the visions of you in his head over again. The backs of his fingers traced along the slope of your face; silken. He dipped lower, sliding down the curve of your neck and across your exposed collarbone. You didn't yet stir and so he slid lower. The swell of your breasts were wonderfully soft beneath your thin shift; nipples peaked beneath.

You teased him even in slumber.

He gently squeezed the mound–testing the suppleness of your body–and reveled in the sensation. With curious delight he pinched the bud and smirked when a small sound hummed between your lips. He did it again. Harder. Your nipples pebbled tighter and saliva built in Aemond's mouth.

That made you stir. Your eyelids trembled over your eyes as if you'd startle awake.

Aemond's hand sunk beneath your blanket and whispered up your smooth thigh. Within the span of a few breaths he found the waist of your smallclothes and tugged the ribbons open. His heartbeat thundered. He couldn’t help it. He had to know. Grazing his fingers lower, still, he ghosted over that delicate space between your thighs. You were warm through the thin cloth of your smallclothes. Insanity threatened to take him over.

Again, you stirred. And this time your eyes fluttered open. Those pretty pools widened and for a moment you couldn’t tell if you were still dreaming, or if this was truly happening.

Prince Aemond. In your room. How did he get in? You’d lusted for him since arriving. Now, here he was; perhaps the Gods indeed answered prayers.

“Shh,” he hushed, fingers lifting to his lips to shush you further; a smirk visible at the corners of his mouth. “Why pretend when you can have the real thing, lady Lannister?”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @aemondtarqaryens @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

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#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #aemond imagine

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