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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 10 months

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BUMP START.

Part 2 of The Devil You Know

Biker!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

What was supposed to be a quiet start into the day ended with a surprising question... and a lot of surprising feelings.

WORDS: 2.6 K

WARNINGS: just some sexual tension, some teasing, some somewhat cocky Aemond Targaryen

NOTES: I know I've written this, but reader definitely is stronger than me when it comes to Aemond, tbh.💀 Aemond is confident and self-assured, but not in an asshole kind of way. He has different sides to him, but you‘ll get to know some of them throughout this series.

It was 9:30 am sharp when you pulled into the parking lot in front of the Choppers, your father’s old Jeep Wrangler coming to a stop with a whole lot of difficulties, the squealing brakes announcing your arrival. While you were incredibly grateful for him providing you with the car in the first place, you would've not minded taking out his motorcycle instead–except for the fact that you don’t know how to drive one, and that your father’s motorcycle is far too big and heavy for you.

Just the thought of feeling a bit more connected to the place, the bar and the people visiting it was what made you want it in the first place, knowing being a biker yourself would secure you a permanent spot with the Savage Dragons. But you and your family struggled to make ends meet, so, getting your own motorcycle, and the license on top, were the last things on your list.

In front of the bar stood several motorcycles, but the most striking one among them was a sleek black Harley-Davidson Fat Bob 114. You had heard rumors of whom it belonged to, and wondered what had happened the previous night for its owner to leave his bike behind, standing in the open in the midst of busy King’s Landing.

Your keychain fell to the ground as you closed the heavy front door behind you, and the silence of the empty bar was pierced by a tired groan. You picked them up at lightning speed and put the individual keys between your fingers, ready to jab an assailant at any given moment.

“Who’s there?” you asked, putting on the most threatening tone you could muster while prowling around the empty tables. It was then, as you reached the bar and turned on the lights, that you spotted a flash of silver on one of the corner benches in the back of Choppers. And then you spotted the leather jacket hanging over one of the chairs, a golden, three-headed dragon shimmering on the back of it. There’s no way, you thought to yourself, rubbing your palms to prepare yourself for the inevitable meeting with Dracarys’ ominous and unofficial president, Aemond.

The man grumbled and stretched his ridiculously long legs, protruding far over the edge of the bench. “It’s me.” And with no oldschool rock thrumming in the background, his voice sounded even smoother.

He looked absolutely whacked, and from the way he rubbed his eyes–yes, eyes, the eyepatch rested on the table next to him–it seemed as if he didn’t have a comfortable night.

“What are you doing here?” You moved to stand behind the counter, feeling more comfortable with something solid between you to grant you some sense of safety alone with a stranger in an empty bar.

“Gods,” he groaned, “how late is it?” Aemond pulled out his phone and glanced at the black screen while still lying on his back. It was obvious his phone had died, because he sighed and slammed it on the table before craning his neck to look at the clock hanging at the wall behind you. The bar was naturally dimly lit, and with him being in the far back, you couldn’t see his face properly. “Fuck, it’s way too early.”

You scoffed, and filled the sink with hot water, cleaning the glasses that had piled up the counter. “Got drunk after I left, and no one to bring you home?” you asked, though there was a certain snappiness to your tone–at least snappier than initially intended. You blamed it on him interrupting the only quiet hours you would get all day with your shift starting in two hours, while deep down your nervousness certainly played into it, too.

Aemond rose from his spot with a dry chuckle at your attitude. He fixed his disheveled hair, and since your eyes flickered over his frame from his shoes up to his hands, you quickly averted them the moment you spotted the eyepatch dangling loosely between his slender fingers, which meant his supposedly sapphire eye was uncovered.

Even though someone missing an eye was something completely natural and normal, it still felt eerily intimate to you. Perhaps, he was still half asleep, not fully aware that you haven’t seen his missing eye before, or perhaps he just didn’t care. Something in you tried to resist the urge to look up at him, to gawk at his eye, and it felt as if your whole body was frozen in place with him creeping closer to you.

Your face was titled down with your eyes fixed on the sink, being extra careful to scrub every glass spotless in order to not meet his eyes, and Aemond seemingly became aware of what you were doing. A deeply buried part of him was grateful, because it meant he got to spend just a few more minutes without being judged for his condition openly, but you didn’t strike him as someone so judging, and he was certain Jace and Luke had told you about the prosthetic. But he also wanted to see how long you could keep it up, especially with him being right in front of you. He smirked to himself, and sat down on one of the bar stools.

“Some ass cut the fuel line of my motorcycle,” he replied.

Aemond leaned over the counter, fetching one of the cleaned glasses, and poured himself a tap beer as if he’d done that plenty of times before. The instinct to swat his hands away, just like you had done with Baela’s multiple times in the past, was big, but you withstood it. However, you gauged at his hands, memorizing the veins that ran along their backs, decorated with tattoos, and disappearing under the long sleeves of his black shirt.

You raised your brows, seeming unconvinced. “And Aegon didn’t want you to ride shotgun?”

He took a swig of his beer. “I have to put up with Aegon all day long. It’s kinda nice to have a night all to yourself. Just told Jason to pick me up in the morning.”

“And how would you have gotten out of here today?”

Aemond slightly tilted his head, one eyebrow cocked in a smug manner. “I know about the spare key taped under the counter right…,” he trailed off and leaned forwards over the counter, coming dangerously close as he reached next to you, nimble fingers curling beneath the countertop to retrieve said spare key, “... here.”

While his movements and proximity choked the air out of your lungs, you felt unable to move and merely processed what he had done when he presented you the key, captured between his index and middle finger. You snatched it from him, ignoring the goosebumps that littered over your skin as you touched him, and put it right back where it came from.

“And you prefer to sleep in your uncle’s bar, on one of the most uncomfortable corner benches to ever exist, just to have a few hours without your brother?”

“Exactly,” he said, keeping his eyes on you, whereas you hadn’t directly looked at his face once, “it’s nice to spend a night and a morning all alone before a damn long shift at the shop.”

The thoughts of his missing eye were pushed to the back of your mind at his statement, your head tilting up with your eyes narrowed to look at him. Yours slightly traced over his chiseled features, and when you eventually spotted the sapphire blue prosthetic eye, you couldn’t say that you weren’t a bit disappointed. “So, you’re telling me you both work, huh, like, getting your hands dirty and all?” It was more of a teasing question, though a hint of disbelief lingered in your tone.

While his breath caught in his throat when your eyes finally met, clearly anticipating the usual stuttering, the flushed face and neck, the not knowing where to look and, worst of all, even apologizing for looking at him, he was laser-focused to spot any signs of disgust or repulsion on your features. When nothing of the matters above followed, he was pleasantly surprised. But he was able to notice something else flickering in your eyes–something that came close to fascination.

“Getting our hands dirty, and everything that comes with it, sweets,” the nickname slipped past his lips with such ease once the shock of your first eye contact passed. You knew it merely was the payback for your previous teasing, and yet you blushed. It was repulsive when his brother said it, despite Aegon being easy on the eyes and carrying quite the charisma, but it sounded ten times better when it came from Aemond.

“Just joking,” he was quick to add, obviously not wanting to push the limits. “We work at the Lannister’s shop, mostly fixing the motorcycles, but I could certainly get some cars to drive, too.”

Inappropriate thoughts clouded your mind. Visions of a sweaty Aemond, grunting and groaning at a particularly hard task, covered with a few streaks of oil and a thin sheen of sweat that not only accentuated his tattoos, but also highlighted his muscles and veins. You had bitten your bottom lip, only pulled out of your thoughts at the dull thud of Aemond putting his almost emptied pint back on the countertop. Your cheeks lit up in embarrassment as you noticed what had happened, trying to get your mind off it by taking care of the glassware.

Once the glasses were stored in the cabinet, you slightly bowed forwards and gripped the edges of the counter, meeting Aemond’s eyes. Only then you noticed the slight color difference in his healthy eye and the prosthetic. The right one was more of a steel blue, whereas the left one indeed was colored in a sapphire blue. From the way Jace and Luke had told it, you fully expected a real sapphire to be popped into the socket, though the one he now wore definitely had more charm. A very faint scar ran from his cheek up to his forehead, barely noticeable without looking closely.

You could’ve sworn you’d seen him squirm under your gaze. Just slightly.

“I’d have to see that myself to believe you and Aegon are actually working for your money,” you noted, an amused tone laced within your voice.

Aemond chuckled, still somewhat baffled by your bold staring, “feel free to drop by whenever you feel like it. I’ll be at the shop at least until 6pm today… and every other day, too.”

Grabbing a rag, you wetted it and came back from behind the counter to start wiping down the tables. The awkward tension between you two had vanished into thin air rather quickly, and you actually found him to be one of the very few people you could have pleasant conversations with.

Aemond turned in his seat and watched your every move just like he had done the night before. Instead of the skirt, you wore skinny jeans this time around, and they did nothing to hide your curves. Perhaps he had to put the eyepatch over his healthy eye to stop himself from staring at you like a bitch in heat.

“I wouldn’t have thought that your brother’s quite a handful,” you stated, not bothering to look at him from over your shoulder. You had a feeling you’d catch him staring if you did, and you weren’t sure if you could handle that without wanting to jump his bones right then and there.

“Aegon is many things, and when he’s not a handful, he’s a menace.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about that.”

“Sure you did,” came his reply, a strange edge you couldn’t assign to it.

You think nothing of it, mind still lingering on the stupid excuse he had given about sleeping in the bar, and you had to bite the insides of your cheeks to stop your lips from curling into a grin, yet the ‘mhmm’ you made could even be heard by him.

A few empty glasses Cregan clearly had missed the night before were balanced in your hand as you walked back towards the bar, but instead of walking around it, you approached the vacant space next to Aemond, placing the glasses on the countertop. You felt his eye on you, and in your peripheral vision you saw him watching you. Again, or still.

You half turned to face him, a tilt of your head exposing your neck while your eyes took him in for a few seconds, examining his chiseled jaw, the way his lips had curled into a confident smile, his nose, and how his eye couldn’t seem to choose between your lips and eyes. “What?”

“You ever go out with any of your customers?”

Your eyes widened for a moment, but relaxed just as quick. You leaned against the counter, your upper body bowing towards him a bit.

“I don’t particularly like going out with men that don’t even bother to ask my name,” you quipped.

You were able to spot the exact moment the sting of reaction settled in, his smile faltering ever so slightly before returning to the way it was before, the hurt apparent. You felt bad that he obviously didn’t get your teasing, and your mind raced with something to lighten the mood again, not wanting to ruin your chances with him. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and dragged his eye from your lips, to your cleavage and eventually up to your eyes.

“Well, what’s your name?”

You released a puff of air, but still told him your name and brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear as you did so.

“So, I take this as a yes then?” Aemond asked, the arched eyebrow indicating he was searching for your reassurance.

Without thinking about it, you brushed your fingertips over his thigh, seemingly contemplating his question. He shifted in his seat, tensing up, which you took as the cue to pull your hand away as fast as it got there.

You bit your bottom lip. “I’m working tonight. Come by and ask me again.”

It took a moment for the weight of those words to set in, allowing you to take a step back from him to disappear behind the bar again. As he scoffed and pushed his silver hair back, you were near fainting, clutching the edge of the counter for support while you leaned on it.

In the pregnant pause between you both, you heard the distant honking of a car, indicating that his ride was there.

“Guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said, bringing the pint up to his lips to drown the rest of it, before he thrummed his fingers on the countertop and rose from his seat. Your face dulled, having enjoyed the easy banter and flirting perhaps a bit too much.

The cheeky wink he sent you came out of the blue, and was the last blow to catch any words that might have left your lips in your throat. He walked towards the corner bench in the far right and fetched his leather jacket, putting it on. It accentuated the natural broadness of his shoulders, the gold of the three-headed dragon on the back and the greenish-golden flames around it complementing the silver of his hair.

As much as you enjoyed seeing him leave, you also loathed it.

With the door handle already in hand, Aemond opened the door but stopped in his tracks right away. “Y/N?” Hearing your name leave his lips was like music to your ears, and you wondered how it would sound spoken in a completely different manner… and an entirely different situation.

You tilted your head up from your spot behind the sink to meet his eyes, raising your eyebrows.

“See you tonight.” While he left the Choppers to meet his friends outside, you were left with a pounding heart and an aching between your legs, forced to swallow the lump in your throat that formed at the thoughts of your upcoming shift.

TDYK Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @sophie-looks-at-stuff @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @janejenny666 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @rhaenyrarp @melsunshine @docmartinis @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens

You know the drill: bold means I couldn’t tag you.

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mlmxreader · 5 months

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Toy Boy | Johnny Cage x m!reader (🍋)

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Could you do one with prompts 101 and 114, with Cage and M reader?? ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Johnny decide to have a little fun for the day.

: ̗̀➛ daddy kink, cockwarming, praise kink, free use, mentions of breeding kink

↳ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Old heavy metal songs by Metallica, Sodom, Slayer and Cannibal Corpse were playing on the speaker as you sat so nicely on Johnny's lap; his cock buried in your ass as he held one hand over your mouth, the other holding the phone against his ear as he spoke to his publicist.

They asked if he had seen you at all, as because you were his agent you were expected to sort out his bookings for the awards season, but Johnny just laughed and said that you were more than busy for the moment.

It was never a secret that you and Johnny were together, as the paparazzi had leaked the relationship early on when they caught him on a beach with you, wearing just swim trunks and kissing and hugging.

It was obvious from the start, and neither you nor Johnny ever saw any point in hiding it anyway.

Sure, interviewers asked him about what it was like to date his agent every time he went to press junkets, but he was always honest - he adored you, and he loved that you never had any qualms with telling him off when he needed it.

You were the reason why he was rumoured to be winning an Oscar; you had nagged him into taking a role for a large director that you were a fan of, a biopic about a scientist during the first World War, and he had been a massive success.

People hadn't stopped talking about the film, or his performance, for months. He was a fan favourite to win the Oscar.

But that didn't stop you from being completely different in the bedroom; always willing and eager to submit to him, always more than happy to lube yourself up so that you could be his cockwarmer throughout the night and during the day.

Letting him have free access to you as long as you wore one red sock and one green one. In the bedroom, you were his favourite fuck toy; his prized toy boy.

He loved the way you looked when he fucked you doggy style on the bed facing the mirror; watching you get cockdrunk and cumdrunk, begging for him to breed you.

He adored how you would happily rush into bathrooms with him at restaurants and awards ceremonies just for a quickie. Johnny fucking knew that he had stuck gold with you. His publicist hung up, and he tossed the phone aside as he hummed, lazily bucking his hips up into you.

"Such a good boy," he said softly, running a hand down your back. "Keeping Daddy's cock nice and warm in your tight ass."

You let out a shaky sigh, wanting nothing more than to be fucked and bred until his cum was leaking from your ass and you could hardly walk; twitching and writhing on the sofa until you couldn't move anymore, only able to whimper out quiet begs for him to keep going.

Overstimulated and completely spent by the time that he eventually pulled out. Drooling until a puddle formed beneath you, sweating and panting heavily. But you knew that if you wanted that, you would have to behave.

You would have to be so good for Johnny if you were to get what you wanted. He grabbed the remote, turning the speaker off before he turned the television on, casually flicking through the channels until he found an old spaghetti Western on; it was by one of his favourite directors, Sergio Leone, and was rightfully rendered as iconic.

He bucked his hips up into you just to listen to your shaky breath as you shuddered and tried to hold it in; torturing you so wonderfully and knowing all the right strings to pull.

"What's the matter, baby?" Johnny hummed, leaning forward so that he could gently hold your throat. "Hmm?"

You swallowed thickly, doing your best not to squirm and buck your hips. "Daddy, I need you..."

He grinned as he licked his lips, clearing his throat as he leaned back with his hands on the back of his head. "Show me how much you need it."

Relief washed over you in short bursts of waves. Rocking your hips slowly, getting him to groan and tilt his head back as he closed his eyes; you could feel him getting hard as you picked up the pace, moving your hips so that his cock hit all the places in your ass.

Making you buckle and groan as you leaned over, putting your hands on the coffee table. Johnny tilted his head forward, able to see his cock pumping in and out of your stretched ass as he bit his lip, stifling a soft grunt.

A string of praises and encouragements left his mouth as he grabbed your sides to keep you steady, his grip bruising and harsh. Fuck. You always took his cock so well.

You were so well trained, bouncing your ass and clenching around him as you whimpered and hung your head. Johnny couldn't help but to smile, slowly thrusting into you.

He grumbled, watching you fuck yourself as his eyes drifted to the television; against the screen, he could see the reflection of him fucking you, and couldn't help but to grin.

It was always his favourite time when he had you on your hands and knees on the bed, facing the mirror so that he could see your face as he fucked you; watching you slowly become an incoherent and needy mess, drooling and unable to do anything but keep fucking yourself on his cock.

Completely drunk, and even getting more drunk from his cum when he bred you. Listening to the soft squelches as he fucked it back into you.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. He tilted his head back again, letting out a long moan as he closed his eyes in bliss; you were such a good boy, such a good little fuck toy for him to use. You would always be his favourite toy boy.

But the way you clenched around him, and how he could feel your body tremble and shake as you chased your release; the sounds of a gunfight on the television masking the slapping of skin so easily as he gripped your sides tighter, pulling you back so that your back was flush to his chest.

He picked up the pace, fucking up into you and pounding your ass as he let go of one side, bringing his thumb to your mouth. He slipped the digit between your lips, and moaned softly when you sucked it. Your tongue running over the tip and swirling around the base.

"Such a good boy," Johnny praised with harsh breaths. "Always such a good boy for Daddy, huh, baby?"

You whimpered, clenching around him as you felt drool slip from the corner of your mouth, leaking down your skin as you shuddered and shook. "I wanna... I wanna..."

"What is it, baby?" He asked softly, running a hand down your torso and stopping just shy of your cock.

You let out a harsh and shaky breath. "I wanna, wanna cum - please, Daddy... been so good..."

"I know, baby," Johnny whispered, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. "Whenever you're ready, okay?"

You nodded, thankful that you didn't have to try and hold yourself back. You clenched around him a final time, your eyes closing tightly as you groaned out his name, toes curling and thighs shaking as you felt your cum spurt onto your stomach.

You tilted your head back, giving him perfect access to the sensitive skin; Johnny didn't even think twice, licking the sweaty skin before sinking into it.

Claiming you as he froze and grunted out your name, slowly easing into you as he felt his cum fill your ass; soft squelches echoing through the room as he eased you through your orgasm. He fell back, the back of his head hitting the sofa as he sighed heavily, daring to laugh.

"You good?"

You nodded, clearing your throat as you stood up. You didn't get far, collapsing onto your back on the sofa as you sighed contentedly. "Fuck, John."

Johnny grinned at you as he licked his lips. "We just did."

You scoffed, playfully glaring at him. "Shut up and get me a cigarette, would you?"

Groaning softly, Johnny stood. Daring to pause and kiss your forehead before he wandered off to grab your cigarettes. "Y'know, we should think about showering."

"Once I've got my cigarette," you chuckled. "I'm fucking spent."

"Well, maybe we can skip the globes," he hummed, handing you the packet and sitting beside you. "Have a night, just you and me."

"No," you growled, lighting it. "We have to be there, if you win then it could be huge for your career."

"And there he is," Johnny laughed. "Immediately into work mode already."

You rolled your eyes fondly. "I might be your boyfriend, but don't forget I'm still your agent."

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suiseisyojo · 1 year

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Hello! I absolutely adore your TWST love potion HCs and I'd love it if you did one for Idia too!

a/n: thank you so much, i'm so happy you like them! i'm sorry this is a little belated, i've had idia's segment done for the longest time but i felt awkward only uploading 1 character LOL but i hope this was worth the wait, and that you enjoy! thanks for requesting!♪

「idia shroud, silver x gn!reader」 ↳ in which you accidentally drink a love potion and fall for the one who’s always harbored unrequited feelings for you. [parts 1 + 2] cw: angst, suggestive themes (all), reader is based off hen wen (silver)

[idia shroud]

Everyone knew how difficult it was to befriend Idia—an introverted, pessimistic shut-in with no social awareness—and yet, you found yourself on amiable terms with him. The two of you bonded over your mutual love for 〈Precipice Moirai〉. You confided in Idia about how their music aided you in troubling times, and your relationship began to blossom deeper and deeper from then onwards.

But Idia's feelings for you were much more profound, severing the border between 'like' and 'love'. Ortho was aware of these feelings Idia possessed, encouraging him to be open with you; yet Idia would always, always refute, ”There’s no way they’d love someone like me. If I ever confessed, I can hear the way they’d say, ‘Ew, why would I date a walking corpse like him?’!!”.

And so, when you had accidentally consumed a love potion and began lavishing heaps of affection onto him, him of all people!, Idia was at a complete loss on what to do. "Idia-san, I'm going crazy. I need you, my heart is on fire because of you," you softly spoke to him, fingers grasping his sweater.

Ortho giggled at the sight of you cooing at him, before letting it slip that Idia loved you. "Isn't this great, Nii-san? [Name]-san's heart rate is 114 beats per minute, all from looking at you! They must love you, too!" Oh no, oh no, oh no⋯ Ortho, no!

“Aah! I can’t believe Ortho outed me like that⋯!!” Idia lamented, his scorching cheeks hidden behind overly long sleeves of his sweater. Thanks to his little brother admitting to you that Idia’s always harbored feelings for you, you were even more obdurate on receiving his affections while under the love potion’s influence. “Huh? It’s fine? No way is that true!”

In the first place, having you on his bed like this was enough to make him faint, now let alone having you try to make advances towards him! Isn’t all of this happening too fast? It’s as if the writers in a romance visual novel didn’t care enough to develop the relationship past the four bullet points in the reveal trailer!!

Anxiety and heat swirled in his mind and left him overburdened by his own pessimistic thoughts, mourning his existence with you before it even began. Your hand coiled around his wrist, bringing his hand down away from concealing his countenance from you.

Breathlessly, Idia stared at you with wide-eyes, “Eh? What is it?” He looked mortified beyond his normal scope, and it made your heart squeeze. The palms of your hands smoothed over his cheeks, feeling how he trembled beneath you.

“Put on some Premo?” Repeating the words back to you, Idia realized why you suddenly had such a request. To make him feel more comfortable, to settle his unease with your shared love of the idol unit. “⋯ I guess that would help.”

Idia got up from the bed and sauntered over to his computer, where he put on your favorite album. Unconsciously, he did so—he thought of you as if it was second-nature. Can’t he just stay here at his desk? Why did you have to be so insistent on being close? Okay, it was the heightened effects from the love potion, but still.

You were killing his heart! Inhaling shakily, Idia begrudgingly climbed back onto the bed as you pleaded oh so sweetly to him. His heavy breaths scorched his lips as it spilled out, and he froze when you wrapped your arms around him.

“Now It’s too hot? Well, that’s what happens when you snuggle up close to someone like me!” Idia sobbed, only for pure, unadulterated panic to suffuse through the fissures of his body as your fingers hooked around the hem of your shirt. “LEAVE IT ON, PLEASE!”

The faint sound of incoherent mumbling could be heard, as Idia senselessly babbled, “I-I didn’t think I’d unlock an H scene!” under his breath.

Overlaying his panting was your beloved idol unit, and Idia was on the verge of tears as he watched you come closer and closer to him. Your first kiss with Idia was underscored by your all-time favorite song. The song that even brought your path to his.

Idia melted into you as your mouth rounded with his, the heat from your mingling breaths sending a frisson of excitement down your spines. Deep in his chest was guilt, a dreaded sensation he was all too familiar with.

A mixture of worry and titillation coated his insides—what if you hated him after this? He only just worked up the courage to talk to you first without being prompted!!

“You’re going to be the death of me, [Name]-shi; I’m falling for deeper seeing you like this-!!”

[silver]

Your relationship with Silver had always been extremely close—in fact, many people were stupefied to find out you two weren't dating and remained friends. You retained potent oracle powers, your magic bestowing you the ability to see into the future. And most of the time, you used the aforementioned ability to predict when and where Silver would fall asleep; so that you may catch him in time, or be prepared to wake him up should he sleep too long and miss a class or event.

It didn't help that the two of you would often be caught cuddling together, your arms and legs tangled with one another as you shared your heat. Silver had never experienced love until he met and fell for you, and even as those feelings flourished in his chest, he never once put that pressure on your relationship. He kept all the words he wished to say, and the feelings, hidden away.

When word got out that you had ingested a love potion, whether accidental or not, Silver vowed to continue being your knight and stay staunchly by your side in order to protect you. And things would've been perfectly fine if the words "I love you, Silver" hadn't spilled from your pretty, entrancing lips.

As his heart stopped in his chest, Silver ran. His legs carried him far away before his mind could process a single thing, and he couldn't tell if that was for you his sake⋯ or yours.

Fluttering his eyes open, the sensation of soft lashes dusting across skin distant, Silver’s weariness exacerbated as his vision was enveloped with your prepossessing countenance in propinquity to his own. “[Name]⋯?” he inquired indolently, bewildered by the sight before him.

Your body hovered above his as you pinned him down further onto the couch he rested upon, the spates of warmth emanating from your skin seeping into him; in a way that didn’t beguile him into slumber or serenity, but another kind of excitement.

“You knew I would be napping here so you looked for me?” Silver found himself sighing as he heard your words, a pathetic attempt to placate his titillation, before latching his hands onto your hips. “Never mind that, you should get off me.”

With ease, Silver dug his fingers rougher into your hips as he lifted you up; shifting himself upwards with hasty movements so as to be sedentary. The reason he was tucked away in a spot aberrant for him, occluded from view, was precisely because he was avoiding you.

The harrow of receiving your distorted heart was too much to bear—he didn’t want to do something shameful, something unbecoming of a knight-to-be. Yet your obstinacy towards clinging onto him was alluring all the same, like a gleaming spindle meant to tantalize and corrupt.

It made Silver’s head spin.

“I see that the love potion hasn’t worn off yet⋯ if you can predict the future, wouldn’t you have known if that drink you accepted was poisoned or not?” Silver, of all people, knew that your powers weren’t that easy to manipulate or control.

Ever since Silver was a little boy, he’d always dreamed of falling in love like that of a fairytale. When Lilia would swathe him in abundant blankets as they snuggled together in bed, utilizing his magic to resplendently illuminate the room along with fantastical and whimsical stories. ‘Will I find someone like the prince did?’ Silver remembers asking his father, a string of giggles overflowing from his lips as Lilia tickled his sides, ‘My fated person?’.

If this was a fairytale, true love’s kiss would break the egregious spell holding you captive—but as your lips feverishly met with his, Silver realized he wasn’t your prince; for no prince would so greedily taste your lip-gloss on your teeth while he deepened these incessant kisses.

“Yeah, you’re my fated one, [Name]. Let me show you how I’ve always dreamed of having you.”

#idia shroud #silver twst #idia shroud x reader #silver x reader #silver twst x reader #x reader #gn reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #love potion series

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yunietunie · 8 months

Text

Soft Spot.

[nsfw]

Ghost was feared throughout the unit, however he had caught the eye of someone. Constant thoughts ran through as he offered to buy drinks, only to be met with a blunt rejection. It wouldn't go further... would it?

fem!reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, eating out, rough, cum shots, unprotected!sex, strangers to lovers?

Ghost was a fearful soldier in your unit, always parading around as some brooding villain. No one would ever cross the thought of pissing him off. You were a new recruit, barely any training done. After work or during his free time, he’d scurry off to some hiding spot, leaving you bewildered on what he would be doing.

Occasionally you two would cross paths but his responses were always, “Yeah” or “no” or “Guess so”. He never gave you a full sentence, making your interactions dry and distasteful. Or if he did, it was to “correct” your mistakes in training in a harsh way. You kind of gave up on talking to him, just giving him small smiles as a way to show you were friendly.

It was sort of fair, only because of the rank difference. You were given no leisure in training or work in general.

You felt drawn to him, subconsciously staring at him when he was in meetings or passing by near him in hallways. In a recent meeting however, you saw his eyes bore into yours for a good while, making you curious as to why he suddenly took notice of you. Was he annoyed? Has he finally had enough of your ogling? All these questions would shimmer down your hope.

That was until he was next to you in the shooting range, seemingly releasing stress while practicing his aim. You took notice of how easy it was for him, then looked back at your barely damaged paper target. You sigh slightly at the sight, a punch of disappointment in your chest just before you start taking your pistol back to the weapon’s case.

“You’re tense. You need to be relaxed.” A gravelly voice said behind you, your head whipping over to it. Your eyes filled with bewilderment once again. Was he talking to you? His brown irises were interlocking with your eyes, he motioned you to walk back with your pistol. “You’re also holding it wrong.”

There it was, the mistake you awaited for him to point out eventually, as he did with everything. Ghost’s jaw slightly tensed as you began to walk over back into your firing lane. Ghost would place his pistol down with the safety on. The gruffly man stepped behind you, his weight slightly behind you, his hands gripped around your wrists to correct your position.

The second you felt his warm breath in your ear, your face grew hot. “Right…” You respond to his corrective action, not able to form a sentence. How the tables have turned. HIs fingertips were somewhat gentle when he helped you fix your grip on the gun. Your eyes would blink for a few moments, trying to pull back some of the color rising in your face.

“Relax.” He murmured to you again.

You took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly out. Ghost lowered the pistol back into your hands, his grasp on your wrists loosened when you began to untense your body.

“Better.” He said with a hint of approval, turning around to place himself against the wall just behind you. Ghost crossed his arms and observed your stance for a moment, before tilting his head to the side to get a better view. “Now, try again.”

The close proximity drove you up a fucking wall. LIttle or no words spoken between you two to him helping you in your aim. Trying to decipher that man was a crisis itself and one you wouldn’t figure out until much, much later. A simple nod came from your head fearful that you’d blurt out something stupid if you spoke. You take your aim, lining down the target with the small sights on the pistol, shooting almost perfectly. You turn to look at him, attempting to read his expression under the mask.

Ghost glanced up from the firing range, his gaze wandering over to you as he took a few steps over to inspect your target.

“Good,” He praised you quietly, still observing your stance. You could hear a small airy huff as he looked at you. It almost sounded like a small smirk? “You’re a trained killer already.”

“You’re teasing me.” You responded to his comment, rolling your eyes with a playful grin tugging at your lips. Turning your sight back to the target in front of you, impressed by your own work. Ghost scoffed, his eyes wandering over to you as he watched you in silence.

“Just because you’re getting better doesn't mean you're good.” That was true, at least looking at your previous attempts on the poor target from before. Although what he said was right, he didn’t have to say it like that. It almost made you feel a bit dismantled in his choice of words. A sigh escaped his mouth. He seemed to pause before he looked back at the target.

“If you hit the center three times, I’ll take you out for drinks.” Ghost suddenly added to his statement. He? Take you out for drinks? His eyes remained on you as some sort of challenge to his own words. You were baffled at the offer, confused as to why he suddenly wanted to be around you, let alone share drinks. You’d smile at the idea of liquor, especially since it was free. Shaking off the anxiety, then looking back at the target with more focus behind your eyes, a clear shot.

You take your stance once more, to be even cockier, you only use a singular hand instead of two. Tap, Tap, Tap. Bullets flying sharply through the distance, you somehow, probably by the grace of god, landed three nearly perfect shots. Swiveling your head over to him, a smug expression plastered over your face. “Rounds are on you.”

Ghost’s eye expression widened in surprise, but he quickly disguised it with another gruff scoff. His gaze meets over to the target in front of you where you had hit the center of, then glanced back to you with furrowed brows. If he had to be honest, he was 100% sure you were going to hit the floor or the wall.

He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would normally bet, however Ghost was a man of his word. After a few moments and some pondering, he nodded. “I guess they are.” His sight lowered to the floor as he considered his offer.

You knew he wasn’t one to socialize. He’d always run off at the start of your conversations or flat out ignore people around him wanting his attention. You thought Ghost viewed you as annoying or even incomprehensible in some way, but maybe… Maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad.

A smug grin twitched to the corner of your lips for a moment, but you quickly hid it and cleared your throat. You begin to walk over to the weapon’s case where you had placed your pistol into, finishing your practice for the day. “Well… I guess I’ll see you after work..?” You’d ask hesitantly, furrowing your brows in a sort of confusion while looking at his taller build in front of you.

His expression was difficult to dissect, even more so with the mask that covered his face. He’d give a small, exhausted sigh when he turned his gaze towards you once again. With a small nod, he titled his head down to look at you better, studying you.

“After work it is.” He said quietly before turning away from you, then walking out of the shooting range. Probably to go hide until he saw you. Would he keep his word?

A few hours after some excruciating training with your Drill Sergeant, you found yourself waiting just outside of the base entrance, cleaned up of course. Your mind was occupied with how your outing with Ghost would go, your head racing with questions and scenarios. Ghost would eventually show up to where you were standing, surprisingly on time, which was another rare occurrence from him. Ghost’s gaze traveled up and down your appearance before tapping you on the shoulder, signaling that he was there.

“Ready to go?” He’d ask dryly.

“Oh, yeah. Ready to go.” You responded quietly, unsure of what else to do or say. Ghost would start walking ahead of you, not worrying if you’d catch up to him or not. The walk was slightly awkward and silence would fall between the two of you. Your legs stammered behind him for a few blocks just off base, enough to keep to his fast pace.

Finally arriving at the bar, a bright neon sign read “Ginny’s”. He’d head in first, sitting on a barstool. The bar was a hole-in-the wall kind of vibe, some music playing in the background and slight chattering. You follow behind him and sit in the stool next to him, looking at the area.

Ghost tapped his fingers against the counter twice to grab the bartender’s attention. He’d order himself a glass of whisky over rocks, and you whatever you told him. As the bartender prepared the drinks, Ghost’s eyes fell on you again. He wanted to ask a question.

“Why did you join?” The brits man asked you in a stern yet curious tone. He was attempting to have a conversation with you. Your body swiveled in the chair to give your attention to him, attempting to figure out your wording.

“I wanted to do something with my life, I guess.” You said to him in a quiet manner, giving him a half assed answer. His expression was unreadable from the half mask he wore. Ghost was trying to understand why you had joined, or what made you join, but he seemed a tad bit uninterested as he kept fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Something else clearly on his running mind.

“My turn.” You spoke as your irises matched with his for a split second. “Why were you so harsh on me when I first joined?” You asked him with an eyebrow raised, hoping to get some answer back from him. Yet, Ghost only drummed his fingers against the counter top before rolling his mask slightly over his lips to take a sip of his drink.He’d give you another exhausted sigh as he thinks about what he’d say next.

“You needed to learn, not to be coddled. It made you better, didn’t it?” He replied back to your question. You drift your gaze to your glass, thinking about what he had said. It was true, it had made you better.

“Plus… I saw potential.” Ghost added while looking at you with a much softer expression than his more stoic one.

You raised an eyebrow at his word choice. He was looking out for you? Actively? Wow, now if that didn’t make your stomach do flips, then what did?

“Didn’t know you had a soft spot for me, lieutenant.” You joked, a teasing tone leaving your lips before sipping on your glass again. Ghost only looked at you for a moment, his gaze observing the way your lips moved while you spoke.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He’d muttered, his eye expression impassive. Before this whole interaction, you couldn’t get his attention, now it was all on you, constantly. He was thinking about something, yet you couldn’t place your finger on it. He was suddenly interested in you and he placed a bet offering to get drinks. You thought of your next question when the conversation died the next few minutes.

This was your chance to ask him for coffee sometime, maybe even dinner. “Would you be interested to grab coffee sometime with me?” You reluctantly asked, hoping for the answer you desired. You felt giddy after you asked the question. Another blank stare as he stood up from the barstool. “No.” The word leaves his mouth bluntly.

“I’m not interested.” Ghost continued, leaving a twenty at the counter and exiting the bar abruptly. His voice seemed unsure? Unsure of what he said. How was he not interested if he had his undivided attention on you since the shooting range.

Well, that was a painful rejection. Maybe you got the wrong idea when he offered going to the bar? Maybe you read his hidden expressions poorly? You watched him leave, another punch of disappointment, this one hitting your heart.

Soon after the whole scene, you finish your drink and sulk all the way back to the base and into your barracks. You kept thinking about the interaction. His eyes and mask sprayed across your memory on full blast, your brain making sure you never forgot.

The next few days were boring, your head bending around the situation that happened a while ago at the bar. A small sadness twinged on your face while you trained. Your assumptions wrapped around the clumsy words you said.

You had zero idea why you were so hell bent on this man.

It was noticeable, but you thought it through. You’d ignore it and continue doing your job and getting better at your mistakes. Everytime when you crossed paths with Ghost, he refused to look in your direction, another stab to your chest. After a week, you still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Ghost rejected you.

You’d do things on the side such as more aiming practice or intelligence collection. Anything at this point.

Although Ghost had seemed like he’d cut you off, you catch him now and again staring at you, watching you, his mind and face undecipherable.

The days stretched and became more and more of the same routine, except you didn’t have Ghost on your radar. He seemed to be avoiding you and wouldn’t even look in your direction. Did he have to be so rude about it? All he could’ve said was that he wasn’t interested politely and you would’ve moved on. Why was this so difficult? This whole situation just made you frustrated.

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard a hard knock on your barrack door. A small groan escapes your mouth, attempting to tune out the sound. A louder knock comes from the door, resulting in you turning to your side to see two shadows from feet in the light under it.

You shuffle out of your bed and stammer your way towards it, wondering who could be bothering you at this hour. Unlocking the door, your hazy eyes meet with someone's chest. The sound of someone clearing their throat makes your gaze focus on their face, or mask as you now noticed.

You crossed your arms, confused and a bit taken aback as to why he was here in the first place. A remembrance of a memory where he rejected you coming across as well, a sour expression falling to your face.

“What do you want?” You asked bluntly, wanting to get this over with.

You thought he was here to berate you about your offer or to tell you that you’re in trouble for saying something of that sort. You huff at the stance and look he gave you in your own door way.

Ghost let out a small frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly to you. You raise an eyebrow to what he replied with. “Look, if you have some guilt after all, save it. You rejected me, I'll get over it eventually.” You rant once again, bluntly. You begin to close the door to your room, a strong hand stopping it. Your patience was growing thin. Another sigh coming from his nostrils.

“I know. And–I’m sorry.” He repeated with a defeated eye expression.

Your body loosens again, your gaze darting a few times, as you don’t know what to do or say back to him.. “I do have guilt for just leaving you at the bar like that.” Ghost admitted, looking at your smaller frame.

You were flabbergasted. “I know what I said, but I am interested. It was a mistake at the time.” He added, his eyes searching for your reaction. You were taken aback. You wanted to pinch yourself at this because you thought you were dreaming.

“But because of the rank difference, I was distant. Hesitant to pursue you.”

Your lips were parted slightly as you took in the information. You didn’t know what to say or think, you were left speechless. He took a step further, now in the threshold of your barrack doorway. You take a step back, your stomach beginning to wave off pressure.

Your heart wanted to rip itself out of your chest while you stared at him with blank eyes. You hesitate, wondering if this was dangerous or not, but reluctantly agree with your brain. Your body was less defensive as you looked at him with a forgiven breath. “Really?” You question him.

“This isn’t some joke or something is it?”

Ghost shook his head. “I’m being completely honest.” His hands stuffed into his pockets while looking down at your smaller frame. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

“Does… sometime this week fit in your schedule..?”

A smile spreads across your face and you flush slightly at the thought, your heart mending itself, completely forgetting about the original rejection. You had that familiar giddy feeling again. “Yeah, we can go down the street to a new cafe that opened.” You eagerly respond to him. A quietness fell over the two of you again. Ghost’s eyes would wander over your body, taking in your tank top and shorts that you were sleeping in.

Ghost shifted his weight. “Can I come in?” He’d ask in a husky voice while searching for your approval. You nod, giving him simple permission to enter. You moved aside from your door and he swiftly came inside your room. Ghost would close the door behind himself, locking it afterwards. Your eyes had to readjust to the darkness before you turned on a lamp on your small desk.

Ghost took a few small steps towards you, inspecting your body language before he rolled up his mask past his lips slightly. His eyes asked for your approval to kiss you, you gave another nod. He leans down and places his warm lips atop of yours, a hand moving to your waist. His mouth had an accent of whisky, a small yet noticeable amount.

A free hand glides to your head, lacing fingers in your hair to pull you forward to deepen the kiss. Your hands found themselves pressed firmly against his chest, your body slightly slumped at the feeling. He breaks apart from your tender lips and looks down at you, his hand brushing against the fabric of the tank top you wore.

“Let me help you.” Ghost would say, his calloused fingers coming under your tank top, grazing over your skin. Both of you strip away the article of clothing, a cool breeze hitting your tits. Now both of his hands glide over your skin, then cup your breast. He seemed pleased, at least from what you could tell. With a small flick to your nipple, it grew hard. The pain sensation of your skin made you jolt. “All mine.”

Mind you, his eyes never left your face while he touched you. He leans down to kiss you again, a groan against your mouth when he caresses your breasts. One of his knees propped itself between your thighs, making your pussy tighten around nothing at the feeling. The kiss between the two of you becomes more rough as his tongue slips in with ease, fighting for dominance over yours. Ghost would continue to play with your chest, while his knee pressed even further against your clit. Your hips moved slightly against his thigh through the fabric of your shorts.

You let out a sigh at the feeling of your body pulsating against him, making your head spin. It wasn’t long before he had you pinned up to a wall, still with his knee between your messy thighs. Your cunt was beginning to seep from your own juices, creating a wet spot in your panties.

His knee left from your needy hole for just a moment as he had you backed up. “Take them off.” You didn’t even hesitate with that demand, you took off your shorts, pushing them down until they fell to the floor. Ghost would kick them to the side,his eyes settling at the damp mess between your inner thighs.

“Such a fucking naughty one, huh?” Ghost murmured, a finger slipping under the hem of your panties, sliding them off down to your ankles. As he smoothly disregarded them, he dropped to his knees. His hands landed themselves on the outside of your upper thighs, holding you in place. A small smirk toyed on his lips before he licked at your clit, a whine escaping your mouth from anticipation. His hot breath against your pussy was just enough to send you over the wall.

He sucked and nibbled at your sensitive skin before his tongue would slide into your cunt, pumping you with it. Your body squirmed, your knees wanting to buckle from under you, which only made Ghost’s hands on your thighs tighten. For a man as asocial as he was, he knew what he was doing. It was almost unfair. Your eyes met with the ceiling of your room, giving Ghost a sign that he was doing his work correctly.

His tongue would hit the sweet spot from within you. Bingo. He’d continue to work on you, making sure to use his tongue to hear your singing voice. Ghost would still look up at your facial expressions, your mouth agape, a small hint of drool leaking from it. “Don’t stop, please.” a cry exiting your lips. Your legs trembled at the feeling of your body getting close to climaxing. It was almost embarrassing how close you were already.

“Don’t—I'm so close.” A whispering plea coming from your mouth, begging for him to do whatever he was doing.

A few more moans left your throat as you came into his. Ghost would lap up every drop from your pussy, as if he was some dog quenching its thirst, releasing soft groans against your sensitive cunt. You were panting during the time it took him to slowly guide his hands back up to your waist, holding you in place again. One of his hands breaking away to slide his own pants down, alongside his boxers, tossing them to the side when he stripped himself of his clothing.

Ghost gently wrapped his rough hand around his own cock, slowly pumping it a few times while he looked at you. Before lingering himself near you, he spit in his hand, smothering it over your throbbing pussy to prepare you. You raised yourself by your tiptoes to make it easier for him to push himself into. Guiding his cock to your entrance, his tip slipped in with ease.

He then put a hand back onto your waist, using his foot to nudge your thighs a little bit more apart. Ghost would move inch by inch, slithering himself slowly inside you to adjust to his size. He’d pull almost all the way in but not before he slid back in, stuffing you full.

“Taking me so well.” He’d whisper near your ear, ensuring you’d hear his compliment. A bulge appears from within you on your lower abdomen.

“Fuck.” He’d groan quietly while filling you.

His hips would repeat this as a way to split you open from the inside, making sure you could feel every inch of him. You could feel your eyes wanting to meet with the ceiling again. Your sounds of pleasure filling the room for a split second. That was before Ghost removed one of his hands from your waist and placed it over your mouth, silencing you.

He was anticipating how loud you’d be, hence why he covered your dirty mouth. No one could figure out what was happening between a lieutenant and a recruit. Both of you would be chewed out and probably thrown out if anyone did. You were bending the rules for your own desires, and now his. How far would it take you?

“Shhh… Try and stay quiet for me, love.” He asked in a quiet manner, hoping you’d oblige. But you knew you couldn’t keep by that promise.

Your back pushes off the wall slightly, making his cock push further into you. A muffled moan escaping from your voicebox. He’d start off slow for a minute or two then he would start fastening his thrusts within you, hitting and bruising every part. Your insides clenching down on his already sensitive cock as he fucked up into you.

Ghost would mutter things to himself as he felt himself losing it within you. The whole thing of “having what you’re not supposed’ only makes him move his hips into you more, plunging your needy hole.

The only sounds to fall into your room were his ragged fast pace breathing, the slapping of both of your bodies and your quieted moans. Your body continued to writhe and wriggle under him. His hand on your waist tightened, making sure to keep you in place.

His eyes never left yours, watching your eyebrows furrow from the pleasure. His breathing was becoming heavier, his cock pounding you deeply, abusing your body.

Your eyes threatened to release the tears that watered them while this played out. Your second orgasm on the rise to finish, you can feel him move with a more vigorous pace. It was almost too good to be true.

As you were getting closer and closer to finishing, he placed a hot kiss on your lips, pushing his tongue in to meet yours. You’d moan into his mouth while he grunted into yours. Your walls clenched around his cock, releasing yourself all over it. One last mewl escaping your mouth yet muffled by his, making it quieter.

Nothing has ever made you feel like this, especially your own fingers. This was definitely something else, something better than you imagined.

Ghost placed his hand back to your mouth after tearing away from the kiss, his eyes eager to climax himself. More forcible thrusts would enter and exit your body while you ride your orgasm out

“So good. Fuck, so good.” Ghost would say behind gritted teeth as he too, was holding back his own voice now.

His grasp on your waist tightening, bruising the supple flesh from under his textured hands. A few more movements, he pulled his throbbing cock out from your clenching walls. Pumping it again, this time coated with the sleek shine of your juices covering it.

He cums over the skin on your thighs, letting out a closed mouth grunt from it, a sort of growl. He pants slightly from all the movement. The liquid dribbled down your weakened legs.

Your legs trembled, shook even at the pressure from within your own pulsating body. Removing his hand from your mouth, he looked at your ecstasy filled body, satisfied grin placed on his lips. He moves away from your body and heads towards the bathroom where he tosses a towel over his shoulder. As you still stood against the wall, your back touching it, he began to clean the mess between your legs.

Your body ached, it was sore, and definitely bruised in several places. Ghost would carefully lead you over to your bed where he sat you on the edge to continue to clean you.

“You have a soft spot for me after all.” You teased with a weary and exhausted voice.

“I do. Only for you.”

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jayflrt · 2 years

Text

strawberry lemonade

❝ praying mantises sound a lot more peaceful than listening to reenactments of fifty shades of grey every other night. ❞

PAIRING ▸ park jongseong x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut (minors dni), crack, college au, lowkey pwp but there is plot sorry this was just the jay brainrot acting up

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sex, slight exhibition kink, fingering, oral (fem. receiving), praise & degradation, pet names because i am a weak woman, sunghoon (fun guy) collects preying mantises??

SUMMARY ▸ you and jay park are bound by fate; or, rather, you're bound by your respective roommates who have obnoxiously loud sex every other night. it's only a matter of time until you give them a taste of their own medicine.

or, revenge is best served with a strawberry lemonade lollipop.

WORD COUNT ▸ 3,482 words

PLAYLIST ▸ lolly by maejor, juicy j, justin bieber • high off you by alayna • candy by doja cat • kickin’ back by mila j

TAG LIST ▸ @msxflower @fiantomartell @baekhyunstruly @mykalon @heelariously @hobistigma @simplyxlea @wntrsgf @person-standing @ja4hyvn @dnyamight @candidupped @shmooooo @pr0dbeomgyu @sunshine-skz @hiqhkey @kp0p10v3r2 @baekhyuns-lipchain @jagyuuar

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ the first modern lollipop was created in 1908. it has been an uneventful 114 years of its creation until a video spread yesterday of park jongseong sucking on one. as a result, user jayflrt woke up in a cold sweat to write this in one sitting.

IT WAS A FRIDAY NIGHT.

You were currently reporting a criminal (Kim Minjeong) to the authorities (Lee Heeseung).

To be fair, you weren’t actually reporting your roommate to your apartment floor’s resident advisor. She was at her boyfriend’s apartment today, and you were just venting your frustration from the previous night.

Heeseung was just someone you complained to about these things, but never with the intention of getting anyone in trouble. You knew he was good at keeping secrets, so, unless you said otherwise, he wouldn’t confront the people causing problems. (This, of course, went against his sole responsibility as an RA, but people let that slide because he had a pretty face and baked cookies for everyone on Saturdays.)

You got along with Minjeong very well, actually. Although you two were randomly paired together, you clicked the moment you met in the beginning of the school year. You got locked out of your apartment the first night, and when you texted Minjeong for help, she ended up getting locked out, too. The both of you waited until dawn to get a replacement key, and it marked the beginning of a strong friendship.

The only issue was that Minjeong recently started dating Jake Sim, who happened to be your neighbor. In the first few weeks of school, your entire floor mingled and socialized a lot, so you got along very well with the people around you. Jake and Minjeong seemed to hit it off really well, so it was no surprise that they ended up dating.

However, what was surprising was your roommate’s ability to moan at such high volumes every other night.

“Maybe you should confront her about it,” Heeseung offered. It was a stupid suggestion; you were going to kill him.

“I’ve tried!” you whined. “She said she would be quieter and soundproof her room. Guess what? Egg cartons aren’t doing me any favors!”

“I would not wanna have sex in a room full of egg cartons.”

Before you could retort, there was a knock at Heeseung’s door. You looked at him quizzically. Heeseung was terrible at job, so it didn’t make sense for anyone to actually come for help. When he opened the door, though, it all made sense.

Jake’s roommate and your group therapy partner, Jay Park.

In the beginning of the year, you and Jay didn’t get to talk much. You, of course, took notice of him (because it was hard to ignore good-looking men), but neither of you made the effort to become friends. He intimidated you at first, and it was probably because of his sharp features and piercing gaze. The only things that softened his image for you were his classic strawberry lemonade Jolly Rancher lollipops. He should seriously be sponsored by the company; you had seen him sucking on the candy at least once a day.

Naturally, you two got closer after your respective roommates started seeing each other. This wasn’t because you naturally gravitated toward each other or anything. You both would just find yourselves running to Heeseung’s room to complain about your situations, and you both developed mutual sympathy.

It was fun getting to hang around Jay, though. If you had a second chance, you would have tried to actively befriend him before, but you weren’t mad with how things ended up.

“You know, I should’ve fucking roomed with Sunghoon instead,” Jay spat, storming into Heeseung’s room with an unwrapped strawberry lemonade Jolly Rancher lollipop in his fist. He angrily tore the wrapper off and shoved it into his mouth. “One minute I’m writing my history paper, and next I hear the second coming of Christ from Jake’s room. Do those two have the sex drive of bonobos?”

(“You’ve been watching Planet Earth again, haven’t you?” you inquired, recalling him watching rerun episodes in the common room while he was high off his ass.

Jay shot you a glance. “None of your business, Y/N.”)

“I thought you said you would rather die than room with Sunghoon,” Heeseung said.

You frowned. “Park Sunghoon? What’s wrong with him?”

“He collects praying mantises,” Jay explained. “Fun guy, but it’s a bit terrifying.”

“Praying mantises sound a lot more peaceful than listening to reenactments of Fifty Shades of Grey every other night,” you muttered. “Is Sunghoon taking roommate applications?”

“You guys just need to drive them out or something,” Heeseung suggested. “Maybe give them a taste of their own medicine.”

The three of you fell silent for a moment, processing Heeseung’s words.

If you were understanding him correctly, there was a clear sexual undertone in his words—hell, it was hardly considered an undertone with how overt it sounded. You weren’t sure what Jay was thinking about, but Heeseung’s suggestion led you to think of you and Jay having obnoxiously loud sex to get back at your roommates. The very thought made your cheeks burn.

You were 100% sure that Jay would not be on board with this idea. It was absurd to even think about having sex with him for the sake of leveling out the playing field. Plus, you would be crazy if you thought that Jay would want to sleep with you in the first place.

This was when you deemed it proper to obliterate Lee Heeseung.

“That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” you replied.

“Heeseung, you’re a genius,” Jay said at the same time.

So maybe you and Jay were not, in fact, on the same page.

You both looked at each other, both confused for different reasons. You were gaping at him like an idiot, and he was looking at you like you were crazy for refusing. Heeseung, meanwhile, was just glad that his suggestion was 50% accepted.

“D-doesn’t that mean we’d have to, um… have sex?” you asked, trying your best not to stammer as you spoke.

Jay laid his cards out flat. “We have fake sex.”

Now, you and Heeseung were completely lost. You being confused was one thing, but Heeseung being confused about his own plan was another thing.

“Fake sex?” Heeseung spoke up. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of what Jay was saying before he shook his head. “You know what? Nevermind. You two should leave and figure it out yourselves. I’d rather not be part of this conversation, so go decide amongst yourselves if you’re gonna have… fake sex, or chill with Sunghoon’s preying mantises or whatever.”

“C’mon, you don’t wanna hear about our faux sexcapade?” Jay teased, but Heeseung was already pushing you two out the door. “I guess that’s a no,” he said as the RA closed the door on their faces. Jay turned back to you with newfound confidence. “So, fake sex!”

You raised a brow, staring at his lips because you were a whore. He was so close that you could detect the faint scent of his strawberry lemonade lollipop.

“What exactly does fake sex entail?”

“You know, pretending we’re having sex so that they get the message and start shutting the fuck up,” Jay explained. “All you have to do is moan like you’re having the time of your life.”

Jay’s room was a few doors down the hall. You two were far too close to actually putting this plan into action. You hated admitting it, but it was actually a solid plan; you were sure that Minjeong and Jake would get the message if they experienced what it was like to be in your shoes. Plus, they were in Jake’s room right now, so it was the perfect opportunity for you and Jay to teach them a lesson.

You didn’t have any reason to say no. There was nothing cheesy holding you back like the fear of ruining your friendship with Jay. In fact, you had always thought Jay was insanely attractive, especially when he was sucking on that lollipop of his. Even though this was a sham, you were probably being given the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Are you totally sure about this?” you asked. “You really think they’re gonna be quieter if we do this?”

“I’m positive.”

This was the stupidest idea of your life. You supposed it didn’t matter, though, considering you were pretty stupid anyway.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Let’s do it.”

After more discussion and preparation for your scheme, you and Jay found yourselves in his room thirty minutes later. You had never been with him in his room alone before, and it was a little pathetic that your first time visiting was to partake in a fake sex ploy. His room was surprisingly neat and tidy, though, but you realized that it was probably because Jake always nagged him to clean.

Just as you thought, the muffled sounds from Minjeong and Jake were audible as they were a wall away. You were genuinely impressed that their stamina didn’t let up. It had been a long time since you had hooked up with someone, but you were certain you wouldn’t be able to last that long.

When you looked at Jay, he gave you a silent gesture to commence the plan.

You balked, feeling embarrassed already. Taking a deep breath, you steeled your nerves. You had to commit to the role if you wanted to succeed. You weren’t sure if you could take yourself seriously, but, willing your voice not to go shaky, you let out an exaggerated cry.

“Oh, Jay!” you moaned out. “You’re so fucking big!”

“Chill. You sound like a Euphoria character.”

“I have to Maddy Perez it up if I want them to take the hint!” you whispered back, harsher than you intended, but Jay received the message well.

“F-fuck! You’re so wet.” Jay’s voice broke at the end, immediately covering his face with his hand. You snorted, trying not to break into a fit of laughter, and Jay shot you a threatening look. He was failing miserably, though, because his face was completely red. “God, you’re so… tight?” Jay groaned into his hands. “I’m gonna kill myself.”

“Louder,” you instructed. “Bolder.”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“It was your idea!” You tutted and got on top of his bed, kneeling on one of the pillows. “Watch this: Jay—oh!—you’re so fucking hot! Keep fucking me like that!”

The plan was definitely working. You were hearing less sounds from Jake’s room, and their moans were definitely dying down. When you looked back at Jay to see if he understood your little lesson, you were surprised to see that he was redder than ever.

“You know, I think you’re better at this than I am,” Jay said, “even if you do sound kind of stupid.”

“Hey!” you exclaimed. “You have to milk the performance to get them to shut up, you know?” You turned back to face the wall that separated Jay and Jake’s room, crying out, “Fuck! Jay, give it to me!”

“You sound so fake.”

You scowled. “You’re not even helping!”

“You want my help?” Jay hummed, walking over to you. “Yeah, let’s make this act more believable.”

Before you could respond, Jay slid his hand between your legs and started rubbing the apex of your shorts. You gasped at the sudden contact, feeling your knees buckle under you. Jay slid his free arm around your waist and slid his hand under your shirt to feel you up. Even with his thumb planted on your clothed clit, you were still trying to process what the fuck had just happened.

“Why’re you so quiet all of a sudden?” Jay asked. “Shouldn’t you be moaning? Keep it going, Y/N. You were so good at sounding like such a slut earlier.”

You were getting more and more wet, and you were sure Jay noticed it, too. His rubbing turned from teasing to fervent, and before you knew it, he had pushed you down on his bed and started pulling down your shorts. Well, rather, you started taking them off yourself and let him help you.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, gripping your thighs as he eyed the thin fabric of your underwear. “You’re the star actress here, so you decide. Fingers or mouth?”

You eyed the strawberry lemonade lollipop that was still in his mouth. “Both?”

Jay chuckled. “You really are needy, aren’t you?”

Taking the sweet out of his mouth, he placed it on top of the wrapper on his desk. You thought he would just throw the whole thing away, but you supposed your neighbor didn’t like being wasteful.

Jay practically tore your underwear off, immediately planting his thumb on your clit and rubbing small, precise circles around the ball of nerves. You were whimpering under his touch, screwing your eyes shut when he bent down to lick a long stripe along your folds.

He pulled away to plunge two fingers into your soaking cunt, pleased with how your walls were contracting around his digits. Although, Jay was still unsatisfied by your lack of volume, so he started sucking on your clit as he scissored his fingers inside of you.

“O-oh my god—fuck!” you cried out, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth right after a moan tore itself from your throat. Closing your eyes, you continued to let out muffled moans with your hand blocking the sounds.

Jay was clearly not satisfied with this.

He pulled away with a sigh, tearing you away from the building orgasm that was yet to release. You felt a bit angry when it dissipated, shooting Jay a dirty look. All he did, though, was smirk at your reaction, and that made you feel more flustered.

You supposed it was his way of making it up to you, but Jay ducked his head down to move in for a kiss. He sealed his lips over yours, kissing you slowly and deepening it with each passing second. It grew more hot, languid, and messy, and your tongues were both desperately sliding against each other.

His lips were so warm and soft against yours. It was if you were under a spell when they were pressed to yours, making you lose all sense of control. All you could do was wrap your arms around his neck and draw him closer. You threw your leg around his hip, aching for more contact, more friction.

When Jay pulled back for air, he chuckled lowly. “What’d that taste like?” he asked.

You licked your lips before answering shyly, “Strawberry lemonade.”

He smiled and kissed you again, this time slower and more passionate. You closed your eyes and held his cheek as his lips moved in perfect unison with yours. You had been kissed before, but never like this. Something about Jay was so intoxicating in the very way he carried himself, and now, you felt weak at his very touch.

He pulled away to ghost his lips down the column of your neck. “Want me to fuck you?”

You whined, tugging at the front of his shirt. Every nerve in your body was screaming for him to just touch you all over and split you apart.

“That’s not enough, doll.” He mocked a pout, feigning sympathy. “Use your words. You were all talk before I started touching you, hm? What happened to that?”

“Jay,” you whimpered.

“Yes?”

“I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Louder,” he mocked, grinning at you. “Bolder.”

You whined. “Just fuck me already!”

Seemingly satisfied, Jay started unbuttoning his pants, yanking them down and kicking them off from where they pooled at his ankles. You sat up to peel off your shirt as he scoured through his nightstand for condoms. When he found one, he used his teeth to open the wrapper, taking the rubber out and sliding it onto his cock with a few pumps.

He was nothing short of impressive. You were already weak at the sight of his rippling abs and the mouthwatering size of his cock. His ego was inflating higher and higher when he caught sight of you drooling over him.

“Lay down,” he instructed. “You asked me to give it to you earlier, so you’re gonna take every single inch of me.”

Your heartbeat was going crazy—both of them.

When you were flat on his bed, Jay got over you and started pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone. You whimpered, sliding your hand into his hair for leverage, but that hardly helped when he slipped his hand under your bra to grope your chest.

He pulled his hand away to reach behind you, undoing the clip of your bra with one snap. You were honestly jealous; you couldn’t even undo your own bra that quickly.

Once you discarded your bra, tossing it to the floor along with the rest of your clothes, Jay started leaving hot kisses around your nipple. Then, he sucked on your hard nipple itself, leaving you a moaning mess while heat pricked your skin.

“You wet enough for me?” he mumbled against your skin.

You nodded, and oh god, you were dripping for him. “Please, please, please just give it to me.”

Jay pushed himself inside of you, and the simultaneous moans that fell from both of your lips was almost beautiful. He held your hips firmly and rubbed slow circles with his thumb as he eased himself inside of you, adjusting to the tight squeeze of your cunt. You cried at how tight you were, digging your nails into his back and burying your face in his shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted. “For real, this time.” (You despised how he had to specify that.)

Jay bottomed out inside you, and the feeling of his cock filling you up left tears welling up in your eyes. Unexpectedly, Jay immediately wiped at your tears and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, whispering a sweet apology as he waited for you to adjust to his length.

“O-oh fuck—right there,” you begged once his cock hit that perfect spot right under your cervix.

“Here?” he asked, thrusting in and out of you to get to that sweet spot again.

There must be nothing Jay couldn’t do because he found it almost immediately, taking your choked sob as a sign that he struck gold. The bed creaked and shook as Jay tried to find a proper rhythm, and you were starting to forget your original reason for being here as you moaned and sobbed under him. His thrusts were so purposeful and precise, intending to make you see stars as he pinned you down and fucked you into the mattress.

You babbled something incoherent—something about how close you were, but you were sure Jay picked up on the message by how your legs were starting to shake.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he cooed into your ear, “give it to me.”

Your orgasm was blinding. The preamble of heat blooming under your skin was hardly enough to prepare you for the intense pleasure that started coursing through your body. You were drowning in a sea of molten lava, hardly able to ground yourself as Jay fucked you through your orgasm. He had to grip your hand to remind you that you were still with him, still in the bedroom in his apartment.

Your cunt must have been pulsing around his cock too tightly in the meanwhile because Jay reached his high, too, cumming inside you with a little groan. He sighed, relieved, and pulled out of you so that he could toss out the condom.

“You okay?” he asked, pushing your hair back when you seemed to have recuperated. “You were so, so good for me.”

“Do… do you think we were loud enough?” you asked in a small voice. This couldn’t be part of the act, but you were still scared that Jay would pretend nothing happened.

He snorted. “I think they left a long time ago when I actually started fucking you.” He shifted so that he was holding you in his arms, spooning you and letting his breath tickle your neck. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to make a move on you for a while now.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, but it was kinda hard when Heeseung was always there.”

You giggled, turning to face him. “Maybe you should stop talking about Sunghoon and his praying mantises. That’s not really an effective method to hit on a girl, you know?”

Jay cupped his hand over your mouth. “Shhh,” he silenced you. “I don’t wanna hear it from the girl who needs our incompetent RA to help her with her roommate problems.”

“You do the same thing!” you defended, though your voice was muffled.

“Like I said: shhh.” Jay chuckled. “Plus, now we can just go over to each other’s place when they decide to start going at it like rabbits.”

“You’re right,” you said once you pried Jay’s hand away. “I have one requirement, though.”

“What is it?”

“You’re sharing that strawberry lemonade lollipop next time.”

#enhypen imagines #jay imagines #jay smut #enhypen smut #jay x reader #enhypen hard hours #jay hard hours #enhypen oneshots #jay oneshots #enhypen scenarios #jay scenarios #jay park #park jongseong #park jongseong x reader #jongseong smut #jongseong imagines #jay park x reader

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justcallmesakira · 28 days

Text

I saw this theory on how fyodor would also be pregnant if he was killed by a pregant woman and err!

@aureatchi :3

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

eddie/hospital/morphine button

Because this man is a menace, even when he doesn't mean to be.

Warnings: mentions of smut, hospital/injuries (unrelated to the Upside Down), regulated morphine use (obviously), pregnant!Reader

WC: 1.3k

Your heels clack on the floor as you attach the visitor badge to your blazer, hurrying down the hall to room 114. You’re exhausted after what seemed like the longest trip ever, even though your business trips to San Francisco were nothing out of the ordinary.

Of course, a frantic phone call from Wayne Munson is always sure to shake things up.

The elder Munson man is typically even-tempered and cool as a cucumber. So when your hotel room phone rang and he was on the other end of the line, breathlessly explaining that Eddie had fallen off of a ladder and was unable to move, you’d gotten a ticket for the first flight back to Indiana.

“He was helpin’ hang up lights for the Christmas fair downtown, and there was a big gust of wind…took him right down. Landed on his tailbone,” Wayne rushed, choking up at the memory. “We just got him to the hospital, and they’re taking him in for x-rays. If he shattered it, he’ll need emergency surgery.”

You’d assured him that you were on your way home, already haphazardly throwing clothes into your suitcase. Between inclement weather and holiday airport busyness, it had taken you forever to be put on a plane. Eight hours later, including a layover at O’Hare and nearly an hour cab ride, you’d finally made it.

Wayne is standing outside the room, gnawing on his thumbnail anxiously. If smoking in hospitals was still allowed, he’d be halfway through a carton at this point.

“Never a dull moment when you’re a Munson, is there, darlin’?” He tries to joke, but the catch in his voice weakens his attempt at humor. You pull him in for a hug, and neither of you let go for a long time. “He’s out of surgery now,” Wayne continues. “He fractured his tailbone, and the doc said he’ll need physical therapy after he starts to heal up a bit.”

“He didn’t…did he hit his head?” you ask quietly, tears brimming in your own eyes. You’d been in fight-or-flight mode, nerves on edge this entire time, and now that you were here, you were finally able to process everything that happened.

“No, thank God,” Wayne answers, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. “That boy can’t afford to lose any more brain cells.” He lets out a terse chuckle.

You bite your lip nervously. “Is it okay if I go in and see him?”

‘’Course.” Wayne gestures towards the door. You step in, looking at your sleeping husband laying in the bed. He’s hooked up to various beeping machines, and it tugs at your heartstrings to see him so vulnerable.

“Hey, baby,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. He stirs for a moment before falling back to sleep. “I’m here whenever you wake up, okay?”

“Mmm,” Eddie’s big brown eyes flutter open, and he manages a small smile. “Hi, my love,” he murmurs. Out of habit, he tries to sit up, and he winces with pain. “Shit. Well, that hurts like hell. Jesus H. Christ.”

You brush a lock of curly hair out of his eyes. “Don’t push yourself, Eds. I can help you sit up.” You bring your arms under his, supporting him as he props himself up. “Anything you need, I’m on it.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Anything?”

“Edward Munson, are you seriously asking for a blowjob right now?” You roll your eyes.

He pouts. “Hand stuff?”

“Eddie.”

“Fine,” he laments, patting the spot next to him on the bed. Before he can continue, a cough rattles his whole body, and he grimaces.

You instinctively jump up. “Let me get you some water,” you say.

Eddie shakes his head. “Stay with me, baby. I’ll just ask one of the nurses.” He pushes a red button next to him. “Someone should be in in a few minutes.”

You nod and sit back down. “So,” you grin, “I heard you got beat up by a gust of wind.”

“Dammit, Wayne!” Eddie groans, but his smile matches yours. “I wanted to tell people that I was wrestling an alligator.”

“Ah, yes,” you giggle. “Very realistic, given Indiana’s burgeoning alligator population.”

Eddie pushes the button again with a bit more force this time. “Usually they come running,” he mutters. “Must be jealous that my hot wife is here.” He puckers his lips, and you kiss them until you feel him smile. “Shit, I didn’t even ask how your trip was. Did you do a lot of Important Person things? Show all those limp-dick CEOs what a badass you are?”

You swat at him playfully, careful of his wounds. “I didn’t realize how painfully boring work trips are when you can’t drink. But the munchkin made sure I fulfilled all of my food cravings.”

Eddie perks up at that, bringing his hand to the slight swell of your belly and talking to his unborn baby. “Yeah, bub? You took your mom on a culinary tour of San Francisco?” He looks up at you with a frown. “I think he’s ignoring me.”

“He’s just mad because you’re stealing all of the attention from him,” you tease, watching Eddie page the nurses for a third time. “Babe, let me just get you some water.”

“No, ish fine,” he slurs, pressing the red button again and again, or at least trying to—his hand keeps slipping. “Thas’ why they get paid the big bucks.”

You cock your brow. “Are you okay?”

“Never better, cutie patootie,” he giggles, reaching to poke your nose before giving up and booping the air. “Hey, you know what?”

“What?”

“No,” he whines, “‘m askin’ you.” He bursts into a fit of giggles, stopping abruptly when the pain sets in. “Gotta stop makin’ me laugh. You’re too funny, honey. My funny bunny honey.”

“I didn’t say anything…” you muse. Was Wayne sure that he hadn’t sustained any head injuries? Panic sets in as you imagine every possible horrible scenario. A nurse walks down the hallway, and you flag her down before she passes the room.

“I think there’s something wrong,” you blurt out. “He’s slurring his words, and he’s all confused—”

“Yeah, and I’ve been tryin’ to get a glass of water but no one’s comin’!” Eddie punctuates the last three words with more attempted button-pushing. “This service is terrible!”

The nurse massages the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Mr. Munson,” she explains calmly, “the green button is our call button. You’ve been pressing the morphine button.” As though she can read your mind, she turns to you and says, “don’t worry; there’s a limit. He won’t overdose.”

Relief courses through your body for the second time today. “Thank you,” you tell her, catching your breath.

“Of course.” She smiles and looks back at your husband, who is currently staring into space. “Get some rest, Mr. Munson. You certainly need it.”

Eddie laughs hysterically as she leaves. “She was totally flirting with me,” he announces to no one in particular, a dopey grin plastered to his face. “Sorry you had to see that. ‘M just irr-sistable.”

“Sure are.” You pat his head gingerly. “Go sleep, Eds. I love you.”

“Whoa, let’s not rush into things, baby,” he says, already drifting off. You chuckle as you walk out the door.

“All good?” Wayne asks, holding out a bag of potato chips from the vending machine.

You take a chip and nod. “Yup. Oh, except that he mixed up the call and morphine buttons, so he’s higher than a kite.”

“This is the man you chose to be the father of your child?” Wayne teases, popping another chip in his mouth.

“Yeah, well, we just won’t have him teach the baby his colors.”

#bug's 2k celebration #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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boozenboze · 1 year

Text

an I request male reader with the 141 task force who has nightmares like every night? Its angsty and kinda long, feel free to ignore if you're not comfortable writing it!

The plot is that reader suffers from nightmares, horrific ones, about his past and avoids sleeping as he doesn't want to have one again. The 141 notices and tries to help him, but he's stubborn and runs on caffeine 24/7 so he doesn't fall asleep.

One day though, as they're sitting in the social room, doing stuff, he dozed off on the couch. His teammates were at first happy that he did, as he has been awake for way too long, until he curled up and started crying uncontrollably, saying something inaudible and shaking.

One of the 141 got closer and touched his shoulder, which caused reader to wake up and absolutely lose it, because his sleep fogged brain only saw a dark silhouette leaning over him.

You can end it with the 114 comforting him and him opening up for the first time ever about what happened to him and caused him to lash out like that on them.

Like I said, you don't have to write it, you have the full right to ignore it or smth.

__________________________________________

This was requested by:Anonymous

Sweet Dreams

Tf 141 x Male reader

Females She/Her and She/They

Sleep paralysis and nightmares are hard to deal with.A lack of sleep can make you see and hear things that aren’t there as well.M/n has been dealing with this for as long as he could remember.They weren’t bad at first but have progressively gotten worse throughout time.His past traumas hadn’t made anything better either.Most nights he would waks up in a cold sweat and would be shakened for the rest of the night.His nightmares would get more realistic every time he slept so he came up with the idea to not sleep.He began drinking more stuff with caffeine,energy drinks and coffee became his go too drinks.

One morning M/n had been staring at his ceiling the whole night.He had stayed on his phone,read books,had some Monsters and Red bull ,everything he did to stay awake during the night.After a while he felt his eyelids get heavy and started drifting off before hearing fsint footsteps.His brain was foggy at the moment and his eyes shifted to the side and he saw a dark figure creeping up into his bed.He suddenly couldn’t move,scream,nothing.Tears pooled in his eyes before he suddenly jolted up.

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep.He wiped his eyes and looked down at his floor and saw the cans of energy drinks he had been consuming.He shakily rose from his bed before msking his esy out of his room,before making his way to the kitchen.He started to make some coffe,dark roast since that usually made him stay awake.He was going to to go to a pharmacy and get some pills that would keep him awake.The scent of coffee could be smelled throughout the kitchen,and M/n hadn’t noticed his lieutenant walked into the room.

“Why are you awake seargent?”The taller male spoke as M/n flinched at the males voice.He turned around to face the male before turning away and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Can’t sleep.”M/n responded,keeping his answer short.Ghost approached the male snd cupped his cheek,turning his face so he could examine the male.The h/c haired male had big eyebags and his eyes were red.Ghosts eyes softened at the sight.He already noticed that the e/c haired male looked tired but he just didn’t mention it.

“Go back to bed seargent.”Ghost said firmly as he took the cup from M/n’s hands.

“But I-“M/n tried to speak up but was interrupted.

“Go to your room seargent,thats an order.”Ghost said as he lifted his mask to taste the coffee M/n was drinking.M/n sighed as he went to his room,already knowing he wasn’t going to sleep.

A few hours had gon by and M/n snuck out the base to get the pills.He came back when some other soilders were getting some cardio in.M/n snuck back to his room without being noticed before dumping the contents on his mattress.Along with the pills he restoked on his energy drinks and cracked ond open and taking large gulps.He took one of the pills and he immediately felt energized.He felt strange though,considering he hadn’t slept in days.He took a hot shower before changing into his uniform.

Gaz was in the kitchen eating his breakfast and looked up when he heard footsteps.He quickly chewed his food when he saw it was M/n.

“G’morning M/n-”Gaz spoke out as he watched M/n pour himslef some coffee.He hadn’t failed to notice the males hand shaking as he pured the coffee.Some of it spilling onto the counter as he finally sat it down.

“Hey...you alright you seem jumpy?”Gaz asked out in concern as M/n looked him in the eye.Like Ghost, Gaz saw the eyebags under rhe males eyes.

“Did ya sleep any?”The Brit asked as he watched M/n eat a protein bar.

“Just peachy Gaz.”M/n said walking away leaving Gaz in the kitchen alone.The brown skinned male could only wonder if the male was really okay.

M/n went through his day like normal.He spared with Soap who seemed to be going easier on him for some reason.Soap noticed the males movements were slower and he just looked exhausted.Soap thought it was unfair considering he had several advantages.Again the male seemed exhausted and sluggish so Soap just called their spar a tie.

“M/n you doing ok?You seem off.”Soap pointed out as M/n chuckled in response.

“Im fine Soap just a little tired y’know?”M/n said casually as he wiped his head from the sweat on his forebead.The male waved Soap off as he exited to room leaving Soap with his concerned thoughts.

The day went by pretty quickly and M/n had taken his shower.Soap made the idea to have a movie night with 141 and they agreed.Ghost decided to join since he finished what he had to do.M/n came into the room with more comfortable attire and took a seat next to Price.The older man had discarded his cigar and was holding a book as Gaz and Soap fought over what movie they should watch.M/n felt more at peace,surrounded by the people he considered family made him feel safe.After a few minutes they finally put on a movie that they could enjoy.Halfway into the program M/n had fallen asleep.Nobody would have noticed if the sound of M/n’s body shifting hadn’t caught their attention.Price saw the male curled into a ball on the end of the couch and a small smile made it upon his face.He stood up and grabbed a pillow,gently laying it beneath his the males head.M/n gripped the pillow and huffed when he picked up the heavy scent of Prices cigar.

“Well won’t you look at that.Mans finally succumbed to sleep.”Soap spoke out as he watched the male let out peaceful breaths.They never saw the male so at peace before so this was something they’d have to be grateful for.Price had walked in M/n’s room before and saw all the empty cans that were pooling out of his trash bag.He had been worried for him in the beginning,but didn’t know that the male had been struggling with sleep.Now what they didn’t notice was that the male was half asleep.

M/n had woken up from Price changing his position.He felt drunk, barely being aware of what was happening around him.Then it happened again.A figure began approaching him but it had more details than usual.It began approaching him and he began to shake slightly,eyes beginning to water.Then he realized,he could move.His finger was twitching slightly and right when the figure was in range he sprang up and punched it.Unlike his usual occurrences, the figure made a noise.

"Yo M/n calm down mate!"Gaz yelled out, wrapping his arms around the male in attempts to get him off of Soap, who was currently blocking M/n's punches.The h/c haired male was breathing heavily,tears pouring out of his e/c eyes as his punches got weaker by the second.M/n slumped in Gaz's hold, now processing the situation he was currently in.Ghost helped Soap stand up as he felt his cheek that was beginning to bruise.M/n was shaking as Gaz held him close and started whispering reassurances into his ears as he himself tried to process what happend.Price had gotten Soap an icepack before pulling M/n up.The male had been mumbling several “im sorry’s” as Price pulled him into a hug.

It didn’t take long for the male to begin sobbing.Price held him as close as he could as the male cried into his shoulder.

“It’s ok muppet, tis just us.”Price said gently as the male hiccuped into his shoulder.A few moments went by until M/n’s breathing pattern was steady again.Price pulled the male out of his hold and M/n looked down in guilt.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean t-to hurt you Soap.”M/n stuttered as Soap smiled at him reassuringly.

“Ah..it’s alright mate, ya probably didn’t mean it.”Soap responded sheepishly as M/n smiled awkwardly.The man began rubbing his eyes so it was clear that the male was still sleepy.

“Muppet I know you haven’t been sleeping,I saw all the drinks in your.That stuff isn’t good for you handsome.”Price said cupping the males cheek and caress the male with his thumb.“Tis there something your not telling us?”Price asked as M/n looked away ashamed.

“I’ve...been having nightmares, t-they’ve been getting worse.I-I was scared to go to sleep so I started drinking more caffeine.I also bought these.”M/n said as he took the bottle out of his hoodie pocket.

“Well lets stop using these.”Ghost spoke,taking the bottle from the male and put them somewhere where he couldn’t see them.

“And stop drinking this shit.”Gaz said as he wandered off into M/n’s room,taking all the full and empty cans of Monster and Redbull.Soap guided the male back to his room and made him lay down.

When the others came to M/n’s room Soap had the male in his lap as M/n’s legs were wrapped around his waist.The h/c haired male had his face nuzzled in the Scottish mans neck as he rubbed circles into his back.

“He’s sleeping again.”Soap whispered so he wouldn’t wake the sleepless male.He gently layed M/n down and secured the blankets around him.Ghost took his boots off and sat next to the sleeping male on the bed.

“I’m gonna watch him y’all can go.”Ghost spoke roughly as Soap furrowed his brows.

“Are you sure L.T-I mean what if he-.”

“I’ll be fine Johnny.”Ghost cut the male off as he heard a whimper come from M/n.Ghost moved rubbed M/n’s arm and the male stopped making noise.Price hummed as he left the room with gaz and Soap nodded towards Ghost before leaving the room.

Believe or not this would be one of the many future nights that you have

Sweet Dreams

#gay #lgbtq #male reader #mw2 x male reader #cod x male reader #male y/n #gaz x male reader #ghost x male reader #captain price x male reader #soap x male reader #:)

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cregan-starks · 1 year

Text

Flames of Deceit

Summary: Aemond and Visenya reunite amidst the Dance of the Dragons.

Words: 13,005

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OC, Cregan Stark x OC, Alyn Velaryon x OC

Warnings: canon-typical incest (Aemond and Visenya are cousins, as well as uncle and niece), book and show spoilers, Westerosi geopolitics, mentions of imperialism and slavery, canon-typical violence, war, blood and gore, fire and burning, mass death, mention of amputation, mentions of torture and captivity, mentions and threats of execution and physical harm, mentions of poverty and starvation, parental neglect, food and eating, alcohol and drinking, sexism, victim blaming, slut-shaming, ableist language, explicit language, nudity, smut (vaginal sex in flashbacks), unresolved sexual tension, grief/mourning, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, survivor guilt, mutual pining, emotional/psychological abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, and death in childbirth, mentions of child/infant death, mentions of infidelity. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: This totally didn’t take me almost 7 months to write. Cregan Stark is the protagonist of Fire & Blood. Rise, Cregan nation. My OC Visenya is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s daughter, and Jace’s older twin. Superfecundation, baby. Visenya and Jace are born in 111 AC, not 114 AC. The Battle in the Gullet still occurs in 130 AC, soon after the events of this one-shot. Reblogs and comments are encouraged and immensely appreciated. If this does well, I’ll post a reader version.

Credits: Huge thank you to my betas @maharani-radha-writes 💛 @aereth 💖 and @revolution-starter 🩶, and to @haystack-boy @lavendertales @buttercup--bee @agirllovespancakes and @oloreaa for their constant patience and support. It means a lot, and I’m immensely grateful. Apart from my OC Visenya, all characters belong to George R.R. Martin. Gif by @aemondtargaryensource (x)

Ao3 | Masterlist

EARLY 130 AC

HARRENHAL, THE RIVERLANDS

The sheer immensity of Harrenhal had provoked dizziness in Visenya. She had heard the story innumerable times. For four decades, King Harren Hoare had built greedily and obsessively, sacrificing thousands of slaves, and beggaring the riverlands and the Iron Islands. The indestructible construction had been no match for Balerion, whose fire had consumed the tyrant and his sons inside it, ending their line. Most Westerosi believed that the phantoms of the Hoares wandered the castle halls. The fortress is costly to maintain, and it devours its possessors. Qoherys, Harroway, Towers… All extinct. Whether cursed or not, Harrenhal remained a strategic location – the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.

The current castellan – and Larys Clubfoot’s great-uncle – Ser Simon Strong had recently surrendered Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen. The presence of Caraxes might have contributed to his hasty decision. Following the victory at the Burning Mill and the subsequent submission of Stone Hedge – terminating Green strength in the riverlands – Queen Rhaenyra’s allies had commenced their gathering at Harrenhal, in accordance with the Prince Consort’s stratagem.

Visenya had departed Dragonstone on the same night that Daemon had summoned her, having been granted safe passage by the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet. At the outbreak of the war, the Sea Snake’s fleet had closed off Blackwater Bay, choking trade to and from the capital.

As soon as she had dismounted her dragon in the castle yard, she had sensed the eerie ambience that had haunted Harrenhal’s colossal curtain walls and fissured, melted towers. Formidable and dreadful. Harren’s monument and tomb. Blackwing had responded to Caraxes’ fervent shriek with her own, flapping her wings at him. Happy to be reunited.

Her father had offered her a warm welcome and a tight embrace, had even insisted that she sit on his war council, wherein she had befriended Alysanne Blackwood, whom she had grown quite fond of.

At last, Visenya had thought, on the morning that Daemon had sent for her. Though she loved him dearly, her father hadn’t invited her there because he had missed his daughter. Visenya had met with Daemon alone, in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths – she had counted thirty-five – grander than the throne room in King’s Landing, the discolored ceiling looming loftily above them. Her father had donned his chain mail over his crimson tunic.

Does he sleep in that? Or am I the threat?

‘Ser Crispin and the Kinslayer are marching on Harrenhal,’ Daemon had informed her, instead of “good morrow”, pressing a rolled parchment into her palm, ‘They mean to join forces with the Lannisters’, at Stoney Sept.’

Her heart had jolted at the mere mention of his title. Aemond… At the Usurper’s farce of a coronation that the Hightowers had compelled her to attend – dressed in green – Visenya had kissed him farewell, forsaking any glimmer of hope for a future with him. I have demonstrated where my loyalties lie. I have chosen my family.

Her lilac eyes had skimmed over the scrawled message on the sheepskin, the wax sigil foreign to her. The White Worm?

‘You are strangely poised,’ Visenya had observed, suspicious, studying her father’s amused expression.

‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he had confirmed, smirking wickedly, curling his hand around the hilt of sheathed Dark Sister. Another one of his traps… and he’s pulling me into it. Daemon had gently cradled her cheek, purring, ‘I have a mission for you, sweetling.’

EARLY 130 AC

STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS

Her host had encamped half a day’s ride from the town, with sufficient provisions for a fortnight. The arduous advance and the muddy soil had wearied men and horses alike, so Visenya had relied on the Greens’ tardiness to provide the respite that they had needed.

Her dragon had brazenly exploited that ploy – napping during the day and hunting at night, increasing the risk of being discovered. Surpassed by Vhagar in age and size, Blackwing had never been ridden before a seven-year-old Visenya had claimed her. They shared a temper, a wildness, and a fierce devotion to each other. My twin in dragon flesh, Jace would jest.

‘You have become too spoiled,’ she had reproved, affectionately, tapping Blackwing’s dark scales, heated to the touch.

The beast had objected, idly, releasing a guttural noise, smoke rising from its nostrils.

For five days, her scouts had reported nothing of enemy activity. Her anxieties had continued to fester and to gnaw at her. What if I fail? What if I die? I would condemn my people in vain. And Aemond… What am I to do about him?

On the sixth day, they had burst into her tent, blurting that the Greens had arrived at Stoney Sept. The maester had quickly dispatched a raven to Prince Daemon, at Harrenhal.

‘We attack at dawn,’ Visenya had declared, resolute.

I’ll do my best, father.

The fray had been gruesome, stretching for hours upon hours. A thick mist had settled over the Blackwater Rush, impairing visibility. Visenya had been the surprise element, concealing herself to deceive her foes, and striking unexpectedly, in the midst of battle. She had flown on her daunting Blackwing, laying waste to men and reserves indiscriminately, amongst the sounds of steel clashing with steel, shields splintering, arrows whistling, and soldiers screaming as they fought, suffered wounds, and perished. Hundreds of Greens had been engulfed in her dragon’s flames.

Aemond had been slow to deter the princess. Afraid to face me? Visenya and Blackwing had used the fog to their advantage, climbing higher and higher into the sky – the Kinslayer chasing after them on hoary Vhagar.

‘Dracarys!’, she had ordered, and Blackwing had descended on Vhagar, unleashing a cloud of fire that had only incensed the latter.

The dragons had spun, locked in a vicious struggle of claws and fangs, wings thrashing, until Aemond had suddenly swiveled Vhagar, slamming her into Blackwing. Their deafening roars had pierced the air. The collision had knocked Visenya from her saddle – the searing flames licking at her arm – and had sent her plummeting towards the Blackwater below. Having crashed into the Rush, she had surfaced seconds later, her hefty armor and the river’s currents hindering her endeavors to stay afloat. Visenya had looked up, able to distinguish a faint form lunging at another – the beasts’ screeches reverberating far above.

Blackwing will not be coming to my rescue.

Her tribulations hadn’t stopped there. A glimpse at the golden dragon banner of the Pretender, and she had realised that the currents had pushed her in the wrong direction… too late. She had already been spotted by the scouts on the shore, who had alerted their captain. They had aimed their crossbows at her, waiting for the Blackwater to present her to them on a silver platter. I think not.

Visenya had bitten into the hand of the man who had dragged her out of the water, then she had tossed him into the Rush.

‘Cunt!’, the next attacker had bellowed, charging at her.

Slowed down by her injuries, her movements had been clumsy. Visenya had ducked under his first blow, stumbling to retain her balance. She had unsheathed her sword to parry his second blow, and had driven her blade through his breastplate. She had slashed a guard’s belly, his entrails spilling out. A soldier’s glove had caught her weapon, yanking it from her grasp. Disoriented by a swift welt to the side of her head, Visenya had been tackled to the ground – the impact rendering her breathless. Two fists had savagely pummeled her face, again and again and again – a massive weight crushing her. She had desperately fumbled for her scabbard, had withdrawn her dagger, and had slit her aggressor’s throat. Hot blood had spurted out, blinding her. She had been hoisted to her feet, her dirk wrenched away. Howling with rage and frustration, Visenya had scratched at the man’s eyes with her nails, had kneed another in the groin, and had torn off an archer’s ear with her teeth.

Alas, she had been one enfeebled person against all of the odds… and a dozen Greens. Her apprehension had been inevitable.

The capture of the commander had prompted the capitulation of her army. Visenya had been delivered to Ser Crispin in chains, covered in blood, dirt, and grass, braids disheveled, dragonscale armor soaked, body aching, left arm throbbing. I will not quail. Those traitors will receive no such satisfaction from me.

Attired in the white garments of the Kingsguard, Ser Crispin had been the living depiction of virtue and chivalry. Lickspittle. He had immediately discarded courtesy, referring to her as a “bitch in dragon’s clothing.” In retaliation, Visenya had dubbed him a “sheep in sheep’s clothing”, earning herself a cuff across the face from his steeled gauntlet. Blood had flooded her mouth, her cheek stinging sharply.

Ser Crispin had further commented that her men had been rather committed to her, alluding that she had fucked them to obtain their service. Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.

‘It’s not as high of an honor as warming the Dowager Queen’s bed,’ Visenya had admitted, slyly, and had spat on his boots, ‘Hand of the Usurper. Does he wipe his ass with you?’

Crispin would have hit her again, had the Prince Regent not intervened. Wary, she had surveyed her surroundings for Vhagar – not in evidence. I might wind up her supper.

‘Enough, Cole,’ Aemond had interrupted, solemn, causing Visenya to tense, drawing their attention to where he had been standing, imposing, smeared with ashes and smoke, ‘She may be our prisoner, but she is still a princess, and shall be treated as befits her station.’

Any shred of scorn had abandoned her, ousted by fear and uncertainty. Her father had foreseen this. If you bend, you will break. Remember who you are. She had inhaled deeply, striving to even her respiration. I am the blood of the dragon, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and heir to the Iron Throne. I will not cringe for them.

Aemond had instructed the maids to prepare her a bath and a warm meal, and to fetch her dry clothes. Visenya had grinned, baring her bloody teeth at Ser Crispin, as the guards had led her away. She had been escorted along the smoldering ruins of houses, inns, and brothels, trampling charred corpses – mindful of her step. Carrion crows had circled above, the timid sun peeking from grey clouds. The foul, stifling stench had twisted her stomach, tears needling her eyes. Mine and Aemond’s handiwork. Only the sept, the square, and the trout-shaped fountain had remained intact. When dragons flew to war, everything burned, her mother had warned at the Black Council. What have the people of Stoney Sept done to merit this devastation? What power do they have over their lives? We play our grisly game of thrones, and the commonfolk bear the immeasurable cost.

The encampment had spread interminably – miles of pavilions, armories, forges, stables, latrines, wagons, and baggage trains – crawling with Greens cussing, mocking, and shouting at captives, pages distributing letters, squires polishing armor, honing weapons, feeding, watering, and combing horses, patrols walking to their posts, smiths hammering boisterously, cooks chopping vegetables, skinning rabbits, disemboweling deer, and roasting boars, giggling washerwomen hurrying by, and maesters ministering to the wounded. The turmoil had imbued Visenya’s senses. Mesmerised, she had watched a wailing, writhing man have his leg amputated, until one of her assigned guardians had shoved her forward.

She had assumed that Blackwing had flown away… but, having escaped the battle unscathed, and always loyal to a fault, her dragon had landed in the enemy’s camp, razing barracks and roaring ferociously, seeking its rider. After it had mauled the Greens who had attempted to approach it and shackle it, Aemond had begrudgingly permitted Visenya to comfort her feral companion. Blackwing had nuzzled its snout against her, coiling its tail around her, protectively, while Visenya had murmured “lykirī”, caressing its scales – her taut restraints impeding the action. Her chest had constricted agonisingly when the traitors had forcibly separated them. I will return for you, I promise.

She had been ushered into a vacated chamber, where the maids had obediently unchained her wrists, had removed her armor, had unbraided her hair, and had helped her undress for her bath, evading her glare and her nakedness – scarcely addressing her. What grim tales have they been told about me? Under the ewerers’ supervision, Visenya had washed herself – her uninjured arm vigorously scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap – and had dried off on her own, using cloths and rags. They have taken away my gear. Her indignation dwindling, she had slipped on the plain shirt, brown breeches, pelts, and a pair of flat shoes that they had brought her – tucking her salvaged brooch in her pocket. Is this meant to humble me?

She had sluggishly eaten her bland yet nourishing food, on a bench, by a candle, goggled at by blushing serving lads.

Aemond had summoned her to his tent, along with the maesters, who had cleansed her burns, had applied a poultice that had reeked of lavender and vinegar, had bandaged her arm, and had rubbed balms on her cuts, bruises, and split lip. Visenya had endured their ministrations in utter silence, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists. She and Aemond hadn’t exchanged a single word.

The pavilion had been modest for the Prince Regent, consisting of a firepit, an oaken war table – stripped of its tomes, maps, scrolls, ink, and wax – chairs, rugs, and a featherbed, with books scattered atop it. The colors red and black dominated the tent of a proud and eminent Green, who carried the golden banner of the Pretender. Aemond cannot deny his Targaryen heritage. Had Otto Hightower dyed his locks silver-white and ridden a dragon, he could have sat his ass on the Iron Throne and ruled in his own name. Instead, he urged the King to make my mother his heir, coerced his daughter to seduce him, and installed his grandson on the throne. Puppets upon puppets, plots within plots.

With the maesters dismissed, Visenya finally had the opportunity to regard Aemond. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him, at his brother’s false coronation. In the fire’s light, he had been a sight to behold; the flames illuminating his attractive, distinctive features, his mouth seemingly lodged in a permanent smirk, his eyepatch obscuring his missing eye, his tresses cascading down his back. Aemond had cleaned himself up, shedding his armor – now resting on a rack – for his usual black leather tunic, fastened with a belt that had his sheathed dagger attached to it, and a lengthy coat sewn with fur around the neck. He cast a tall shadow in the pavilion, his posture impeccable. Half dragon, half feline.

‘There’s a lack of dresses,’ informs Aemond, obdurately calm, retrieving a flagon of wine and two cups from the servant at the tent’s entrance, ‘And we had to find clothes that would suit you.’

‘I gather that there’s some poor stable boy currently running around naked,’ quips Visenya, tugging the pelts around herself.

Aemond huffs through his nose, amused, and sets one of the goblets on the table, proceeding to fill it with Arbor Red for her. The war evidently hasn’t affected the Usurper’s notorious love of drinking. Lord Redwyne smelled profit, and pledged his support to the Greens, to ensure that their wine supply never dries. An onerous task. The Pretender has ample ambition in that respect.

‘Don’t fret,’ assures Aemond, upon heeding Visenya’s skeptical, arched eyebrow, ‘It’s not poisoned.’

‘Surely someone spat in it,’ she guesses, convivial, swirling the liquid in her cup.

Aemond smiles, drinking his wine. Visenya tentatively lifts her goblet to her lips, and sips. Delectable flavors invade her mouth, soothing her nerves – albeit a little. She mulls over her next words… half carefully.

‘I reckoned that you and Ser Crispin would share a pavilion,’ she confides, lewdly, crossing one leg over the other, ‘Though your prides would not fit together.’

Aemond’s gaze darkens, his mouth subtly pressing into a thin line. His disposition could make Mushroom miserable... and it has.

‘You could lose your tongue for such insolence,’ he cautions, sternly.

‘What’s new?’, suspires an indifferent Visenya, ‘I can write this down as well.’ She pauses to take a swig, then demands, bluntly, ‘Where is Blackwing? And my men?’

‘The dragonkeepers are tending her,’ explains Aemond, irritation in his tone, leaving his empty cup on the table, ‘Your men are being questioned.’

Good fortune. They know nothing. The laughter and singing outside contradict Aemond’s claim. Drunk on victory. A weakness that she could later exploit. If I could reach Blackwing… lest they harm her.

‘Blackwing was your companion prior to Vhagar,’ she mentions, heatedly, flexing and unflexing her hand, ‘If you touch her–’

‘You are in no position to launch threats, Visenya,’ chastises Aemond, coldly, prodding at the logs with a poker, the wood crackling in the fire, ‘Your treatment depends on my good will. As does your fate. You have my word that Blackwing will not be harmed.’

‘The word of a kinslayer,’ spits Visenya, venomously, eyes darting to him, ‘If you are under the impression that minor acts of benevolence shall convince me to talk, you are gravely mistaken. You overestimate my family’s trust in me.’

‘They trusted you enough to put you in command of an army four thousand strong,’ reminds an earnest Aemond, ‘And you expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of your twin’s whereabouts?’

I wouldn’t trade Jace for the Iron Throne. ‘We shared a womb, not a brain,’ she corrects, tracing the rim of her goblet with her digits, contemplating refilling it. I need my wits about me. ‘You are wasting your time, nuncle. Mine, too. Fetch your torturers, and be done with all this bother.’

‘I will do no such thing,’ he rebuffs, inclining his head.

‘You will torture me yourself?’, asks Visenya, feigning innocence, brushing her loose silver-white hair over her shoulders.

‘You are being difficult, Visenya,’ he accuses, exasperated.

‘What do you intend to do with me?’, she interjects, involuntarily fiddling with her absent rings, ‘Executing me would be unwise. I presume that you will have my dragon killed, and me delivered to King’s Landing, where your usurper of a brother awaits, warming my mother’s rightful seat… or is he still broken and bedridden, lost in poppy dreams?’

‘Mind your tongue, Visenya,’ warns Aemond, louring at her, melting some of her resolve.

‘The Clubfoot will probably throw me in a cell and dispatch his floggers to visit me,’ she concludes, scratching her thigh. Stable boy must have had fleas.

‘I’m not sending you to King’s Landing,’ announces Aemond, with apparent mirth towards her gesture.

‘You will ransom me to my father?’, taunts Visenya, smirking wickedly, ‘He’s the poorest man in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Aemond’s demeanor refutes her insinuation. She continues, all semblance of jest vanishing, ‘You cannot justify keeping me here. Once the Pretender learns about my capture, he will order you to send me to King’s Landing.’

‘Aegon does not concern me,’ he grumbles, clasping his hands behind his back.

‘Pār ivestragī nyke jikagon,’ she advises, coyly. Aemond hums, musing, a glimmer in his eye that doesn’t indicate outright negation. ‘We are at war, and you allow your feelings to cloud your judgment?’ (Then let me go.)

‘Iksi daor rȳ vīlībāzma,’ argues a mild Aemond. (We are not at war.)

So, you did not slaughter Luke? That’s a consolation. ‘Iksis bona skoro syt emā daor ossēntan nyke?’, inquires Visenya, masking her anger. (Is that why you have not killed me?)

‘Killing you would be as imprudent as freeing you,’ he reasons, purposely oblivious, ‘You are worth more alive than you are dead. You lost a fair battle, you surrendered, and now you are my prisoner.’

‘I’ve heard stories about how you and Ser Crispin treat your prisoners,’ she disputes, mordant, ‘And I never yielded. You ride the largest dragon in the world. That’s hardly a fair match.’

Cole and the Usurper’s forces had sacked the port town of Duskendale, putting the ships at the harbor to the torch, hundreds of men, women, and children to the sword, and beheading Lord Gunthor Darklyn for supporting her mother’s cause. Hundreds more had been massacred at Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton, too, had been relieved of his head. Besieged by the Greens, he had barricaded himself inside his castle walls, and had requested assistance from the Blacks. With Prince Daemon at Harrenhal, and Queen Rhaenyra griefsick in the aftermath of her son’s murder, command of the Black Council had passed to the Velaryons. Rhaenyra had forbidden her children from answering their ally’s plea, so Princess Rhaenys had flown to Rook’s Rest instead. She and Meleys had fallen in battle against the Pretender, the Kinslayer, and their dragons. Sunfyre had been rendered flightless, the Usurper had suffered severe burns, and Aemond had assumed the title of Prince Regent – to rule in lieu of his older brother.

Visenya’s side hadn’t fared any greater. A wroth Sea Snake had blamed Rhaenyra for his wife’s demise. Jace had named him Hand of the Queen, to appease him – a measure that Visenya had commended. Better than Ser Crispin.

‘You ambushed us,’ reiterates Aemond, incredulous, ‘We would have presented you with terms, to avoid bloodshed.’

Oh, please. You don’t believe that. ‘Fuck your terms,’ curses Visenya, waving dismissively, ‘I suppose that being twice a kinslayer would have marred the carcass of your reputation.’

‘I spared your life,’ he chides, vaguely baleful.

‘A clemency that you did not extend to my brother,’ she sneers, bilious, her nails digging into the table’s surface.

‘Half-brother,’ deadpans Aemond, promptly.

‘If you had to slay your own kin, personally, I would have picked your dear brother, the Pretender,’ proffers Visenya, honeyed.

‘Perhaps you should have killed him,’ he retorts, untroubled, ‘You had your chance.’

Her family had gone to King’s Landing for the Driftmark petition, where her father had created a ghastly spectacle – publicly beheading Vaemond Velaryon for defaming her mother and her brothers. The Targaryen method of solving quarrels. Viserys himself had sat the throne, and had favored Luke as the heir to Driftmark – adhering to the Sea Snake’s wishes.

Due to his declining health, the King had been the first to retire during the subsequent supper that they had all attended. Visenya hadn’t been surprised by his condition; she had frequented the capital, unlike her parents and her siblings. The gathering had soon turned disastrous. Jace had invited Helaena to dance with him – offending Aegon and Aemond. She is so sweet. Alicent had been evil to marry her off to that cunting demon. None of them deserve her. Visenya herself had danced with Daeron, grinning the entire time. We had once been engaged... I could have loved him. He would have been a dutiful Prince Consort and a doting father to our children. Aemond had toasted to her Velaryon brothers, referring to them as “strong.” Fighting had erupted betwixt her siblings and her uncles, and her father had intervened to break them apart.

That evening, her family had sailed for Dragonstone, but Aemond had insisted that she stay in King’s Landing with him. Against her better judgment, Visenya had accepted. She ponders whether it had been a ploy of the Greens to take her hostage, and Aemond had simply played his part. Her grandsire had tragically expired overnight – poisoned by the Hightowers, according to her father. Visenya isn’t so certain. He hadn’t required meddling. He had been rotting for decades.

On the morrow, the Greens had locked her in her chambers. Visenya had refused to swear obeisance to Aegon – had even spat in his face – and to bow at his false coronation. Blackwing and the Princess Rhaenys had come to her rescue – emerging from underneath the Dragonpit on Meleys. Visenya had mounted her dragon, and had addressed the crowd, her voice clear and fierce, laced with fury.

“People of King’s Landing! The Hand and the Dowager Queen deceive you. King Viserys named my mother the Princess Rhaenyra heir to the throne. For twenty-four years, the succession remained indisputable and unchanged. Rhaenyra is the rightful and lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By crowning Aegon, the Hightowers have committed the highest of treasons and have usurped the Iron Throne, violating the King’s will. Aegon shall show you neither kindness nor wisdom. Remember today. Remember that you lived by the mercy of Rhaenys the Queen Who Should Have Been and myself. If the Hightowers do not cease in their treachery and do not bend the knee, I vow to return with fire and blood!”

Blackwing had roared so intensely that the Conqueror’s crown had been hurled from the Pretender’s head.

Aemond has the right of it. We could have bathed Aegon in flame, quelled their rebellion then and there.

On Dragonstone, the news of Viserys’ death and the Hightowers’ betrayal had driven her mother into an early labor. Her father had descended into madness, determined to levy war. Their losses had continuously piled… and the Seven Kingdoms would bear the cost.

‘I am no kinslayer,’ snarls Visenya, slighted by the idea, tearing her gaze away from Aemond.

‘I made you a generous offer that would have foiled the war,’ he broaches, the grievous memory still raw for him.

Oh, how could I have displayed such ingratitude? She wouldn’t describe his proposal to marry him and rule together as “generous.” It had been an odious humiliation. Aegon – who had not wanted the throne, declaring himself “unsuited” – would have embarked upon a ship and departed Westeros permanently. The Iron Throne is not his to relinquish. Visenya knows that Aemond has no love for his father, but asking her to usurp her mother’s throne? An audacious affront. She had vehemently spurned him, and they had traded sour words – their prides injured.

‘Our families would have started a war to kill us for it,’ drones Visenya, flatly, ‘And what of my parents? They would have never abided by your… solution.’

‘They have no consideration for your happiness and welfare, yet you still toil in their service,’ observes Aemond, provocatively.

‘And you have?!’, she opposes, her fist slamming on the table, ‘You conspired to usurp the throne and slaughtered my brother, the Princess Rhaenys, and their dragons. You are in no position to launch accusations.’

‘Even now, you feel compelled to defend them,’ he comments, dejected.

‘Lucerys was my blood!’, snaps Visenya, wrathful, standing from her seat and storming up towards him – stopping a couple of feet in front of him.

‘As am I!’, booms Aemond, towering over her, ‘And you have never defended me half as much as you did him! He took my eye when I was but ten, and to even that the imp felt entitled, while you gladly dismissed it as an accident and moved on!’

Outside, Blackwing and Vhagar grow agitated, shrieking and flitting their wings, stirring the wind. It seemed to Visenya that Aemond had often been harsher on her than he had been on Lucerys. He loves me… or he used to.

‘It was an accident,’ she maintains, tamer, ‘We were children. Our parents mishandled everything. I’ve told you numerous times that I profoundly regret what happened to you. It’s the truth. I cannot undo Luke’s actions.’

It’s been ten years since then, and forgetting the incident has been impossible. Aemond wears the consequences of it on his face, in his daily life. Our unease at the sight of his gash is a small price to pay.

He had delivered several blows – and had broken Luke’s nose – afore he had been overwhelmed by all five of her siblings, and Lucerys had slashed one of his eyes. Visenya’s absence from the fight had spared her from the interrogation, wherein Rhaenyra had suggested that Aemond be “sharply questioned”, Alicent Hightower had demanded Luke’s eye to compensate for Aemond’s, and Viserys had been eager to abandon his conciliatory obligation. The discord had exposed the personal feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent – their rhetoric diverting from “vile insults were levied against my sons” and “my son has lost an eye” to “duty and sacrifice are trampled under your pretty foot” and “you have been hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” The Queen had gone so far as to attack the Princess – slitting her arm with the King’s dagger.

Visenya hadn’t spoken at all – displeasing Aemond and her siblings. To her, matters hadn’t been so absolute. Although Aemond had claimed Vhagar too soon – disrespecting Laena Velaryon’s memory – his assault and maiming had been unwarranted. I love Rhaena dearly, but Vhagar was not stolen. The dragon never belonged to her. Aemond and Vhagar chose each other. Visenya had later communicated her opinions to him, and she had reassured her sister that she would have a dragon.

The next morning, the Targaryens and the Hightowers had exchanged false courtesies and falser apologies. Her family’s exile to Dragonstone hadn’t prevented Visenya from writing letters to Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, or from flying on Blackwing to visit them in King’s Landing.

Alas, the bloody seeds of strife had been sown.

‘No, you cannot,’ concurs Aemond, glancing at her lips, ‘No one can. That is why I sought justice for myself.’

‘Justice?’, echoes Visenya, disdainful, her glare piercing, ‘Had you had your other eye, you would still be as blind as you are now.’

Aemond growls, lashing out and grabbing her roughly, their lower bodies pressing together. Visenya glowers at him defiantly, placing her hands on his breast, to preserve some distance betwixt their upper bodies. The effort shoots a jolt of pain along her arm.

If he meant to scare her, he failed. Aemond would not harm me.

‘Hold your tongue, Visenya,’ he exhorts, through gritted teeth.

‘Or what?’, she challenges, her face inching closer to his, ‘You will have it removed? You will butcher me as you did my brother?’

‘You are brazen, to speak of your half-brother, of my wrongdoings and my crimes,’ berates Aemond, his jaw clenching, ‘What of your family? What of my nephew Jaehaerys?... Iā tresy syt iā tresy. Nyke gīmigon īles aōha kepa.’ (A son for a son. I know it was your father.)

Aware of what Aemond alluded to, Visenya hesitates, her response withering on her tongue.

After the tragedy at Storm’s End, a raven from her father had arrived at Dragonstone. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged. She had deduced that Daemon had hired the assassins who had executed Prince Jaehaerys – the Usurper’s six-year-old heir – with Alicent, Helaena, and the latter’s other children as witnesses. Visenya had confronted him about his heinous deed at Harrenhal. Undaunted, her father had firmly admonished that the “pious one-eyed flea of a traitor who slobbers over you” had slain her brother.

In retaliation for Jaehaerys, the Pretender had sent Ser Arryk Cargyll to Dragonstone, to assassinate Jace and Joffrey. The knight had entered the castle in his Kingsguard attire, disguised as his twin Ser Erryk – Queen Rhaenyra’s loyalist – whom he had encountered on his way to the royal apartments. By the conclusion of their duel, the two had mortally wounded one another.

I owe the Hightowers nothing, least of all my sympathy. Children should not be the target of our ire. How do we differ from the Greens if we perpetrate and perpetuate the same crimes that they do?

‘Nyke ēdan daorun naejot gaomagon rūsīr bona,’ clarifies Visenya, sincerely, albeit faintly. (I had nothing to do with that.)

‘No, you are merely the spectator,’ scoffs Aemond, haughty, ‘Proudly passing judgment while others bloody their hands. You are passive. Passive in your beliefs, your guilt, your love.’

Visenya blinks against the tears that prick her eyes, her breath hitched. His cruel and bitter words cut deeply, rooted in years of grievances, enmities, neglect, and abuse. Aemond had once been a sweet, innocent boy – her closest friend, her betrothed. He’s the product of his conditions, his upbringing, and his parents’ influence… as am I. Both confined in a prison of our parents’ sins. Perhaps we inevitably inherit the burdens of our forebears.

Though Visenya may not be the sole reason for his resentment, she is present. Aemond hadn’t blamed her for her family’s actions. He condemned her for not loving him enough. That is unfair. I’m not culpable of that.

A consuming poison has been dribbling inside of her, on the verge of gushing. Visenya has strayed too near to the edge – now wavering, uncertain whether she wishes to tread the line and unravel the truth. That is not why I am here...

... but her decision has already been established.

The truth is important to me.

Summoning her courage, Visenya reaches behind Aemond’s head to peel off his eyepatch, lifting the veil between them. I need to see him, so that he cannot deceive me. She tosses the item aside, neither shrinking nor averting her gaze. She caresses his face, drinking him in – his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, the flesh that had healed crookedly. Aemond tenses, watching her intently, his respiration ragged. His grip on her slackens.

‘Gōntan ao ossēnagon zirȳla kesrio syt hen issa?’, murmurs Visenya, circling his wrists, impeding his retreat. (Did you kill him because of me?)

At the Black Council, Jace and Luke had offered to act as their mother’s messengers, to acquire support for her claim. The twins had been tasked with the difficult mission – negotiating with the Eyrie, the Three Sisters, White Harbor, and Winterfell. Lady Jeyne Arryn would declare for Rhaenyra if dragonriders defended the Vale. Jace and Visenya had met with Lords Borrell and Sunderland at Sisterton, and at White Harbor, they had arranged for Joffrey to marry Lord Desmond Manderly’s youngest daughter.

The news of Luke’s death had accosted them in the Vale. Visenya had collapsed in Jace’s arms, wailing as her twin had embraced her tightly. She had agonised over her brother’s demise every night, plagued by what she could have done to save him, weeping into a tumultuous sleep. Visenya had never listened to the rumors and the gossip. Lucerys had been her family, her brother, her blood. I fed him, bathed him, read to him, sparred with him, played with him… yet I could not protect him from Aemond.

She possesses little knowledge of what had occurred betwixt Luke and Aemond at Storm’s End. The weather had been atrocious, her brother’s dragon too small to withstand it. In the following days, bits of Arrax’s carcass had washed up on the shore of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Luke had never been recovered. He may have died a dragonrider’s death, but he had died alone and afraid. Had his demise been slow and painful, or swift and painless? Her brother had sworn on the Seven-Pointed Star that he would not fight – merely deliver the Queen’s message. Aemond had taken no such oath. Had Visenya known, she would have held on to Luke and besought him not to go.

If I had flown to Storm’s End in his stead, Aemond could have slain me, and my brother would still be alive.

‘Daor,’ whispers Aemond, at last. (No.)

Visenya stifles a sob, tears escaping her eyes, dampening his thumbs. She foolishly believed that her grief would wane. His confession barely scrapes the surface. Visenya feels no relief, no closure. Has she been on an erroneous campaign to absolve herself of any responsibility, to alleviate her own conscience, and to forgive Aemond – chasing these ends to the detriment of Luke’s memory? If I wanted to bring justice to my brother, I would have slit his killer’s throat and let him bleed out on the ground.

When Aemond succumbs and pulls her into him, Visenya doesn’t resist. The buckles of his tunic are cold and rough against her cheek, contrasting the warmth that he radiates. She releases the exhale that she has been withholding. Her greatest flaw rears its hideous head – a flaw that has sown division amongst her family and has rendered her an outcast. Visenya had suffered for her refusal to forsake her friendship with Aemond, enduring disapproving scowls from her parents, mean jests and malicious accusations from her siblings, and a lack of compassion – all serving to remind her of her tenuous position.

Her proximity to Aemond had even prompted her mother to spurn her as her heir – arguing that he would undermine her as Queen. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. I am the eldest child. By all rights, the throne should pass to me.

Shoving those thoughts away, Visenya clutches his sides, sobs wracking her body. Aemond timidly buries his mouth in her locks, breathing in her scent.

‘Daor,’ he repeats, definitively, cradling the back of her head. (No.)

The remainder of her defenses crumble. Visenya loathes that she errs, that she seeks and welcomes comfort from the man who is the source of her sorrow. With the realm plunged into war after Lucerys’ death, there has been no time to mourn – not for her grandsire Viserys, nor her sister Aemma, nor her brother Luke.

An unavoidable war. We are Valyrian, and prone to violence. A testament to power corruption. Prior to the blood magic, the dragons, and the conquests, Valyrians had been a peaceful community of shepherds. They had become increasingly tyrannical and ambitious as their power had soared. The peak of our Freehold… and its ruin. Forewarned about the Doom by Daenys Targaryen’s prophetic dream, her forebears had fled to Dragonstone – a venture that the other, unsuspecting dragonlords had considered cowardice and had ridiculed. We had the last laugh.

Targaryens have always been stubborn, passionate, fierce. Visenya is no exception. Despite their families’ hopes and despite his crimes, her love for Aemond hasn’t dwindled. Their bond is too strong, their souls and fates entwined. I am the blood of the dragon. Nobody dictates whom I love.

And love is seldom simple.

Aemond brushes his lips over her temple, causing her skin to tingle. Visenya lifts her eyes to meet his, and recognises the same ache and longing that lay dormant inside her. Affection blooms in her chest. She could stop this from flourishing, spare them both the misery. As children, they had found solace in each other’s company whenever their families had been the reason for their anguish, so they had promised to never hurt one another.

A part of Visenya still yearns to love Aemond freely. Must her logic always be at odds with her emotions? The only man that I have ever desired, and I have been deprived of him my entire life. I have never been in control. The forbidden aspect merely furthers the appeal of the dalliance. She wants to surrender to the temptation, repercussions be damned.

Visenya traces his mouth with her fingertips, reverently, and strokes his face – recommitting it to memory. Aemond leans into her touch, reveling in the gesture, his respiration shallow. The tips of their noses graze against each other. He wipes her tears before his digits fall on the sides of her neck, feeling her quickening pulse under the pads of his fingers. Aemond’s eye gleams with lust, igniting the same blaze within her. She peers at him from underneath her lashes, drowning in the depths of his blue eye. A shiver runs down her spine. Her lips tremble in suspense, the proximity making her dizzy.

Aemond dips his head to capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. Visenya surges upwards to reciprocate, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes slipping shut. Their lips mold together, their flame rekindled. His large, calloused hands grip her jaw, to guide her. She splays her hands over his chest, fisting the lapels of his coat, desperate to draw him closer. Visenya parts her lips, granting him entrance, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine that they had shared earlier. A familiar ardor seeps into her belly, immersing her body. Her fire has burned quietly for too long. Now, it has stirred again, emboldened to emerge.

Aemond sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, splitting it and sucking the blood, famished. Visenya groans, her breath blowing the loose strands of hair that cover his forehead. Her knees weaken, and she grasps his shoulders for support, grateful that he wraps his arm around her middle. Her pelts land on the floor. Aemond steps forward, backing her into the table, and hoists her on it impetuously.

Aemond kindly adjusts his belt, to remove the dagger betwixt them. The irony isn’t lost on Visenya. She spreads her legs, inviting, allowing him to settle between them. He sprawls over her, caging her in, his heavy weight almost crushing her against the table’s rigid, uncomfortable surface. His silky hair cascades around her head, framing his face, conferring a strange sense of privacy. Visenya peppers delicate pecks over his chin, continuing along his jaw, her digits prodding at his smooth neck.

She fervidly awaits a kiss that never comes. Aemond hums affably, his arrogant smile shooting to her core. Their breaths mingle, his hands traveling up and down her sides with modest curiosity. Visenya huffs in exasperation, and shifts, ticklish, the heels of her feet digging into his ass. Her thumb catches his lower lip, pressing into it. Aemond holds her gaze, parting his lips enough to engulf her thumb. He swirls his tongue over it afore sucking on it gently. She watches him, captivated, her mouth slightly agape.

The knot in her belly snaps, her patience having thinned, ousted by resolve. She pushes him off, so she can sit up, impelling him to stand. Aemond obliges without objection. Visenya hooks her fingers in his belt, to bring him nearer, and deftly unbuttons his tunic, revealing his bare chest – inch by inch. She drinks in the sight, caressing his glistening skin. The intolerable heat induces sweat to drip betwixt her breasts and to trickle down her spine.

She leans in, only for Aemond to jerk his head away and deny her another kiss – the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek. He smirks, conceited, despite his ruddy complexion. Visenya gnashes her teeth, intent on retribution. Straightening her body, and looping her uninjured arm around Aemond, she licks his earlobe and bites it softly, eliciting a growl from him. He squeezes her hips in silent warning, and sneaks a hand under her shirt, to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple until it stiffens. Visenya moans, hushed, her head lolling back into her shoulders.

Aemond rests his free hand on the base of her throat, his digits winding around it, lips latching onto her exposed neck. Visenya suppresses her whine, the air deserting her lungs. He incessantly strokes her bosom, his teeth abusing the sensitive skin of her neck. She drops her arms – mindful of her wounds – one hand surrounding his wrist, her other fumbling, blindly cupping his hardened member through his breeches. A salacious grunt rolls out of Aemond’s mouth, filling the tent.

His fingers release her throat to tangle in her tresses, and yank, his hips grinding against hers, creating friction. He withdraws his lips from her, and tugs her hand away, his other hand raking down her abdomen. Her chuckle turns into a gasp as Aemond languidly rubs the wet area between her legs, his breath fanning her face. Visenya relishes in the waves of pleasure enveloping her body, her spine arching, though her soaking cunt clenches around nothing. She heaves her thighs higher, hugging his waist – lest he dare pull away from her.

A metal item pokes at her thigh.

My brooch.

Visenya peels her eyes away from him, scrambling to salvage her composure. Aemond ceases his ministrations. He raises her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to look at him. Her heart stutters, her vision bleary beneath his suffocating leer. The clouds in his eye have cleared… or he conceals them well. Their lips crash in a frantic kiss – her veins aflame, scalding. He swallows her wanton moan, kneading the flesh of her ass. Aemond cannot fool me. A constant tempest festers within him, ravenous for blood and revenge. Visenya would never be able to tame it. Nothing would.

Numbing remorse smothers her fire. She had forgotten herself and her loyalties. She breaks the kiss, tasting ashes on her tongue. His mouth chases hers, his hand curling around the nape of her neck, to reunite their lips. Aemond bends her back, cradling her against him – the pressure on her shoulder tearing a whimper from her. He lays a tender, apologetic kiss there. Her digits slide into his locks, thwarting him. Visenya stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of the pavilion – Aemond’s head pillowed on her breasts.

What am I doing? Where am I going? With him? Distant limbs envelop her, lips ghosting over her skin. He licks a stripe up the column of her throat and nips at it, nuzzling his nose against her neck. I would never betray my family. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. The dream is over. Bury it, and crawl out of this bottomless pit of vipers.

He has been stretching seconds into minutes, delaying the inevitable, but he cannot stop it. The die has been cast.

‘Aemond, wait,’ pants Visenya, her own voice foreign to her, her nails clawing at his back, ‘We cannot. I am–’

‘Betrothed?’, deadpans Aemond, cocking his head to peek at her, crimson lips swollen, hair and clothes disheveled, ‘I’m aware. Your half-brother told me, at Storm’s End.’

Her heart leaps into her throat, yet Visenya falters, preferring to disregard his comment and its implications. If Aemond and Lucerys had exchanged insults – and her brother had mentioned her betrothment – it might have incited the former to attack the latter. A door best left shut.

‘Lord Stark is a good man–’

‘Have you sunk so low?’, criticises Aemond, reproach etched on his features, ‘You are a Targaryen princess, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragons do not mate with other beasts, and we do not consort with lesser men.’

Visenya blinks in incredulity, scanning his face for any indication of pretense. He has been collecting dangerous beliefs. Undoubtedly the result of Ser Crispin’s and Alicent Hightower’s influence. King Viserys had been too neglectful to bear any blame in that respect. He’s overly culpable in innumerable other matters.

‘If I have sunk low, I do not wish to imagine what hell you wander in,’ she retorts, dour, shoving him away, her lower back pressing against the edge of the table, ‘I do not require lessons on our heritage. Valyria is gone. I do not adhere to the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, nor do I delude myself about our superiority. According to this logic, your Westerosi mother is lesser. Everybody has their history and their pride. The Starks are the blood of the First Men, descendants of Bran the Builder. Cregan is my equal, and I will not bring him dishonor. You once said something similar to me, when we were younger.’

Visenya purposely omitted that Cregan would have taken additional offence if Aemond – a usurper and a kinslayer – had been her choice of paramour. Following the annulment of her betrothment to Aemond, she had snuck into his bedchamber, and had urged him to claim her maidenhood. It would have compelled our parents to marry us to each other. He had adamantly refused, reiterating that he would dishonor her by doing so. Visenya wonders whether his consent would have changed the tide, whether he rues his decision now… were he capable of it.

‘I remember,’ mutters Aemond, cupping her cheeks, brushing his nose against hers, ‘Yn īlon issi daor riñar dombo.’ (But we are not children anymore.)

‘No, we are not,’ she assents, doleful, undeterred by his lingering lips on her forehead, ‘I am a woman grown, my mother’s daughter, and I vowed to marry Cregan. My word is not fickle. A foreign concept to you and your family.’

She had suggested the match herself, on Dragonstone, prior to hers and her brothers’ departure. Supposing that the Queen’s appeal failed to persuade Lord Stark to pledge the North to their cause, Visenya would offer her hand in marriage.

The memory of beholding Cregan for the first time still exhilarates her. She had been climbing down from Blackwing while Jace had approached Lord Stark, to greet him. Cloaked in furs, he had been an imperious presence – tall, brawny, handsome, graced with grey eyes, dark, wavy locks that cascaded to his shoulders, and a dense beard. His gaze had frequently drifted towards her. Jace had suavely introduced her, and Cregan had curtsied, addressing her as “princess.” Visenya had answered with “my lord” – her smile timid, her eyes wicked.

The harsh weather hadn’t spoiled the northern capital’s beauty, magnificent structures, and rich culture. The twins had received a warm welcome at Winterfell, amidst the winter preparations, and Lord Stark had been a most hospitable host, entertaining his guests with drinking, sparring, and hunting trips in the wolfswood. Visenya had mingled with the commonfolk, conversing with them, helping them with their errands, and teaching their children how to read and write. Cregan had often watched her, fondly, from afar. Some servants had been intimidated by her appearance and her station, stammering through their responses. She had instructed them to simply call her “Visenya.”

Whenever his duties had permitted, Cregan had accompanied her on walks around the castle, to the library, the ancient godswood and its hot springs, and the disturbing crypt that had contained the tombs of the deceased members of House Stark. His direwolf Splinter had ambled after them everywhere. They had discussed history, politics, trade, and their families, and had comforted one another in their grief, as Cregan’s wife had recently perished in childbirth. He had even confessed that Jace had reminded him of the brother that he had lost more than a decade ago. She had met his sweet babe Rickon, whom she had doted on. Cregan had bestowed upon Blackwing the highest distinction, deeming her a “formidable beast” – with his habitual morose disposition. Visenya had become besotted with him, regarding him as virtuous, conscientious, tenacious, and reputable.

By the end of the twins’ stay in Winterfell, the Pact of Ice and Fire had been formed, whereby Visenya would wed Lord Stark, and the North would side with Queen Rhaenyra. He had forged a direwolf brooch for her, and she had gifted him one of her rings, to wear it as a necklace. Cregan and Jace had sworn an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood.

‘You sold yourself to a wolf pup so that you may rally his army to your mother’s cause, and you boast about honor,’ accuses Aemond, scornful, satisfied that he discerns her imagined act, ‘Twas a different kind of sword that you required.’

Sold myself? Visenya’s mouth twists downwards, her latent, crude contempt quivering. Blackwing rattles her shackles, screeching viscerally. He views me as property. I paid my price in kindness and youthful promises, so I am constrained into being his property. I have no freedom, no intuition, no capacity for judgment. I am a frail puppet dancing on my family’s strings, dependent on Aemond to rescue me. He would rather I were a fly in his web. What sort of person expects me to fulfil the vows that I uttered as a child?

‘Cregan would have honored his late father’s word,’ she contends, smoothing her garments, heedless of Aemond’s eye roaming over her body, ‘Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath in the throne hall, and acknowledged my mother as King Viserys’ heir. All of the Westerosi lords did, great and small.’

Upon his lord father’s death, Cregan had inherited Winterfell at the age of thirteen, so his uncle Bennard had ruled as regent until his nephew had reached manhood. Bennard’s reluctance to relinquish power had spurred Cregan to imprison him and his three sons. Akin to Queen Rhaenyra’s plight, his kinsman had attempted to supplant him. Lady Jeyne Arryn – Queen Aemma’s cousin – had thrice endured uprisings that had contested her inheritance of the Eyrie.

A hereditary curse. A woman’s curse. In this world of men, we women must band together.

‘Over twenty years have passed since then,’ specifies Aemond, shrugging blithely, ‘Most of those lords are dead, including the wolf pup’s father. Bones are all that is left of them and their vows.’

Pup. A peculiar term to use for Cregan – a man older than they are. Aemond’s vanity confirms that, to the Greens, King Viserys’ succession amounts to nothing. Their cause is false – founded on quicksand, conspiracy, and murder – and they bury themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss of lies and treachery.

‘They represented their Houses and spoke on their behalf,’ corrects Visenya, her shoulders slumping from the sheer absurdity of having to explain this, ‘Enlighten me, nuncle. How does your situation differ from mine? Are you not betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters for her father’s troops? Or is it all four daughters? I have heard varied accounts.’

The illiterate Lord of Storm’s End – another traitor responsible for Luke’s demise. Her brother Joffrey had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance against him and the Kinslayer. The Velaryons had prevented Joff from instantly mounting his dragon Tyraxes to exact revenge. Would I have done the same? He is merely a boy, too young to know such hatred and grief. He and Rhaena are in the Vale, out of harm’s way. Willful Baela remains on Dragonstone, to fight by Jace’s side. Aegon and Viserys, the youngest, are with them. We must ensure their safety, else the war will strip them of their innocence… and their lives.

Dragonstone, Harrenhal, Winterfell, the Vale, King’s Landing, Stoney Sept… My family is divided. If only I could protect them all…

‘I did what was asked of me,’ defends Aemond, forlorn, resting their foreheads together, ‘I never intended to wed her.’ He adds, his words scattered among hasty, consecutive kisses, ‘We have always agreed that we would marry one another. I have neither forgotten, nor forsaken that. I want you.’

‘I thought that we were not children anymore,’ she echoes, shrewd, bending to retrieve her discarded pelts, ‘Our parents annulled our betrothment years ago. You would have us marry without your mother’s blessing? I value my well-being, even if you do not.’

‘You are mistaken,’ coos Aemond, holding her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her inner wrist, ‘It’s not too late. There’s still a chance for us.’

Visenya had once shared that sentiment. He lives in the past, clinging to it, misconstruing it. Matters betwixt them would never be the same – a truth that he hasn’t accepted. I would have waited for him... Aemond had usurped the throne and had slain her brother. Now, he hopes to abuse her clemency. What stops him from mistreating her, from hurting her? Why must I always be patient and compassionate? Why must I always forgive and forget? What will I gain from it? Aemond? It’s not enough. His redemption is a prolonged, tedious endeavor that she will not partake in.

I’m severing my noose.

‘A chance?’, snarls Visenya, in conjunction with Blackwing’s shrieks, ‘Is that what you offered my brother when you unleashed Vhagar on him?’ She folds her arms over her chest, her furs caught between them. ‘You have already spilled my blood. I will not present you with a chance to do it again. Aye, I once wanted to marry you. A summer dream of summer children. Winter is coming.’

Ripping the cord that binds her to Aemond will be excruciating, like slashing a part of herself. He is the thorn lodged in her side, her twin flame, his scent and touch imprinted on her, haunting her asleep and haunting her awake. The only power I wield over him is denying him myself.

‘You have returned to threats,’ chides Aemond, buttoning his tunic, visibly irritated by her usage of the House Stark words, ‘Parroting words that are not your own, chirruping tales that others have stuffed your head with, like a little bird.’

‘‘Tis not a threat, beloved,’ purrs Visenya, woven with venom, savoring his indignation, ‘It is a fact. The maesters of the Citadel will release the white ravens soon, to announce its arrival.’

She had witnessed the foreboding signs with her own eyes, at Winterfell – the resplendent snow, the howling winds, the bitter cold. Winter is upon us… and we are vying for the throne.

‘‘Tis also a fact that your wolf pup has a wolf pup of his own,’ jeers Aemond, donning his eyepatch, ‘A son whom he fathered on another wench. A son who will inherit Winterfell and all of its attendant lands, titles, and incomes. A vile indignity, a humiliation, to you and your brood. You would submit to a puny northern savage, as his second wife?’

Puny northern savage? Innovative.

“Our children will sit the Iron Throne,” Visenya had told Cregan in the godswood, with the snow floating around them, piling in thick layers on the ground, the trees, and the castle walls. I kissed the snowflakes on his lashes, and they melted on my lips. Her heart flutters at the memory. My sullen wolf. She longs for him more than she can express.

Would that appease Aemond? Nothing would. He has become spiteful. “Wench.” Lady Arra of House Norrey had been Cregan’s late wife and cherished childhood companion. She had dismally died birthing Rickon. I will not debate Cregan’s family with Aemond, a jealous craven threatened by suckling babes.

‘Rickon is an innocent babe,’ reasons Visenya, hugging herself, suddenly feeling naked without her armor, ‘Aye, he is the heir to Winterfell, and no threat to me. I will not set my children against their brother, nor will I encourage them to steal his birthright. I am not your mother.’

And, oh, how you despise that…

‘I suppose that you will be no threat to him, either, should you die in childbirth,’ ventures Aemond, elated at the notion, his eye shimmering in the light of the flames, ‘And your wolf pup would be twice widowed.’

Visenya lashes out, striking him so viciously across the face that his head whips to the side. Blackwing’s mighty roars rumble outside. Aemond doesn’t even blench.

She had never hit him before. If he is startled or enraged by the assault, he masks it – devoid of any emotion. Visenya quashes the temptation to shout at him, to call him a dog, a pig, a rat. He is beneath these creatures. He has no conscience, and his cruelty is boundless. Her grandmother Queen Aemma and her aunt Laena had both expired in childbed. Her sister had been stillborn. What does Aemond know about the perils and throes of women? Nothing.

I could flee, go anywhere but here... Her flesh crawls. I’m his captive in so many ways. Briny tears well in her eyes.

Tears cannot quench dragonfire.

‘Do you love the wolf pup?’, challenges Aemond, his demeanor impassable, though she distinguishes a crack in his frigid tone.

And if I do? You would flay him alive, and force me to watch. The question of Visenya’s suitors continues to be intricate and contentious. The Disputed Lands of Westeros. She had been engaged to Aegon, to Aemond, and to Daeron, and had been courted by Westerosi Houses, Essosi princes, triarchs, archons, nobles, magisters, merchants, and generals. The Red Kraken would have made me his salt wife. Visenya had rejected all of them. Adulterers and drunkards old enough to be my grandsires and fat enough to crush me beneath them.

Rhaenyra had been sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament; she herself had initially opposed marriage. My mother had been younger than I am when she had birthed me and Jace. Visenya shudders at the thought. Her father hadn’t been concerned, confiding that she could wed out of duty and fuck whomever she pleased. Men always do so. Why shouldn’t I? Her twin had convinced her that she would find a suitable pair, to her liking. Jace had the right of it. I chose Cregan, and he chose me. She touches her brooch through her trousers. I’m assuming control of my life and my future.

‘I will,’ declares Visenya, seething, jutting her chin, ‘He is neither a usurper, nor a kinslayer. Cregan is worth a thousand of you, and more.’

‘Yet you delay marrying him, and the wolf pup delays assembling his banners and marching,’ admonishes Aemond, his reddened cheek beginning to swell, ‘Perhaps you are not as devoted to each other as you think you are.’

A surrounded animal, slinging its final, pitiful blows. Her wolf’s motives for not marching had been warranted. He awaits the collection of the harvest, so that he can feed his subjects throughout the winter. The Southrons seal themselves in their castles with their bountiful harvests, whereas the Northerners bear the brunt of the burden – snow, frost, famine, death. Cregan’s obligations lie with his people and his lands.

As for herself, Visenya prefers to marry him during peace and stability. He could mourn his wife properly, and he would not be widowed again, if I were to… to…

‘His Winter Wolves are at the Twins,’ she states, noting Aemond’s mouth twitching, ‘They have joined their forces with the Freys’, and will resume their advance south. They are merely a fraction of the North’s strength. I assure you. Cregan will honor his vow.’

She had wept upon reading Lord Roderick Dustin’s words to Lady Sabitha Frey. We have come to die for the dragon queen. Cregan had taught Visenya about the Winter Wolves – elderly men who leave their homes in order to conserve supplies for their kin. Grisly custom. Those warriors hope to die for glory and plunder. They will never reunite with their families. Wretched conditions, wretched measures.

Aemond must have observed a spark in her eyes, heard something amiss in her voice that aroused his suspicion.

‘What have you done, Visenya?’, he demands, narrowing his eye, fixing her with a hawkish glare.

I fucked the wolf pup. And Alyn Velaryon… Not both at the same time. She had befriended Alyn and his older brother Addam shortly after hers and Jace’s return from Winterfell. Her twin had summoned Targaryen bastards – “dragonseeds” – for the riderless dragons, promising wealth, lands, and knighthood for those triumphant. Addam’s feat of claiming Seasmoke had emboldened the Sea Snake to petition Queen Rhaenyra to legitimise the Hull boys. Conveniently, their mother Marilda had revealed that they had been sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon. And Mushroom is seven feet tall. My stepfather had no interest in women. Lord Corlys had proceeded to name Addam his heir.

Alyn, however, had been less fortunate. Sheepstealer had bathed his cloak in flames. His brother had doused the fire, saving his life. At least Grey Ghost had vanished. Those had been wild dragons. Alyn is lucky to be alive. Grand Maester Gerardys had tended his burns, and Visenya had changed his bandages thrice a day – delighting in his insolence. The habit had blossomed into clumsy intimacy. She had seldom stayed the night – a decision that hadn’t troubled Alyn. He never judged me. Visenya misses him; his jests, his smile, his company.

A furious Jace had reprimanded his twin for her recklessness and temerity, arguing that Cregan was a good man, a second chance – everything that she had ever dreamed of. Her involvement with Alyn could compromise their indispensable alliance with the North. Visenya had listened to his warning, remorse slithering around her throat.

I have been remiss… but Alyn is only a matter of brevity. I have to tread prudently.

‘I do as I please,’ she asserts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, ‘Do not fret, cousin. Cregan treated me well and was most gentle with me… the first time.’

Her admission slices him to the bone. Aemond’s expression sinks, desolation flooding his eye. A child looks at her, into her, agony engraved on his features. Have I been too austere? Spoken too harshly? He had betrayed her trust, had usurped the throne, and had murdered her brother. My sins pale in comparison.

Aemond recoils, turning away from her, his head lowered. His fists clench at his sides. The table behind her shakes at Vhagar’s menacing growl. Visenya maintains her composure, sheathing herself in steel. I will not cow. I am the blood of the dragon.

And I will not regret Cregan.

While she hadn’t lacked for suitors, those men had sought to marry her out of pride and ambition. My Targaryen heritage brings their House closer to the Iron Throne, and my dragon is power.

She had proposed to Cregan that she would willingly surrender her maidenhood to him, as a token of her intention to wed him. Fighting a war a maiden seems particularly dreadful. Should anything befall her, Cregan wouldn’t feel cheated or insulted – he would have claimed her gift of innocence.

I lost my innocence long ago.

Visenya hadn’t abused her station to compel him to lie with her. She wouldn’t have been offended if he hadn’t desired her.

“I would be,” her wolf had responded, earning a chuckle from her.

Two nights – and numerous fiery kisses – later, he had accepted her offer. A timorous ardor had washed over Visenya, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cregan had led her out of the godswood, past the hot springs, the main iron gate with its walls, across the inner yards, into the castle, and up the winding stairs – retreating to his solar, where they had shared half a flagon of wine. He had kindly asked her if she had been nervous.

No. I am a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider… and the wine soothed my nerves.

Their intimate moments had been sweet, passionate, exhilarating. Visenya remembers them so vividly. His large hands cupping her face, disrobing her with deft precision, caressing and fondling every inch of her. His darkened eyes reveling in her figure. Cregan lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, laying her down on the bed. His tongue licking her stiffened nipples, his mouth sucking on her plump breasts. Her fist stroking his leaking cock, guiding him into her heat slowly. Cregan swallowing her soft whine when entering her, the stretch burning deliciously. The overwhelming need to hold him nearer. Wrapping her limbs around him as he vigorously thrust into her, the featherbed engulfing her. The chambers brimming with their moans, gasps, and the lascivious sounds of sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. Cregan intertwining their fingers, Cregan driving her to the heights of pleasure, Cregan spilling his seed inside her, blending with her maiden’s blood.

Slick pools between her legs, and Visenya squeezes her thighs shut, salivating at the memory.

He had collapsed on top of her, and – at her insistence – had lied there, panting, his face buried in her neck, his beard tickling her. An equally breathless Visenya had threaded her digits through his damp hair, pecking his cheek and his temple. Cregan had rolled off of her, grunting at the effort, and had pulled her into him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest, and to hook her leg over his. Her wolf had attentively inquired whether he had hurt her.

“Not at all,” she had murmured, demure, draping her arm over him, their combined fluids trickling on her groin, “You have been so good to me.”

Visenya had drifted off to sleep in his safe embrace, lulled by his heartbeat and his snores. His body had been a hearth underneath the pelts. I am the blood of the dragon, allured by warmth and fire.

She and Cregan had spent most evenings together – to the dismay of his bed. Days had been dedicated to duties, negotiations, and furtive glances, nights for themselves and for each other; for raw lust, hushed laughter, and the solace that they had been starved of; for their satiation and contentment. Her loins had often ached by the next morning. A good ache.

Cregan had even taken her in the godswood, under a starry sky, before the heart tree, following their sword sparring. Afterwards, he had suggested that they retire to his solar.

‘To sleep?’, questioned Visenya, coyly, tangling their feet together.

‘If that is what the princess wants,’ granted her wolf, amiably.

‘The princess wants you,’ she mumbled, nestling against him, their clothes and furs providing scant shelter from the cold.

‘She has me,’ vouched Cregan, carding his fingers through her locks, ‘All of me.’

Oh, yes. He has had me in the sight of the old gods, and I have bled for him. Targaryens have always had a grievously deep connection to blood. It’s one of our House’s words. Our forebears used blood magic to bind the winged beasts to them. We cut ourselves and drink each other’s blood in the marriage ceremony. We practice incest to ensure the purity of our bloodline. The blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Blood unites, and blood divides.

Their stealthy meetings might not have been shrouded in such secrecy. Jace had dared to tease Visenya about the marks that he had glimpsed on her throat. She had thrown a snowball at him, hitting him in the nose.

‘Locking myself in a castle is more appealing than waging war against my own kin,’ admitted Visenya, in an instance of fragility, atop one of Winterfell’s towers.

‘You’re not destined to hide in a castle,’ proponed Cregan, petting Splinter, basking in the sun – reminiscent of their early mornings abed. I would trace the lines of his back, the scars on his chest, admire his naked form as he opened the shutters… ‘Your hair is akin to the snow around us, your eyes the color of the sunset sky. Why would nature make you so lovely, if not to behold you and to reflect on you? The sun must see you to shine, the moon to glow.’

Visenya tore her gaze away from him, misty-eyed.

Her Valyrian appearance had protected her from japes about being a Strong bastard. Is that term so preposterous? My parents hadn’t been married at my birth. I had borne the name Velaryon for a decade. People had viewed her as a Myrish carpet – to be gaped at – and had treated her like a stud-mare, to be bought, owned, and mounted to produce sons – her beauty a mere instrument to that end. Devious motives behind hollow adulation.

‘You are gracious, my lord,’ rasped Visenya, flustered, the gossip of the commonfolk below muffling her answer slightly, ‘I am flattered.’

‘I have spoken the truth,’ affirmed Cregan, tipping her chin up, coaxing her to peer at him, ‘You are meant to be kissed.’

‘By you,’ she assented, his gloved digits wiping her tears, delicately.

On the day of the dragon twins’ departure from Winterfell, Vermax and Blackwing had been impatient to leave the North and its freezing temperatures. Visenya hadn’t shared their zeal. I’m not a little girl anymore. The winds of winter are rising. There is a war to be fought and won.

“Come back to me,” her wolf whispered to her, their joined hands concealed in their cloaks and pelts.

I will.

Aemond’s subtle movements wrest her to the present.

We’re at war with the Greens. I’m a prisoner at Stoney Sept, in the Pretender’s camp. My Cregan is leagues away.

I must not forget my mission.

Aemond’s insidious posture betrays him, his shoulders on the brink of crumbling under the burden of his pride and envy.

‘A dragon rendered a broodmare by a wolf pup,’ he chastises, repulsed, his features drawn into solemn lines, ‘Have you spread your legs for his army, too? I wouldn’t be surprised, given your taste for depravity.’

Visenya refrains from guffawing, albeit with great difficulty. Oh, may the Crone’s lantern light my path to wisdom, and may the Father judge me justly, and may the Mother show me mercy, for I am a filthy wanton, and Lord Stark does possess a generous… host.

‘I would rather be his broodmare than be your wife,’ she spits, defiant, baring her teeth, ‘The wolf pup is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.’ And you are insufferably obtuse. ‘He and his bannermen will liberate me, should the Winter Wolves and the river lords fail to do so, and should you yourself refuse to release me. Are you so mad that you would oppose the might and wrath of the entire North?

‘I have heard enough about your wolf pup,’ announces Aemond, his nostrils flaring, ‘He has dishonored you. Perhaps I ought to march on his bleak castle, after I seize Harrenhal.’

You ought to dress up in motley. Visenya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her brow creased. The Hightowers must have abandoned their wits putting him in charge. Aemond is utterly inept. Their Lannister friends will find trouble at the Red Fork, and he will never take Harrenhal from my father.

‘Your men are unlikely to survive the muds of the riverlands, whose lords have unanimously declared for my mother,’ argues Visenya, twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger, ‘I doubt that they will endure the dire conditions of the North… also pledged to Queen Rhaenyra.’

‘I have Vhagar,’ reminds Aemond, his arrogance oozing like pus.

‘And what of it?’, she hisses, squinting her eyes, ‘You would torch the North, from the Neck to the Wall, on hoary, old Vhagar? Tens of thousands would perish.’

Despite rivaling the combined size of the other kingdoms, the North is scarcely populated. Their lives, lands, history, and culture matter all the same.

‘Your wolf pup amongst them, if the gods are good,’ drones Aemond, looping his digits through his belt.

‘Cregan will die of old age, in my arms,’ corrects Visenya, keeping her furled fists at her sides, lest she strike him again, ‘You cannot vanquish the North. It is too vast and too wild. The Neck is impenetrable, filled with swamps and bogs. Moat Cailin is a choke point, and it has shielded the North from southron invasions for millennia. This is folly, Aemond. It will be your doom.’

Then why am I trying to dissuade him?

‘Or on the contrary, the glory will be mine,’ boasts Aemond, his permanent smirk bolstering his confidence, ‘Those savages might dare to resist me, but in the end, they will pose a minor obstacle. Aegon the Conqueror brought the North to its knees.’

‘Because King Torrhen Stark bent the knee after the Field of Fire, to avoid bloodshed,’ objects Visenya, scowling, ‘Do not attempt to revise history. Ours will not redeem you. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men. The lickspittles that buzz around you will never be sincere, so I will bestow the truth upon you. You are cruel, despicable, and you nurse a grievance like a suckling babe. You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You are a prideful fool playing at war.’ You’re not good at it, either. ‘And winter is coming. That is the truth.’

‘The truth?’, repeats Aemond, creeping up on her, his eye boring into hers – a predator scenting its prey, ‘What do you know of the truth, Visenya? You lie and deceive and plot with every breath that you draw. You are a traitor to the realm, daughter of traitors, sister of traitors. You chose the Iron Throne over me.’

You chose for me.

‘My mother is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she pronounces, her smile ominous, ‘The only traitor here is you, nuncle. You cower from the truth, and you retain it from everyone.’ Visenya tiptoes, and their lips almost touch. ‘You are looking with the wrong eye. Perhaps you will have to close the other to finally see.’

Aemond cups her face roughly, pressing her against the table.

‘Your mother will never sit the Iron Throne,’ he sneers, ‘And neither will you. She still spurns you as her heir, but I vow to pay you the homage that you so desperately crave, and to lavish you with precious gifts – the heads of your family, your betrothed, and your stepson. They shall decorate the spikes of the Red Keep–’

Visenya swiftly yanks his dagger from his belt. Aemond seizes her wrist too late. The tip of the blade digs at the underside of his chin.

‘Enough, Aemond!’, bellows Visenya, and for a moment, she is her ferocious Blackwing incarnate, ‘Are you deaf, as well as blind? You have usurped the throne, murdered my brother, and butchered hundreds of innocents. Your actions have consequences. Heed my words, for the love that you claim to bear me.’ She drags the point of the dirk down to the base of his throat, nicking him. ‘You will not make me an orphan and a widow. You are surrounded by enemies in every direction, and more are gathering as we speak. We have the armies, the fleet, the dragons, and most importantly, the legitimacy. An advantage that you will never have. So, either kill me or let me go, and flee to Essos, because you cannot – you will not – survive what’s coming for you. The choice is yours.’

Aemond’s malicious eye studies her, a forlorn wall of blue ice.

The boy I grew up with is gone. Hasn’t Visenya sensed it all along? We are not children anymore. The time has come to accept it.

When has it all gone so awry, become so twisted? She mourns the boy that she had once shared everything with – a childhood, hopes, dreams. Those died with Lucerys.

Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did… and tears cannot quench dragonfire.

It ends as it had begun, with fire and blood.

Bloodlines will burn.

Visenya licks the blood off of the tip of the dagger, spins the weapon, and presents it to Aemond, hilt first.

TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic @aaleksmorozova @aemondsversion @aereth @agirllovespancakes @another-life-addict @burningshewolf @buttercup--bee @cecespizza01 @cleastrnge @crazylokonugget @five-seconds-of-socialising @flosaureum @haystack-boy @lavendertales @lordsrks @maharani-radha @mandaloresson @masset-fotia @missusnora @moonlight-prose @oloreaa @poppyreader @prettyboyeddiemunson @revolution-starter @sofietargaryen @stargaryenx @strawberrypeachesss @sullho @sweethoneyblossom1 @s-we-e-t-t-ea @that--thing @valyriians

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justagalwhowrites · 11 months

Note

HEY BESTIE I LOVE THE PROMPTS #s 21 86 94 114 128 146 😭❤️ THEY WOULD BE SO CUTE TO READ

LOVE U SM

HI BESTIE!!

You had sent in one of these before I asked you to resend them lol but HEY turns out that was the perfect set up to post this one shot, too :D

This is featuring Joel and a smuggling partner who's been working with him and Tess for a while. She's new for this fic but I really like her so she may be making another appearance. I hope you love it!

Thanks so much for writing in and reading! Love you!!

Pretty Girl

Your smuggling partner, Joel Miller, is being uncommonly social during a trip to the Speakeasy.

Based on Prompt 128: "You're pretty" "You're drunk"

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT! Just smut. Smutty smutty smut. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 2.7k

“This is going to be a stupid fucking run,” you took a sip of shitty whiskey - which was the only whiskey to be found in the QZ so you dealt with it. Better than nothing, at least.

“It’s not that stupid,” Tess replied.

“We’re talking a total of, what, eight days on the road?” You asked. “Unless one of you assholes has a car I don’t know about…”

“No car,” Tess said. “But I’ve heard from other folks who have passed through there in the last few months and it’s eight days of damn near empty country with a literal farm of pot on the other side. We’re talking about pounds and pounds of the stuff, we’ll be set for a fucking year off this one run…”

You took another drink, looking out at the other patrons of the bar. Downtrodden and looking for solace at the bottom of a glass. Not all that different than the dive bars you frequented before the world ended eight years earlier but there had been a charm to them then. You and your girlfriends chose those places to add some kind of danger to your debauchery. The concept of going out for cocktails or a beer after work now was almost laughable it was so foreign.

You’d had that kind of life once, though. One where you wore sheath dresses and spiked heels to your office and got paid more money than you needed to write bullshit ads for bullshit companies like Walmart. A trip to a dive bar was a fun way to step outside of your protected little bubble, a way to hook up with a guy with callused hands who might be a little rougher than the guys in your office whose muscle came from machines at the gym.

You couldn’t believe you used to stress about that shit now. It was all so stupid, the pointless deadlines and the KPIs and the concern about what your boss would think if you showed up with a rough blue collar guy to a company cocktail hour.

Now, you were only worried about surviving to the next day. And this run would either make that very easy or very hard, there was no in between.

“What do you think, Miller?” You looked at Joel, the most sullen of your little trio. “Think it’s worth the risk?”

He sighed, looking between you and Tess.

“I think if Tess’ intel is good then we’re fuckin’ stupid to not take advantage of it,” he said. “But we can’t be fuckin’ dumb about goin’. We have to make sure we’re well supplied because I’m not getting caught with my pants down in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere just to run some pot into the QZ.”

You ground your teeth for a moment before sighing.

“Fine. If you’re both in then I’m in. But I swear to God if this fucking scheme gets me killed I will haunt both of you until the day you die.”

Tess laughed a little and downed the rest of her whiskey.

“On that note,” she said, getting up from your table. “I’m getting out of here. We’ll look at getting the fuck out of here in about a week, make sure you’re set on ammo and rations by then, yeah?”

“Sure,” you nodded once and watched her go and turned back to Joel. “Ever wonder what the fuck would happen to Tess if she wasn’t in charge of something for a whole five minutes?”

Joel snorted.

“Doubt that’d ever happen,” he took a sip of his beer, polishing it off.

“You heading out, too?” You asked.

He looked at you for a moment, almost like he was assessing you.

“Thinkin’ about stayin’,” he replied eventually. “Want somethin’ else from the bar?”

“I’ll take a beer if you’re offering,” you shrugged, not used to Joel doing anything social beyond the bare minimum. You’d been doing smuggling runs with him for two years now and you were pretty sure you could count on one hand the number of conversations he’d initiated on your trips outside the QZ together.

You certainly didn’t DISLIKE the man. You liked him probably a little too much if you were being completely honest about it. You liked that he was broad and strong and that he was the kind of guy you’d pick up on one of those nights out in a dive bar with your girlfriends. But you liked more than that, too. You liked the fact that he stopped at a pharmacy on the way back from a run once and grabbed a handful of bottles of children’s Tylenol. You’d frowned as he stashed them in his pack.

“Neighbor’s daughter keeps gettin’ ear infections,” he said. “Poor thing sounds miserable.”

He never mentioned it again.

Joel brought two beers back to the table and put one in front of you before taking his seat again, looking out at the handful of people dancing to the music from the jukebox.

“So Joel,” you said, twisting the glass in your fingers. “If you had to pick one thing - not a person because we all have a person - that you miss most about before, what would you pick?”

“Hm,” he frowned, taking a drink. “Never thought about it.”

“Well I’m asking you to think about it,” you smiled a little as you took a sip of beer. “That’s kind of the point.”

One corner of his mouth pulled up slightly at that and he shook his head a bit.

“Probably goin’ to listen to music or playin’ music,” he said eventually. “Somethin’ about live music… anyway. Probably miss that most. Or maybe museums.”

“Museums.” You raised your eyebrows.

He nodded.

“Went to a lot of museums,” he said.

He got a bit of a wistful look in his eye for a moment before he took another drink.

“Didn’t strike me as the type,” you said.

He shrugged.

“How about you?” He asked.

“Restaurants,” you said immediately. “Hands down. I’d gained like 10 pounds on a trip not long before the outbreak so for the two weeks before I was dieting like crazy and I’ve never regretted a damn thing more. I was eating the most bland, boring shit like a dumbass. Jesus Christ, what I wouldn’t give now for a New York slice. Or a bagel. Fuck, I think I’d rather have one more true NYC bagel than ever have great sex again.”

“Sounds like you’ve just never had great sex,” Joel smirked a bit.

“No,” you shook your head. “You’ve just never had a great bagel.”

The two of you ended up having a few more drinks together and you actually heard Joel laugh - not something you knew he was actually capable of even after a few years of knowing the guy.

“C’mon,” he said, downing the last of another beer. “Should get out of here before it’s curfew…”

“Joel Miller, consummate rule follower,” you teased but knocked back the rest of your drink as well, leaving the speakeasy together.

“Have a question for you,” he asked, his hands in his pockets.

“Ask away.”

“Where’d you learn to shoot the way you do?” He looked over at you. “You never seemed like the type. Still don’t, if I’m bein’ honest ‘bout it.”

“My dad started taking me hunting when I was a kid,” you smiled a little at the memory. “Always liked the challenge but what I really liked was that he liked doing it with me. Never could get his attention any other way, really. Don’t think he ever wanted a daughter but he got stuck with me. So he took me hunting and I loved it. And then he started teaching me more and more and eventually I was just a damn good shot.”

He nodded slowly.

“Well, I owe ‘im,” he said. “You being a fuckin’ deadeye saved my ass more than once.”

“You know you don’t have to wait until you’re drunk to talk to me,” you said, glancing over to him. “You can ask me shit like this when it comes to mind.”

“Not drunk,” he said.

“Sure you’re not,” you rolled your eyes, coming to the road where you usually went your separate ways to go to your respective apartments. But when you turned to say goodbye, he’d turned toward your apartment instead, already walking that way.

“OK so you’re really drunk,” you said, catching up with him quickly. “Your apartment is the other way, Joel.”

“Not drunk,” he said. “Just makin’ sure you get home OK. Not usually out this late. Not with me, anyway.”

You looked at him, incredulous, but didn’t argue. You walked in silence for a few minutes and you felt his eyes on you periodically and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Is everything OK?” You asked eventually. “Didn’t… I dunno, get bit in the QZ somehow, right?”

“I’m fine,” he frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’re being weirdly talkative and walking me home,” you said. “And you keep looking at me. And I’d like to make sure you’re not about to drop dead or turn or something.”

“I’m fine,” he shrugged.

“OK…”

“It’s just…” he paused. “You’re… pretty.”

You snorted.

“You’re drunk.”

“I ain’t drunk,” he said.

“And I ain’t been pretty since 2003,” you shook your head and smiled a bit. “That ship sailed with the Lancome counter at the mall and access to regular blowouts.”

“Well that’s a load of shit,” he said. “You’re pretty. You just are, don’t need fuckin’ makeup or that other shit to see that.”

You stopped walking and stared at him for a moment. He stopped walking, standing under a street light, and turned to look at you.

“What.”

“I swear to God, Joel, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were hitting on me.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe I am.”

You scoffed.

“I’m being serious!” You said. “Don’t make fun of me…”

“I’m bein’ serious, too,” he said. “Not makin’ fun.”

You stepped closer to him, so your bodies were aligned and almost touching, your arms crossed over yourself.

“What were you planning to do about it?” You asked.

He took your chin gently in one of his large hands and tilted your head back before kissing you. HIs lips were plush, unexpectedly soft in contrast to the pleasant scratch of his mustache on your skin. He kissed you until you were breathless, your hands flexing into fists as you tried to work some of the growing tension from your limbs. He pulled back a little, his nose brushing your own.

“Somethin’ like that,” he said quietly. “More, if you’ll let me.”

You we ripping his clothes off before the door to your apartment had fully closed, his shirt winding up somewhere on the floor of your living room alongside your bra.

When you were both naked, you pushed him down on your bed, your pussy already dripping and aching for him. You moved to straddle him and he brought a hand down over your sensitive mound, dipping his fingers into your slit and gathering your wetness before sliding up to tease your clit.

“Goddamn you’re wet,” he groaned. “You walk around like this all the fuckin’ time, just ready for it?”

“No,” you panted. “Took you practically sticking your tongue down my throat outside…”

“Oh is that all,” he worked your clit harder, making you moan.

“Maybe you’re pretty, too, Miller,” you closed your eyes, trying to focus, your body already starting to tighten, your sex all but begging to have something to grip and throb around as aching heat started to swirl through you.

“Know that’s bullshit,” he leaned forward and nipped your throat before kissing and sucking his way to your collarbone, taking his hand away from your slit and rubbing your arousal over his thick, hard length. You tilted your hips forward, brushing his weeping tip with your soaked seam. “Fucking hell Baby…”

“Need you,” you dug your nails into his back and he moaned at it. “Need to feel…”

“Fuck,” he groaned, holding onto the base of his cock and lining it up with your grasping, longing core. His head barely dipped into you, the burning stretch doing nothing to sate your desperate wanting. “Need inside you, need you to fuckin’ take it…”

You thrust down on him, taking him into you in one firm, quick motion. It made you gasp, his size almost overwhelming. You whimpered as your body adjusted, your pussy feeling more stretched than it ever had before.

“Jesus Christ,” his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breaths coming in keening, desperate pants. “Holy fucking God you’re tight, fuck…”

You started to ride him then, beginning slow but hard, lifting your hips up before slamming yourself back down on him, your channel gripping him tight every time he was thrust up into you.

His hands went to your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of you, clinging to you as you worked his cock.

“Take it like this?” You panted in his ear before sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder.

“Fuck, just like that,” his hands were more desperate on you now, like he was going to lose control. “Want you to make yourself cum on my fuckin’ cock, want to feel you cum all over my fuckin’ cock…”

Your pussy tightened further around him and you pressed your chest tightly against against him, riding him hard and fast now, your clit pressing against the softness of his stomach with every firm thrust.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped as you came, taking him all the way inside yourself and holding him there as you pulsed around him.

It was like he’d been waiting for you to cum, waiting for you to be so lost in your own orgasm that you couldn’t do anything to stop him from taking what he wanted.

His arms went around you and he picked you up for a moment before pressing you down into your bed, his cock buried in you to the root. He started fucking into you while your pussy still throbbed around him. Your hands flew to your bed, fingers tangling in the sheets as he spread your legs wide and looked down to where you were joined.

“Fuck, look at you takin’ me so goddamn well,” he groaned, increasing his pace. Your pussy started to contract around him again, your clit both begging for attention but so oversensitive that you were worried him toying with it would make you cry. “Tight fuckin’ pussy so goddamn good…”

He pressed a thumb into your clit and it was like a shockwave rolled through you, something almost like another orgasm coursing through you. But it offered no relief, just driving yourself to get tighter around Joel, your body trying to bring him deeper, hold onto him for longer.

“Not gonna last long with pussy this goddamn good,” he said, leaning over you and kissing and biting down your jaw to your throat. You rocked your hips up against him in desperate, stuttering thrusts. “Where do you want me, Baby?”

“On my clit,” you moaned. “Fuck, please…”

“Jesus,” he groaned, fucking into you harder, his cock forcing you to stretch over him to just shy of the point of pain with every motion. Your body was so taut again you were worried you were going to snap with it, with the aching drive of pleasure and want taking over you. “Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He thrust in you twice more before pulling out of you and jerking himself just once over your dripping slit. He pressed his swollen cock head to your clit and gasped as he came, spilling himself over you, the warm pulsing of his spend triggering your orgasm.

“Fuck you’re so pretty when you cum,” he panted, watching as the last of his cum dripped onto your throbbing clit. He ran his thumb up from your hole through your slit to your overwrought clit, rubbing his cum into you as he circled your clit, making you shudder and gasp as your orgasm eased.

He took one last, long look at your naked body before collapsing beside you, still panting for breath.

“So,” he said after a minute. “Still think you’d rather have a bagel?”

You laughed once.

“Bagels can go to hell,” you said. “As long as you promise to do that to me again.”

“Any time you want, Pretty Girl,” he said. “Any time you want.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #oneshot #follower celebration

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