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offthepages · 8 days

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And so, the stars aligned. Pt. 2

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader

Summary: Azriel knew you can't read. And he knows you would never admit it. So he tricks you into taking reading lessons.

Warnings: Slight mentions of nightmares.

part one part three, Part Four Masterlist Requests are open!!

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You had come into your room to grab something. And had lost every train of thought as you saw the note neatly placed on top of the book you carted around for show- not quite sloppy hand writing but it was clearly male and in a rush. A...stick figure drawing of you? Clearly Feyre had not drawn this. But there is an attention to detail, your hair is colored correctly, and your eyes also the right shade- or as close as you could get in crayon. Truthfully, it could have been anyone female but since it was in your room, it was safe to assume. And then a book- the library? Is that where this mystery would be solved. You were far too curious now to just not go.

And so, you folded the note up and put in into one of your pockets. Heading down there quickly. The only sound as you enter is the clicking of your shoes. Looking around you, and making your way over to Clotho's desk. The priest doesn’t look up at you but quickly writes, 'Ah, y/n to what do we owe the pleasure?'

You smile and pull out the note to show it to her. "It seems- I was summoned." Clotho's amusement oozes off her and she simple writes.

'Go down to level five and you should find what you're looking for.' Squinting suspiciously at her for just a second you debate listening. But that is your inner Nesta speaking, and as much as you loved your oldest sister you didn't want to be completely like her. So, complying with a general order wouldn’t be an issue.

Thanking Clotho quickly you make your way down to the fifth level. And you could have throttled Azriel as he looked over at you with a set of children's books, letter sheets and pencils. He was leisurely sitting there, legs crossed, his ankle resting on his thigh. Arms crossed as he looked at you. And knowing him, while his face remained neutral- he had a feline smirk just like Rhys’s on the inside. Stomping over, crossing your arms and glaring down at the Illyrian man you hiss, "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you how to read." He answers simply, not even slightly phased by your intense gaze. The shadows that normally linger around him aren’t there, instead- as if to mock how little of a threat you are- they pool at his feet like a dog. You'd have to talk to Nesta about getting that icy glare down pat.

"You're still on about that?" You scuff, turning on your heel to leave him with his silly ideas. But before you can get far, a gentle but rough hand grabs your elbow.

"If you can read, then I'll accept I was wrong and even buy you dinner." Azriel compromises. But he knew better, he saw the way your eyes glazed over when they looked at your book and there was no rhyme or reason as to when you flipped the page. Normally people had consistency when they were reading, You had none. Even when Nesta was reading smut there was consistency to it- albeit the page turns got faster but it was still consistent.

You were convinced you could do this. You didn't need him to know this about you. Not even your sisters knew- sure Nesta and Elain probably had inklings to it but you were just six when poverty struck. They were just kids too, it wasn't there job to teach you. Sitting down at the table you looked at the page. It was easy- just trace the letters. You could do that. So you picked up the pencil and started. And once you were done you slid it over to him. "See?"

He nods, taking the sheet and looking it over. Nodding as he examines the work. Then he sets it down and meets your intense eyes, but he doesn't shy away. He takes the first book off the stack. It was a young child's book- it should be a breeze for someone of your age. Prick. You think as he slides it over and folds his hands on the table. Watching the way your eyes widen. Your breathing hitches and there's a slight tremble to your hands as you take the book. He knows that look in your eyes- it's the one Feyre gets when she's calculating a plan. And he couldn't deny that he was slightly excited to see what you'd come up with.

Flipping open the book you know what he's probably looking for is some sortive consistency, so you'd let your eyes look at each word and then flip the page. And so, that's what you did. Finding it hard to keep up your little deception with his eyes focused so intensely on you. But you got to the end of the book and closed it with a triumphant smack. Looking back up at him- before you can open your mouth to speak, Azriel looks at you and asks. "What was it about?"

Shit. Fuck. You didn't look at the pictures! You quickly look down at the book and see a dog and a young boy on the cover. "Its about a dog and his owner." You say as evenly as you can manage for how fast your heart was beating. Azriel raises an eyebrow. Silently waiting for more. "When did you get so expressive?" You ask to quickly change the subject.

"I don't have to be on guard here. There is no one else around. And the priestess won't judge me for showing an emotion." He addresses your question simply, smoothly. Damn him and his stupid sliver tongue. He was the Shadowsinger! Of course he knew how to evade topics and questions to redirect to what he wanted! He taps the book in between the two of you again. And you look at his hands, scars running all along them, and of course you had know that. But it was the first time that you saw them this clearly. And as much as you wanted to get out of this situation- you knew that question was out of the question. "What is this about?" His voice remains gentle, but slightly stern.

Azriel watches you for any signs. He had seen many of them- you were a bad liar. Your emotions written all over your face. Your eyes, they showed everything. How no one else saw it astonished him. And for a second, as he watches how you look down at the book with apprehension and sorrow, that you quickly wash away once your gazes meet again...he sees your resolve break.

"Fine." You say quietly. "I can't read." Your cheeks heat at the confession- it felt so...so...mortifying that you were now twenty, an immortal High Fae and had no idea how to read. "Please don't tell the others." The last thing you wanted was for your sisters to look at you with that pitiful look they always seemed to give you when you mentioned something. Let alone, how awful it make you feel if Nesta fell back into her vices. Granted you knew Cassian wouldn’t let that happen.

He thinks his heart might just burst for a moment. Seeing you so somber. Azriel had watched you from the second you were dumped out of that Cauldron. Shaking, crying, gasping for air. The first thing you did was try and push it over so your sisters wouldn’t bare the same fate. And for the first few weeks after, when he heard your screams in the middle of the night. He'd make sure you were alright, given you the space to talk to him if needed. You rarely took the opportunity. Pushing him away despite him reaching out. Keeping him at an arms length for reasons he didn’t understand. Time, though. Everyone kept telling him with time, you’d come around. But you pushed him right into Elain. Not that he hated your older sister. No, far from it. They were good friends, they could talk for hours about anything and everything. But she wasn't you. She wasn't his. She had her mate, and Rhys has made it clear to him that despite his feelings toward her- they could never be. Lucian wouldn't accept it until she flat out rejected him, and even then they had no idea what the other male would do. Rhys didn't want to loose his brother over a girl. And while Azriel grumbled and snarled at him, deep down. He knew that he was right.

But watching you, moving through the Night Court with a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a grace that rivaled Elain's...Hearing your laugh in a crowed room and smiling into his drink. He knew that you made yourself seem happy, chipper, played the part of the sweet younger sister for everyone. So looking at you now, as your cheeks burn red and tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. He'd do anything he could to make sure you'd never look like that again. Azriel gently takes your hand, letting his thumb swipe over your knuckles as you look up at him. "I won't tell a soul."

And you believe him. The sincerity in his eyes, he's got no reason to lie to you. But you can't help the smile that creeps up. "Thank you."

And a comfortable silence falls as you both continue to look at each other and let your thoughts run free. Before Azriel clears his throat- and you were about 87% sure that there was a blush creeping in. "I can continue to teach you, if you'd like."

Looking down at the book in between you, where your hand was still in his. Tracing the lines of his scars gently, you nodded. "I think i'd like that."

Azriel didn't bother to hide his smile.

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a/n: This got very long, very fast. But I hope you all like it! Let me know if there is anything else you guys wanna see! And if y’all wanna be added to the tag list, let me know! :3

tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92

#azriel x reader #acotar series #acotar fanart #acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #pro nesta #nesta acotar #elain x lucien #elain archeron #pro elain

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leclercstars · 4 months

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ROCKSTAR. [pt. 3]

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: It's the same thing as pt. 2 but from Lando's POV so it's even SMUTTIERRR!!

Warnings: 18+! Sexting, masturbation, mention of various sex acts, slight dom!Lando.

Lando was exhausted. He laid face down on his massive hotel bed, his boxers pulled low, hanging off the edge of his hips.

While his P3 finish was exciting, that wasn’t even the best part of his day. Some hot girl in the crowd had the best tits he had ever seen, and the fact that she was strutting around with his signature emblazoned across one of them was thrilling. And Oscar’s signature on the other? It doesn’t get much hotter than that, he mused to himself.

He finally mustered the strength to open up his phone, and was taken right back to that moment at the paddock walk when he opened the photos. Her tits sat so perfectly, and her nipples were barely peeking through the fabric of her papaya-colored tank top. What he wouldn’t give to have his face smushed between them right now. If he was to die, that’s how he wanted it to happen. Suffocation by titties.

His phone buzzed and he noticed a notification pop up on the top of the screen. A text from the girl. It felt flirty, and he honestly could not resist the thought of seeing more of her. He shot back a response, essentially implying that he absolutely needed to see her naked. A few minutes passed. Fuck, had me messed this up by being too forward? He didn’t want to come off as desperate either.

But his phone buzzed.

And it was the most glorious thing he had ever seen.

Every curve was on display. The way her waist flowed so effortlessly into her hips. And most importantly, her perfect tits were fully on display, nipples hard, pressed together as she leaned forward in the mirror. His and Oscar’s signatures were still visible, the faded words giving him a sense of ownership in the best way possible. He responded, hoping she would send more for him to gawk at. He couldn’t wait much longer though, as he felt the pressure of his erection growing under his boxers. Fuck it, he decided. If she sends more, awesome, but he knew just the one photo could get the job done.

He took his throbbing cock out and spit on his hand, stroking himself slowly. He relaxed his body back into the pillows, throwing his head back as his hand rubbed along his shaft. He was so fucking hard just because of a photo of this random girls tits that he felt like belonged to him and Oscar. He imagined how perfect they would look bouncing while she rode him, or how great it would feel to flick her nipples with his tongue. Precum was slowly starting to leak from his slit as he got closer and closer to the edge, an orgasm burning in his taut abs. He writhed with pleasure as he imagined tittyfucking her, playing with her nipples as he slid his wet cock between her soft boobs.

His soft moans were turning into gasps as he edged himself, wanting to draw out the various scenarios that were running through his mind. He could hardly take it anymore, his unruly curls beginning to stick to his forehead as he circled his thumb around his tip.

Explosions of heat shot through his entire body, making him nearly scream as his cum shot all over his abs. The white substance was splattered all across his perfectly tanned abs. He slid his boxers back on and grabbed his phone. She must have fallen asleep while he was jacking off, but that wasn’t going to stop him. Plus, he thought the morning was the horniest time of day anyways. He took a picture of his cum-stained skin. “Thanks!” was all he wrote. He hoped she appreciated his cheeky response. He didn’t even know this girl’s name- but he was in Austin for one more day. And he would do a lot to have his hands replace her bra.

part 1

part 2 linked at the top ;)

PART FOUR??? IDKKKK I KINDA LOVE THIS SERIES

#f1 #lando norris #f1 imagine #lando norris smut #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris pov #f1 x you #mclaren #mclaren boys #mclaren smut #f1 smut

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jarofstyles · 10 months

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Idea!!! pussy eating overstim because Harry is feeling evil but he’s holding her down because she can’t stop moving and whining and he’s evil laughing and being rough with her trying to keep her in place 😖😖😖

oh lorddddd. bet.

check out our Patreon!

warnings- dom!h, hand tying, impact play, mention of safe word(?)

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"Please, please, please, pleas-" Her begging was interrupted by a hand smacking over her thigh, a wet gasp leaving her mouth at the sharp feeling.

"Stop fuckin' moving." His voice drawled out, peeking up at her with a wet chin. Lips were raspberry red, glistening with her arousal. Harry had been going at it for a while now. Y/N couldn't tell. All she knew was that he had made her cum twice so far, and a 3rd was on it's way.

The feeling was overwhelming- almost painful. It was stimulating her in a way that felt almost prickly, soothed by the heat and softness of his skilled tongue as he licked over her poor, abused clit and pressed healing kisses to her after each trembling orgasm. Her legs felt weak, like they'd been taken from her body and replaced with sticky pudding. Sweat slicked pieces of her hair to her face as her hands were tied up in a pretty little rope arrangement that Harry had stuck to their headboard.

"I can't." In any other instance she would cringe at sounding so whiny, so pathetic, but Harry tended to draw that out of her. "It hurts and it feels good and I dunno If I can do another one."

Harry let out a laugh, shaking his head as his hands pushed her thighs back further. Her cunt was exposed to the open air for the both of them to see, her weepy hole dripping down past her ass to make a mess on the sheets that she could already feel. "No? Y'can't take another one?" he clicked his tongue in disappointment. "That's not my good girl. My good girl would say, 'thank you sir, I'll take what you give me.'. But here you are... telling me you can't." I could have edged you like I did the other day..." That had been the real torture. 4, maybe 5 times? She had been sobbing and begging for release by the end of that. "And now you don't want to cum. Which is it?"

Y/N's mouth gaped as she tried to speak, feeling a little dumb from the orgasms she had previously had as she processed his words. It wasn't fast enough though, considering Harry's fingers came down to swat over her already sensitive cunt. She squealed, jerking in his hold as she tried- and was unable to- close her legs. "I can do it, I can do it. I'm sorry." She cried out. "Want- want it. Love your mouth so much, feels so good." Her eyes were wide and wet with the tears she had shed from the pleasured pain, making him grin.

"That's more like it. You can use your safe word, color out if you really need... But I think my girl's just being a brat." He cooed, thumbing over her puffy clit. "Just wanted to love on this sweet pussy, baby. Make you feel good, yeah? S'what you deserve from being good today. Don't make me take it away."

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurbs #harry smut writing #harry smut one shot #harry smut blurb #harry smut #mean dom!h #harry styles dom #dom!harry styles

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burntb4bydoll · 10 months

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It's my first time requesting something on here, I am CRAVING for any Tokio Hotel member with a kind/sweet/obedient reader, I usually can't find stories/headcanons with them where the reader is a sweet and obedient girl, feel free to ignore this request if you want to.

Bae this is so me fr (for the most part😇)

Tokio Hotel with a sweet and obedient gf (slightly NSFW)

Bill Kaulitz

•hes completely infatuated with you. you could do anything you wanted to him and he would let you.

•he thinks that you are an absolute angel. He loves how sweet you are, it makes him so proud to be your bf

•would NEVER let people take advantage of you or your kindness. You don’t like disappointing people by saying ‘no’ but he has absolutely no problem doing it for you

• “sweetheart, you can’t do everything people ask you to. You are too sweet for your own good sometimes I swear.”

•he means that in a endearing way dw! He wouldn’t change a single thing about you

•he tries to test your obedience tbh. He’ll tell you to do something small then slowly start telling you to do more, but you never disobey him. And he makes sure to praise you very well for it

• “oh my, what a good girl. You listen so well, angel. Im so proud of you.”

•definitely is more of a soft dom with you, he can’t imagine being mean to his sweet girl🤭

Tom Kaulitz

•oh boy…

•you two are opposites. He’ll try to get you to do and say bad/mean things just to see if youll actually do it

•your hesitant because you dont wanna be mean, but you obey him and he immediately cant help but smirk to himself

•Bill always scolds him for it tho, you can’t escape mama Bill.

“Tom, Leave her alone! Y/n don’t listen to him, hes an idiot.” 😭

•he thinks its so cute watching you interact with his family. You’re just so sweet and they all love you so much. Hes so happy that they love you just as much as he does

•HIS MOM LOVES YOU. SHE TAKES SO MANY PICTURES OF YOU AND TOM AND SHOWS THEM TO EVERYONE. SHE CALLS YOU HER DAUGHTER TOO😭💗

•not to be a whore….but CORRUPTION KINK?? HELLO???

•LOVES pet names. He calls you princess, sweetheart, my love🤭🤭

Georg Listing

•LORD he is obsessed with you omfg

•you are absolutely everything to him. You’re his precious girl who could never EVER do anything wrong in his eyes

•literally refers to you as his ‘lovely girlfriend’ to people 😭

•his heart almost explodes whenever you do anything for him. Whether that be cooking him food, drawing/coloring a picture for him, or just giving him a small compliment, he’ll always be so so appreciative of it

•HES SO SOFT WITH YOU. He kisses youholds your face so gently while stroking your cheeks with his thumbs:(((

• “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that? I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

Gustav Schäfer

•hes also such a sweetheart, but he likes to pretend like hes all mean and unapproachable😭

•like babe, you are probably the cutest person here you’re not fooling anyone.

•you two are known for being the super lovey couple. He loves to show you off and you’re just happy to be there😇

•although you’re both sweet, you’re the only obedient one in the relationship. He such a brat and LOVES to push peoples buttons just to see how far he can go before someone actually gets mad😭

•BLUSHES SO SO HARD WHEN YOU COMPLIMENT HIM

•you guys are the embodiment of a praise kink. Neither of you can go 5 minutes without being and all nice and lovey dovey to each other

•dare i say….pleasure Dom Gustav…. GUYS IK I SAY IT ALL THE TIME BUT PLS YOU KNOW ITS TRUE

• “such a good girl for me, arent you?”

“Aww, you’re so cute, my baby.” Yes. HIS baby.😇

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one-black-coffeee · 7 months

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a list of Good Omens season 2 things from episodes 1-3 that i haven’t seen mentioned in other posts

how much Aziraphale loves music. the way he sighs when his record is interrupted, how he mopes to the front of the shop because he just wanted to listen to the beautiful human creation

the smile Aziraphale has on his face as Jim/Gabriel says “when you don’t know anything at all, and yet you’re totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person” because yes! he does know! and Aziraphale is so happy to have that knowledge even if he does almost immediately try to hide it

Aziraphale immediately looking to his left when Crowley walks past him in the coffee shop. Crowley is generally to Aziraphale’s left so, naturally, that’s where he looks as soon as he knows Crowley is approaching. but he’s wrong, isn’t he? Crowley walks to the right.

“Give Me Coffee…” material, human pleasure “Or Give Me Death” immortal, heavenly eternity

“no, I would love you to help me. I am asking you to help me take care of him.” Aziraphale isn’t trying to push Crowley away. not with Jim/Gabriel, not with Heaven. he always wants Crowley with him, helping him. and he tells isn’t pretending otherwise anymore

a fly crawling along the bentley’s windshield even before Crowley gets in the car

the deal Beezlebub gives Crowley is the same as the one the Metatron gives Aziraphale, isn’t it? it’s a choice to go back to Hell/Heaven. the difference is in the way Crowley and Aziraphale think. Crowley sees Beezlebub’s olive branch as a trap, a forfeiture of the contented life he has on earth. the system is too broken to be fixed from a position of power. Aziraphale, though, does see it as an opportunity to fix what’s broken

right after Crowley destroys Job’s goats, cores fly away behind him

Aziraphale loves the romantic aspects of love but doesn’t know how to handle the difficult aspects. Maggie says she’s in love with Nina and Aziraphale smiles. Maggie says Nina has a partner, tells him that the situation is complicated, and he sobers, disappointed

the fact that the walls of Job’s home are the same color as the walls in Aziraphale’s bookshop (aka the color of Crowley’s eyes.) the whole of the Job minisope is to tempt Aziraphale. he tries human food for the first time, he works with Crowley for the first time, he lies to Heaven for the first time! everywhere, Aziraphale is met with temptation

Crowley cares for the innocent and the vulnerable. he humors Jemimah and makes her a blue salamander, he refuses to diminish the importance of the goats. when Aziraphale is worried about being a fallen angel, Crowley’s patient

every time Crowley performs a miracle, he draws his hand from the bottom (Hell) up. Aziraphale, however, draws his hand from top (Heaven) down

Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael (and Gabriel when he’s still the Supreme Archangel) wear a cold white. Muriel and Aziraphale wear a warmer, creamier white. except in the Job minisode. then, all the angels wear the warmer white— before Heaven turns cold and institutionalized. even the lighting of Heaven itself changes

Aziraphale invited Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael into the bookshop. they easily could have walked into the shop before Aziraphale got there, but they didn’t. because Aziraphale really does consider the bookshop partially Crowley’s! for the same reason Shax has to trick Aziraphale to get into the bentley, the angels have to wait for Aziraphale to enter the bookshop

Aziraphale popping up from behind the bentley as Crowley approaches and Crowley immediately offering him a “lift somewhere”

in the opening scene of episode three, the reflection just under Jim/Gabriel is “Give Me Coffee…” Gabriel and Beezlebub do get to choose “coffee.” they get to have their joy together

before Muriel interrupts their conversation, the dialogue between Crowley and Aziraphale in the back of the bookshop is shot from behind and over their shoulders. when Muriel opens the door, the angle shifts to face each of them

Aziraphale is not a good city driver.

the look Crowley gives Aziraphale after he turns Elspeth’s stolen body into bones. Aziraphale is so proud of himself, he even tells Crowley “I did a good things!” but Crowley knows better and he’s waiting for Aziraphale to realize the reality. and then the way Aziraphale hugs the jar with the dead boy’s tumor. he cares so much, he wants so desperately to be good and for the world to be good too

Aziraphale is as proud of his “newspaperman” disguise as Muriel is of their “inspector” disguise. how fond Aziraphale is of Muriel because they remind him of himself. a sweet, kind angel who just wants to do the good thing. an angel who is enamored with the human world. even as he and Muriel have tea together, he look at them so kindly. he knows their hesitancy to try human products but he also knows how thoroughly they would love that cup of tea if they’d just taste it

“it’s a bit different when it’s someone you know, isn’t it?” it’s a bit different when it’s not just some demon, when it’s a demon you know is, deep down and just below the surface, good.

that Aziraphale learns just as much from Crowley as Crowley learns from Aziraphale. episode three is Aziraphale beginning to learn the inequality between the wealthy and the poor. episode three is also Crowley learning balance between “the virtues of poverty” and just setting people up for a good life

Crowley, drunk on laudanum, looking for Aziraphale and not finding him because Aziraphale isn’t to his right like he should be. Aziraphale knows to look for Crowley on his left and Crowley knows to look for Aziraphale on his right

#good omens #good omens season two #crowley #aziraphale #muriel #is any of this good?#probably not #but it’s here now

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xxoxobree · 3 months

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These are mainly 42 centered because that’s just what my brain comes up with 😭 hope that’s okay

I feel like this is wildly excepted, but I can’t NOT mention it…Could Miles 42 do his own hair? Yes. But he makes his mama do it so he can spend time with her.

We know that Miles’s dad and Aaron fell out in universe 1610 (at least I think so) SO because Miles’s dad isn’t there to stray the family away from his brother, Miles 42’s music is much more influenced by his uncle than 1610’s is. There’s a lot of oldies in there that he first heard because of him!

Adding on to that, I think there’s records in Miles 42’s room? Like I think it’s like in the back. Idk maybe I just saw someone say something about it

Anyways, on those bad nights where shit’s getting to him, Miles puts on a record or two. He loves his headphones, but the record player gives off a different vibe

I like to think about both Miles’ art styles. 1610’s is very freedom, graffiti centered (as we know). There’s a lot of color, he’s free with it. But I believe that 42’s is more, controlled? Idk the word, really. But there’s sharp lines and maybe even a little restraint? To show the difference between how they both grew up and what they’ve experienced through their loves.

I think Miles 42 is better at drawing what’s in front of him, versus 1610’s tendency to just sort of go with it.

both Miles’ favorite place is the roof, where the memorial for Aaron/Mr. Morales is. It makes them feel closer to the ones they’ve lost.

I’ve seen a Tiktok about Miles 42 having heterochromia? People argued that it was just the lighting in the movie, but I think it’d be cool? His eyes aren’t that different, but one is more hazel while the other is more brown.

Pokemon is Miles 42’s guilty pleasure. He likes the games a little (a lot) more than he’d like to admit

Sometimes I think i’d be funny if Miles 42 was a little on the short side? Like Miles 1610 grew because of the spider bite, but 42 stayed where he was? Like he’s not short, but he’s closer to average than a lot of the guys he hangs around and it’s funny because his attitude is 10 feet tall

Miles 42 doesn’t see his mom as much as 1610 does because she’s always working, so he does little things around the house to make it feel more like home when she gets off work. He lights her favorite candles, makes sure her favorite flowers are always in a vase on the dining room table. He likes taking the pressure off his mom’s shoulders because he knows she works hard. He goes above and beyond for her.

He sometimes (a lot of times) slips money into her savings jar so he can see her face light up when she counts it all

42 has his dad’s class ring from high school. He wears it a lot, but when he doesn’t it stays in a little box with his chains.

I can imagine both Miles’ just knowing random things? Like they have all these facts for no reason except the can

Both of them are the type to say they can’t dance even though they can do it better than basically everyone around them

If I think of any more I can send them! There’s also some stuff on my blog too!

Oouu I never thought of miles as someone who can do his own hair. Now that I’m thinking about it. He can definitely do 2 strand twist, but the two braids maybe a little too complicated for him and that’s why he lets Rio do it and to spend time with her 🥰🥰.

Definitely is influenced by uncle Aaron when it comes to music.

The art thing is soooo interesting I’d love to hear more about your theories on that.

I agree with the rooftop, I’ve written a few fics based on that rooftop 😂😂

He definitely has different colored eyes I actually made a post about that and I love it! Ones green and the others brown.

Short King Miles G 😂 I like to think 1610 miles has like 2/3 inches on him.

Yesss omg I agree with the dancing thing, in my head they’re amazing dancers.

These were soooo good, yess send me the others 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 thanks for sharing

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

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Matchmakers

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: As soon as you and Benedict locked eyes, Gregory and Hyacinth knew you were smitten with one another. Now, the youngest of the Bridgertons are bound and determined to get you two together.

wc: 3.4k

A/N: thank you so much for requesting Anon! I fell in love with this as soon as you sent it to me. Sorry, it took so long. I'm hella sick and wrote the second half while delirious but please enjoy ♡

Being one of the 8 Bridgerton children had its perks amongst the ton, first invites to fabulous parties, lines of established suitors, and a good education. Yet, the greatest perk was only bestowed amongst the 8; the uncanny ability to see a love match.

This ability formed in even the youngest Bridgertons. Hyacinth and Gregory saw true love the moment you and Benedict locked eyes one fateful morning in the day room.

You sat in the pale blue day room beside Hyacinth, tucking your pencil behind your ear as you showed her how to draw the vibrant green plant sitting on the table in front of you. You were the newest tutor to enter the world of the Bridgerton family, a talented artist who was bound to teach the youngest all you knew. Hyacinth was completely smitten with you, attached at the hip whenever you were around.

Benedict entered the room with Gregory on his tail, jokingly mimicking his older brother's walk. Hyacinth looked up and started to giggle at Benedict's mocking shadow. You softly grumbled at your student, nudging her with your elbow but she didn't budge. With a roll of your eyes, you glanced in the direction of the source.

A breath got caught in your throat at the sight of the tall brunet man in the cream-colored waistcoat. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, better than any portrait in the most famous galleries, and certainly better than the men you drew from imagination. You couldn't help the soft amused giggles that escaped you while Gregory mocked Benedict's movements.

Benedict huffed and looked directly at his baby sister and the tutor he'd never met. His stone face completely crumbled at the softness of your face, the way the apples of your cheeks lifted as you tried to mask your smile with your hand. "Hello," he exhaled, every word he had ever learned suddenly escaped him as he looked at you.

"Hello," you smiled softly, the background fading so he was the only thing in focus.

"I do not believe we've had the honor of meeting."

Shoving the drawing pad into Hyacinth's lap you rose quickly and smoothed out your dress, much to the youngest Bridgerton's protest. "Y/N L/N, Miss Hyacinth's drawing tutor."

Benedict paused. His lips formed a bright boyish smile, an artist, he thought gleefully to himself. Benedict bowed his head and finally managed to speak, "It is a pleasure Miss Y/N. Benedict Bridgerton."

While the two of you stared at each other longingly in a quaint silence, Hyacinth and Gregory peered around and looked at each other with knowing wide eyes. They had seen this look before; the one where they viewed the other like they were the only ones in the room as if they were the most beautiful thing to grace the earth. They saw it when Anthony and Daphne viewed their partners, Violet had once mentioned that it was the look of true love. It was true love! A pure love match! Even if the two artists didn't see it, they were determined to match them.

Later in the evening, Hyacinth pulled Gregory aside, dragging him into one of the many unoccupied rooms. "Ouch!" Gregory whined after his shoulder roughly brushed against the doorframe. "What is your problem, sister?" he huffed as he finally writhed free of her surprisingly strong grasp.

"We must get Miss Y/N and Benedict to fall in love," she answered in a hushed tone. The maids knew everything.

"Are we sure they like each other?" the curly-haired boy mused, "They only met once... it might have been a mistake- the way they looked at each other. I me-"

"They do!" she interrupted.

Gregory paced the floor, placing his hands behind his back as he thought. Hyacinth cracked a smile, it was something similar to what Anthony did when he pondered over something. "I got it!" he exclaimed happily.

Her ears instantly perked up.

"I will need a book."

A week later, you sat with Hyacinth in the day room along with her family, struggling to keep focused. You were too preoccupied with watching Daphne harass Benedict about his painting. He defended his work so proudly, laughing as he swiped blue paint on her cheek.

He looked over and met your amused stare, wiping his hand on the handkerchief sticking out of his pants pocket. Benedict smiled at you bashfully and returned to his work. You desperately wanted to convince yourself that he was blushing because of you.

The youngest Bridgertons looked up at each other and smirked. Gregory nodded and swiped his nose with his forefinger as a signal. "I have decided who my favorite poet is," Gregory loudly announced, earning the attention of the room.

Violet placed her embroidery hoop in her lap and smiled at her son, "And who might that be, dearest?"

"Byron!"

The room fell silent, confused faces replaced the amusing ones. "Byron?" You and Benedict shout at the same time.

"He's awful!" Benedict shuttered.

"A terrible excuse for a romantic poet," you add.

The family shifted their gaze between you and Benedict as you fell into your own little world. Ignoring the fact that there were other people in the room, you and Benedict went on and on. He placed his paintbrush down and made his way over to the snack table, and without skipping a beat he plucked a fruit from the platter and carried on with his rant.

It appeared that phase one of the operation was complete! Benedict was smitten with you. Gregory and Hyacinth nodded at each other with proud smiles adorning their faces. It was time for phase two: get the other to admit feelings.

"Mama," Hyacinth sighed a few days later.

You once again joined the family in the day room, drawing over Hyacinth's work in between stealing glances at Benedict.

"Yes, dear."

"Could Miss Y/N join us on our promenade this afternoon? I would love to learn how to paint the pond."

"Well, that would be up to her."

"Miss Y/N," Hyacinth tapped your leg, finally pulling your attention away from Benedict.

"Y-yes? I'm so sorry, I lost focus. What was that, dear?"

"Promenade with us!" She gleefully asked of you.

You hid the warmth of your cheeks by turning to look out the window at the cloud-covered sun, "I would love to."

You had quickly fallen in love with the large family. Watching them laugh and joke with one another as you all walked along the stone path of Hyde Park. Normally you would have felt like a sore thumb dressed in your pale sand-colored dress, one made of cotton and not the fancy fabrics from the modiste, but they all made you feel like you belonged. You wondered if Benedict liked what you wore, he didn't seem like the type of man who judged a girl based on her fabrics.

Hyacinth held your hand as she skipped along the path, her brown curls bouncing with each step. "Do not forget we came to paint," you reminded her as you broke off from the rest of the family.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and let go of your hand, only to swirl around in circles. "I did not forget," she grumbled as she stopped, "relax and enjoy the park...and the view?"

You turned your head, Benedict and Gregory were a good distance behind you, tossing their snacks in the grass for the eager birds. You hummed softly to yourself before returning your attention to your student. Why was she smirking like that? "I assure you that I am. The view is...lovely."

"I heard something the other day," she spoke quickly returning to your side, looping her arm around yours. "Did you know that boys let girls know they like them by tugging on their hair?"

You chucked, "Oh Hyacinth, that is for children. Do not believe everything the other children say," you lectured her, trying to ignore the buzzing near your ear.

It was easy to tune her out from the pesky buzzing. Your hand rose to swat at the back of your head but nothing you did got it to stop. Furrowing your eyebrows, you halted and shook your head in hopes to rid of the bug introducing your space. "You annoying little," you hissed, "ouch!"

You felt a strong tug on the back of your hair, one of your curls falling from its confines. You whipped around to see Benedict's surprised expression, caught red-handed, his hand still close to your form. "Y/N..." he gulped.

"Y-you pulled my hair," your voice faltered as you accused him, your mind instantly reminding you of what Hyacinth said. But that wasn't true, at least not for grown adults. Boys didn't pull on girls' hair to show affection, it was all made up for children.

"I did," he admitted, "there was a bug! I Promise I meant no harm... there was a bug." You fought back a giggle amidst your astonishment as he flashed you his palm before rubbing the residue off on the side of his pants.

"Well then," you hummed, tucking your hair back in place, "Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. I am lucky you were around to save me from a bug."

He smiled and took a step closer, "I would save you from all of them if given the chance, Miss."

"Very noble of you."

"Shall I protect you from the ones down by the water? Join in on your painting lesson, I'm sure you could teach us a thing or two?" He wrapped his arm around Gregory and pulled him close to his side.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his offer. "I would enjoy that, and I'm sure Hyacinth loves having her brothers partake in her lessons."

Benedict bid his farewell and hurried Gregory along to fetch his painting kit. While you were dazed and confused, standing frozen in your spot, Hyacinth took her opportunity. "Miss Y/N, do you have feelings for my older brother?" She asked bluntly, her grin rising high on her cheeks.

"I do," you whispered, barely audibly, and placed your fist over your heaving chest. Suddenly realizing what you had admitted to and who you admitted it to, you looked at her with a stern glare. "You tell anyone Hyacinth and I swear I will have you sharpen every pencil in England. Twice."

Hyacinth bounced over and held your hand with her fingers gently curling around yours, "Cross my heart... and to be honest, I wanted another sister."

A few days passed and Benedict found his new favorite spot at the window ceil of the day room. He sat with a pencil stuck behind his ear leaving a charcoal mark above his dark brow. His eyes lingered at the lawn of the backyard where you sat on a picnic blanket with Franchesca, giggling while Hyacinth drew the scene.

The second-born had become completely enamored by your presence, consumed by your talent and matching wit. Of course, he thought you were beautiful, a masterpiece that couldn’t be captured by the masters themselves. You inspired him, y-

“-Benedict!” Gregory’s airy voice finally cut through.

Benedict released a small puff of air through his nose and turned to him, “What can I help you with?” he asked, trying to mask the frustration of the interruption.

Gregory pouted his lips and hopped onto the couch, groaning as the spine of Benedict’s sketchbook poked his back. He scrunched his face and pulled the book out from under him. “Just waiting for my Latin tutor,” Gregory told him simply.

The man rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the window and the woman outside it.

The boy took the opportunity to open the book, careful fingers silently turning the pages. Some of the cream-colored pages contained light-hearted doodles of flowers and his sibling's expressions, and some had drawings Benedict crossed out in black charcoal. A grin grew on his face when he found what he was looking for; pages and pages of detailed drawings of your face, your figure, and even a small corner filled with the pattern of one of your dresses. Benedict did that on occasion when he fancied a dress you wore, he’d draw you in it then draw the pattern so he could remember.

“What’s a muse, brother?” Gregory hummed.

Benedict scoffed lightly and bit down on his fingernail while his eyes followed your every move. “It is someone who is your inspiration. Gives you a desire to create your best work. Beautiful. Ethereal,” he responded dreamily, a boyish smile threatening to grace his lips.

“Like,” Gregory hummed and looked up at the white ceiling to fake like he was thinking, “Y/N?”

His heart sunk into the deepest part of his stomach, “You’re joking?” Benedict laughed. He whipped around and was caught red-handed as Gregory showed him his own drawings as evidence, the boy's lips curling upward in a large grin that caused his eyes to narrow.

“Is she your muse, brother?”

“Are you going to blackmail me if she was?” he hummed with a smirk, sauntering away from the window.

“No! You should be happy… like Anthony and Daphne are. Like mama…”

Putting his guard down, Benedict sat across from his younger brother and snatched the book out of his hand, shutting it with a loud clap. “She would make me very happy if you must know,” his demeanor shifted, face falling as reality set in, “she doesn’t feel the same.” He tossed the book onto the table with a loud thud.

The excitement was bubbling inside the rosy-cheeked boy at the confession, eagerly bouncing and springing from the couch. “I have to tend to my Latin,” he announced nervously, sprinting off towards the opened doors.

Racing down the stairs, he found his younger sister lying on the floor with a book pressed to her nose. “Hyacinth!” he called, reaching out to grip her hand.

She huffed and placed the book on her chest, “I was at the good part, Gregory!”

He tugged and tugged until the brunette finally reluctantly got off the cold floor. She smoothed out her dress before he dragged her into an empty room. After checking for maids he turned to her and released her arm. “Benedict admitted it! He loves her.”

Hyacinth grinned widely and hopped up and down for joy. “He’s going to tell her, isn’t he?”

Gregory shook his head solemnly, “He does not believe she feels same.”

“But she does!”

A silence fell over them as their brains got to work. “We should move on to phase three,” Gregory spoke after a while.

“Are you sure it will work, brother?”

“It must.”

Gregory entered the day room, a Latin book tucked under his clothed arm. He nodded at Hyacinth who sat on the couch, her drawing pad opened on her lap, charcoal pencil twirling between her thin fingers.

“I am terrible at Latin, why do you need my help?” Benedict wondered as he entered the room, annoyance written all over his face.

“Well… you helped Colin,” Gregory stumbled in his response as he sat down at the desk.

Benedict ruffled his hair, “He was a much better listener than you,” he laughed before hovering over him and opening the book.

“I’m so sorry I am late,” you huff a moment later, hurrying into the room. You panted as you placed your things beside the Bridgerton girl and moved the fallen hair out of your face.

Benedict felt like everything was moving in slow motion once your voice hit his ears and his eyes met your frame. He noticed every movement; how your face twinged as Hyacinth made a witty remark, how your dress ever so slightly lifted as you fixed your hair. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the edge of the book, nearly breaking the cover.

“Got lost in a painting again, Miss Y/N?” he smirked, regaining his composure.

You turned your head in his direction, placing your hands on your hips and feigning offense. “Very funny, Mr. Bridgerton… but yes I did.” You intoned, taking your spot next to your student. You were thankful that the Bridgerton’s couldn’t see the small smile that adored your features as you ducked your head.

“Miss Y/N,” Hyacinth spoke brightly.

“Yes, Hyacinth?” you matched her tone, taking her pencil out of her hand.

“I believe that I am ready for drawing two people interacting,” she told you confidently.

Pursing your lips, you looked through the pages of her book and analyzed her previous work. “Well,” you muse, scrunching your nose. “I believe we can do that.”

Hyacinth grinned and tucked her curls behind her ears, “You must be my model,” she insisted, pulling you up by your wrist. She placed you in the center of the room and skipped over to the two boys, “And Benedict can be my other model,” she grabbed him by the fabric surrounding his elbow and stood him next to you.

“I-is this necessary?” you asked her, rubbing your hands together anxiously, refusing to look at him.

“Since when did you get so strong?” Benedict asked in between laughs, looking down at his now wrinkled coat.

“Hush, both of you,” she huffed as she began to pose you. She placed one of his hands in yours, instantly igniting a fire on your skin. “There,” she murmured, adjusting you to face him with your free hand on his arm.

Without instruction, Benedict placed his hand on the small of your back, his fingertips tracing the floral embroidery. You heard the hitch in his breathing, your eyes flickering upward at his visibly clenched jaw. “Hello,” he chuckled.

“I apologize for her, I do not know what has gotten into her,” you sighed.

“I should be the one apologizing. She’s my sister after all,” he told you, shaking his head.

“Stay still,” Hyacinth scolded as she scurried off towards the couch. She moved her drawing pad and examined the couch. “Gregory, have you seen my kit?” she asked.

Gregory perked his ears and looked up from his book, “Why no sister I have not,” he replied overdramatically, making you and Benedict knit your eyebrows.

“Help me find it would you? It might be in the hallway,” she guessed, matching her brother's dramatics.

“Of course,” Gregory all but slammed his book shut and hurried out of the room, his giggling sister on his tail.

You stood in the center of the now lonely room, Benedict's hand still pressed to your lower back. You felt every twitch of his fingers pressing into your back and on the smooth skin of your hand. "Benedict," you breathe, finally meeting his eyes. He was so handsome up close, the mixture of his cologne and earthy charcoal intoxicated your senses.

"It appears my siblings are quite troublesome," Benedict chuckled, turning his head to view the empty hall just outside the room.

"They did this on purpose," you sighed as you realized what was happening here.

"Are you upset?" he asked you hesitantly.

"Quite the opposite," you chuckled.

A warmth instantly graced your features as his face slowly got closer. Your breaths mixed, timid eyes meeting and too scared to look away. "Y/N..." he trailed off, exhaling shallowly.

Leaning forward, your pounding chest met his, allowing your hearts to beat in a perfectly chaotic rhythm. "Benedict..." you whispered, your nose brushed his, but he didn't move away. He stayed there, his hands gripping you a little tighter as if he was telling you to stay.

"Is this what you want?" he asked.

"This is what I've wanted since the day we met."

The man sighed with relief, cracking a smile. He finally captured your lips, his hands gently holding the sides of your face as if you were the most delicate thing in the world. "Do you have feelings for me, Miss Y/N?" he asked playfully as he pulled away.

You giggled and placed your hands on his chest, "I do very much."

"You know... I heard Paris in the spring is wonderful for painting outside."

You laughed, "Are you asking me to run away with you, Benedict?"

"We must finish our lessons! You cannot run away together yet," Hyacinth scoffed as she emerges from the doorway, Gregory murmuring complaints from behind.

"Well then," you hum, looking around Benedict to look at the younger Bridgertons, "How about painting in the park instead?"

"Deal," the three agreed in unison, Benedict's arms wrapping lovingly around your waist.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x f!reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic

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blindmagdalena · 9 months

Note

Hiii, Amy, how are you? Like really, how are you? I hope you're well.

I saw you reblogged this post and a fic about Homelander literally eating a supe!reader who has fast healing would be awesome! Imagine, she's not bulletproof, she can't fly, her thing is just really fast healing, like Wolverine. One night, she offers Homelander her fresh because she loves him so much that she wants him to literally consume her, would he accept, would he say no, what would he do?

girl. i cannot believe you inspired me to write straight up erotic cannibalism. (yes i can.)

dead dove! do not eat! smut and literal eroticized cannibalism under the cut. lite blasphemy? 18+.

It all begins with a bite.

Your hand in his hair, moaning in his ear. "Harder," you gasp, his teeth at your throat, teasing the delicate flesh there. He thinks you mean for him to fuck you harder, and he snaps his hips hard enough to rattle your teeth, but you shake your head.

"No, darling–bite me harder," you urge, legs locked tightly around his waist.

He obeys without a thought, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder. It doesn't matter how rough he is with you, it doesn't matter if he shatters you, your body mends by the time he draws back for the next thrust.

He likes the way the pain makes you moan, and he loves the way it makes your pussy clamp down on his cock. He's not convinced you even feel pain, not with how wet it makes you.

"Harder," you say again, yanking his hair roughly. "I want you to taste my blood."

Homelander is delirious with his own pleasure, so near to the cusp of release, he doesn't question it. His sharp teeth slide through your skin like butter, and the copper tang of your blood fills his mouth in an instant.

It makes you scream. He fucks you hard and fast through your orgasm, lapping up the blood from where you've already healed. If not for the familiar sweet taste of you, it would be like it was never yours.

You take him by the face and kiss him with more fervency than he's ever felt, licking your own blood from his teeth.

"Take more of me," you plead against his lips. "I love you. I love you so much. I want to give you everything." He doesn't understand what you mean. He has you. More than he's ever had anyone before you, more than he ever will.

So he thought.

“Bite me harder,” you keen, digging your nails into his back. You’re frail by superhuman standards, only a little stronger than a human, but your regenerative healing makes you practically indestructible. “I want you to fucking eat me.”

He moans outright when you drag your nails along his scalp.

Because you demand it, he does it again. He bites down, and both your hands cup the base of his skull as if you're nursing him against your body.

His lids flutter.

You feel incredible. You taste even better. Your touch has always made him salivate. His love for you has not been an end to his loneliness, it has become an extension of it.

When you're gone, it's as though the sun loses warmth. Color loses saturation. Food loses flavor. Where he once thought love, ever present in his heart, would reinvigorate the world, he has found this is only true when your hand is in his, when he is inside you, when the taste of you is raw on his tongue.

He must always keep you near. Without you, the world feels too much like a sterile white box beneath fluorescent lights.

"Eat," you whisper, quivering in his hold. "Feel me inside you."

Yes, he thinks. Stay with me.

Your body gives beneath the press of his teeth like it was made to. Blood carries bite-sized portions of you down his throat like the tide brings driftwood to the shore.

"That's it, baby," you moan, voice breathy. You sound as you do on the precipice of release, a swelling of need and incomprehensible pleasure. "I love you."

He believes you.

He tastes it in the spill of you down his throat, and in the white-hot clench of your body. The wet of your cunt, your blood, the saliva you swallow back.

You're hungry, too. You're left drooling as he feasts. He thrusts faster, lips pressed deep in your sinew.

To love is to devour.

To give.

He will give unto you as you have given unto him.

From the moment he met you, he was animal-like in his craving of you.

Perhaps this was always his natural trajectory. He has never known a love he did not choke down, swallow, tear apart at the seams.

You are the first capable of enduring him.

Every bite he takes of you replenishes itself in seconds. He can drag his tongue along his own teeth marks and feel your flesh push back against it, mending itself, born anew to be swallowed again.

This. This is what he has always needed. Too long have love and affection been a finite resource dangled at the end of the very stick they used to beat him. He bore this gnawing emptiness for so long, it grew teeth.

How did you know how to feed it?

He screws his eyes shut, keening into the bloodied crook of your neck.

"Let go," you whisper. "Let's fill each other." Your fingers are delicate in his hair. Your tenderness is relentless, worming deep into the rotted thing that drums in his breast. You dare his heart to beat for you, and suddenly he can't remember a time when it didn't.

"Come for me, baby."

Climax hits him so hard, he forgets how to breathe. He thinks he feels you shatter beneath him, but he can't be sure. You're whole again in seconds, your arms around his neck, your lips against his, your hearts beating against one another like caged birds as he pours himself into you in load after load after load after load.

You're both left panting. Sweat, blood, come and tears all salty and wet between your bodies.

He has taken your blood and your body into himself, and given you all he can in return.

Is this what they meant by holy communion?

He's convinced that it is.

This is the closest he has ever felt to heaven.

#icb how many of y'all were excited for this. you're ENABLERS #homelander x reader #homelander x you #i hope this is coherent because it feels to me like a fever dream #i tried not to be like. overly gory but he IS most definitely eating her #i love you mari thank you for suggesting this LOL #my writing #smut #the inherent eroticism of cannibalism #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #ALSO i'm good!!! i've been doing much better mari thank you

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writeshite · 1 year

Text

Puppy Love

Summary:

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace. “I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” You chuckle, “I should say the same; wolves are equally as captivating."

Pairings:

Robb Stark x Male Reader

Tags:

Targaryen Reader | Fluff | Smitten Robb Stark

Words: 2122

Author's Note:

I have not actually watched the show or read the books fully 👉🏾👈🏾 I know things, but most of my knowledge is sporadic and random; it'll be like 60% accurate, I think....in my defense, I want dragons, and I also want Robb Stark, so like what else am I supposed to do 💀. Also, sorry if the High Valyrian in here is shit; I'm very behind in my Duolingo course.

“The dragons have taken back the Iron Throne.”

Robb didn’t quite know how to react to the news; his battle had been for the North, and the workings of the other kingdoms and their squabbles had never immensely mattered to him as much as he knew they should. The ball had been his mother’s suggestion, correction insistence, “As king, you should set an example and get ahead of the other kingdoms.”

The Targarayens arrive on dragon back - each on a separate one - the beasts shake the ground when they land, thunderous roars echoing into the skies. Her Majesty, Daenerys Targaryen, is poised, expression calm as she descends her dragon; another figure follows behind her - the Queen's Hand Missandei - the other dragon rider, steals more of Robb’s attention. Expression perhaps more joyful, you appear rather ill-equipped for the weather, furs less than satisfactory in Robb’s opinion. Your attire appears snow-touched, with little color - a touch of red on the collar of your coat - and dragon detailing on the lapels. Your silver locks are platted back in a simplistic rider’s style, held together by an intricate golden band.

Your company trails behind, arriving just moments later. Robb is accompanied by his mother, Sansa, and Arya, the latter of the three stares in awe at the dragons. Robb picks up a bit of conversation as you approach them, dying down when you come to stand in front of them; the words are of another tongue - High Valyrian, he thinks. “Your grace,” he greets, “welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” she gestured to one side, “you know of my wife and hand, Missandei,” Robb nods, and she gestures to you, “and my cousin.”

“A pleasure,” you greet him.

Robb had yet to follow etiquette, and in the spirit of that, he responds to your greeting and awaiting handshake with a kiss - placed on the back of your hand. Your skin trembles in the cold, cool to the touch; he rubs his thumb along it in an effort to create some heat. The purple of your eyes was entrancing, deep pools that drew his gaze easily. His mother’s cough draws him back; her disapproving and mildly irritated glance is counteracted by Sansa and Arya’s amused ones. The servants lead you to your temporary quarters, and Robb’s linger on your retreating form; his mother’s lecture drifts elsewhere in his mind, barely settling before it’s tossed aside by the glee of seeing you once more at the welcoming banquet.

Winterfell was colder than you expected.

The invitation had seen no hurried response - with the rebuilding of King’s Landing, a new Dragon’s Pit, and many other matters - coming to Winterfell had primarily been driven by the need for a break. You rode on Morghon, Daenerys, and Missandei rode on Drogon, with Rhaegal and Viserion following and a company of Dothraki followed from the ground. The cool weather had been the first thing you’d noted, the second being the admittedly attractive King in the North. He donned a thick fur cape overtop his attire, a ringlet crown surmounted by iron spikes, and three wolves at the central front.

“Dubāzma,” you shrug at Daenerys’ warning tone; you hadn’t done anything; you simply glanced at the man.

You counter such, “Eman gaomagon daorun, ivestragon zirȳla Missandei.”

Missandei shakes her head, amusement in her tone, “Iā bughegon isse suvion iēdar kostilus,” she jests.

You shake your head, and the conversation breaks off as Lord Stark welcomes you to Winterfell. Daenerys responds with light introductions for both Missandei, then you.

“A pleasure,” you say once introduced, hand held out, ready for a handshake. Lord Stark does something far different. Taking your hand, he turns it over and lays a peck on the back of it, causing Lady Stark’s eyes to grow wide in surprise and his sisters’ expressions to morph into grins.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replies, eyes locked on yours as he does so. His hand remains with yours for seconds longer, thumb caressing the skin, and when her ladyship breaks the brief haze with a cough, he leaves behind a phantom warmth.

The temporary chambers are cozy, readily warm, and stocked with furs; you set your luggage by the bed and don’t dwell too long on them - furs, a bed, fire, and comfort - as the welcome banquet requires far more attention. You replace your traveling coat with one more suitable for festivities - dark with gold embroidery and light fur trimming on the bottom. You exit the room to find Lord Stark’s figure leaning against the wall opposite, and a smile lights his face at the sight of you.

“Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?” you inquire.

“If you’d allow it,” he responds with a hint of hope. You chuckle and nod, drawing out a broader smile on his face. The hall is not as far off as you’d imagined; light chatter filters through the open doors as people mill into the open-spaced hall. Far from the entrance sits a horizontally set long table - the Starks on the right, Taragrayens on the left - the other tables line the sides, leaving the middle empty.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the announcer declares, drawing attention to you both; he announces you next, “...of House Targaryen….” It had been your idea to drop your name of Velaryon, “...Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.” The latter of the titles stood more as a slight mockery, with your old life on the remnants of Old Valyria, those that had spotted you and Morghon had called you that in whispers.

You take the two remaining seats at the long table, Robb near the center, you near the edge, close to Missandei. The food is wonderful; meats, deserts, ale, and various Northern delicacies are brought to the tables - the honeyed chicken may well become one of your new favorites. People begin to mingle after the main courses as music fills the halls in steady beats; you follow suit at Lord Stark’s request to dance.

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace.

“I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.”

You chuckle, “I would say the same; wolves are equally as captivating,” your arms turn, both palms now against the other; he laces his fingers with yours, a cheeky grin on his face. You turn to circle in the opposite direction, the crowd around you filtering out as you remain fixated on each other. You draw back, hands still intertwined; coming back again, he places his other hand on your shoulder as yours goes to his hip. A few paces and you should separate from the other, turn to another person and carry on the dance, but you don’t, remaining in each other’s grasp as you drift across the floor.

The music changes and a joyful beat begins; the formality is lost as the crowd of dancers switches to more upbeat and expressive movements. Lord Stark tugs at your arm, head tilting towards the doors; you turn briefly to glance at the long table - Lady Arya is immersed in conversation with Daenerys; Missandei and Lady Sansa are the same; Lady Stark herself, however, appears to have swallowed a lemon, eyes glaring daggers at his Lordship. You return your attention to said man and allow him to drag you away from the hall.

Robb hadn’t paid much attention to his mother’s lecture; her words went in one ear and out the other; she wasn’t angry, not truly, merely cautious. The interest seemed mutual to some extent, though the matter of marital affairs would be complicated - gods know the Lords of Westeros would turn their noses high in disgust - his almost engagements had all fallen through when he’d paid them little mind.

“Robb Stark!” His mother’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “I understand your attraction circumvents what the realm would regard as suitable, but that is no excuse, do not trifle with him; we don’t need them setting our lands ablaze.”

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Sansa comments after their mother leaves.

Robb purses his lips; a wise man would take the words to heart and cease whatever he was doing - even if this interaction bore positive fruit, there was no certainty it would be in the best interest of the North. Her Majesty could have him abdicate his throne in favor of moving into the Targarayen household, or she could disapprove of him and feed him to her dragons. Robb was a man of heart, the kind that intercepted the servant at your chambers and took it upon himself to escort you personally to the dining halls.

Your previous coat has been replaced by a darker one; golden dragon heads decorate the cuffs, and it sits tighter on your person, with the fur trimming at the bottom fluttering delicately as you walk. “Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?”

“If you’d allow it,” he responds, and gods, he hopes you would. He feels himself smile wider at your agreement, arm threaded with yours; the short walk to the dining halls leaves him ecstatic.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the declaration echoes in the hall; brief glances become more fixated on your intertwined arms. His mother’s eyes squint, a frown on her face, “...of House Targaryen, Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.”

Robb thanks the gods; his mother’s seat is further from him; if looks could kill, he’s certain he’d have died at the entrance. “You’ve taken to my cousin quite quickly, Lord Stark,” Her Majesty’s voice draws his attention.

Her gaze is steady as she regards him, “I suppose, your grace, is that a problem?”

It’s no secret that certain parts of Westeros and their rulers disapprove of other attractions; Robb’s not quite sure where his father would have stood on the matter - he imagines him supportive - he knows his mother prefers he be less expressive on the subject. Queen Daenerys had been quite clear on her stance, disregarding the disapproval of her new laws and marriage, though that’s not to say she would like to have him as her in-law.

“Not as long as he is happy, and well,” she answers, “I have little family left; I cannot help my worry.”

There is an underlying threat to her words, and Robb nods in understanding, and it satisfies her enough to turn away from him. The food is brought in just after - honeyed chicken, venison pies, cod cakes, ale, candied bread - the music begins near the tail end of the feast. Some sway to the tune, conversations carrying in the air, as the music changes to something more befitting a dance. He stands and moves down the long table towards you, “Care for a dance?”

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip.

“I would agree; dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” Your arms meet in the middle, level to your heads, as you circle each other; even as the other dancers switch partners, you remain together. Up until the music changes and a less formal tune carries in the air, you follow suit, hand in Robb’s as he drags you from the hall. You stroll idly through the halls, hands held together and swung lowly and sharing idle chatter.

“What do you call your dragon?”

“Morghon,” you respond, “it means death, a fitting name. Would you like to see him?” Robb pursed his lips, and you chuckled at his hesitation, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of dragons,” you teased; coming to a halt, you tugged him closer, “certainly not after flirting with one.”

He can feel the heat creep up his neck and imagines his skin pinker at the moment, “What if he bites?”

“He won’t,” your graze drifts a little lower, “but I could.”

“Is that an invitation to your bed, my prince?”

“If you’d like, you could show me how warm the North could be. I’m sure a few hours of demonstration should suffice.”

“The demonstration will have to wait for another time, your grace,” his mother’s voice cuts in. You both jump apart, hands loosely held together; she grabs Robb by the arm, “I apologize for the interruption, your grace, but we have some familial matters to attend to.” His face pinches into a frown as his mother leads him away; he remains turned enough to send you a brief wave and a smile and is thrilled to see you return it.

End Note:

Hope you enjoyed this mess. Stay hydrated.

#robb stark x male reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones imagine #shut up i want dragons alright #i am disregarding canon because i think he's too hot to die #and also cause there's like a few solid male reader fics i think and the rest aren't so here comes the petty dragon riding bitch #if you came here expecting canon accuracy go touch some grass this is fanfic we don't know the meaning of that word

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tyrramint · 3 months

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Happy Lockwood & Co. Big Bang!!! :D I had the absolute pleasure of collaborating with @The_Dreamer_Half_Alive (on Ao3 :) on her fic for the @lockwoodandcobigbang2023 event; set post TEG, it’s truly so lovely and heartwarming, and I had so much fun doing a piece for it! We very much hope you enjoy :)

Link to the fic!!!! (the horror of the night melt away) under the warm glow of survival of the day

(Closeups below the cut :D) (because I ended up making it too wide to be easily seen in full lol) (plus ~artistic commentary~)

(SPOILERS FOR FIC CONTENT)

Okay, so I tried to put a bunch of little easter eggs from the fic and just in general in here, so if you’re interested:

Alright, to start off, I was generally very inspired by them getting a record player; I thought it was very sweet, and I loved the idea of them finally getting to relax and hang out in the library (the lack of chairs, I know; I couldn’t figure out how to put them in without blocking people lol) and locklyle dancing, with the record player on in the background, so that’s what I took as the basis of the scene!!

We had discussed that the characters were kind of a combo of both show and book versions, so I tried to add a smattering and hints of both when doing their designs!

The record is, of course, an Ella Fitzgerald record as mentioned in the fic (the record drawn is her Souvenir Album)

Holly is wearing her engagement ring, and wearing shades of pink and cream because that’s what she wears at her wedding (although shifted in hue to better match the color scheme of the piece lol)

Everyone (minus Flo) of course has their white strands of hair (which is *always* one of my favorite details to draw)

Lucy and George bake in the fic, but I think I had just read the Christmas mini story when I was doing my thumbnail for this, so Kipps ended up being the one bringing in baked goods; however, the baking mitts are orange and monogrammed with George's initials because I couldn't let that slip by, could I?

I wasn't quite sure what to put Flo in, because in the books she never takes off her boots or puffer jacket, but I wanted to throw in some sign that she was living at 35 Portland Row and becoming closer to all of them, (and her close relationship with George,) so I let her keep the boots, but traded the puffer jacket in for one of George's plaid shirts :)

The chess game also made it in because of the Christmas short story, lol

Lucy's blue star jacket!! When I read the fic, I was planning from the start to have her wearing the jacket, so of course it made it in :) I wasn't really sure what style it should be, though, so I ended up with kind of an odd mishmash of designs, but I think it turned out working alright!

The sapphire necklace, because, of course

I adore that Lockwood wears his pink socks throughout the entire show (well, most of the time they're the pink ones ;) so I wanted to include them (and then gave Lucy blue ones to match :)

The chipped blue mugs that Lockwood brings to Lucy for her tea after she wakes up from nightmares are on the bookshelf, and I couldn't find a way to directly include the Earl Grey tea they have, but I made the tea bag tags grey in honor of it

The green glow is the ghost lamp outside because if I can find a way to incorporate cool glows in my art, I will (and also on a more narrative-driven note, symbolizing the past danger they've been through and how some of it is definitely still present, but they have each other to heal with and finally be able to have some simple fun with, and are now curled up in the safety and comfort of 35 Portland Row :)

And finally, a big theme of the fic is them healing and building a happy life together, so I just wanted them to all be happy for once, and hence I put in my best efforts to draw them as such :)

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courtingchaos · 6 months

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oooo but what about Doesn't-Know-He's-An-Incubus Eddie. like growing up his life was completely normal until he's older and starts having sex and he realizes he feels so.... strong.

This would be good too because the part I left out is him haunting comic book stores and tabletop game spaces because those girls are so desperate for a dude to not mansplain to them. They just want to be included and they know what they’re talking about and Eddie just loves teaching people. He’s like, the only dude who isn’t shooing them off or telling them they’re dumb. And it would get him so much ass.

Like picture it. He’s unaware of any actual power he might have. Probably got it from Al, that Munson charm he always wielded had to come from somewhere. Eddie would see these girls getting dragged around by boyfriends who could care less that they were there, if only to show the other dudes that ‘hey, I have a girlfriend and you don’t.’

He’d smile and ask them about their character sheet and next thing he knows he’s in the back of his van with her. He’s sliding into another random bed. He’s leaving after getting his world rocked enough that he feels like a brand new man. He’s finding people at the Hideout on terrible dates and suddenly he’s getting these little flashes of himself in the middle of getting his dick sucked. Nothing he’d ever seen, at least not from that angle, but they’re just brief rose tinted images.

It’d happen more and more, for longer periods. Someone’s babbling under him and he’s like, taken by visions. Sometimes it’s just him sometimes it’s someone else. Sometimes he’s just a polished version of himself, some kind of rockstar-model combo, but then he starts seeing it. That freak behavior.

“A tiefling? Really?” He asks mid stroke. He looms over her while staring through her. He can see the horns weaving through his hair. The deep purple skin and black eyes. A forked tongue flicks down at her with his grin bracketing it.

“Wh-what?” She’s breathless and gone. He shifts his gaze to catch her’s and he can’t. Eyes fogged over with lust, mist that settles over the color of her iris.

“Is this it, your big fantasy?”

“Uh huh.”

He leans in close pushing her knees into her chest. Spread open so vulnerably under him. He could eat her up and he doesn’t think she’d ever complain. Inches from her face he’s whispering to her, talking her to the edge of her pleasure. Writhing and shaking under him, nails digging into his biceps he barely notices the scratches or the draw of blood. He hasn’t noticed the change in his voice. There’s a baseline to it, something deep and reverberating and it almost strings her orgasm along longer.

When she finally comes down and unwinds from herself Eddie realizes he never came. There was a spell happening in the back of his van, something heady and new. He could snatch that image of himself out of thin air and tuck it away for later. It makes him chuckle while she’s trying to wiggle back into her jeans.

“So do you play as a tiefling or was that just something you came up with on the spot?” He’s buttoning his own jeans and doesn’t catch her giving him a weird look.

“What?”

“The…tiefling thing. Big purple guy?” The ‘me’ is implied but he doesn’t say it.

“I don’t-I’m not-“

“I’m not picking on you.” He’s quick to reassure but she looks confused, not hurt.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t think you were.” There’s a shy smile that she tries to hide. When he opens the door to help her step out she asks if he’ll be around for next weeks session. It’s unsaid but he catches the flash of the inside of his van.

“Sure.” He’s vibrating. His skin crackles and his blood sings. This feels better than any bong rip or bump he’s sniffed. There’s a tingling along his spine as he watches her walk away and he tries to figure out just what it was he was doing in the dark.

#this is a FOI blog btw sorry for the references #I just liked the book for a lot of things and I’m digging into my clay stash to mold #asks!

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theintrovertbean · 4 months

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Remember when I posted this? This is what I meant when I said I was writing something about high heels.

Summary: Nadia has beautiful legs and y/n wholeheartedly agrees.

This isn't smut, but there's some naughtiness implied. So, just to be safe, minors DNI.

Linguistics classes are boring, so I spend them writing about Nadia instead 🤗 That's just what I do, write adult content when I should be paying attention to my seminars. I will keep doing it.

I wrote like half of this at uni instead of listening to whatever the fuck that class was, and my friend sitting next to me was like o.o when they looked at my phone. But the bitch is back (no, not really, I'm just blessing you with a crumb of content before I retreat to my hiding again.) Anyway, I thought I'd give myself a break and write for the sake of writing about something that doesn't give me anxiety, and what's better than Nadia's legs to ease my stress? Damn, that rhymes. Don't mind my little vent, idk why I'm even writing this but it's almost 3 am and I no longer care.

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it. Have a good one, simps!

Heeled Seduction (Nadia x Reader)

She's a strong, smart woman. She can take care of herself and she doesn't need help. But when I watch her undress and then put on her extravagant gown for the upcoming event, I can't help but notice her high heels waiting for her to put them on. I remind myself that no, she does not need help with something so trivial, but the more I entertain the thought, the more tempting it becomes.

She sits down on a plush chair and pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear. My heart melts at the sight of her, but if I want to do this, then this is my chance.

"Nadia," I call out her name. It comes naturally to me at this point as she's had me cry out her name in pleasure countless times.

She looks at me with curiosity in her intense gaze. "Yes, love?"

I don't answer. I simply walk toward her and then lower myself onto one knee in front of her. My Countess raises an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling up into one of those cheeky smiles that I love so much. She watches me with interest, awaiting my next move.

I gently lift her foot and guide it into the shoe, my fingers brushing against her delicate skin and I can feel her shiver beneath my touch. Having such an effect on the embodiment of perfection, on a goddess like her, fills me with pride.

"Oh my," She begins with a smile. "How attentive of you, my darling. Allow me to assist you."

Then she grabs a fistful of her dress, slowly, teasingly lifting it higher to give me better access. She reveals her strong thigh, only to my eyes, and I have to gulp. Inch by inch, she tortures me with her beauty. I'm quite certain she knows that she doesn't have to lift it so high. My sweet, loving Nadia—always teasing me at every chance she gets.

Encouraged by her seduction, I put my hand on her other leg, fingers caressing and massaging her strong calf gently. "Have I ever told you," I lean forward, pressing a kiss onto her skin right under her knee. "how beautiful your legs are?"

"Hm, I don't think you have," My Countess answers, the tone of her voice warm and low and the smile on her face playful but loving. "Why don't you elaborate?"

"Well, your skin is so soft here," I say and lift her leg, putting it over my shoulder. "I love how it feels against my mouth. So delicate and smooth." When I brush my lips against her thigh and my breath caresses her, I can see her clutching the armrest just a little tighter. "But your legs are also very strong." I rest my hand on the side of her thigh, drawing circles into it with my thumb. "Perfect for..." I drag my lips across her skin, going higher and higher until I can feel the heat radiating from her core. "Smothering."

My love chuckles and I look up to see her cheeks colored with a blush. "Aah, yes, they'd look so beautiful around your head."

"They certainly would," I smirk against her inner thigh and I'm certain she wants nothing more than for me to continue. "But!" I exclaim and put her leg down, shifting my body away from hers. "We have a party to attend. The rest can wait."

I swear I can hear her mutter a small damn you, y/n under her breath while I quickly put on her other high heel. When I finish, I immediately feel her fingers grasping my chin, guiding me to look up at her. "When it is done, I hope you intend to use that teasing, wicked mouth of yours for something more pleasurable," She whispers to me, and I can already feel my cheeks burning under her gaze. Here, at the feet of my mistress, my countess, my love, I feel a sense of belonging.

"If that's what milady wishes."

#and then they smashed #nadia satrinava #countess nadia #the arcana nadia #nadia the arcana #arcana nadia #the arcana #nadia arcana #arcana #nadia x mc #nadia x apprentice #nadia x reader

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kerubimcrepin · 19 days

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Exploring dofus-le-film.com and talking about movie-related events. [PART 1]

This will not go into the goldmine that is the interview Tot and Xa give about Joris. This is just a little, self-indulgent post. I hope you will enjoy it nevertheless.

The first silly action I took was extracting the site's icon and enlarging it in Aseprite, so here's your daily dose of cute official Joris pixel art. Anyway.

I love how the movie blurb literally lies about Khan being Joris's life-long idol.

CHARACTER BIOS.

Most of them include the information we already know, so I will only be pointing out things I personally find interesting.

For example - this art here depicts Joris's bald head under the hood as very round. Very useful info for us joris enjoyers. Reblog to slap his bald head, like to slap his bald head.

(Hacks up blood) Deeply caring in nature... papa poule... It is the second time, when Kerubim is called that, in his character bios, and I would like you to remember are these different explanations of this word combo:

I'm insane. I love him a lot.

Bakara is a pleasure to have in class :)

Anyway, I love how non-specific and non-alarming these character bios are. We can't scare the hoes by saying that beneath her cool exterior she wants to kill people around her and also drink 20 gallons of vodka, so "shy and stuck up" it shall be.

Again, it's hilarious how non-threatening these character bios are, considering Lilotte's whole parent thing is basically: (substitute "women" with "kids with families")

Coloring pages + Crayon Contest

A part of me wanted to be "haha, I colored all these coloring pages, for the Full Understanding of The Experience of this movie."

Then I realized that, as a person who is making a Joris painted music video, and had drawn at least 1:07 minutes worth of artwork of him and some other characters of this movie, I would rather-- [remembers that suicide jokes are bad] take cactus for a wife, than draw him for this blog too. I'm sorry.

Not much to be said about the contest, though this is epic:

This little Joris can be found at the bottom of the "win some crayons" page. It's cute.

BLOGPOSTS

This image was drawn for MIFA.

I want to unpack what is occurring here:

Goultard is holding his dragon boyfriend rather gayly on the shoulder. Interesting.

One of the candles landed in Nox's face?

Atcham, Joris, and Lilotte were holding the cake together. Lilotte is sitting on Yugo's shoulder, while Joris is standing on Kerubim's arms. It is reasonable to assume that Yugo turned to the camera, which made Lilotte turn as well, which made Atcham fall, which made Kerubim step away, and the only people carrying the cake who are still even a bit happy are Joris and Yugo.

Adamai is getting ready to catch Joris when in like 5 seconds all of them are going to be tumblring down Atcham-style.

Incredible. But this illustration is not the only gem that Annecy has brought us!

It also brought us more of Atcham being cool and awesome.

I'm insane.

There's more rare art here: these t-shirts featuring designs from a fan contest.

They were made in limited numbers. I'm including them here because we don't exactly have copies of the artwork, and I am insane about preserving art. It might be somewhere — but that somewhere is probably 2016 french facebook, so as far as I'm concerned, trying to seek these out is a lost cause.

Exclusive Merch

There were playing cards, and I am happy to report we DO have artwork for them in HD:

And also, here's a slightly higher definition little game sprite esque Joris:

This is the future crepinjurgenites want.

Kerubim VS Atcham Rigged Pet Contest

I am sad to report that Atchamheads have lost again, in this rigged contest. Imagine asking:

Would you like a fluffy guy you have watched an entire series about, or this bald guy who appears twice in the franchise?

At the very least, this gives us a canonical kitten Atcham design.

(Also, both of them were added, jsyk... Still salty though.)

Maliki Art

Maliki is a webcomic not made by Ankama, but with a long relationship and connection to Ankama due to being published by them in the past.

It's cute, really.

#dofusexploration #ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz

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arcielee · 1 year

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Freedom Song

modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader Summary: Your boyfriend impresses his family when you all go out for karaoke. Warnings: Mentions of rehab, but this is purely fluff. Word Count: 1284 Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to my muse @f4ll-for-you ♥ A huge thank you to her and @aspen-carter for beta reading this story. This idea was inspired by the lovely @foxee-writes who was gracious to let me write this drabble. I just wanted to continue to add to my not-really-a-series series about modern Aegon. I write him as more of a golden retriever bf after he has successfully completely the rehabilitation and therapy that poor bb desperately needed.

For you, Aegon was an open book; he was animated when he talked, but with his silence, his mannerisms were flags to indicate what brewed behind his beautiful lavender eyes.

You watched his hands and their blatant tics of agitation, from drumming his fingers against the inside of your thighs and how it evolved into the rapid bounce of his leg; he scratched the underside of his jaw, a seemingly ceaseless itch that came with the beard he was allowing to come in.

He hated to be halted, so you did not rest your hand on his knee but moved to take his palm into your own, your touch gentle and it allowed his attention to return to the little lobby the two of you waited in. Aegon turned his head and you watched as his lilac eyes refocused onto you.

“Hey,” you said with a smile.

His relief was visceral and he reached his other hand, interlacing his fingers with your own.

We fit so perfectly together, he had said to you when he first held your hand, the memory of his words brought a rose color to your cheeks.

His own smile spread across and with his exhale, you watched some of the tension lift from his shoulders. “Hey,” he said back to you, the low crack of his voice.

“We do not have to do this,” you offered him an escape. “We can always go home…”

He pursed his lips into a line and shook his head so that his silver waves moved with. “I have already missed too many birthdays and I need to make amends. Besides,” his eyes flit over the karaoke lounge, sparsely filled and drawing in the colors of the RGB lights overhead. “This is something Daeron really wants to do, so I will do this,” and he squeezed your hand, his other hand reaching into his pocket. “Besides, I want to show them this.”

It was his sobriety chip to celebrate his eleventh month mark and you could not have been more proud.

It was little larger than a half dollar and was the reminder of the dark times that were, but also how it too shall pass. He held onto it, something he could fidget with when his anxiety flared up, but it also was a medal of honor, a token of proof to show that he had persevered and would continue just that.

The peace continued when he saw it was only his mother and siblings who showed up; his father was not in the best of health and had little energy to much of anything these days, and his grandfather was too wrapped up in maintaining what his father could not do.

You felt relieved. His mother, Alicent as she asked you to call her, obviously loved her son, but her father would get into her head about how it was best to raise them, and his siblings were aware of his shortcomings, but loved Aegon still in their very unique way.

Daeron bubbled with excitement, in part because he loved to sing but you also imagined he took pleasure in the discomfort of his older brothers, Aemond and Aegon. Aemond was a silent force, with a severe expression and dark clothes, his eye looking over their surroundings as they were led into the rented booth. And Helaena was rosy, her excitement glittered in her eyes with the prospect to sing her heart out, also aware of the discomfort for her brothers and wilfully ignoring it.

They took their seats and Daeron bounded to the stage, choosing some pop song and singing along. Aemond, long and lean, sank into a corner part of the couch, legs stanced wide and his gaze solemn, as always. Alicent and Helaena were seated together and you leaned back into the couch, watching Aegon pour over the log of songs available on the tablet; his brow furrowed and his lips moved wordless as he read through the titles, the light from the screen highlighting his handsome features.

He was aglow when he handed you the tablet. “This one?” You confirmed, your finger resting on the song.

Aegon nodded, wiping his palms against his jeans before clapping along with his mother and sister when Daeron finished. “You next?” He asked and Aegon nodded, wetting his lips with his tongue and moving to take the microphone.

Part of his rehabilitation was relearning himself, but sober. With this, he had a newfound passion for music that he had never touched before. You remembered the first time you heard him singing in the shower; you were flushed by his voice, your mouth agape when he exited the bathroom. You always encouraged him to sing, well aware of the brief reprieve it allowed him with every song he disappeared into.

And now, you leaned back to watch the reactions of his family as Aegon cleared his throat.

Daeron’s skittish giggled stopped the moment the timbre of his voice poured into the speakers, though the sound quality was what would be considered for a karaoke bar, it did not take away from the fact that Aegon could fucking sing.

His younger brother’s eyes were wide and he sank back into the sofa to watch him. Alicent’s eyes were just as wide and glassy as she took in her son, as if she was truly seeing him for the first time; Helaena just closed her eyes and swayed her head in rhythm to the music.

You dared to glance at Aemond and even his stoic nature cracked slightly, as his brow arched while he listened.

Aegon was beautiful when he sang, of course; his eyes were closed and there was color to his cheeks from the natural smile that accompanied the lyrics. He moved along with the music, his passion for this habit did not allow him to hold still.

When he finished, he slowly opened his eyes and looked at you, smiling still.

His mother and Helaena bound to their feet, clapping and singing praises, while Daeron was flabbergasted. “Holy shit, you can sing,” he managed.

Alicent flipped on her mom-mode, her dark eyes locked onto him. “Daeron. Language.”

He grinned sheepishly and even Aemond hummed a compliment, “Well sung, brother.” He had the hint of a smile to his lips.

Daeron clasped his hand on his shoulder, bright eyed with a newfound respect for his brother. “What else are you keeping from us?”

Aegon shifted his weight and glanced at you; you nod reassuringly, subtle with your smile. He reached into his pocket and presented the token.

You saw that Aemond recognized it, as he had also been present with the prior attempts of his sobriety, but his expression softened when he saw the color, a forest green, a color he had not seen in his brother’s palm before.

For Aegon, it is a wordless gesture and it is met with the support he deserved. Daeron and Helaena both threw their arms around him, smiles and congratulations on their lips, while Aemond only reached to touch his shoulder, the curl of his mouth enough to let him know he was proud of Aegon.

You enjoyed this moment, content to be a spectator, until you felt the gentle touch of Alicent as she wrapped her arm around your waist and pulled you into her side. “Thank you,” she whispered in your ear.

But it was not necessary. You, like Aemond, had always been around and presented him with the opportunity, time and time again. You also knew that Aegon had to want it, or it would never work.

Most importantly, you would always be grateful for the day he had taken the help offered.

Arcie’s Masterlist

#modern aegon #modern hotd au #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfiction

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written-in-flowers · 1 year

Text

Nameday: Madam Rosetta’s

Pairing: chubby!Aegon ii x plussize!fem!reader

Genre: smut, fluff

Word count: 5k

Summary: After a lovely theatre performance, Aegon takes you on his next stop in the Nameday surprises: a trip to The Red Rosetta, a lovely brothel located in the middle of the Street of Silk.

Tags: general brothel atmosphere, bisexual reader(?), voyeurism, slight choking, vaginal fingerings, body worship, anal sex, multiple positions, multiple sex rounds, light choking, spanking, facials,

Previous Chapter: Nameday: The Theatre

Next Chapter: Nameday: The Feast

****

After seeing the rest of the square, Aegon led you down another street. The scantily clad women standing outside doorways or hanging out windows, you guessed you'd come onto the Street of Silk. A long path of brothels entertaining all manner of debauchery lined the streets. It surprised you to find people going through this place during the day. You always assumed people came at night to avoid awkward questions or suspicions. You supposed that must be only you.

"And now, my love, our final stop of the day," he smiled at you, bringing you to the doorstep of one brothel.

"A brothel?" You laughed in disbelief. "Surely, you are not serious. Aegon, we're in the middle of the street. There are people around and we're not disguised.”

"So? People will recognize us disguised or not," he shrugged. "Besides, nobody will see what I'm going to do to you behind these doors. Madam Rosetta's establishment is very discreet."

"I doubt that."

He used the curved metal knocker and waited. In seconds a woman answered the door. Her brown curly hair pinned up, she wore several necklaces and rings with her loose fitting tunic. She smiled coyly at Aegon.

"My King," she bowed her head, "Such a pleasure to see you again. How can my girls and I help you?"

"I wish to show my lady your establishment. I believe she'll enjoy it far more than any other on the street," he said, wrapping his arm around your waist.

Madam Rosetta looked over at you with interest. You forced yourself to keep eye contact even though you imagined everything she must be thinking. "Ah, I see. Well, we're always eager to please our guests, no matter their parts," she winked at you and your stomach fluttered. "Step right in, Your Grace."

Aegon let you walk inside first. A wide room of plush furniture and colorful drapes over the open windows, women who wore close to nothing moved about the room. They kept their bodies on full display for the male guests occupying the room, but you did your best not to draw attention to it. You did not know what to do. You suddenly felt overdressed in a room of half naked people. Standing awkwardly as Aegon spoke with Madam Rosetta, you spotted two women dancing on a platform in the center of the room. They both wore harnesses of thin gold chains, revealing their full nakedness underneath. Your eyes glued to them in intrigue. One woman bent her body completely backwards, so her lower half was exposed to the room while her head touched the floor.

"Doesn't that hurt?" You bursted out before you stopped yourself. "Bending so far like that?"

The woman, with jade green eyes and fiery red curls, laughed at your innocence. "Not that much, my lady," she said, kneeling back up, "I'm very flexible." She twirled around so her legs spread out in a split. Your cheeks grew hot and you looked away. "Do not be shy, lovely," she said, crawling over to you. "There is nothing wrong with nakedness.” She rolled her hips again until she sat in front of you, legs closed but knees drawn up. “What brings you to our little home, my lady? I hope it is for what so many do come for.”

You gulped, then said, “My…Well…” your tongue tied itself in your mouth, and your brain swam. Perhaps you drank more than you thought. Perhaps it’s the woman’s dazzling eyes watching you closely.

“I take it this is your first time here?”

“In a brothel at all.”

“In that case,” she knelt up so you saw the full extent of her, “Allow me to give you a nice, warm welcome to The Red Rosetta. Is there something specific you’d like, my lady?” she moved closer to you. “Would you like to touch me or should I touch you?

"Well, uh, um, well, I…I’ve never…”

"I’ll teach you, sweetling,” She tucked a hair behind your ear, and said, "If coin is the matter, then you can keep it. I never charge my female customers."

You stood flustered by her attention. "It appears you've met Lia, Your Grace," Rosetta came up beside you with Aegon behind her. "As you can see, she's very friendly to new customers. Do you enjoy women, Your Grace?"

"Um, uh, well, I've never-" you looked between Lia and Rosetta.

Rosetta chuckled fondly, "Have no fear, Your Grace. Every woman who comes here is a novice in the pleasurable arts. But believe me, they leave experts."

You gulped and suddenly the entire room felt suffocating. Your eyes looked to Aegon, who smiled amusedly as he sipped from a wine cup. It’d be like him to bring you here; you should not be so surprised. Madam Rosetta took you by the hand gently and led you away from Lia, who pouted and continued her dancing routine. Aegon came up behind you as the madam gave you a tour of her brothel.

"We can invite her to join us if you like," Aegon said in your ear. "I'd love to watch you with another woman."

"Uh, well, I don't know if…" you fiddled with the belt around your waist, playing with the fabric between your fingers. The idea of you nude with anyone other than Aegon gave you sweaty palms. Aegon constantly admired you when you undressed, but you imagined not many others would. "I've…I didn't even consider that before…"

"We don't have to," he assured you. "We can keep it only us. I prefer it that way," he pecked your shoulder comfortingly, "I already share you with Aemond."

Madam Rosetta led you into a level below the brothel. Long sheets hung from the ceiling to form a path through the wide room. You could hear moans and groans come from behind the curtains; people walked around fully nude, making you even hotter under your clothes. Aegon slipped his hands over your hips, giving them a slight squeeze, not stopping to let you have a proper look around. You'd never been in such a place. People moved about without a care of who saw them. Women coupled with women, and men with men. No nosey ladies in their gossip circles. No judgemental, hypocritical lords looking down their noses at you. Only strangers who relished in the pleasures Madam Rosetta’s offered. Aegon’s hands slowly ran around your waist, fingers sliding between the rolls to kiss your neck as he squeezed. You cursed the man for knowing every weakness in your body.

"A private view for you, Your Grace," Rosetta said, leading them to what was a small dark room. I'll have wine brought in," she winked at you, then walked away.

Aegon let you walk into the room first. You only saw an armchair, an end table and wall sconces on the walls. Turning to Aegon in confusion, you watched him light the candles on the wall so faint light filled the small room. He started unclasping his jerkin, his eyes casting over you. Anticipation shivered down your body and warmed between your thighs. You moved to unclasp your bodice but he stopped you.

"No, no, love," he whispered. "Allow me."

He sat down in front of you, and began unbuttoning it from the side. The excitement in you boiled simply watching him carefully undress you. Sliding off the first layer, you stood in your corset, chemise and stockings. Aegon groaned softly, hands running up the sides of your thighs as he kissed from your stomach to your hips. You held onto his shoulder for support, your knees trembling from his featherlight touches. That was when you noticed a hole right beside Aegon casting light into the dark corner of the room. You were about to ask him about it but then he slid the long shift above your thighs. Soft kisses fell on every inch of skin Aegon uncovered, occasionally biting or sucking a certain spot to make you whimper.

"Sweet lady," he breathed, standing to untie your corset from behind, "How I have craved you," He kissed down your neck to your shoulder while loosening the strings, "How I have yearned to feel your luscious body and kiss your sweet lips." He slipped the corset off you, exhaling deeply when he saw you in only your shift. "How I have been thinking about being inside you," he pulled you into his arms, "For days and days and days."

"I'm here right now," you whispered, kissing him lightly. "You may have me however you wish, Your Grace," you let his title linger in the sultry tone. Your sex pulsed as his hands found your shift and lifted it off you. "Wherever you may wish," you emphasized, pushing your hips to his.

"Is that so?"

"You’ve spoiled me today with your surprises and kisses," you reasoned, pouting sweetly. You let your fingertips go down his soft body to his breeches. You enjoyed his body just as much as he enjoyed yours. You lifted his undershirt underneath his jerkin to feel the tender muscles. "It is the least I could do for my generous king."

He gulped when you started untying his breeches below. Aegon palmed both your breasts, cupping them so they spilled over his hands. Gently kissing over each one, Aegon hummed against your nipple when you finally undid his trousers. You could feel his cock throb before you withdrew it, and a distinct wetness pooled between your legs. You briefly remembered this morning by the cliff. Your mouth watered recalling how that cock slid so easily into your mouth, leaving traces of precum on your tongue each stroke. Tugging down his breeches, you stroked the semi-hardness slowly. His cock twitched at your touch, and Aegon growled. Aegon’s tongue began flicking the hardened peaks of your nipples, so your arousal matched his own. He returned to his seat and brought you into his lap, your back against his chest so his hands could still roam your front. The worry you may be hurting him crossed your mind, but Aegon always handled you well. Unlike his brother, Aegon’s body seemed built to carry yours.

He claimed to like the weight on him.

“Look through the hole,” he whispered, grabbing both your breasts again and pinching your nipples.

You did. In the opposite room, you saw Lia with a male customer. She rolled around on her back, spreading her legs so he may see her. The man, rugged and lean, awed at the sight of her slender, soft body under his own. He slid his hands up her thighs, then her stomach and to her breasts. You whimpered seeing him suckle her nipples one at a time; you saw his tongue swipe over each of them so she whined. It felt wrong to be watching a private moment this way, yet you found yourself enjoying it. Aegon’s lips on your neck and hands grabbing your breasts, your center throbbed even more. You rolled your ass into the hard cock poking you, and listened to Aegon withholding a moan.

Lia kept herself open as her customer slipped himself inside her swiftly. You listened to her soft moans through the wall, and you continued rubbing your pussy on Aegon’s length. Aegon used a knee to push your thighs apart. While Lia’s customer pounded hips into her, Aegon started lightly tapping his fingers over your clitoris. The gentle sensations vibrated through your body every time a finger touched the delicate spot between your folds. It nearly drove you mad. You squirmed in Aegon’s lap, his cock pushing between your buttocks and bringing a whole different torture. Looking back through the hole, Lia’s customer still continued rutting into her hips. You saw the way she grabbed her breasts and touched herself while the man focused on his own pleasure. Her moans aroused you more, seeing her in the throws of passion all her own. Aegon’s needy whimpers in one ear, with Lia’s drawn out groans in the other, you desperately needed more. You put your hand over Aegon’s, and guided him around your soaked sex. Your juices spread over each fold between, you could feel your entrance fluttering from all the need inside you. Aegon’s member standing fully erect, you squeaked as the tip touched your sex. Keeping a hand around your throat, Aegon gave a soft squeeze as he rubbed his tip over it over and over. Your desperation made you quake each time your bodies touched.

“Take me,” you muttered in his ear, “Please. Take me how you’d take her.”

He pulled your legs further apart, each ankle struggling to stay in the spots on the edge of the chair, and shoved into you. However, it was not the wet, clenching spot that undid you in minutes. It was the part he’d wanted since you left the carriage. Your eyes widened, and your muscles went rigid at the sudden entry. Aegon knew what he was doing, though he feigned ignorance.

“Do not fret, love,” he said, dotting kisses across your shoulder and sliding his fingers over your core. “I’ll be gentle with you. You know I always am.”

He added extra pleasure by pushing two fingers inside you, going at the same pace as his length. Your walls tensed around the two digits, while a thumb circled your clit relentlessly. You stayed as still as possible, allowing him access to your body. The taboo act elevated your arousal higher; you imagined what people might think hearing you allowed The King to have you in such a way. You bet most of those uptight, dried up crones never heard of such things. Letting Aegon have this forbidden, foreign part of you brought you closer to him. You locked your arms around his, grabbing onto his shirt sleeves as you looked back through the peephole. Lia laid on all four, dark ginger curls swaying with her breasts in each thrust. You thought of her between you and Aegon, trapped in your embrace as you explored her. Mayhaps one day you’ll consider it.

Aegon’s shaky breaths signaled his incoming orgasm; he pushed his fingers as deep as they’d go, curling inside you to that middle spot in your body. You damned him for knowing your body so well. You damned yourself for letting him know them. His hand back on your throat, he started pushing as far as he could into your bottom at the same time. Shuddering in his grasp, your body arched as his fingers started pumping faster, his cock doing the same. You thought you may explode from the bouts of pleasure coursing through you. Aegon’s grip on your throat tightened as he sporadically pumped into you; it blocked your breath slightly, and you actually enjoyed the restraint and denial. You glanced back into the hole to see Lia still on her front, her customer grunting and sweating above her. You sensed a climax, whether real or fake, coming slowly out of her. Your own soon joined hers.

“Yes, yes, just like that,” Aegon grunted, stuffing himself fully into you while fingering you rapidly. “I love hearing you moan like that. Keep doing it. Do it for me. Do it for your fucking King.”

His words sent you over the edge. Not having anything but his fingers, your orgasm came white-hot from within you. Aegon’s hand kept your screams from reaching full volume, restricting your airway more as breath became harder to find. You thought you might pass out in his arms. Aegon soon followed you, his hot semen spilling inside you. The most feral parts of your fantasies wished he’d been in your cunt, his seed swimming further inside to your womb, where it roots itself. Then, you’d have a reason to annul your marriage. You’d have a way to be with Aegon in more ways than physical. But, you’d settle for this for now.

Shakily, you came down from the high and Aegon released your throat. You took lungfuls of air as your muscles turned to jelly in his arms. The pain in your muscles slowly became more apparent, and you didn’t want to stand right away. Though, you worried Aegon might want to.

“Am I-”

“-No,” he exhaled, shaking his head, “I like it. I hope you’re not in too much pain. I know it was…a bit sudden.”

“It was,” you laughed breathily. “I’m sure it will be fine soon. It was the last time.”

You sat up a minute for him to withdraw from you, then you sat back in his lap. Lia’s own climax sounded throughout the room next door, high pitched and far too enthusiastic for the pace her customer took. You recognized the falsehood right away. She must pretend very often. You could never imagine doing such a thing with Aegon, who brought you so much pleasure each and every time.

“I know it is not the grandest of places,” Aegon said, “But it’s one of the few places where I can have you like this.” He hugged you to his chest and kissed you. “With nobody listening but the people who’ve heard it all before. I wanted to bring you here so we have a place to share together.”

“It’s a brothel, Aegon,” you sighed, eyes closing.

“Which can be ours,” he said.

You managed to stand on aching legs, stretching yourself out and yawning. The plunge he’d taken made you wince slightly, and you couldn’t help feeling it when you walked. It reminded you of the first time. Aegon sat in the chair, peeping into the hole for a second. His eyes swept back over your naked form, and you turned away shyly. Even after all the times you laid together, his attention to your body still made you bashful. You never met a man who admired you as Aegon did. You saw him slowly stroking his flaccid cock, staring intently at you in the dim light.

“You cannot want to so soon,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“I do,” he said, rubbing his thumb over his tip. His eyes landed on your thighs, and he squeezed his cock. “Come back over here. Let me worship you properly now.”

“In this little room?” you breathed, coming back over to him. “That chair is far too uncomfortable.”

“My room it is, then.”

“You have a room here? Why did we not go there?” you asked, watching him stand and tuck himself into his pants. You picked up your chemise for coverage.

“I wanted to do something new for your nameday,” he smiled, coming to you and pecking your lips. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I did,” you told him, “But I think next time we will stick to a wider space, no?”

“If you insist, my love.”

You grabbed your clothes before Aegon whisked you from the room and back up into the main brothel floor. On tired legs, you followed him to a room upstairs. Much more spacious, the red walls were decorated with provocative art of naked women in various positions. It had a large, comfortable bed with white sheets, a dining table, and a small seating area. Seeing the pitcher and fruits left on the table, Madam Rosetta anticipated you’d both move upstairs. Flopping down on the soft mattress, letting yourself sink into the softness, you felt it shift as Aegon climbed on top of you. Carefully, you rolled onto your back and let him undress you a second time.

“One rule in my room,” he murmured, kissing you softly, “You must be naked. No exceptions. No arguments. Not a stitch of clothing on you.” He tossed the one layer you wore aside, and gazed over your body once more. Now in the bright sunlight through the windows, he saw you better. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

“I’m not the only one,” you smirked, pulling his shirt out from his pants and slipping it off him. “I’d take yours over Aemond’s hard one any day.” He helped you remove his breeches, so you then fully laid naked together. “So pudgy,” you poked his side, “And soft. It’s like fresh dough.”

“Oi,” he said, faking reproachfulness, “I am not ‘pudgy’. I’m simply a well-fed man.”

You laughed out loud, “Ah, yes. Very well fed.” You pushed him onto his back and straddled him. Your sex grazing him, you couldn’t help winding your hips on his length. Hands on his chest, you felt down to his stomach. While not round, it molded to your fingers. “I quite enjoy it.”

He grasped your sore bottom softly, and smiled, “So do I.”

“This…doesn’t bother you?” you asked suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not hurting you by being on you like this?”

“Far from it, my love,” he grinned, pushing into you so you moaned. “I love having you this way. It gives me a much nicer view of the rest of you.” He reached down between you both and slid himself against your clit. The sensitivity there spiked when the spongy head touched you, rolling around your sex. “Because you being completely lost in complete bliss is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Let me see it again, sweet princess. Let me pleasure you as you deserve to be pleasured.”

“Yes,” you panted, staying stiff as you focused on the little spark of pleasure and pain. “Yes, please, love.”

He slipped back into your wetness this time. He gripped at your thighs, gripping the dimples and curves he came upon while you rocked yourself on him. His entire length fully inside you, you could feel his girth stretch you. The cum he’d left in your backside leaked from you now, you believed, and onto the sack underneath you. You should’ve cleaned up before this, but you could not bring yourself to care. You’d worry over the consequences later. Soon, you began riding Aegon, skin smacking skin each time your body met his. He brought you forward onto your hands, so your breasts hung in his face. Sucking and licking your nipples, Aegon slapped your buttocks and gripped them tightly. The sharp stings added to your desire, making you want more.

The second time took a bit longer than the previous two times. Aegon rolled you onto your sides, lifting a leg over his hip as he thrusted inside you. You both panted words of love and sweet nothings as you pinched and teased each other however you could. When he found your climax, he chased it down until your muffled cries filled his ear. Right as he came, he withdrew from you and stroked himself over your breasts. Hot, sticky, and thick, droplets fell on your chest and leaked down the sides. This time, you laid still as Aegon cleaned you with a cloth and pecked your lips.

“I don’t want to leave yet,” you told him, not releasing him from your embrace.

“I did not plan to leave,” he chuckled softly, flat on his back and taking gulps of air. “I’d choose this room over any place in the Red Keep.” He turned his head, and said, “I’ll call for a bath for us. You can enjoy the wine and food while we wait.”

“Sounds delightful.”

You pulled the sheets around your body as you left the bed. Aegon went to the door, calling for the attendant, while you poured wine and gulped it down. It’d been a lovely end to Aegon’s surprise day trip. You knew you’d have to leave eventually, since you both must attend the feast, but you preferred to stay there for the time being. Coming back to the Red Keep leaking Aegon’s seed, sweaty, and stinking of sex is not how you wish to greet your family. You’d nibbled on a piece of cheese as Aegon returned to you, wearing his own sheet around his waist.

“What do you think your mother is going to say?” you asked him, “After she saw us in the theatre.”

“Probably scold me for being so affectionate in front of people, and how I am bringing you more shame by continuing this relationship with you,” he sighed, pouring himself wine. “She’ll tell me that you’re still Aemond’s wife regardless of what has gone on between you two. She’ll say that I am making the situation worse by adoring you above everything else in the world.” He took a gulp of wine, “I want to tell her that she should be glad.”

“Why?”

“Because the only reason I bother allowing Beesbury to fund her charity work is you,” he winked, stealing a piece of cheese from you with a wicked grin.

“I fear what she will say to me,” you said, leaning into your chair. “It is us women who are glared at situations like this. It is me those at court speak of whenever it’s brought into conversation.” You crossed your arms, “I wish it would end.”

“Perhaps one day it might.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “The Gods work in mysterious ways. You never know whose prayers they may listen to.”

You thought back to the play, where King Raelor said he prayed for his brother’s demise. It struck you that life may be imitating art or possibly art imitating life. “True,” you nodded, sipping from your wine, “We never know.”

Two footmen brought in a large tub to place by the fireplace, and two young girls brought in multiple buckets of hot water. You and Aegon ate your fill of food, then you each stepped into the tub. Your back against the cushioned edge of the tub, letting the warm water soothe your aching body, Aegon settled between your legs. The fragrant scent of jasmines lifted through the steaming water, filling your nose and lungs. Aegon gently ran a cloth over your skin, washing himself from every inch he reached whilst peppering you with kisses. Soon, you did the same for him. You ran the scented oils through his hair, and washed him from top to bottom. It’d been difficult maneuvering in the wide tub, but nothing neither of you could not manage. You tried not focusing on his groin too much, but you couldn’t help at least touching him with the cloth. He did the same to you, claiming he needed to make sure he’d washed you thoroughly.

When you’d finally finished, your fingers and toes pruned and the water turned tepid. Aegon and you dried each other by the crackling fireplace, still exploring and kissing one another on the carpet.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, the words slipping from you before you realized you’d said them. Even after saying it the first time, you worried about the reaction. “I love you, Aegon,” you repeated with more certainty.

He rubbed your cheek and asked, “Do you?”

“I do.”

“You’re certain of this?” he asked, anxious you might be saying it to soothe him.

“Very. I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” you said reassuringly. You took his hand to kiss his knuckles, then gave it a soft squeeze. “And you love me, don’t you?”

He hesitated, simply staring over your face before he said, “You’ve bewitched me.” He pecked your lips softly, “You’ve lured me in with your gorgeous eyes, and trapped me with your sweet smile. You are a true enchantress, and I am forever your slave,” he slid on top of you and slipped his arms under yours. “Before this day is done, I will prove my love and loyalty to you, I swear it.”

“What do you mean?” you asked curiously.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he said. He glanced to a corner of the room, then back to you, “How about a game of cards? I keep a deck here for occasions like this.”

“Alright, but one round,” you told him.

Aegon retrieved the cards, then you both sat on the bed where Aegon dealt the cards. You’d intended on two or three rounds, but the longer you went on, the eager you were to beat him. The attendants brought in more food and wine per Aegon’s request, which you picked from while doing your best to beat Aegon at his favorite game. After you’d given up on the eighth round, you tossed the cards aside and demanded a game of chess. You knew with a few cups of wine in him, Aegon’s attention span runs short and strategy games will escape him. But, your lover knew you too well.

“You only suggest chess because you know you’ll win,” he smirked, tipsy and slurring his words as he kissed you.

Seeing the orange and yellow sky outside, you sighed in defeat. The small world you and Aegon created was too sweet to leave, but you must. You knew your family would wish to see you before the celebrations begin at The Keep. Having experienced a world completely opposite from what you knew made you less inclined to leave. In this world, in this room in a brothel, it is only you and Aegon. A special, intimate comfort can be found under the sheets, beside the cozy fires and on the loveseats and chairs. On the streets of Hill Square and down Mummer’s Alley, you found a place that only you and Aegon ever traveled. Aemond never shared such private, closely guarded things with you. You’d seen Aegon’s world, and quickly became a part of it.

“We must go, love,” you told him, running a hand through his messy curls, “Night will soon be upon us and our families must be wondering where we’ve run off to.”

“Maybe yours is,” he said. “I suspect mine will expect me to not return at all.”

“Prove them wrong then,” you told him. “Come back with me, and show them all that you are capable of performing your kingly duties.”

“I’ve drunk far too much to present myself to anyone right now.”

“Sleep it off at home,” you said. You slid away from him regretfully, and picked up your scattered clothes. “I’d like you to be at my feast.”

“I would not miss it for anything,” he replied, leaving the bed and gathering his own clothes. “Considering all the other things I have in store for you, I need to be there.”

“How many surprises do you have left?” you asked, a bit taken aback by the statement. Slipping into your shift, you left your corset behind and pulled on your gown without it. “Is a dragon ride, a picnic, a play, a city tour, and a brothel stay not enough?”

“No,” he stated proudly. “I have not given you your gifts.”

“Gifts? As in more than one?”

“Precisely.” He pulled on his shirt, and stumbled trying to put on his breeches. “Is it wrong for a man to shower his beloved with presents?” He quickly kissed you.

“You’ve done enough for me already.”

“Eh, I believe differently.” He helped you with your bodice buttons, and bent to help you into your shoes. “I love you and I want to show everyone that.”

You smiled at him, your heart thumping in your chest as you kissed him. You finished dressing, and you bid farewell to Madam Rosetta. Leaving the flowery scented air for King’s Landings muck-ridden streets hit your senses like bricks. You and Aegon walked through the street, arm-in-arm as always, and took in the sights of Hill Square once more. The night time crowd appeared to be invading the popular area, going between vendors and coming and going from the taverns and shops. Aegon took two small mince pies from an elderly woman outside a bakery window, and you ate them as you reached the theater again. Even though you’d already seen it, the idea of seeing Raelor and Maelis once more tempted you. Then you quickly remembered your family and the feast. You’d at least be hearing Flynn Lightfingers sing again, which cheered you up considerably.

Aegon held you during the carriage ride home. The wine made you both at ease, snuggled close together as the carriage gently rocked and rolled down the street. The day’s events wore you out entirely. You wished for nothing but a short sleep before the feast began. But, as a princess, expectations far outweigh any desires you may have.

As is the way of things in a court of snakes.

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