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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 7 months

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What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting

Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.

Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.

When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

Now he was returning home – in haste.

He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.

But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.

She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.

It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.

For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…

That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.

She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.

So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.

Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.

Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.

That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.

Aemond was here.

Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.

Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.

“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.

Her smile did not last.

Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.

A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.

Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.

She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.

He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”

She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”

Still, she did not move.

“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.

He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”

Ever since, he’d been calling her little.

First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.

Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.

Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.

“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.

For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.

Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.

Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.

Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.

Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.

It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.

She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.

Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.

Always little.

Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.

Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.

Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.

Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She gave no answer.

He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”

“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”

His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.

“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”

Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?

“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.

His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”

She shook her head. “The war is not over.”

“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”

“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”

She wanted him to be the one to say it.

Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”

She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.

But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.

He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.

It broke something within her.

She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”

Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.

Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.

But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.

“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.

His child.

Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?

Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.

He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.

“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”

“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.

She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.

“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”

With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”

When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.

The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”

She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her. “Will you tell me who else?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.

With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She was so tired.

She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.

After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.

“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”

She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.

“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”

He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.

Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.

Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.

It did not fit as well as it used to.

If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”

The world fell silent, and so did she.

If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.

She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.

Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.

All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”

She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”

Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”

She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…

“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”

Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”

It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.

And yet…

“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’

“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”

His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.

“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”

He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.

But it had been half a year for her, too.

Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.

She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.

Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.

“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”

She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”

His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…

He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.

It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.

“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.

Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…

Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.

This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.

He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.

“Did you hold Alys like this?”

Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”

“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”

Silence, then…

“Yes, I did.”

She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.

“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.

Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”

“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”

He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.

Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.

“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.

Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.

She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.

Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.

That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he closed the door, and was gone.

But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.

Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.

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festive · 1 year

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Always n Forever ꕤ

a story in which, Morax has always had his eyes on you, one of Guizhong’s priestess — after a long battle and the succession of defending Guili plains, she allows him to have his way with you as a reward.

wc: 5.6k (sorry!)

contents+warnings: fem!reader, heavy breeding, mating presses, marking, overstimulation, cum eating, female!reader, monsterfucking, anal, vaginal penetration, use of aphrodisiacs, dubcon(?), size kink, slight spoilers(?), blowjobs, reincarnation. (This kinda follows the what if theory that Ningguang is the reincarnation of Guizhong.) HALF DRAGON ZHONGLI!

a/n: this has been sitting in my docs for about a month, posting it for @thicksimpx 🫶🏼 anyways, thank you to my beta readers: @manjiroscum @bubble4u & @gabzlovesu 💗

Men, women, children, and even adepti gather in the plains of Guili for this night of repose — gathering around the trees that were birthed from the earth while they sing songs of victory underneath the golden leaves as the gods sit high above.

“The Guili assembly has grown quite significantly,” Guizhong muses. There’s a smile on her face as she fondly watches the humans rejoice in victory below. Some of them were born here, while others sought refuge after losing their homes in the war — Guizhong loved them all the same. “And even though this victory is temporary, I wish all nights could be like this.”

And although Guizhong is talking, her companion, Morax, does not say anything. Instead, he takes a sip of his wine from his dish as he watches intently below — his gaze focused on the form of a woman, carefully stringing along her guzheng as children crowd around her.

From the corner of her eye, Guizhong catches a glimpse of Morax hunched over, his chin resting in his palms as he focuses on something other than her.

“Is there something on your mind? I’ve never seen you so focused,” Guizhong teases, taking a sip of her wine. “Or perhaps someone?”

Guizhong follows his gaze, and amongst the crowd of faces, she’s able to spot you. That’s when she pieces two and two together.

It doesn’t take a god to see the attraction that Morax has to you. It hasn’t gone unnoticed by Guizhong either, the way his eyes always search for you whenever he steps foot in her temple.

“Morax,” Guizhong sings as she rocks back and forth in her seat, the contents of her drink spilling from the dish. There’s an all-knowing look on her face.

Morax merely grunts, looking at her with a blank expression.

“Have you perhaps taken an interest in one of my maidens,”

Morax doesn’t say anything. He’d rather not tell her how he’s been watching you for ages and how something about your softness moved even his war-hardened self, your kind deeds towards others never going unnoticed by the lord of geo. But Guizhong is not stupid — nothing gets past her crimson gaze.

Even Cloud Retainer muses beside the lord of dust. She shifts her attention towards the small adepti in her arms, the chubby horned child bouncing in glee.

“I can tell by the glint in your eyes, my old friend,”

If Morax was the brawns behind Liyue, then it was without a doubt that Guizhong was the brains. He looks at her — his eyebrows furrowing.

“Am I really that easy to read,” Morax asks, earning a response from his peer.

“I’ve known you for centuries, Morax,”

Both gods watch from afar as you and the rest of Guizhong’s maidens pass out food to the others, the sound of laughter carrying through the air.

“You know, Morax. Humans’ lives are feeble. What’s a year to us is almost an eternity to humans.”

There’s a pregnant pause, Morax’s attention shifting back to your form in the distance.

“I am a god of war, not a god of love. I know nothing about the affairs of the heart,”

Guizhong sighs, thinking of ways to get the two of you together until it dawns on her. “I’ll have my daughters prepare for the night tomorrow. You will meet her in my shrine.”

Morax turns towards the ash-haired woman as he quirks a brow. She merely smiles in response. “Think of this as a reward, a temporary arrangement for the success of defending our lands.”

There’s a curtain of silence that befalls the room, not a single word uttered as you’re placed in front of an expensive vanity lined with costly jewels and desirable ores. You fidget in your seat, and the wooden stool beneath you creaks at the movement.

“My lady, must I really do this?” You ask with a slight edge to your tone, your eyes wandering nervously from your reflection in the mirror to her.

An uneasy feeling bubbles in your stomach as you wait for Guizhong to answer — and if she could notice your change in demeanor, she did a great job at pretending she didn’t. But then again, she’s a god, and you’re a human. She could never understand the anxiety you’re feeling even if you were to voice your concerns. The divine being would never feel even an ounce of your uncertainty. Thus one of the pros of being a god, you think.

Guizhong drags the brush along your eyelid, perfectly lining your eyes as she carries the crimson shade of red across your skin. The after result gives you a charming but soft look.

“Relax, my child, everything will be alright,” Guizhong’s voice is soft. She dips the brush she was using into a sticky mixture before dipping it into the bowl that contains the red substance. Then, bringing it to your mouth, she traces it along your lips.

If your goddess said it’s going to be alright, then you suppose it’s best to trust her. After all, you owe her your life, considering she took you in after the providence was destroyed — gave you a status, fed you, and raised you like you were her own.

When Guizhong pulls away, you steal glances in the mirror, admiring her handiwork from every angle. She laughs when she catches you. “We’re not quite done yet,”

She walks away, and you can hear her rumbling with something, whatever it was, clanked and rattled. When she returned, she stood behind you — draping an expensive-looking necklace around your neck, the weight of it nearly causing your shoulders to slump.

But it was beautiful, a pure gold chain with noctilous jade and cor lapis decorating it, and even in the candle-lit room — those gems glimmered in the light.

“Wow,”

Guizhong hums, “hold still,” she holds another expensive piece of jewelry in her hands, this time a gold crested ornament.

Weaving the ornament in your hair, Guizhong adjusts it to her liking — the decoration resting proudly on your head.

“And for the finishing touches, take these,”

The goddess smiles, tying a pouch around your wrist — you turn your head. “What’s this?”

“A fragrance pouch, it contains the petals of freshly bloomed flowers, and drenched in the essence that secretes from mist flower corollas,”

Sniffing your wrist to confirm, the aroma is intense and overwhelming. Although it’s pleasant, it’s almost enough to make you gag.

“And this?” You question, holding a clear pouch in your palm — the contents of it being a thick concoction of some sort.

“A salve,” Guizhong giggles, “consists of slime extractions, herbs, and water, don’t worry Morax will know how to use it,”

You nod, deciding to not pry further on what she meant by that.

“And before you go, drink this,”

Guizhong pushes a stone cup into your hands that holds a red liquid — the substance sloshing around the rim as she gestures for you to drink it.

You don’t question it, putting your utmost faith in your goddess; there’s a bitter taste that lingers on your tongue after you swallow down the drink — you assume it’s some medicine.

“Your beauty rivals even the divine,” Guizhong says, watching as you spin in the mirror, her hands ghosting over your waist.

You’re slightly embarrassed. The garments she picked out looked expensive, exotic even — were these really tailored just for you? A lowly priestess. The colors Guizhong hand-picked for you were gorgeous, complimenting your skin beautifully. Although you had wished the clothing wasn’t so revealing, the only thing covering your more sacred areas were the little undergarments that barely hid anything.

“May I ask you something,” Guizhong places her hands on your shoulders, her touch soft against your skin.

“What is it, my lady,”

“Tell me, what do you think of Morax,”

You think for a bit, remembering the few instances you’ve shared with said man, “I think he’s nice,”

“Nice?” Guizhong laughs. It’s gentle and soft.

“He compliments my singing and praises my ability to play my guzheng,” You say, recalling the times he’s sat with you among the rocks listening to you play. “And, he tells me stories,” you hadn’t even realized that you were smiling thinking of your time together.

“I see,”

Guizhong smiles. It’s gentle and caring. She places a hand on the small of your back before leading you out of your sleeping chambers — escorting you past the central area of the shrine, down to the lower compartments that were used for temporarily harboring guests.

“My dear, I pray you never change,”

You’re confused about what she means, but you don’t dwell on it — your goddess speaks typically in riddles and rhymes, never giving you a clear answer even when you ask.

You shift your attention, your sleeves dragging across the flooring have you huffing and puffing, an amused expression dawning on Guizhong’s face.

The room she had you placed in was magnificent, even prettier than your own — the bed was more significant, and the fabrics that rested upon it varied from exotic-looking silks to other materials you don’t even recognize.

Even the ground beneath you was soft; looking down, you notice the intrinsic designs of the rug under you — you wonder what nation this was imported from.

There’s a vanity across the room, it’s enormous — with flowers placed neatly in a vase, and there’s a thin wave of smoke that dances through the air, radiating from the incense that rested next to the vase alongside a few candles.

There’s a familiar scent in the air, and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but before you can figure it out, there’s a loud clicking noise — turning around, you see that your goddess is gone, the door shut tightly behind her.

It’s almost unsettling how quiet it is. Only the sound of the incense burning keeps you company. You sit on the bed anxiously as you fiddle your thumbs in anticipation while waiting for the guest of honor to arrive.

There’s a tingling sensation in your lower regions, and you rub your thighs together to help relieve the feeling. Still, to no avail — your body feels like it’s heating up. So, finally, you pull the sleeves down so they’re slightly hanging off your shoulders.

You hadn’t even realized that the man you were waiting for had already arrived, his tail dragging behind him as he stood in the doorway. His golden eyes scanned your body — sizing you up with a carnal desire.

“M—morax,” You stutter in embarrassment as you straighten yourself out, rubbing down any creases of your robe.

You’ve never really seen this much of the lord of geo. But, of course, serving his companion’s court instead didn’t give you much time, especially considering your status. it wasn’t rare for you to see his face. Still, every time you did, it was fleeting, leaving hardly enough time to remember his beauty — but here, now, you’re able to admire his features.

He’s handsome, you think, the lighting accentuating his looks. His piercing eyes glowed a dim gold, and even his hair was beautiful, long, and smooth brown locks that transitioned to a lighter color nearing the ends with a set of horns protruding through the top of his head that curved inward.

You’re not quite sure where to look, feeling like a pervert with how hard you’re staring. Morax is clad in nothing but a white garb tied around his waist, revealing his well-sculpted body, the scars he’s received from battles — and the markings that came with being the Geo Archon.

The more you stare at his arms, the more flustered you become — brown and gold scales, with markings that decorate the bulging muscles that resided underneath and resting at his shoulders.

You allow your eyes to roam lower, staring at the golden geo sigil that rested on his lower abdomen — right below his stomach, wedged between the patches of scales that resided on either side.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d been staring for so long if it wasn’t for the deep hum that left Morax’s chest.

There’s a hand on Morax’s face as he admires the choice of clothing Guizhong’s picked out for you on this occasion. You’re clad in little to nothing. The flimsy, transparent robe did nothing to cover the white undergarments underneath.

He doesn’t say a word when he stalks towards you, nor when he places a hand upon your body — trailing his limbs lower until they land on the outline of your robe, his touch is rough as he takes the thin material between his claws, before ripping it to sheds, leaving the remains scattered across the bed as he strips you down to your undergarments.

Morax grabs at your chin, forcing you to look at him, and when you stare back with your gentle, doe-like eyes, The lord of geo finds himself with the sudden urge to ruin you, to break down the pristine priestess that Guizhong had made you and rebranding you as his own.

Golden eyes stare at you with such intensity that you can’t help but feel nervous, he hasn’t said anything while he is staring into your face, and it’s beginning to make you feel self-conscious, but as soon as he pulls his hands away, a wave of relief washes over you as a soft sigh falls from your lips.

And for a moment, you feel a temporary relief as the cool air fans against your warm body.

“On your back,” The authority in Morax’s tone left no room for rebuttal. You do as you’re told and lay against the bed, propped up on some pillows.

The mattress creaks as Morax slots himself between your thighs — his long reptilian-like tongue tracing along your folds, coating them in his saliva while he teases your slit.

You shiver, the coolness against your cunt sending shocks of pleasure down your spine. You gasp as soon as you feel him dip his slimy appendage inside.

“Morax,” you moan, his tongue delving deeper inside you — rubbing against your walls deliciously. Morax hums, and you can feel the vibrations in your core.

The longer he spends between your legs, the more your body quivers and writhes underneath him, not sure where to grab — your hands land on his horns. Morax pauses for a minute, and you can feel him flinch under your touch before he resumes.

You’re curious, giving the base of his horns a squeeze to elicit another reaction. You rest your palms against the base before guiding them to the tips in a stroking manner — this time, he groans, grinding his face deeper into your cunt as both his arms wrap underneath you, forcing you closer to him as he savors your taste.

And savors, he does. Morax thinks you taste divine, better than any wine Liyue has to offer, and your moans only drive him further to continue drinking up everything you have to offer as his tail swishes side to side, hitting the ground with a thump.

Morax places his thumbs upon your womb, tracing the flesh with his sharp claws — an outline of a geo sigil forming underneath his touch, unlike his own, it’s dull, but that doesn’t stop him from rubbing over it, basking in how your skin feels soft against his own before he squeezes down into the marking causing you to whimper.

There’s a foreign sensation in your lower stomach that has your mind growing fuzzy while specks of white litter your sight — the feeling only getting worse, it’s becoming harder to focus, and the hold you have on his horns loosens.

He knows you’re close, he can tell, bringing a finger to your aching clit — he’s careful of his claws, and slowly, he rubs circles into your swollen bundle of nerves.

“M—Morax,” You cry as you close your eyes, coating his face with your slick as you cum — but he doesn’t let up, not when your cunt is producing more and more slick, some of which spills from his mouth. His tongue is still deep inside you as he laps at your core, and you can feel the tip of his appendage twisting along your walls.

It’s almost embarrassing how loud and lewd his slurping noises are, flustering you even more as the sounds increase in volume.

It’s not until he’s made you cum twice more does he pull away, a mixture of your essence and his saliva dripping from his tongue.

There’s a huge bulge between his legs, the white cloth he had wrapped around him begging to slide off his waist until finally, he discards it, revealing his cock in all its glory.

Morax’s cock was huge, and you stared at it in an odd fascination — the veins on his shaft glowing as they pulsed while the head leaked a golden essence.

I don’t think that’s going to fit, you think, slightly terrified at the idea of that monster penetrating you even with all the slick between your thighs — there’s no way.

The weight of the bed shifts drastically as Morax climbs on top of you, the mattress dipping underneath the combined weight — his body completely dwarfing your own. You’ve never felt this small a day in your life until now. He places a large hand above your head to steady himself, preventing him from crushing you with his overbearing mass.

You can feel the tip of Morax’s cock prod against you. He rubs it along your wet folds — collecting as much slickness as possible to saturate his shaft for an easy push.

As soon as Morax has decided he’s ready, the fat, mushroom tip of his cock disappears between your folds — stretching your poor hole as he forces more of himself inside.

He grunts, “relax,”

Easier said than done, you think, the stretch burns instead uncomfortably, and you’re glad he at least tried to prep you for what's to come.

“My goddess,” You choke, bracing yourself.

Morax halts, his hips coming to a still — there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stares down at your face, “The only god right now is me,” He sneers, the tips of his fangs peeking through his lips like a feral animal.

There’s something exciting about the way Morax looks at you that has the heat rising to your cheeks, igniting something inside you that you didn’t realize was there. “Yes, my god,” you correct yourself, locking eyes with the man above you. For a brief second, he can see the hint of exhilaration flickering in your orbs.

Your submissiveness pleases Morax, causing his cock to stir at the idea of you allowing him to use you as he sees fit — breeding you every day, every hour for the rest of your mortal life span.

“Good girl,” Morax praises, groaning as he finally bottoms out — it’s a tight fit, but it feels as if you were made for him. He’s almost envious of Guizhong for having found you first.

Morax hunches over, the hand above your hand gripping the sheets, and you can hear the faint sounds of them being torn. You wonder if Guizhong will scold him when she finds out.

Morax can barely contain himself as he lets you adjust to his size, it’s taking everything inside him not to aggressively slam into you — conquering your body and claiming it as his own, but he waits. Remembering the conversation Guizhong had with him before.

Do not break her, or else I will break you.

You place your hands on Morax’s biceps, allowing them to wander over the space of his chest. There’s a smile on your face as you look at him.

“I’m ready,”

Morax’s gaze holds a certain softness to it, golden orbs staring at you in affection. He nods.

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, Morax’s pace starts off slow, but his thrusts are deep — the tip of his cock hitting further with each movement as he litters kisses upon your skin that have moans escaping past your lips.

Morax thinks the noises you’re making are cute, determined to hear more — he places a hand upon your chest before sneaking it under the white fabric that concealed them. Carefully he pinches and tweaks with the hardening bud.

He moves away, grabbing at the top of your garment before tearing it off, leaving your chest exposed to the cool air — and although the sudden drop in temperature does nothing to you, your body feels like it’s burning up.

Morax watches in fascination as your chest bounces with each thrust of hips, encouraging him to go faster — the wet sound of skin slapping against skin rings throughout the room.

Morax pushes your legs to your chest, ramming into you with better precision for him to go deeper — to explore more of you.

Wrapping your arms around Morax’s broad back, holding as much as you can as his heavy cock drags along your walls, it’s getting harder to focus on anything other than the way he feels inside you — mainly when his tip grazes against your cervix, the fullness you feel is satisfying.

“More— more,” You whine. It comes out shaky, and who is Morax to deny his favorite mortal the pleasure she’s receiving from him, and only him.

Morax’s thrust becomes more fevered as he brings you closer to the edge, your walls spasming around him as you cum with a cry. His cock twitches and pulsates as he spills his seed inside you — the geo sigil on you finally coming to life and glowing a vibrant gold as he fills your womb.

And even though he just came, he’s still not done, his cock still rock-hard as he continues slamming into you, robbing you of another orgasm.

He’s determined to fill you up with all he has to offer. Even with the mixture of your juices overflowing from your hole and seeping through the sheets below, he’s not finished.

It isn’t until he’s pumped his fourth load into you does he pull away, leaving you a panting mess as thick substances of white spill from your cunt.

It isn’t enough, Morax thinks, even as you lay there, body convulsing in pleasure — he wants more. He wants all you have to offer. He flips you over so that you’re lying on your stomach, he moves your body with ease, repositioning you however he pleases, and it’s not like you’re in any state to protest.

He raises your ass, spreading your plush cheeks with his hands giving him a nice view of your drooling cunt that still leaked with cum, and your other — more exclusive hole.

Morax brings his face closer, tracing your folds with his tongue. You shudder in his embrace and feel him tease your spent hole again. Then, scooping out a mix of cum, the man brings it to your asshole, spitting it out and watching as it delves down the curve of your ass.

You screech, feeling the sudden intrusion in your ass. Morax’s lips pressed against your hole as his tongue dives deeper inside you — loosening up as much as possible for what’s to come next.

But before he continues, he’s reminded of the salve Guizhong had given you that lay discarded on the edge of the bed. You feel him shift above you as he reaches over your body — his arms grabbing at the clear pouch.

There’s a ripping noise that rings in your ears as Morax empties the contents of the pouch into the crack of your ass — you cringe, the thick, slimy mixture feeling cold upon your skin as it travels down the between the crevice of your cheeks, a generous amount coating even your hole.

Your grip on the sheets beneath you tighten, scrunching the silk fabric under your palms — your breathing becomes heavy as you feel the tip of Morax’s cock nudge against your ass as he mounts you.

He spreads your cheeks, guiding his length to your tighter hole before he pushes in — stretch burns at first as his cock forces its way inside, and thanks to the salve, it’s not unbearable.

“Morax,” You cry weakly as you feel him push himself in, completely sheathing himself in your warmth, his heavy balls resting against you.

There’s snot dripping down your nose, and you’re glad he can’t see your face at the moment — you’re sure you look terrible.

“M—move, please,”

Morax is gentler this time, gritting his teeth as he thrusts into you. The hold he has on your hips is less than bruising.

He nearly doubles over, feeling your hole squeeze around him.

“F—fuck,” You cry at the fullness, his cock dragging incredibly slow along your insides — you slam your hips back against his. “Harder, please,”

Morax raises a brow, and here he thought you were but an innocent maiden — being deflowered by a monster. It’s amusing, to say the least.

Morax’s balls slap against your ass with pap noise as he picks up his speed — your moans increase in volume as he builds momentum.

“You feel so good,” You whine, specks of white clouding your vision as your mind becomes hazy. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave, and your body feels like it’s becoming weaker as you fall into the mattress.

Morax wraps his arms around you, supporting your body as he continues fucking you — chasing his own end.

There’s a familiar warmth spreading through your body as he cums, thick globs of white dripping from your ass.

You’re tired, nearly passing out on the pillows until Morax flips you over again. This time you’re on your back as he hovers over your body, knees folded underneath him.

“Do you think we’re done?” He asks, his cock still hard. He aligns it with your mouth, pressing the tip into the softness of your lips. “Open,”

There’s a pause before you do as you’re told, your eyes scanning up and down his length that’s still fully hard. Is this the will of the gods?

You part your lips around his cock, his weight feeling heavy in your mouth.

Slowly, you run your tongue across his shaft — tracing every vein that roams across his cock with your muscle.

You can feel the veins throb underneath your tongue. Morax places a hand on the back of your head, forcing you to take more of him.

Morax looks down at you, sweat dripping from his body as he watches you bob your head up and down his cock, “Just like that, he praises,”

Your jaw feels like it’s on fire as it aches, and you’re not quite sure how much longer you can take this, but you’re determined to please your god.

Your prayers have been answered, and it’s not long before you feel him throb inside your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat — he pulls away.

“Swallow,”

You obey, opening your mouth to show that you’ve swallowed all of him, leaving nothing left in your mouth, and you can still taste him on your tongue — salty but not disgusting.

Morax places a palm on your cheek, stroking it gently, “you’ve done so well, but the night is still young. We won’t stop until my seed seeps from every orifice you own,”

And knowing him, it was a promise. By the end of the night, your body will only know Morax. He’s determined to mold your walls in the shape of his cock, to ruin you for anyone else, no matter how many times you reincarnate — you’ll always yearn for him.

It was no surprise that Morax had taken you as a lover when he came to Guizhong asking for your hand in marriage — only shocking a few of her priestesses at the sudden intrusion. Their gasps and whispers could be heard amongst themselves.

And, of course, Guizhong was more than happy to comply with his wishes, wedding you off without a second thought.

But alas, that moment of bliss wasn’t destined to last forever, especially in the era of war.

It wasn’t long before Morax had lost Guizhong in the aftermath, returning to dust in the plains of Guili. And although losing her hurt, it was a heavier loss when your mortality had finally claimed you, reminding him that human life is feeble.

It saddened him to no end that you weren’t around to see the progress of Liyue after Mt. Aoyang. However, Morax wanted nothing more than to walk with you upon the grounds now called the harbor.

Centuries have passed by now, and Morax is no more than a distant memory, recorded in history alongside most of his conquests for all of time to keep. And even though his previous incarnations are no more, Zhongli still harbors the feelings of each and every life, treasuring them fondly — their memories continue to shine like gold.

And as he sits in the harbor at his favorite restaurant, there’s not a day where he doesn’t think back to you, and the time he shared with you — even if they felt like mere minutes to him.

“and what happened to Morax after the death of his lover,” Paimon asks, both the traveler and her staring at him expectantly as they awaited his answer.

Zhongli clears his throat, “After the heavy loss of his lover, he grew fearful of being alone after being taught by the human woman how to love and be loved. He took on many lovers over the years after, and yet none of them could fill the void left in his chest.”

“Did he love them,” Paimon places a finger on her chin as she ponders out loud.

“Of course he did. He loved all of them for as long as time had allowed it,” Zhongli muses, although there’s a hint of melancholy in his tone.

Aether gives him an unapologetic look as he thinks back to his twin and how he was separated from her before entering Teyvat.

“Wow, Morax must’ve really been popular among the—“Before Paimon can finish her sentence, Aether quickly covers the smaller being's mouth with his palm. “Paimon, there’s a time and place for everything, but now is not the time,” He sighs, feeling the flying girl protest against him as she angrily flails her tiny limbs.

Zhongli smiles fondly, unfazed by Paimon’s annoyance. The food in front of them had long gone cold as he shared the story of Morax’s greatest treasure.

Paimon flails in Aether’s hold before stopping, her attention focused on the gasps and gossiping going on around her from the other customers in the restaurant.

“What’s the Tianquan doing walking so freely in the harbor,” One mumbled. They all look in awe as she walks past the establishment in broad daylight without any millelith guards behind her.

“Lady Ningguang,” You whine, following after her, your clipboard shaking in your grasp as you pant. For someone wearing heels and a heavy dress, you’re surprised she can walk so fast.

At the sound of a familiar voice, Zhongli’s ears perk up as he turns his attention towards you — his eyes widening before returning to their average size. His sudden silence shocks Aether and Paimon. Aether and both of them don’t say anything, opting to follow Zhongli’s gaze before they land on you.

Ningguang ignores you, continuing on her merry way toward the docks hoping to see the freshest stock of fish that’s arrived.

“But what about Qingce Village?!” You huff loud enough for Ningguang to hear you, although she doesn’t stop.

“I’ll have the yuheng deal with it. Keqing’s always looking for something to do,” Ningguang says as she waves you off, continuing on her way.

“And what about all your paperwork?”

“Ganyu can handle it,” Ningguang answers, all too calmly, for a woman who controls the fate of Liyue.

You groan in frustration throwing your clipboard on the ground. So bothersome, you grumble.

When Aether and Paimon shift their attention back to Zhongli, they both jump, realizing his absence.

“Where’d he go?” Paimon says, looking everywhere, from underneath his seat to underneath the table.

“Over there,” Aether points, and sure enough, there he was, striking up a conversation with you.

“Do they know each other,” Paimon asks, placing a finger on her chin. Aether shrugs in response, “not quite sure, but something tells me she might be an old friend of his,”

“Excuse me, you seem to have dropped something,” There’s a tall man before you, he’s handsome, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve seen him before.

“Do I know you?” You ask in confusion, the man in front of you staring intently — although it wasn’t you, he was focused on. There’s a glint of disdain in his eyes as he looks upon the light-colored anemo vision that dangles from your waist.

“Ah, my apologies, my name is Zhongli,” Zhongli smiles, handing you back your clipboard.

“You know,” You start, eyeing him up and down before taking your belongings. “I feel like I’ve met you before,”

“Hm, is that so?”

“Yeah, something about you feels familiar,”

“Although, I don’t recall meeting you before,” Zhongli lies, “I’d like to get the chance to,”

“O—oh,” There’s a heat rising to your face, and your heart pounds against your chest — the man’s charm flustering you. “I— I think I’d like that too,”

There’s a smile on Zhongli’s face as he places a hand on your back, leading you through the harbor — you don’t resist, allowing him to guide you wherever listening to him talk mindlessly about the weather.

Aether and Paimon look at each other in confusion, the blow shaking his head.

“Did we just get ditched,” Paimon asks, tilting her head to the side as she rubs her chin.

Aether nods, “and with the bill, too,” he sighs, picking up the piece of paper before reading it — his face pales, and golden eyes widen in horror as he reads aloud the total.

#morax smut #morax x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin morax #zhongli x reader #Zhongli smut #Zhongli x reader smut #morax x y/n #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader smut

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indouloureux · 2 years

Note

no bc that drabble about soft sex with eddie has done something to me augie-

i had a (basically prophetic) vision of riding eddie and like holding his hands like that way where ur fingers are linked and ur like FULLY holding his hands and ur fingers are in between each of his and its just so cute and you both can't stop smiling and lszidufhlifuisjks

(i think the brain rot has finally gotten to me, babe)

-jorj👻

18+ mdni NO BECAUSE i told myself i wouldn't write other things until i finished this 20k fluff BUT

somehow bauhaus's third uncle had moans and grunts and skins slapping now. it had eddie's delirious groans, your high-pitched whimpers and the applaud of your flesh as you bounce on your lover's lap with all the vigor you've mustered.

"that's it, baby," eddie's head throws back against the couch, his hair sticking to his bare chest, an ophidian curl covering the demon right above his heart. he watches his cock disappear in and out of your gummy cunt, his hairy thighs sticky with your mixed arousals. "keep bouncing that pretty body,"

you do. with your hands on his shoulders, fingers loosely tangled in his disheveled mullet, your own hair moved to one side over your left collarbone that just makes the right side of your face so ethereal with the glisten of your sweat; eyes scrunched in ecstasy as your plump lips exude moans that eddie finds himself getting harder if possible.

"fuckin' ozzy, eds," ozzy, his own term for god in his own blissful moments that you'd picked up from him. your boyfriend smiles in his heavy gaze, lips lazy and yearning. "feels s-so good."

your head throws back, presents him his own purple-yellow art work created by love bites and starved sucklings. and he finds himself leaning up to press ever-so chaste kisses onto your neck, riding his lips up to your collarbone until he finds your wet lips.

he kisses you. feverish, hot, amorous. in that frenzied moment, he kisses you like you're in a field up a hill beneath the morphing clouds. with blooming flowers tickling your ankles and the ruffles of your dress grazing his knees exposed from his ripped jeans; like you're not both naked, covered in slick and producing wet squelches from your wild sexes. no, he kisses you, righteous in his own want.

"you look beautiful, honey," he murmurs against your soft skin, finds comfort in it. "like...a slayer. slayer of dragons and all men. you've slayed my heart actually. kept it all to yourself riiight after."

"how–c-can you talk so—...so casually while i'm fucking you?" you laugh incredulously, eyes shut with your eyebrows joint into concentration and forced energy.

"its a talent, i guess," he kisses your temple. "i can be blissed and talk about how beautiful you are at the same time, you little devil."

"thought i was a slayer?"

"you can be a lot of things. a lot of things but you're still you, huh. you, the one that i love," he tucks your hair behind your ear, sees the small dollar-store pearl earring that he bought you and swoons.

you sigh against him. "such a sap, babe,"

he kisses you again.

eddie's hands roam from your waist up to your tatted arms, inked drawings he put on you himself that he traces with his thumb until his fingers slither up to find yours and lace them together.

he pries your lips apart in a soft click, a string of saliva coming with because despite the doting moment, you still are cock drunk. you lazily grin at him, flashing him your pearls that makes him turn liquid and melts back into the backseat of his couch, taking your hand into his and placing them on his chest.

even in moments that don't burn in corybantic lust, he finds himself falling deeper for you. with the sun shining through the trailer blinds and gives you an incandescent glow, his thumbs trace your knuckles, eyes drooping when you clench around his cock and he moans. you smile tiredly, bringing your joint hands up to your lips and kiss its back, before you rest them back to his chest.

he feels you clench a couple more times before you cum onto him and he spills his hot seed into you, moans joined when he kisses you again just because, your hands laced like a delicate silk ribbon, sitting between your bodies to remedy your aching limbs.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction

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bluegalaxygirl · 4 months

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Celestial Wedding (ZoLu X reader) P3

Plot: Reader gets taken as revenge for Luffy and Zoro's defiance against the Celestial Dragons, they were just going to kill her to make an example but now theres a wedding????.

Warning: Bad language, Violence, Blood, kidnapping, Drugs forced marriage and salivary.

Thank you to @herwritingartcowboy for the suggestion. Reader is Female and a gunslinger, Zoro X Luffy X Reader, Poly relationship, established relationship.

P1 - P2 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7 - P8 - P9 - P10 - P11 - P12 - P13 - P14 - P15 - P16 - P17 - P18

Being pulled off the elevator your met with a beautiful sight, lush grass and perfectly clean white paving stones level the floor, white and Blue colored mansions spread out as far as you can see, the tops of the buildings touching the light cloud cover above but the biggest building was to your right, it was wide and very tall to where you could hardly see where the roof tops where. It's no wonder they call this place heaven, its beautiful but the people who live here, in those beautiful and well taken care of houses are demons in your eyes. The Captain pulls you along soon making it to a set of large gold and white gates that slowly open, the captain and his men kneel on the ground so you follow even though you hate bowing to these so called gods. The sound of chains moving and light footsteps caught your ears but the captain forced your head to look at the floor gripping your hair in the process, a large case was places in front of the captain who smiles placing his hand on it and sliding it closer letting go of your head. The Captain holds out the detonator in his open palm waiting for someone to take it off him before he puts his arm back down. Your hands grip into fists as a white gloved hand take the detonator for the man before walking over to you, a gloved finger goes under your chin pulling your head to look up at the person now in front of you.

Your heart stops in your chest knowing the celestial dragon in front of you, Rosward the farther of Charlos who Zoro drew his sword at and Luffy punched in the face over two years ago. You mainly remember the comment he made before he was knocked out, how he would love to preserve and stuff the female members of your crew for defying his family. As the dragon looked you over turning your face from left to right he turned to one of his slaves a young man in gray rags who held out a bottle of hand sanitizer and another black case, "Leave my sight" Rosward threw the case to the captain then cleaned his gloved hands and the detonator placing it on his belt before grabbing the chain attached to your cuffs and pulling you too your feet. You offered up no resistance knowing what would happen if you did, you tried to stay calm not letting the fear and anxiety get to you but it was growing harder and harder to do so with the dragon's eyes on you. The captain keeps his head down and grabs the two cases of money standing and walking away still looking at the floor as his men followed his lead. "Prepare a bath, i can't stand them being filthy" The Dragon orders, some of his guards bowing and heading off with a few slaves to do as their told while Rosward pulls you threw the golden gates letting them close behind you, Rosward walked over to a large male slave who's on all fours with a sort of saddle in his back, it made you sick but you managed to hide your feeling as the dragon sat on top of the man before demanding him to walk.

You along with the other slaves and guards followed the dragon down the white smooth path, mansion's lines the streets along with beautiful gardens and fountains but you took the opportunity to look at the people around you. The guards where in full armor their faces covered and with large spears, their armor was shiny most likely have never seen combat but that doesn't mean the people under it might not be experienced. The slaves however didn't look good at all, the young man who had handed the stuff to Rosward was only wearing gray shorts, the celestial dragons mark burned into his back, he was also very skinny and had thick scars on his arms and legs. You notice though that the female slaves are somewhat better cared for, their body's and clothes are clean but with vials over their faces and the mark on their back but their skinny, you could count the ribs on them. You wanted so badly to help them but there was nothing you could do other than wait for your crew, you look forward again to see a large mansion with servant waiting at the door who bow before opening the large blue doors letting you all in. The inside was large, clean and almost glowing form the amount of gold and silver objects and statues lining the hallway, Rosward smirked as he stepped off the male slave and stood in front of you, he was about to speak when another voice hits your ears.

Charlos steps out into the hallway holding two chains that are attached to two girls, "Farther your back already?" He made you sick, you hate this man more than any other dragon, not only is he disgusting to look at, but he's rotten to the core. The son's eyes widen upon seeing your face a mixture of shock and anger "What is she doing here?" Charlos yells pointing at you as he storms over dragging the two girls behind him who stubble a little at the sudden pull, his farther sighs annoyed at his son's attitude but seems to let it go quite quickly "I thought it's about time we made an example. Stuffing and mounting this one will teach those pirates a lesson. They dare to defy us" The Dragon growls clearly still angry about what happened over two years ago, his gaze shifts to you, looking you over to try and see what your reaction is but you manage not to give one just keeping your eyes on the floor with a blank face, it pisses him off more, but he's soon brought back to his son who steps closer to you while picking his running nose. "Oh i see but why this one? Why not that straw hat or that green haired one" The son asks turning to his farther, it was something you were also wondering but you hoped to never know the answer too. "This one is dating the two, i thought lets kill two birds with one stone. This will hurt them way more than if we just killed them, they'll live their life in pain and suffering knowing their actions and defiance caused their lovers death" Rosward lets out a small chuckle with a grin.

You couldn't stop your hands form gripping into fists, you hate them so much it hurt and you wanted nothing more than to kill the two right here and now but you couldn't. Charlos hums and nods in agreement before looking you over, he steps closer picking his nose again and it takes everything in you to not lean away by how gross he is. The son seems to think for a minute even though your convinced he doesn't have brain to think with before snapping his fingers with a smile "I'll marry her" You can't help the jump in shock with wide eyes but it seemed to make the two dragons happy that they finally got a reaction out of you, "I need a new wife anyway since i had to dispose of a few" Charlos tries to convince his farther who Rosward smiles at your reaction seeming to like the response, but he shakes his head at his son about to say no only to stop seeming to have an idea pop into his head "Actually, this might work out better. Marrying a well known pirate will show those straw hats and anyone else who dares to defy us just how powerful we are." You gulp at this but at least their not going to out right kill you, your chain is taken by the son who looks you over again "Really? Thank you farther, this is a great gift. Come Wife " Charlos goes to walk away with a big smile only to be stopped by his farther who places a hand on his shoulder "No, we're going to make a show of it, broadcast it across the world and brand her after the wedding." The son nods although he looks quite upset about not having you right away.

You knew about this guy and the amount of wives he has but there has never been a wedding, he just tells you that your his wife and slave now and thats it. The thought of marrying this guy makes you sick but now there's going to be a full on wedding? You never thought about getting married to someone before but you never wanted this, being married off to a man you hate. "Get the word out, the wedding will be tomorrow at the church" Rosward commands to some guards who bow before leaving, trying not to panic you end up holding your breath as not to scream and cry or yell at the two in front of you. "I'll get my servants to wash and get her ready for now, i don't want her face too beaten up before the day" Rosward takes the chain off his son and hands it to his female servants who bow at him, everyone knew what Charlos was like, he was going to buy Camie just to put her in a fish tank full of piranha's. As the two Dragons talk you walk off with the two girls and some guard, The nice hallways soon turn into shabby one's clearly where the servants go. Entering a large bathroom, one of the girls starts running hot water and poring it into one of the metal tub's while the other starts taking the cuffs off your hands and helps you undress. It was very uncomfortable with a guard standing in front of the door while the other waits outside, the thought of running did pop into your mind but there's no way you could just leave unless you managed to get the detonator off Rosward which was very unlikely.

The G-5 base members ran around trying to put out fires or block the pirates attack, but they weren't prepared for a sudden aggressive attack. The sunny stayed out to sea, Nami, Franky and Usopp manning the ship as it fired cannon's at the large marine buildings on the small island, while Nami created a weather storm to take out any of the marine ships that dared to leave the port. The rest of the crew stormed the base splitting up to find those who have blue stars on their jackets in order to find out where you were. Luffy's anger got the better of him though rushing off on his own and taking down anyone who was in his way, he didn't think to look for the star, but he did think about finding an admiral or someone stronger. Zoro tried to stay close to Chopper in order not to get lost but with all the fighting and searching he ended up getting lost anyway, he knew if you were here you would tell him off and it made his heart ache, he just wanted you back. The rest of the crew managed to find a few people with the blue stars tying them up and trying to get them back to the docks like they planned but things weren't going so well, with Luffy destroying everything in his way, Zoro no where to be found and Sanji flipping out things kept getting more hectic. Luffy growls as he walks down the street only seeing marines scattering the floor either knocked out cold or dead, he didn't pay too much attention to them though instead trying to work out where to go next. This whole time he's just been beating people up as he runs but with no one to beat up he had no idea where to go.

The captain scratches his head and hums looking around him before hearing the sound of metal hitting metal, Luffy's large smile grows on his face as he runs off in the direction of the noise soon coming across Zoro who's fighting a large Lieutenant with a large blue star on his jacket. The swordsman managed to cut the large man across his chest and his legs but the Lieutenant refused to go down swinging his large metal pipe at Zoro who dodges going to deliver the finishing blow when Luffy's fist punches the Lieutenant in the face sending the man flying into a nearby building. The swordsman groans landing on his feet and turning to see Luffy running up to him with a large grin "I had it" The swordsman takes the third swords out of his mouth and puts it away along with one of the others in his hand. "Sorry couldn't help myself plus, he has the blue star" The captain adjusts his hat taking Zoro's free hand and walking over to the groaning Lieutenant, Zoro followed along feeling kinda glad that Luffy stepped in otherwise he would have killed the man, and they may not have a lead on where you are. Making it over to the man who's now laying in the rubble trying to sit up Zoro points his sword into the Lieutenant's face causing his eyes to widen and his body to stiffen. Luffy's smile fades as he glares at the blue star on the man's jacket "Where's Y/N?" The Captain asks making the large man jump slightly at his tone.

Zoro moves closer the tip of his sword now pressing against the large man's nose pushing him back down into the rubble since he's not answering fast enough "I-I don't know" The man looks at the two angry men, Luffy's eyes meet the Lieutenant's sending a shiver down the mans back but unable to look away "Where is she?" The captain asks again his hand gripping Zoro's hard but the swordsman doesn't flinch or pull away, instead he squeezes back lightly and presses his sword closer making a trickle of blood fall down the tip of the mans nose. "I really don't know... we just supplied the equipment and a few men."The Lieutenant beings to panic his heart pounding in his chest as he pants tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes, fear consumes his body as Luffy's eyes seem to get more angry making a heavyweight fall over the large man. "I-I don" He goes to say again only for the snail phone in his pocket to start ringing, the sudden sound makes Zoro smile pulling his sword back a little so its no longer pressing against the tip of the Lieutenant's nose "Answer it" The swordsman demands making the man jump but nod his head taking the small snail phone out of his packet, Luffy looks over at his first mate with a confused look, but he trusts the green haired man and stays quiet for now even though he wants to grab the phone and yell at who ever is on the other end.

The phone clicks when answered a male voice on the other end laughs in excitement "Gezz man what took you so long?" The Lieutenant gulps wondering if he should say what's currently going on or not but a quick look at Luffy makes him not do so, fear washing over him as he makes eye contact with the Straw hat captain "S-Sorry, i was busy. what's up?" The large man finally answers as cheering and laughter going on in the background "We got the money, all of it. Thanks for negotiating the price, we would have settled for Five Hundred Thousand but adding her bounty onto was a great idea" The man on the other end laughs his words kinda slurred indicating he's been drinking "Although some of my men wanted a bit more, that girl has quick a kick, i think Joe might need plastic sugary" It brought a sense of pride to Zoro knowing you fought, he knew you would but hearing about it just makes him feel a lot better. Although Luffy loved that you fought hard he hated how these men where so happy over selling you off, gritting his teeth the captain grabs the snail phone pulling it close to his face "Where is she?" Luffy yells into the phone hearing the cheering on the other end dying down as they seem to recognized his voice, Zoro growls at the silence on the other end wanting an answer to where you are already "Sorry mate your too late, you won't be getting her back form that place" The guy on the phone sighs making the captain more and more angry "Tell me now" Luffy's growl sounds more animal like than human shocking the Lieutenant who doesn't dare move form where he's sitting.

Zoro grips his sword tighter squeezing Luffy's hand, he knew what would happen if the captain got too angry, he'd most likely crush the snail phone and as much as he wanted to as well they needed it. "There's no point, it doesn't matter what you do now, they always get their way. Your at the G-5 base right? By the time you get there you'll be too late, sorry pal" Luffy's hand grips the phone tighter it starting to crack under his strength, Zoro's eyes widen as he quickly lets go of the captain's hand and snatches the phone "Zoro, give it back" Luffy yells getting closer to the swordsman trying to take the phone back but Zoro holds it away "Your gonna break it" The swordsman yells trying to avoid Luffy's arms stretching around him in order to grab the phone "No i'm not just give it here" Luffy yells forcing the swordsman back a bit and put his sword away as not to hurt the captain, the two only stop when loud laughing comes form the other end of the phone "You two are so funny.... We'll i'm in a good mood and slightly drunk so I'll humor you two but your not gonna like it" The man laughs making the two growl but bring the phone down to be in between the two, The Lieutenant see's an opportunity to try and sneak away only for Luffy to punch the man in the face knocking him out.

Feeling a lot calmer now Luffy's got some of his anger out he doesn't grip the phone as hard, the man on the other end soon calms down form his laughing fit and sighs "She's at Mary Geoise, i handed her over myself, Mr Rosward reached out to us to grab her for him" Zoro's eyes widen hearing the names, anger boils inside as he remembers the slave house and the celestial dragons but Luffy tilts his head in confusion not remembering anything about those names. "Celestial Dragons" Zoro state noticing his captain's confused face, Luffy looks up at his first mate as his fist clenches at his side, he still didn't know who this Rosward guy was but if he was a celestial dragon then that means your now a slave. His mind goes to several people who have been hurt by those so called gods, but he's fought one before and isn't afraid to do it again. "Honestly thought he was just gonna kill her but new's just got out that there's now other plans... i'm guessing it hasn't reaches you guys yet so please... let me tell you" The man sounded sadistic, seeming to enjoy the hurt he's causing "I won't let him touch her" Luffy growls glaring at the snail phone, the swordsman takes the captains fist getting angry too, he hated to think of what their going to do with you. "Oh he's not gonna touch her, if fact it's going to be such a special day, Mr Charlos is gonna marry her tomorrow" The two jump in shock at his words, the thought of marriage never crossed their mind and the three of you never talked about it and yet it hurt them both that you would be someone else's wife while also being a slave.

Their shocked silence made the man laugh "It's gonna be a big wedding and shown across the world... hay wait a minute aren't you the ones that beat up the celestial dragons? and she's your girlfriend right?" The man asks trying his best to get under their skin and make them more angry but the two just shook with anger gritting their teeth as the man laughed about the situation "How funny is this? oh! what a pay back, the two that defied Mr Charlos now have to watch as their own girlfriend marry the man and get branded on live TV" The man yells with laughter the crew behind him joining in only to be cut off by Luffy's grip tightening around the snail phone crushing it into piece, the captain breaths heavy with anger the only sound he can hear is of his blood pumping through his veins. Zoro's grip on Luffy's hand tightens as he grits his teeth, he couldn't stop the thoughts of what they're gonna do to you run through his head. "I'm gonna kill him" The two say in unison snapping each other out of their hate filled stare on the crushed snail phone, looking at each other Luffy's eyes soften his anger being replaced by sadness and pain. They had to get you back but now they were on a time limit, they didn't want you to get hurt, and they both new you would fight against this and probably end up hurt or worse. "Lets get back to the crew" Luffy states throwing the crushed snail phone aside and dragging his first mate along, Zoro sighs gladly following his captain but he couldn't help the feeling of dread that overcame him. It was going to be a hard fight to get you back but that wasn't what bothered him, he didn't want you to get hurt in the process.

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aemondsquill · 1 year

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Utter Devotion

Aemond Targaryen x yandere!niece!reader

Reader is Daemon and Rhaenyra's daughter

Synopsis: In which Aemond's devoted wife has enough of his clownery. Hijinks ensue.

Warnings: mention of infidelity, gore and blood, murder, slight angst and toxicity, probably misogyny, FLUFF, lmk if I missed any :)

A/N: omg baby's first fanfic (in 10 years) please let me know what y'all think!

Sweet, docile, little lamb. Those were the words that often described me, the beloved wife of the fearsome Aemond Targaryen. It was a facade my father and I carefully crafted in order to infiltrate the greens when the Stranger beckoned the King Viserys. Unfortunately, I actually fell in love with the fool.

The two months that we've been married I've been nothing but devoted. I worship the ground my dear husband Aemond walks on, he is the love of my life, my muse, and my entire heart and soul. If he was a god, I was his loyal servant. He is the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins.

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"My Lady, there are whispers that Aemond allows a witch to warm his bed during his occupation of Harrenhal" Lydia, my ever-faithful chamber maid and confidant tells me. The bile rises in my throat and suddenly my dress feels too tight. Utter betrayal bleeds into my veins and threatens to choke the life out of me. How? After being so loyal and sweet to him, this is how he chooses to repay me?

"Pack my things" I whisper in a clipped voice. I fear raising my voice anymore will display the devastation I feel. I do not know where I am going yet, but I know I need to act fast.

Too many thoughts race through my brain; ways to get even, plots to kill him and his whore, burning down all of King's Landing. Anything for him to feel even a little of the hurt I felt. The thoughts excite me. I can feel the mask I carefully crafted begin to crack. My ugly, obsessive and dangerous side wants to break out and wage war.

My mother had always told me that I was my father's daughter, in the best and worst ways. We're brave and driven, but loyal to a fault. We spill blood willingly and easily. Nothing gets in the way of what we want.

I knew then that I would have to fly to Harrenhal and take matters into my own hands.

--------

Under the blanket of night, I carefully exited the warm bed my lovely, traitor of a husband currently occupies. I knelt down by his side and traced his strong features with my eyes. The slope of his nose, the shape of his light eyebrows, and the beautiful sapphire that sits in his empty socket. My eyes travel down to his plush lips and the urge to feel their petal-softness nearly overtakes me. Heat pools in my lower belly, but anger and sadness ravage my heart. How easy it would be to just kill him now. Too easy.

I donned a thick black cloak and slip through a secret passage that spirals down and out of the castle. The crisp night air pebbles my skin, but I press onward to the dragon pits.

My beast is startled to see me at such an unusual hour. I run my fingers along her black jagged scales and whisper softly for only her to hear. She rumbles in response and allows me to mount her.

The sky glitters with thousands of stars above me with nary a cloud in sight. The wind tangles my hair and the heat from my dragon heats my thighs. For a moment I feel relaxed, almost calm.

Excitement envelops me as I spot the foreboding castle in the distance. I can nearly taste the witch's blood on my tongue as I urge my dragon faster.

---------

And incessant rapping upon his doors startles the young Prince Aemond as he studies an endless pile of scrolls.

"What?!" He barks out, irritated.

"Your wife wishes to enter" the guard replies.

"Send her in" Aemond speaks dismissively. The large wooden door creaks open and in walks his most beautiful bride. His violet eye glances up at her briefly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, dear wife?" He questions while still attempting to decipher what Lord Lannister has written in his shoddy penmanship.

A wicked glint appears in my eyes as I lug a neatly wrapped brown box in my arms.

"I have brought you a gift from my latest excursion, Lord husband!" I could barely contain the giddiness in my voice and I approached his dark wood desk. He finally fully looked up at me, curiosity swirling in his gaze. I gingerly place the gift upon his desk with a large smile.

If he had been a little more attentive he would've noticed me discreetly shoving my blood-drenched hand behind me.

Aemond begins to tug at the plush pink ribbon with his slender fingers. When the tendrils of ribbon splay out across his desk he grasps the lid and lifts it.

"Wha-what is this?!" He flinches, startled at the cloudy green eyes that stare up at him. I felt proud that I could fit her entire head in that box without cutting off any additional parts.

"You do not recognize her without her body, husband? This is the whore you've been fucking" I speak plainly. A nearly demented smile makes my cheeks ache. He stares up at me with a wide eye, a mixture of shock and...arousal?

"I had heard whispers of you and the Rivers witch. You must understand that I could not simply allow you to besmirch our marriage like this. I have loved you and been nothing but loyal to you, my dear husband" I sneered.

"But all is well. I will forgive you're transgressions, my love" I leaned down to where our noses brushed together and whispered, "if I hear such rumors again I will not hesitate to do the very same to you, your sister, and your lovely mother" I sealed my promise with a chaste kiss against his lips.

"Threatening members of the royal family, wife? I could have your head for such treasonous words" he whispered back, admiration melting into his sultry voice.

"I must ask, where is the rest of her?" Aemond questioned casually, as if he was asking about the weather.

"I allowed my dragon to feast upon her corpse after I was finished with her. I want you to know that she died screaming and begging for her life" I spoke. He chuckled in response, which confused me even more.

"I fear what you might do to the woman who actually dares to sleep with me if this", he gesures to her head, "is all a mere whisper takes."

"You never laid with her?" I asked in astonishment. Relief bloomed in my chest. My husband was indeed not a cunt!

"No, dear wife. I inquired her about her powers, but I never fucked her" Aemond promised. I leapt forward and embraced him tightly. His warm arms slide around my waist and he presses small kisses along my hairline.

"I'm relieved, husband. I feared you were an adulterer! I almost feel foolish" I giggled lightly against his luscious lips.

"I would never forsake our marriage like that, my love. I must say, your devotion to me is highly admirable" he utters softly, "Why did you ever hide this part of you away from me?"

"I did not want to frighten you, my love. I felt if I showed you my true colors then you would hate me" I confessed, slightly embarrassed.

"I could never hate you. You are my beautiful, fierce little wife" he spoke with adoration lacing his words. I smiled at him and kissed him deeply.

"I love you."

"I love you, little wife."

#aemond targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year

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WAITING FOR A BUS

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Daemon Targaryen x Reader (MODERN)

Description: A new promotion at work prompts you to move into a small modest town with your boyfriend, Aemond Targaryen. There you meet a few friendly faces. It seems like life is going where it's supposed to. That is until you meet your new boss, Daemon Targaryen, who is your boyfriend's estranged uncle.

It doesn't help with the fact that you've been having dreams about him since birth.

It was a shit storm from the beginning. You told him that attempting to murder his nephew was a death-wish. That they would never make it out alive. "You're not going anywhere," you mumble while holding him in place. He camped outside of Harrenhall for thirteen-fortnights. He wanted to kill Aemond — you of all people should know that.

"We're not retreating," he asserts while moving past you. Caraxes was slumbering behind you, a thick fog of smoke reigned over Gods Eye. It was the largest lake in all of the seven-kingdoms, and gods be damned if it became your beloved's sarcophagus. "I would rather die, woman." he gritted his teeth, staring demandingly at the stone castle.

The castle could easily be burnt by his dragon, but he couldn't ruin the only castle that reminded his niece of Harwin Strong. "— and die you will, if Aemond ever has the mind to descend upon us." you feared the one-eyed prince and his large dragon.

Vhagar was said to be the largest living dragon. You didn't have any doubts about that. "I will not die today, but my nephew — he might." he said smugly seeing the familiar figure of his petulant nephew.

Aemond's back was slumped, a sign of bad posture. In his right hand was a metal sword — on his left side was Alys Rivers, his loyal paramour. Daemon's hands found the small of your waist — feeling possessive over your small figure. Aemond was staring at you up and down, almost undressing you with his mere eye.

"Your cowardice has reached an end, dear nephew. It's nice of you to make your presence known." Daemon smirked while playing with the dark sister on his right hand. Only one of them will survive tonight, and it's going to be him. "You are the only coward here, uncle." the boy replied smugly while petting his dragon.

There were goosebumps on your hand. Throat attempting to leak green bile — but showing weakness wasn't good, he taught you that. The sounds became too loud, and soon — both of them began to board their dragons and fight atop the lake.

"Daemon!" you scream, seeing his figure disappear above the clouds.

——— Beads of sweat formed atop your forehead, hands grasping upon the velvet blanket, and you began to sit upright. Another fucking nightmare, you cursed while staring at the digital clock beside you. 3:41, the clock read as it beeped neon green. It was too early. Too fucking early for bullshit.

These nightmares have been haunting you as far as you can remember. Those lavender eyes that have been staring at you since you were just a little girl. It was stupid to dream about dragons and fire, yet the theme always stayed the same after all these years.

Aemond stirs awake, his heavy arms wrapped around your thighs. "Aemond," you whisper in a hoarse voice. Your loving boyfriend of six-years, knew all about these nightmares. "Go back to sleep," he replied in an equally hoarse voice.

The light of the lamp illuminated his neat features, his slender nose and sharp jawline. "I can't sleep," you whisper feeling your eyelids flutter in tiredness. When these 'night terrors' begin, there was no hope for rest. "Just close your eyes." he mumbled while pulling you back into the bed.

It stayed like that for a while. His broad chiseled arms wrapped around your petite figure — his legs there were rested atop yours. He had a steady breathing, mouth slightly ajar from all the lack of sleep. You didn't want to bother him, but sleep wasn't exactly coming.

You slither away from his grasp, avoiding his second-attempt at hugging you. In your place, you add a soft pillow smothered in between his legs. It was enough to fool a sleeping Aemond. You began to sashay into the living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen. The apartment had an open-concept to it, and thus you were able to see everything all at once.

You reach for the pack of bread inside the fridge (something Aemond found weird as bread wasn't usually stored in fridges,) and you place them inside the toaster. You had a few minutes until Aemond woke up, as he couldn't sleep without you.

The fridge opens again and out comes a jar of butter that he made from scratch. The toaster beeps — and a pair of toasted bread came out. You groan, the beeping could wake him up. And that man deserved all the rest that he could get.

And just like you predicted, he was already up — scratching his eye lazily and walking in your direction. "Why are you up so early, babe?" he asks while pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. He took a bite of the toast you made, slathering a spoonful of nutella. "I couldn't sleep again," you replied while taking a bite of your own toast.

There were battalions of reasons as to why you couldn't sleep. It could be the fact that those 'nightmares' seem too realistic to become nightmares, or that the man named 'Daemon' with purple eyes couldn't be erased from your mind. You couldn't remember his face, but those purple eyes have engraved themselves into your soul.

It was fucking real. You could still feel the fog of Gods Eye, and the heat of that dragon, Caraxes. There was another man there too, he was a dragon-rider, but you couldn't remember his name. Only the fact that he was an enemy.

"I think you should go to therapy." he advised while playing with the strands of your hair. He found great comfort in your hair — according to him, he used to have much longer hair until his abusive father forced him to cut all of it off once he turned nine. "The nightmares have been gone for a while, babe. I think it just came back 'cuz we moved into a new city." you reason, trying to get away from therapy.

In all truths, you didn't have money for it. It was too expensive for a normal day citizen. You couldn't ask your boyfriend for any more money, he hated taking money out of his trust-fund. "If it continues even after we've settled, I think it's worth going to therapy for." he added while finishing his toast.

You chuckle softly, taking a sip of your hot water. "I won't have time once I've started teaching those high-school kids." you laugh, reminiscing the days of your childhood. They were all blurs to be honest. "I don't think you'll be able to do much teaching, they're all sycophants." he rolls his eye.

"Sycophant, that's a big word." you frown while wiping the counter clear of the crumbs from your toast. He's been acting weird for a while. Sometimes he doesn't even seem like the same person. "I learnt it from wikipedia," he pipes while pushing you away from the sink. "By the way, I'm washing the dishes." he dominates while taking up all the space.

It makes you smile, thinking about how lucky you are to have him.

"Get ready for school — look scary, and make sure that those kids hate to love you." he reminds, and you press a kiss to his temple. "You want me to become a terror teacher?" you giggle, pressing another kiss to his cheek. "A hot one," he chuckles closing his fist and opening it into your face — splashing you with water.

"Mkay," you mumble, taking a step away from him. You began to walk to your room, already having an outfit in mind for school. "But remember to pick me up. I'm not familiar with the streets yet." you remind and he nods his head.

"I won't forget it, love." he promised, seeing you retreat inside the room.

———

The school was a few minutes away from your apartment. Ten to twenty minutes, depending on whether or not you use the public transport. Aemond was driving you today, which meant that you were going to be a little early to class. Better early than late.

He stops in front of the junior high-school building. "I'll pick you up later, pumpkin." he lowers the window, you lean a little closer to peck his lips. "I'll be out at six," you remind and he nods his head. "I'll try to get out of work early, but if I can't then Aegon can pick you up." he briefed while slowly driving away.

You wave goodbye, seeing the red car disappear from view. You turn around to face the large building, feeling nervousness creep inside your soul. You open your small android phone, already feeling eyes stare at you. Highschool students were crazy, but not crazy enough to send you running.

You stare at the email. You are the advisor of St. Maria Goretti, the patron saint of purity, young women and assault (at least according to google.) You begin to walk in the large halls of the building, searching for the 10th grade, and finally finding your assigned classroom.

You lower a big box on your desk, it was filled with binders and free notebooks — you weren't sure if the students were going to use it. It was a catholic private school, all of them were loaded.

A woman clears her throat from the other side of the room. Your eyes trail down from the floor, to her shoes and finally to her face. Pale blonde hair, and a familiar pair of purple eyes. "Hey, you must be the new teacher. I'm uhh — Ma'am Rhae, I'm actually the coordinator for english — and this grade level." she walks towards you in a warm manner.

"I'm (Your Name), I teach science." you smiled offering your hand to shake, but to her surprise — she begins to welcome you into a deep hug. She smelled like peony and suede, a wonderful combination — but typical for an english teacher. "Really? What college did you go to?" she inquired with renewed interest.

"I'm sure that you haven't heard of it, I'm kind of a country bumpkin." you chuckled while giving her a modest smile. It's nice to have a friend around here.

———

Rhaenyra excuses herself, exiting your room and running towards the nearest lavatory. There she fiddles with her pockets to find her phone. She dials the familiar sequence of numbers. 'Uncle Daemon 👹' the nickname read out, and it took a few rings for him to answer.

"Uncle," she called out in a panicked tone, she turns the faucet on so that other people may not listen in to the call. "Hey, what's up?" her uncle responded in a casual tone, there was grogginess to his voice — which meant that he had just woken up. "(Your Name) is here, and she doesn't remember anything." she breathed out in panic.

She could hear him curse from the other side of the call. Then suddenly, the call is dropped.

chapter two>>

AN: Comment to get tagged.

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marthawrites · 1 year

Text

The Arbor and the Dragon: Chapter 3, Experience

Aemond Targaryen x Redwyne fem reader

word count: 4.8k+

about: As promised, Aemond takes you for another ride on Vhagar. This time he shows you a hidden place that he's always loved. New experiences unfold.

includes: gift receiving, some angst, explicit sexual content (mutual masturbation, fingering, mentions of solo masturbation), purity culture, Aemond is possessive, slight religious guilt

note: Hello lovely reader! While this is chapter 3, it CAN be read as a stand alone angst/comfort/smut fic! I'm gross and had this smut planned out almost as soon as I got the original idea for this series. To avoid the use of "Y/N" reader's name is Emeline, implied to have brown eyes (omg eyes, not hair, had to edit this in ugh), and freckles. However, NONE of this is mentioned in this chapter. As always, the rest of her appearance is up to the reader. Thanks for being patient and I hope you enjoy it! ♥

read chapter one here

read chapter two here

Above and below, the sky and sea glimmered the same color. Golden morning sunlight whispered out from gray clouds, and blue sky peeked out from between both. Wind whipped your once neat braid as you flew atop the oldest dragon while the dragon prince held you from behind. Aemond didn't mind the tickle of your hair across his face during the journey, for it gave him plenty of room to nuzzle the point of his nose along the sensitive skin of your neck. Goosebumps, entirely unrelated to the chilled air, rose atop your skin and he relished the sight.

"Are we almost there? I can't wait to see this place!" You gripped a little tighter to where you held the saddle, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of your betrothed from the corner of your eye.

"Patience, sweetling," he said softly by your ear, taking advantage of the swell in his chest to bravely nip over the smooth skin of your neck. You squeaked, and he felt more than heard that little noise in your throat. Smiling, he kissed the same spot. "It will be worth the wait."

As promised the previous night, Aemond took you for another ride on Vhagar. When you asked how long you two had, he refused to answer and instead replied with a, "hmm... as long as we like." Surely he was teasing! No way could you two have all the hours of the day together?

King's Landing shrunk behind you. Flying above the ocean was a dream. Vhagar's massive wings glided and sliced smoothly through the air; easy and effortless. If it weren't for the solid pressure of Aemond's chest against your back you could have fallen asleep. But, no, the young prince sent your entire aura sparking with desire, need, and want, and sleep was the last thing on your mind. You two had shared many kisses and you hoped this morning would be filled with more of those. Secret, private, finally completely alone to kiss his lips swollen and red.

Blinking out of your lustful daydream, you watched the way Aemond's hands pulled on Vhagar's reins to lead her into a different direction. Her leaning turn sent your thighs flexing around the saddle to keep your balance. "Soon, my Lady. We are almost there. This has always been one of my favorite places to go when I truly need time alone. No one will disturb us here."

You smiled, eyes scanning over the picturesque cliffs you were flying toward.

Vhagar circled once before landing upon a large, wide open space on the cliff's side. Aemond wasn't lying. There was zero chance anyone else would make an appearance. "Here? Gods! This is beautiful! It's like a place straight out of a storybook," you beamed, looking over the area. In the face of the cliff side was a huge flat ledge large enough for the she-dragon to comfortably rest. It was almost like a small meadow. Trees and bushes of various heights littered the area, and even patches of vibrant grass grew among the rocks. The most stunning part? A waterfall streamed down from the top of the cliffs into a pool, and snaked down the ledge into the ocean beneath.

"Since having Vhagar, I've spent many days here," Aemond proclaimed with a wistful smile, lowering from the saddle to help you off too. "This is only the first part of my surprise. Come, princess, let me show you down," he said offering his hand.

You happily took it and slid from the saddle, following as he led you down the rope ladder. Try as you might, your head couldn't help but swivel as you took in the surroundings. Everything about it reminded you of Aemond. His dragon resting was merely (the colossal) cherry on top. "There's nothing like this back home. Islands and cliffs, sure, but none like this," you said, in awe.

"We'll travel back to the Arbor one day. I'd love to see your home and any places you found respite growing up." Up here, away from King's Landing and the simmering tension only war could bring, Aemond's shoulders melted. His features were softer than you'd ever seen them.

For awhile, the only sound was the subtle shift of rocks and debris under your steps as you explored. How a place like this could exist among the cliffs was beyond you, and you became enchanted by the magic of it all. "I'm not sure how this could be topped... but if you wish to surprise me further, please be my guest," you said over your shoulder to him, carefully feeling over the feathery new growth of an unfamiliar sapling.

"It finished just this morning. I intended to keep it until our wedding – to give it to you as a proper wedding gift, but after yesterday I can't wait." Facing each other now, it was his turn to offer a wrapped box to you. He watched as you took it, keen on your reaction as you unveiled the present.

Carefully, you lifted the top and gasped. Inside, on a bed of velvet, was a dagger sheathed in its scabbard of black leather embroidered with golden grape vines. The hilt shone with iridescent mother of pearl, and its pommel was topped with a brilliantly cut sapphire. "Aemond! You didn't!" You exclaimed, looking up at him with dazzled admiration.

He grinned, satisfied at your reaction. "I had it commissioned shortly after your arrival. I want my lady protected when I'm not around. And, keep this secret between us, darling," he paused and leaned close, brushing his lips against your jaw as his hand trailed down the back of your arm. "I'd have paid twice the amount of that dagger to see you drive it into that swine of a peasant yesterday."

You shuddered with his closeness, his words sent fire licking up every single vertebrae of your spine. You thought about the splash of blood across his fist and the reaction it elicited from you – were someone else's blood to be on you, would he have a similar reaction? "Your secret is safe with me," you whispered in reply, blushing.

"Do you know how to use one?" He asked, leaning back to peer down at you with interest.

You gave a half shrug. "I can carve fish and chickens easy enough. So... I don't imagine it's much different?" One of your brows arched, squinting playfully.

"Hmm," he hummed, interest turning mischievous. "I'll see to it you have proper lessons soon. I could even teach you some basics here and now."

For a moment you considered the offer – a very, very small fraction of a moment, that is. "Now? No, I don't think so, my prince. Right now, I want to sit on your lap and thank you properly for that beautiful dagger."

Something changed in the softness of his face. The sharp angles of his features steeled. The small dot of his pupil in the sun widened. Even his shoulders flexed. He took the gift from you and placed it back in one of his coat's deep pockets, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Do not play with me, princess."

"I'm not playing. I mean it," you breathed in answer, using the flats of your palms to push him in direction of a nearby fallen log; it lay upon a swath of dirt surrounded by soft grass. Your fingers squeezed into his tunic and you urged him to sit down.

He followed your gestures in a state of wonder, half struck with confusion as you seemed to gain more confidence by the second. He gripped your waist, easily pulling you down in the plush grass with him. "You're a needy thing, hm?" He asked as you straddled over his lap. He returned your bright wide smile with a clench of his teeth that sent his jaw feathering.

"We are finally alone and I want to kiss you silly. Is it wrong for a lady to desire the man she is to marry?" You asked, the pink of excitement warming your cheeks.

"It's not," he answered, large hand holding the side of your neck as his fingers curled around your skull, thumb along the curve of your chin. "You're lovely like this. Daring, eager, nervous...," he said lowly, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he tilted his head to press the first of many kisses to your plush lips.

A small moan broke from your throat. You dreamt of this, and more, almost since arriving. The kiss was hurried and slow alike. Soft, and hard. Needful, and reserved. Your tongues explored each other's lips and mouths, hands tentatively beginning to wander and touch.

He was first to break it, both breathing heavily. You looked at each other with half lidded eyes; the glaze of lust a shared mirror.

After a moment you broke the silence. "Aemond...," you said his name in a half question, fingers trembling on the lapels of his coat. Slowly, you moved them up his face, your attention shifting to the long, angry colored scar marring half of his hopelessly handsome visage. You ghosted your fingertips over the exposed scar. "Does it hurt?"

He watched you intently. Frozen in place. "Sometimes," he answered, barely blinking.

You touched along the strap of his eyepatch at his temple and made no move to do anything but graze over it. "Do you always wear it?"

By that point he may have stopped breathing all together, for you could visibly see and feel him use every ounce of willpower to not pull your hand away. "Yes."

"I want to see you without it. We are to marry in a week. I want to see all of you." A plead you hadn't intended warbled your voice.

"I fear you will change your mind. I'm not handsome, my Lady. I'm naught more than a cripple. The way you look at me and treat me? You won't once you see how ugly I am. I can't live with that." A piece of his heart audibly broke as he spoke, eye shining with shielded emotion.

Emotion welled in your own eyes and threatened to spill over. "You're lovely, Aemond. My mind won't change. I'm desperate to see all of you. Please?"

For perhaps the first time, you witnessed the young prince fight a silent inward war. Winning, losing, you hadn't a clue what his tactics were. Nor his chances of victory or defeat – much less what your chances of either were. Your lids fluttered in a series of blinks, lashes clumping together with moisture. A sigh escaped his lungs, and his breath cooled the hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

He kissed each cheek, lips wet with the salt of your tears. "Promise you won't change your mind," his voice cracked ever so slightly. Though it might as well have been a chasm for the way it cleaved you.

You nodded. "I promise," you said sincerely, holding his face between your hands.

Wordlessly he agreed, and his body tensed as your fingers delicately pulled the strap of his patch away to reveal what it hid. The scar was deeper and angrier than you imagined; jagged and red amidst the otherwise ethereal paleness of his complexion. Where his eye should be, sitting in place of his healed empty eye socket, was a sapphire on permanent display with its lidlessness.

You must have made a subconscious noise because Aemond turned his head and nearly threw you off him. "Aemond! What? No!" You said in a voice more shrill than you intended. You gripped his tunic at the center of his chest, thighs tightening around his lap, refusing to be tossed aside so easily. His heart drummed frantically beneath your hands.

"You promised you wouldn't look at me differently," he half hissed, voice low and dangerous, noses almost touching with his intensity. "And you just did. Still are."

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Next thing you knew Aemond's hand gripped your throat, holding with enough pressure to let you know you were at his mercy. "Do I scare you, princess?" He asked, head tilting.

"No," you lied. He was scaring you. Yet, you'd never felt so alive. "Aemond. I don't care what anyone else has said to you about your eye. I stand by what I said earlier. To me you are lovely. Even missing one eye you are the most handsome man I've ever seen." Your airy voice shook, and your thighs tensed around his lap in a different fashion.

Without saying anything in return, the young prince crashed his mouth to yours with an intensity that burned through your clothes and senses. You moaned into his mouth. Raking your fingers through his hair, you gasped as his free hand dug into the soft flesh of your hip. His body hardened beneath you, fiery passion blazing through both of you as he urged your core to press down on him firmer. You whimpered helplessly when his hand left your throat to grip onto the other side of your hip.

"Have you ever been touched?" He asked, stilling your movements over him.

You shook your head, honest this time, and couldn't stop the rush of blood to your face. "No. I've only kissed others."

"How many others?"

"A few boys and girls," you answered and a new wave of shyness threatened to override your boldness.

That got a reaction out of him. "Girls too? Mmm, my princess, you are full of surprises aren't you?" He leaned forward and trailed his mouth along the line of your jaw, down the plane of your neck, stopping only once he reached the top of your shoulder, smirking. "And you've never touched yourself for pleasure?"

Pressure built behind your ears, making your head woozy with the combination of his affections and question. You knew you should answer him truthfully, but for a moment you considered lying again. Alas, honesty won. "I have," you said in a small voice, shyness wholly taking you over now.

A chuckle sounded from Aemond as he began to coax your hips into grinding down on him once more. "I can't blame you. A wet cunt is sooo much fun to play with, isn't it?"

Despite your unrelenting blush, you found the courage to ask, "you've touched others?"

"Mhm. A few."

Like a stone thrown into water, a nasty pang of jealousy rippled out from your stomach through your whole body. "Have you ever laid with any?"

He shook his head and a part of you felt instant relief. "No. I won't father bastards."

"Then it's a good thing we won't have to worry about that in a week, yes?" Your voice like sugar sweetened fruit dripped through him as if it were honey and it took all he had to not claim you right then and there. His arousal strained beneath you, the clothed length of him warm and solid in a way that made your head fuzzy with anticipation.

A throaty groan broke free from him at your words. "My sweet untouched betrothed... my whole lap is hot from your little cunt. You are driving me wild," he kissed you, rolling his hips up against you until you couldn't bite back your whimpers any longer. "I want to watch you touch yourself to peak."

Did he really just say that? You actually thought you might have heard him wrong, because surely...? "My prince?" You asked, shock evident upon your features. You could have died.

"I want to watch, and listen, as you fuck yourself until those pretty eyes roll back in your head," he explained, voice controlled and soft: the sin of lust given flesh. "If it will help, I'll touch myself along with you too. For... motivation," he actually purred with his last word, temptation branding your brain with scalding desire.

You considered his offer. Giddiness at the risk and thrill of it made your mouth form words before you properly thought them through. "Okay. I've never done it before, but... for you I will."

He could have exploded in his trousers right then. For him you would do something so depraved? So lecherous? "Sȳz hāedar. good girl. Now, go sit over there and I will sit over here. If we are too close, I won't be able to stop myself from defiling our proposal by taking your body as mine. God's be damned."

Your head swam as you followed his order, sitting at one end of the fallen log as he sat at the other. You were thankful for the grass as you leaned back on one elbow for support, tentatively lifting a knee to give yourself better access to where you ached with need. Even if you wanted, words failed to form in your head or on your tongue, eyes wide as you held contact with Aemond; lilac and sapphire utterly bewitching you. His posture mirrored yours.

As if on their own accord, your hands dragged the hems of your dress higher and higher, stopping only when it was bunched between your bent up thigh and belly. Shyly and lustfully alike, you tugged your small clothes down the length of your legs until they were forgotten around an ankle.

Aemond's nostrils flared, pupil blown wide, as he locked to that barely exposed space between your thighs. "Open your legs."

With shaking breath, you did. Your center glistened with slick. The mere motion sent a gasp trembling from your lips and you thought you might actually pass out.

Long fingers pulled at the laces of his trousers and he lazily opened the front, not yet pulling himself free. The sight was entirely casual and much too sensual – the ivory skin of his pelvis above his restrained cock on display. "Hold yourself open. I want to see all of you."

You did. You were pink and swollen, practically dripping, and the exposed underside of your thigh tensed with restrained fervor. The low sound Aemond made didn't quite reach your ears, but the way his features hardened and flared, you saw his approval. His eye shone dark as the deepest shadow in his sapphire.

With a muffling bite over your bottom lip, the pads of your fingers traced up your slit, then slowly down, and up again, the bud of your clit a single touch away from throbbing. You tipped your head to your shoulder and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to savor the pleasure in spite of the gnawing bashfulness that swelled in your chest. As you circled your clit your hips rolled into your own touch. You gasped softly and whimpered softer still. Your body was so eager. Wanton.

Aemond struggled to pay attention to your features and hand alike, his own head hazy with unfiltered lust. "Gevie. beautiful. Look at you. Gasping for your own touch already." He idly stroked over himself through his trousers, knowing once he gave into himself he wouldn't last long – not with you presenting yourself like this.

"I want to see you too, my prince," you said between a wavering breath, a lovely coil of pleasure beginning to build in your core. You continued to circle and flick that delightfully engorged and sensitive bud, back arching.

"Push a finger inside yourself first. And a second," he replied, voice rasping, the muscles in his low abdomen flexing.

A deep blush crept down your chest and warmed the tips of your ears alike. Yet, you needn't be told twice. Angling your wrist, you immediately pushed your middle and ring finger into your sopping, spongy walls. Your toes curled inside your shoes. Your mouth hung open with lewd moans, and you fought to look at him as your digits twirled.

The wet sounds of your cunt sent a blast of fire along each and every part of Aemond. No longer could he deny himself. He spat into his hand and began fisting his cock. It was nowhere near how your body would feel, no matter how firmly he squeezed, but that didn't stop him from trying. He pumped along his length needily, languidly, thumb swiping over his exposed head in rhythm. "A third."

Through your building bliss you watched him. You'd felt him a couple times before, and even that couldn't prepare you for truly seeing him. He had a beautiful cock. Not that you'd ever seen one like this before. Yet somewhere deep and primal in your brain knew: Aemond was impressive. Between his length and girth even the blushed color of him was alluring. You wondered what it'd feel like inside your own smaller palm, how your smaller fingers would look wrapped around him. How he'd feel squeezed inside you, splitting you in half.

"Won't fit...," you whispered across to him, forcing your eyes to focus on his – his eye, not his sapphire – though you found yourself switching between both.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw relaxing with a silent gasp. "It will. You've the wettest cunt I've heard."

Surely you were in a purgatory of the Seven Heavens and Seven Hells alike. This didn't even feel real. "Aemond...," you whined in dubious protest. Relaxing your core sent your legs opening wider, and your pelvis rolled to give yourself a new angle. You made a tight triangle with the addition of your index finger. Carefully, you pushed into yourself. Immediately the sensation sent your eyes rolling closed, jaw slack, and your hips arched up into your touch. You couldn't help the sounds of pleasure that came from you. Divine; the closest you'd ever become to a goddess.

Aemond groaned. "Fuck... stretched all around your pretty little fingers." He struggled to keep his eye open as his pace increased, his movements deliberate, chasing his high the vision of you granted him. His tip shone with a slow ooze of his seed, thumb quick to swipe over it with agonizing need.

Something in your belly snapped and all the tension of the day, and all the days since arriving at King's Landing, released in an instant. Unrestrained pleasured sounds ripped from your throat and your body quivered in the aftershocks of your bliss. A thin sheen of sweat glowed along your skin. You were a panting mess. Part of you couldn't believe this was truly happening.

Focusing your gaze, it opened to see Aemond's sheened face furrowed in pleasure. The prince's mouth slackened and the softest, most delicious series of moans you'd ever heard escaped him. You wanted to hear that again, and again, and again. Orgasm burst through him with enough pressure to send the first spurt of his seed landing on his clothed abdomen. The final wave of his spend dribbled onto his hand and he made no move to wipe it away.

In two easy motions he stood and tucked himself back into his trousers, not yet bothering to lace them. He quickly closed the distance between you two and pulled you up to your feet. "The seed of a dragon isn't to be wasted. Open," he said much too huskily.

If that's how he always sounded after peak, you'd make sure to give them to him often. You looked up at him with hazy vision, post orgasm made everything seem heavy and magnificent. Your mouth parted and you slowly extended your tongue. You had a hunch to what he intended.

"Sȳz hāedar. good girl." He slid the meat between his thumb and forefinger down your tongue, lazily dragging the side of that same finger in the same path. Simultaneously, he lifted your guilty hand, hot mouth immediately wrapping around your fingers and sucking. The sensation sent another blazing wave of desire bolting right to your core. You swallowed. Mesmerized and abashed. "Pure and perfect and so sweet." He kissed you, then, the subtle salt and tang of both your bodies melding as your tongues collided.

"Let's not ever leave this rock," you said between kisses, smiling like a lovestruck fool; perhaps you were.

"There's time enough for one more thing before leaving...," he said slyly, holding you tight to him as he turned and lowered you to the ground once again. This time, however, he loomed above you. Silvery hair gleamed in the sunlight as it spilled over his shoulders, the ends tickling the exposed swath of your chest. "I won't yet take your maidenhead. But after your little show? I have to feel this cunny around something."

You gulped as he pulled your skirts up around your hips, excitement making them squirm. "I want you to take me though," you panted, needy and amoral.

"I intend to, my Lady," he replied, lolling his tongue to run the length of two fingers down it. The pads of those fingers instantly found your pearl and he wasted little time in circling your bud. Flicking, tracing, tantalizing.

You writhed beneath him, desperate and lascivious. "Please," you whined, half pathetic even to your own ears. You weren't sure what you were begging for, only for more of that sinfully wonderful euphoria. You grabbed the front of his coat and squeezed, rising your hips in an attempt to coax his fingers inside your fluttering core.

Aemond didn't have any fight in him for that, greedy to see you come undone beneath him. He followed your coax and slipped those two long digits inside the warm heat of your cunt and absolutely savored the sensation. He hissed an inward breath as your eyes unfocused and closed, whimpering the sweetest moan at his intrusion. "So wet. All of this for me? My lovely maiden. I will be the first and last man to touch you like this. You belong to me. ñuhon. mine. All mine," he laughed a dark sound as he began to rub and test along your walls. "My perfect virgin to shape how I see fit."

You simpered and melted beneath him. "Yours."

Dipping his head, he buried his face in the crook of your neck where he bit and sucked along the sensitive skin with the intention of leaving marks. Whoops. You might very well have to wear a high collar or your hair down for the next few days. With a flex of his forearm he began, unhurriedly, pumping in and out of you, shivering at the wet slaps his palm made on you.

You'd only ever been touched in such a way by your own exploration. The young dragon, whether intentional or not, seemed to know just how to stroke and slide around in you. His fingers, while not thick and meaty like some men's, were longer, rougher, and thicker than your own. He curled them up and you nearly choked on the absolute elation that radiated out from your core. Pulling his head up he kept the same pace and pressure, looking down at you with adoration and obsession. "Gevie. beautiful. I love the way you look with my fingers inside you." His free hand moved to your throat. He squeezed. Gently.

With a mind of their own your hips pushed and rolled against his hand. That extra little push was the final thing you needed. You cried out with orgasm beneath him, white lightening overtaking your entire nervous system so you only focused on one thing. Aemond Targaryen. Your pulse hammered beneath his delicate choke hold and your quim spasmed in tandem around his fingers. Overcome with the power your pulse granted him, he too came with you. He was going to need new breeches as soon as he returned to his chambers.

"I will have you like this, and many more ways, the night of our wedding."

Overwhelm crashed over you, eyes glassy as you looked up at him. "I look forward to it, my prince."

He laid beside you and pulled you tightly against him, kissing the crown of your head. "My sweet Arbor maiden."

You both laid there in the grass until the rumbling of your bellies demanded food and the sun moved across the sky.

That night, for the first time in a very long time, you found yourself kneeling before white candles and incense in prayer to the Maiden. You prayed for forgiveness for your lechery; prayed she would take pity on you for giving into the man who you would soon wed. A twist of guilt rang in your chest even as heat collected in your underclothes at the memory of earlier.

That night, in the privacy of his chamber, Aemond fucked his fist with your name on his lips. He held his own face throughout, for a trace of your scent still lingered there and he found himself already addicted.

Alone, in both of your beds, sleep overcame you with lovely blackened serenity.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings.

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

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silens-oro · 1 year

Text

Spoils of War: 5. Consequences

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

Spoils of War Masterlist Masterlist

Synopsis: Every action must have a consequence, and there is no turning back from what is to take place.

Word Count: ~4,073

Warning: 18+. Targaryen uncle/niece incest (lite, nothing truly weird other than they are both Targaryens), death, blood, gore, suicide attempt (this term is used very loosely), heavy angst.

AN: 😅 We're in this together, pals. xoxo

Likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

The turbulence was like nothing you’ve felt before as you steered your dragon through the dangerous storm. It had only gotten worse since you landed in this gods-forsaken place. A single strike of lightning could fell the likes of Vhagar, so you did all you could to lead your brother to safety above the clouds.

Your hands tightened on the handles of Maestron’s saddle as a bellow sounded behind you, overpowering the clash of thunder. It shook you to your very core.

“Faster!” You screamed to the dragons, pleading with Arrax to fly with all of his might. Aemond was giving chase and at this point, you did not know what he would do should he actually catch Luke.

You were sure your earlier provocation did not help. Dread pooled in the pit of your stomach as you thought back on your own foolishness. How many times must you strike a dragon before it strikes back? -your words to Aemond resonated ironically. There were only so many cruel words you could throw at a person, no matter how much they had hurt you, before they too snapped.

The rain blinded you, its droplets hitting your face like shards of glass with the speed that Maestron reached. Arrax struggled to match with Luke on his back. The beast, still so young, did not have the strength he needed to fly as efficiently through the storm.

Whipping your head from side to side to try and locate Vhagar, you only saw black clouds and strikes of lightning. As you looked up, a shuddersome shadow moved overhead. You wanted to sob at the sheer vastness of Vhagar as she flew above, a mere puff of cloud separating her from you and Luke.

Luke looked up when he saw your neck craned and the fear that enveloped your entire being.

The foul beast swooped down in the flash of a second, her razor-clawed feet stopping short of grazing your brother’s head.

“Stop this!” You screamed to Aemond, who only laughed as Arrax dropped in surprise. He quickly righted himself, but the dragon was very much panicked. Vhagar flew up into the darkness, making your head turn on a swivel. Luke called your name in fear.

“Stay steady!” You called to him. Just as you turned forward, Vhagar broke from the clouds ahead of you, flying at break-neck speed straight for the two of you. She growled dangerously, mouth open. Luke split from you, Vhagar gliding through the space he once was.

“Aemond!” Your words fell on deaf ears. You tried not to cry, but the fear of what could possibly happen was just too much.

“To me!” You shouted to Luke. His head turned to find you, steering an erratic Arrax to your side. “You will head for that break in the clouds!” You ordered, pointing above you. He nodded. “You push Arrax as hard as he will go, regardless if I follow or not -you will continue on to Dragonstone!”

“I will not leave you!” He shouted.

“You will do as I say! Now!” Luke shot you a sad look before pulling Arrax to ascend near vertically towards the opening ahead.

Aemond’s cruel laughter was heard over the thunder, taunting you. The great beast had turned around, getting closer and closer to chomping her massive teeth through Maestron’s tail.

“Still see me as weak, my love?” Aemond shouted to you, standing from his saddle to welcome the rain. You turned and saw the maniacal grin that nearly split his face. “I ride the largest, fiercest living dragon in the world!”

“Seems you are overcompensating, my Prince!” You couldn’t help yourself. You would not be treated as prey by anyone, him least of all. This seemed to push Vhagar even closer, causing Maestron to bail to the side to avoid her jaws. Every muscle in your body screamed as you held on for your life. “Stop this, Aemond!” He responded with a slew of taunts in High Valyrian that you could not discern over the blood and wind rushing through your ears.

A weight lifted from your shoulders as the last of Arrax’s spiked tail left your view. He made it out of the storm and to the clear skies above.

You did what you could to keep Aemond’s attention on you so that Luke may flee. Bringing Maestron as low to the ground as you could, you maneuvered him around mountainsides and through canyons -anything that would make it difficult for Vhagar to follow.

It mattered not.

Aemond continued to laugh as if this was a friendly game of chase and not a life or death situation. Oh how wrong your heart had been to love this monster of a man. Had his feelings for you been genuine? These thoughts you could ponder on later, but the pain he had caused hurt all the same.

Maestron roared in warning as he pulled his wings tight to his body, shooting himself like an arrow through a narrow rock path that the beast giving chase could not follow through.

Looking behind you, you saw Aemond’s face drop as he pulled Vhagar up. She flew above you, trailing the slightest bit as you pushed Maestron through the narrow canyon.

“Had the boy just given me what was owed, this would not be happening!” He shouted down to you.

“This is tiresome, Aemond!”

“For you! I will not stop giving chase! Not until this war is over or I claim my prize!” You pushed Maestron into a band of thick clouds for cover once the canyon opened up. Maestron's pale coloring camouflaged with the clouds and Aemond immediately lost sight of you. High Valyrian curses shouted from his lips once more, mocking you as you fled. He beckoned you to come out with cruel words, but you would not take the bait.

“Arrax, dohaeragon!” Luke shouted from behind. Flames burst through the clouds overhead, followed by the pained roar of Vhagar.

“No!” You shouted in terror, tears springing to your eyes as you turned Maestron to go back.

You made it to your brother just as Vhagar began to descend away from the flames. Fire had burned the dragon-rot scales of her muzzle, creating the perfect deterrent for you both to escape. If Aemond had been singed in the aftermath, then so be it.

“Go!” Luke shouted to you, turning Arrax to a break in the clouds above. Once you saw the tip of Arrax’s tail clear the surface once more, you felt hope that you’d make it out of this.

Gasping for breath as Maestron followed through the surface of the clouds, it felt like the first breath of air after submerging under a tidal wave.

“We’ve made it!” Luke shouted, Arrax gliding at a higher altitude than Maestron.

“Why did you do that?!” You shouted up at him angrily, hair whipping in the dry wind. Frustration, panic, worry, and fear were all evident on your face. All of the emotions swelled together, making it hard to differentiate one from another.

Luke looked taken aback.

“When you did not surface, I could not leave you!” He reasoned. “I would not! Just as I know you would not leave me!” You pushed the wet tendrils of hair from your face that had gotten loose from your riding braids.

“It is your duty to follow what I say and you deliberately disobeyed me. Your safety and well-being is of the utmost importance, Luke! You are the heir to Driftmark! You have a legacy to uphold!” You said sharply, sighing when you saw tears shine in his dark eyes as you reprimanded him.

You breathed a moment to calm yourself. His brows furrowed in anger as response.

“As is yours!” He shouted. “If you do not make it to Lord Stark, we will have nothing! Without the Northern bannermen we will lose! You know this and yet you still put yourself in harm’s way!” Luke turned it on you, though the anger had fallen away immediately. The dragons glided through the air for a few moments, the only sound between you was of their wings flapping.

“What you did was brave,” You started, “and I thank you for it, but there is a razor thin line between bravery and stupidity, Luke. You need to understand that and differentiate between them when you are making such rash decisions.” You tried to council. Aemond was right about one thing -Luke could not expect you to stand by him forever. It was painful to think about. You had shielded him as much as you could his entire life in a way your mother couldn’t. You and Jace were closer in age, and while you were still fiercely protective of him, he could handle himself. Luke would always be the toddling child in your eyes, even though you knew it wasn’t reality. You were seeing that now.

“I won’t apologize!” Luke shouted back at you, shaking his head. His emotions bubbled up to the surface. “I am to protect you just as you protect me!” Tears fell from your eyes as you looked at him when his voice cracked. You bit your lip to the point of drawing blood to stop the sob that wanted to escape. “I cannot lose you!” Stopping any further words from leaving your mouth, you kept your lips closed tight and nodded.

You shared a look of understanding. Luke was growing up. You could see that he would be a good Lord of Driftmark by his convictions alone. He had a lot to learn, but he would surely grow into the role set before him. There was no doubt in your mind.

Luke took point in leading you both back to Dragonstone.

You would be a few days behind Jace, who had already started the week-long journey to Winterfell himself. It would be a day or so later than you were to be expected, but Jace would buy time. He was charming enough. The second you had an audience with your Queen Mother and father on what transpired at Storm’s End, you would take flight to what would be your new home should Lord Stark accept the betrothal.

You panted, head leaning down to rest between the handles in front of you as you absorbed the heat of the sun on your back. You brought a gloved hand down to rub at the only flesh you could safely reach of the dragon’s, whispering gratitude to the beast in your native tongue. You knew he was exhausted just as you were.

“Keep your eyes open. We are not safe until we see the Dragonmont, Luke.” You warned, looking back down to the storm below.

“You think he’d still give chase?” Luke questioned, looking down at you with furrowed brows.

“I don't-” Your words were cut short, the air pushed from your lungs. Maestron barrel rolled out of instinct to the right to miss the hooked claws of Vhagar’s feet as she burst through the clouds on Luke’s other side. The action nearly broke your neck with the sheer force of it. Your brother’s name tried to tumble from your lips and by the time it did, Luke was gone.

“No! Vhagar, no!” Aemond shouted atop his rogue mount. There was no stopping the Queen of Dragons scorned by what she surely viewed as a wyrmling.

Snapped within the massive jaws of Vhagar, Lucerys disappeared entirely, and Arrax’s body -minuscule in comparison to Vhagar’s head alone- severed like shreds of parchment. Blood and flesh rained down through the clouds and out of sight to the ground below.

Vhagar roared in victory, a deliberate warning to Maestron.

Your screams of terror came from a place deep within you that you did not know existed. They were guttural and agonizing as you caught sight of Aemond’s horrified face. He called your name, begging you to listen to him, just as you pushed Maestron to flee once more.

“Sōvegon!” Fly, you shouted. The dragon moved with more speed than he had with Arrax beside him. At twice the size that Arrax was, Maestron flew with twice the speed and twice the agility.

Even still, it would take nothing short of a miracle to escape the cruel fate rapidly catching up behind you. You did not think Aemond capable of such treacheries, and yet…your brother’s remains would never be found.

You could not catch your breath through your sobs of devastation. Your dragon screeched in shared terror as Vhagar only inched closer. He tried to out-maneuver Vhagar, shifting left and right, up and down, cutting back and forth to try and lose her.

Gone.

Luke was gone.

Dead.

“Land or Vhagar may kill Maestron! I cannot predict what she will do! Do not meet your end as your brother has, I beg!” Aemond shouted behind you.

You lowered Maestron as you had previously, but you had no intention of landing. The flat lands just past Bronzegate were not as inviting as they once were when you spent nights out here with Aemond. The grounds had been tainted with your brother's blood and there was nothing in this world that could cleanse it.

“You will take my life before I submit willingly, you wretch!” You shouted back, Maestron rolling once more to the side to switch directions to buy time. “Murderer!” You wailed as Aemond shook his head, still in shock.

Continuing to head Northeast, you were reaching the stretch of land leading to Massey’s Hook. Once you reached the end of the Peninsula, you would see Dragonstone as a in the distance, Blackwater Bay, and any loyal dragonriders who were on patrol. Aemond would not dare cross into your mother’s territory. Not after what he had done.

“You will not make it!” Aemond shouted in promise. “Land and we shall speak!”

“You hold no words I wish to hear!” You felt the determination that Maestron willed as he pushed on. Never had you flown so fast upon his back. He knew just how grave of a situation this was. So focused were you on the passing lands of Massey’s Hook, so close to the cut off of the bay, that there was nothing you could do to save Maestron’s wing from the clutches of Vhagar’s jaws.

It felt as if you had been slingshotted from your saddle. Maestron’s velocity had ceased, giving way to Vhagar’s. You screamed in pain, for yourself and your dragon.

Aemond shouted at his mount to hold. Your beast roared and screeched, kicking and biting at Vhagar to release him. Had you not strapped yourself to the saddle, you surely would’ve fallen to your doom below. Your face met the last sight your brother saw before he was taken, but she did not welcome you within her putrid mouth as she did him. Dragon blood sprayed across your face and soaked your hair as you tried to hold onto the slippery handles of the saddle. Vhagar held Maestron’s wing in her mouth, his body hanging vertically. The sounds he made ripped your heart from your chest.

“Aemond!” You begged, though you did not know what for. Release? Death? Any end, surely. Bone twisted and snapped sickly as Maestron continued to fight. You did not know how much longer you could hold on nor how long your straps would keep you secured. You prayed Maestron’s wing did not rip entirely, plunging you both to the land below. Perhaps that would be the best way to go, hand in hand with your valiant mount.

Vhagar’s landing near the cliffs of the hook was rough, Maestron’s legs and tail dragged along the terrain, tearing his pale skin from flesh.

“Release him!” You begged hysterically, your throat raw from screaming.

At her rider’s command, the Queen of Dragons released the mangled dragon to the ground. His wing was brutally twisted, broken, and torn. Blood, bone, and cartilage were visible, flapping in the breeze. Your stomach turned at the grizzly sight. Maestron let out pathetic whelps as he tried to scurry away from Vhagar’s reach. You felt his pain, his agony, his fear. The shared connection between you sizzled and popped in a frenzy.

Maestron would never fly again if he lived.

“I’ve warned you!” Aemond shouted, though you saw the raw fear on his face. “Remove yourself from your dragon or she will strike again. You do your beast no favors by resisting.” It felt like your chest was caving in with the devastation that overtook you. Like your brother, neither you nor your dear Maestron were making it out of this, you realized.

Betrayed and murdered by a man whose affections you once held dear to your heart.

“We will speak, and nothing more!” He promised.

You paid him no mind, trying to soothe Maestron as best as you could. Aemond watched from his saddle, a frown set upon his lips as he witnessed the suffering before him. This is not what he wished to happen when he gave chase. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself. Everything had gone so horribly wrong, so terribly fast.

Knowing it was dangerous to unstrap yourself from the dragon as he tried to hobble his way to safety from Vhagar, it was much more dangerous to stay upon him. Both dragons were volatile and could attack each other at any given moment with you in the crossfire.

Tensions were too high to remain where you were, so with a pull of your strap you tumbled free from Maestron as he flailed, narrowly smashing you with his mangled foot as you fell in a heap to the ground. Ducking under the chaotic swing of his partially skinned spiked tail, you scrambled to get out of his way.

Vhagar took her moment to assert herself upon Maestron. She growled menacingly, inching forward as a predator would cornered prey. Maestron hissed and roared, trying to ward the she-beast away. You stood away from the dragons, watching helplessly.

Maestron would not live through this, you concluded. The dragon that had hatched in your crib as an infant, that bonded with you so ferociously as a child, that served you loyally and you it -would die slowly, or he would die quickly. Either way, you would grant him the mercy of ending his suffering. Your lower lip trembled terribly as you looked upon him, eyes blurring from the wall of tears built over them. He was beautiful even his last moments. He was powerful and strong, but he was no match for the dragon before him.

No dragon alone was.

It would be quick for him and that gave you little comfort. With a fist clutching your heart you made your decision.

“Maestron!” You shouted, your voice riddled with fury, pain, and misery. Maestron and Aemond both looked at you. “Dracarys!” Maestron looked to Vhagar, and with his last burst of energy a fury of flames burst forth.

“Ossēnagon!” Kill, Aemond shouted instantaneously. Vhagar did not need her rider’s command.

You fell to your knees as Vhagar took three massive steps forward through the flames and clamped her jaws around Maestron’s neck. The flames died instantly with a sickening crack as she bit down.

Maestron’s head hit the ground like a boulder fallen from a cliff as his body flailed and twitched, blood raining down onto the field.

“He will only bring pain and misery.” Sobs broke free from your lips as your father’s prophecy rang true.

Vhagar let out a ground trembling roar that shook the dirt beneath you before flames shot from her mouth to roast the fallen dragon before her. She descended upon his carcass in a feast right before your very eyes.

All sound gave way to a high pitch in your ears as you watched the scene before you, unblinking. Your body bent forward to the ground and your forehead touched the dirt as you cried in pain, in agony now that you had a void where your connection to Maestron once was. You did not know a life before it, and you certainly did not think you would have much of one after it was gone.

You cried for Luke.

You cried for Maestron.

You cried for Arrax.

You cried for your mother, who will surely be devastated once the news reaches her.

You cried for yourself.

So much had been lost in such a small span of time.

This felt like the beginning of the end as you pulled yourself back up to a kneeling position upon your knees, gasping for breath as you looked to the skies above. How could your gods forsake you as they had? Your eyes were pulled to the sound of crashing waves and whipping winds to your right. The tides were calling you, beckoning you into their safe embrace.

This would be done.

Aemond, who had since dismounted, called your name as he cautiously approached you with one arm reaching out ahead of him as if he were about to tangle with a wild animal. You looked over to him, still a good distance away, with such a look that it stopped him in his tracks. He knew what a rabbit looked like just as it was about to flee, so he started running towards you before you made your move. Instantly, you jumped to your feet clumsily and started running towards the cliff’s edge in the distance.

“Stop!” Aemond yelled your name, his long legs easily narrowing the distance between you. You did not turn back to look at him, only forward to your salvation. As the sparse trees around you cleared, the endless horizon of the sea came into view. The muscles of your legs cramped and burned, your lungs clenched painfully as you ran faster than you ever had in your life.

“Stop!” His breaths were quick, but his training had built a stamina that you simply did not have. You relied on your sheer will to continue forward, one foot in front of the other as you ran. Aemond called your name once more before you were tackled to the ground from behind. The flesh of your palms and face tore as they skidded across the ground, an eerie likeness to what Vhagar had done to Maestron in their own landing.

Your body rolled with Aemond’s from the sheer force you both exerted. Dust created a cloud that followed the breeze and dissipated into the air. You both ended in a tangle of limbs, but Aemond was quick to straddle your hips to keep you to the ground. His gloved hands held you down by your shoulders, using his weight as leverage. Pebbles and stones beneath you dug into your back painfully and the wounds in your face and hands stung. You could feel the warmth of blood trickle down your chin to your neck.

The both of you were panting, eyes wild as you stared at each other. You tried to push Aemond off of you, but he was quick to hold your hands above your head in the struggle. Aemond’s face lowered closer to yours, his long hair curtaining around you with the loss of the leather tie that usually fastened it.

“You’d jump?” The natural softness of his voice broke you. You screamed and thrashed, kicking your legs to get him off of you. His free hand pinned you by your neck, his long fingers wrapping around it easily. “Answer me!” He shouted.

“Kill me now! If you will not allow me to do it myself, then you will do it! You have my life, so take it!” You demanded. Aemond’s frown only seemed to deepen. “You’ve taken everything else!” Your eyes left his as you tilted your head back as far as it would go to look up at the sky. Such a vast difference to Storm’s End, you thought. A cascade of pinks and oranges were painted above you as the sun set, and not a single cloud could be seen. “If ever you loved me, Aemond, you would grant me this small mercy.” Your voice was hoarse and small as the pressure of Aemond’s hand left your throat. You closed your eyes, allowing the beauties of the sky to be your last sight in this life.

Your thoughts were sent to darkness, the hilt of a blade knocked against your skull.

Finally, you had peace.

“Your Grace, I apologize for the intrusion, but I have urgent news from Stonedance.” Maester Gerardys entered the Solar without a single knock. The room was currently occupied by Daemon and the Queen, who had just finished their dinner. Both stood at the maester's entrance. Gerardys looked panicked and quickly handed Rhaenyra the scroll held tightly in his shaking hands.

“Massey’s Hook?” Rhaenyra looked at Daemon in confusion before pulling the scroll open. Her eyes scanned the words and she nearly collapsed against the table before her. She read it over and over to make sure she was truly seeing the words written before her. The scroll fell to the table, rolling back and forth as an uncontrollable sob left her mouth. Daemon was quick to grab the rolled parchment, nearly tearing it in half with how roughly he pulled the ends apart. His jaw clenched and his eyes turned to slits

“Shall I gather the council?” Gerardys suggested. Daemon gave him a single nod before Gerardys excused himself. The maester wasn’t out of the room but for seconds before Rhaenyra��s legs collapsed under her. Daemon was quick to catch her, holding her as they both fell to the ground. She wailed horrifically into his chest, clenching her hands around him. Daemon could only feel anger, brutal and bloody anger.

His daughter and step-son had perished, and their dragons with them. The Kingdom would burn for this.

Show of hands, who's cryin'? ✋

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#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #aemond x you #x reader #hotd x you #angst #spoils of war fic

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humanpurposes · 11 months

Text

Karma is a God

Chapter 8: Dragonstone

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: none

Words: 5700

A/n: Originally posted on AO3, posting to Tumblr before I get back to regular updates.

They rode through dusk, darkness and daybreak, far above the clouds to evade the prying eyes of friends, foes or otherwise.

When the wind picked up, Grey Ghost began a descent and the Narrow Sea sprawled out underneath them. At the sight of the water and the rush of waves, Luke gripped the dragon’s scales a little harder.

She couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched. She looked over her shoulder, and every time she saw nothing but empty space.

They finally rounded past Claw Isle and a fortress of grey and black stone faded into view through a salty mist. Dragonstone was forged with fire and magic, so the histories claim, the last outpost of Old Valyria, with stone dragons adorning the walls and towers against a backdrop of smoke swirling up from the Dragonmount.

This is where Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya planned their conquest, and now Queen Rhaenyra plots a war of her own.

Grey Ghost settled just outside the castle walls. She had tried to guide him to the courtyard, but he wouldn’t do it. Too loud, too busy, too vulnerable.

Two bodies collided into her the moment the gates opened. One was small, wrapping his skinny arms around her and pressing his head of dark curls against her waist. The other encompassed them both, pulling them into his chest.

Luke clutched Joffrey so tightly she worried she might squeeze the air from his lungs. She could think of worse fates than being smothered by the embrace of a loved one.

There had never been a day when the Velaryon siblings were parted, not until Storm’s End, not until their uncle had tried to tear her away from them. And yet here she was, in spite of it all, in spite of him, running her hand through Joffrey’s hair and leaning into Jace’s arms, pledging a silent vow to never leave them again.

For a few precious moments she allowed herself this bitter happiness.

Two dragons called out in sorrowful joy from the Dragonmount, Vermax’s rippling screech and Tyraxes’ almost feline growl. Some of the strength she had gathered shattered at their cries. No matter how long she held her brothers, the reunion was incomplete without Arrax.

Eventually she followed Jace to the hall of the painted table, where their Queen stood before a raging hearth, flickers of flame dancing in the gleam of her gold crown and silver hair. Her eyes were wide and glassy, fixed upon the map before her.

Every other pair of eyes in the hall fell to the Princess, Lords Celtigar and Bar Emmon standing by the Westerlands, Ser Steffon and Ser Lorent by the Vale, Lord Corlys and Baela by Driftmark and the Gullet, and Rhaena, standing by the Queen’s side.

Daemon, she noticed, was not present.

“Princess Lucerra,” Ser Lorent finally announced, “of houses Velaryon and Targaryen.”

She must have looked anything but royal, draped in a heavy Northern cloak, her hair a tangled mess and the skin of her cheeks red from the wind.

She hadn’t stopped for food or rest during the flight from Winterfell, but she had been so desperate to make the journey that the thought of delaying by even a moment had filled her with dread. Another moment for something to go wrong. Another moment for someone else to die.

Her eyes were sunken, her lips downturned and effortlessly solemn, still, she looked to the Queen with a childlike innocence, waiting for a spark of recognition in her mother’s eyes.

Rhaenyra looked up from the map slowly. “Lucerra,” it came like a question, muddled as though she had just woken from a dream.

She wanted to run across the room, to collide into her mother and melt into her arms as she had done with Jace and Joffrey, but something kept her frozen where she stood. There was an emptiness Rhaenyra’s in eyes, like one of Alicent’s statues of the Seven, ethereal, but lifeless.

“I am here, mother,” Luke said.

Rhaenyra wordlessly reached out a hand, and Luke approached her cautiously. When she curled her fingers around her hand she found her skin was cold.

Rhaenyra brought her other hand to cup Luke’s cheek, barely hovering a thumb over the almost faded cut below her eye, unable to take her gaze from it.

Her lip trembled. “My sweet girl,” she uttered, “my precious girl.”

Living on Dragonstone is nothing like the quiet isolation of her childhood. Now it is like living in a history book. Soldiers train in the courtyard, knights patrol the hallways, Lords gather and debate around the painted table, and a fleet of ships hover beyond the shore.

Rhaena tried to suggest a walk through the village, to take their minds off it all, but even that left Luke with an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at her insides. The people scurried about like mice, quick and avoidant, terrified at what might come should this war get bloodier.

She does not find comfort in her bedchamber. It feels too large, too empty, and when the wind is too harsh her mind starts to slip, to the rain, the storm, Vhagar’s open jaws…

When the nightmares persist she goes to Jace’s chambers. If he’s awake he’ll let her have the bed. If he’s asleep she settles on the settee and watches the embers in the fireplace fade until she can’t keep her eyes open.

Her mother’s council gathers daily to discuss the war, but it is not the Queen who takes command of these meetings. Jace has aged again after their time together in the North, only now it shows through the assuredness of his voice, the way he carries himself, the eager glimmer in his eye as he addresses their allies.

Luke ensures she is present for every meeting, standing alongside Lord Corlys and her step-sisters.

Daemon sends ravens from Harrenhal; their numbers are increasing every day as more and more houses of the Riverlands pledge their fealty to the one true Queen, either of their own admission or with some ‘persuading’ by the Rogue Prince and his dragon. Given the pact made with Cregan Stark, the North will soon come to double their numbers.

Baela gives her a suggestive glance at the reminder of her betrothal. Luke’s eyes dart down to her hands as she runs her nails over her fingertips.

Lord Celtigar asks about Dorne. Maester Gerardys notes Prince Qoren is keen to avoid this conflict and similar sentiments come from the Tyrells.

“We should not disregard the Reach,” Jace insists. “Highgarden may not want a part in this war but the Hightowers have influence enough in Oldtown to form a formidable host.”

“Indeed, Lord Ormund has already begun the march to King’s Landing,” says Lord Bar Eammon.

Jace presses his lips together and inches the Hightower figure along the map. The Greens have the support of the South and the West of Westeros, and their allies are closing in to defend the capital against Daemon’s growing host.

Then comes the concerns of dragons.

Rhaenyra straightens her shoulders. “We still outnumber them,” she says stiffly.

Lord Corlys’ eyes darken. “The simple fact remains,” he says, hands clenching into fists by his side, “as long as the Greens have Vaghar, we are at a disadvantage.”

Luke feels Baela tense beside her and reaches for her sister’s wrist, stroking her thumb over her sleeve, the same way her mother had always soothed them as children.

Rhaenyra returns Lord Corlys’ glare and the room settles into a restless silence.

Eyes flitter everywhere, between the Queen and the Lord of the Tides, locked in a cold conflict neither have any intention of backing down from, and to Luke herself, the Princess who should be dead. She grips Baela’s wrist a little tighter.

Rhaena had told her of the day the raven came from Rook’s Rest. Rhaenyra had simply stared at the letter from Lord Staunton, begging for aid in the face of the Green host. She said Jace had volunteered to go with Rhaenys, and that Rhaenyra seemed to come to life when he did, only to forbid him from going. So Rhaenys went alone. And shortly after word came of her demise.

With Meleys dead and Craxes in the Riverlands, no dragon they have could hope to stand against Vaghar.

For this though, Jace has a solution.

She wakes with the sunrise and Jace is already gone. She returns to her own chambers where a maid is waiting for her with new riding leathers. She slips into black leather leggings, a crimson skirt and matching undershirt. Then the maid helps her into a black leather tunic, patterned with intertwining dragons of red and gold. The material is thicker than she’s used to, for keeping out the cold presumably, it would hardly save her from Vhagar’s teeth and talons.

Her eyes are drawn to a breastplate and pauldron set, laid out by the window. The metal is plated with silver and layered like dragonscales. Beside that is a sheathed sword.

“Do you like your gift?” Even when softly spoken, the voice of Lord Corlys is booming and demanding.

Her eyes dart to where he stands in the doorway, his tall and broad frame obstructing her view of the hallway behind him. She has never known him as a young man, and yet for the first time she truly sees his age on his face. She wonders what has finally cracked the Sea Snake, the six years of war in the Stepstones? The fever that had his family fighting over his throne? The death of his beloved wife seems the most obvious answer.

He offers her a small smile that does not reach his eyes, and nods towards the blade.

When she looks closer, she sees the golden hilt is fashioned into the image of a seahorse, the sigil of house Velaryon. She supposes she should feel some sort of pride to wield the image of her father’s house, and yet…

She wraps her fingers around it and her brows twist into a delicate frown. “This is for me?”

Lord Corlys sighs. She listens to the thud of his boots against the stone floor as he makes his way to her side. If he understands her reservation, he will not satisfy it. “Prince Jacaerys tells me you are a rather capable combatant.”

She grips the hilt tightly despite the resistance in her fingers. Her strength is still not what is once was.

“Daemon made sure of that,” she murmurs.

Her step-father’s name comes with an image of the silver-haired twins she had only gotten a glimpse of in King’s Landing, the terrified little glares on their pale faces as they hid themselves behind their mother’s skirts. It is too easy to imagine their linen gowns stained with blood.

She dispels the swelling in her eyes and looks back up to her grandsire, the man who had put himself between her and a vengeful Alicent all those years ago on Driftmark, who had held her as she had cried herself to exhaustion on the night of Ser Laenor’s death. She forces a smile of her own.

He tilts his head down to her, bewildered for a moment, before he opens his arms. She settles unsurely in his embrace, but he holds her firmly, resting a hand on the back of her head. She takes a few shuddering breaths to find he smells like Laenor.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters.

“Whatever for?”

She takes another shaky breath, breathing in his bitterness and warmth, and the lingering scent of the sea. She wasn’t the one who ordered a dragon after Meleys and Rhaenys, she wasn’t the one to sever Jaehaerys or Jaehaera’s heads from their bodies and yet she feels the burden of their deaths in her heart. “Everything.”

Corlys gently pulls away from her, so he can look into her eyes. “War enacts a terrible price…” the thought seems to get caught in his throat.

“The pain must be worth something,” she says in a shaky voice.

He does not answer her.

It will be worth it, she tells herself, when the Black banners line the halls of the Red Keep and Rhaenyra Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. It has to be.

Lord Corlys follows her to the entrance hall where Jace is already waiting with five others, all dressed in riding leathers, though their faces are unfamiliar to her.

Two spark some kind of vague recognition. They must be brothers, the same features in their faces, the same dark skin and shade of silver hair. The taller one has an assured smirk on his lips and locks that fall to his shoulders. The shorter one has a slightly more timid, wide-eyed gaze and close cropped hair.

Her grandfather greets them warmly, gripping their hands and slapping their backs. Then she realises, their smiles are identical to the Sea Snake’s. She glances at Jace. He raises his eyebrows at her.

Corlys introduces them as Alyn and Addam of Hull, bastards of Laenor’s, her half-brothers. Luke grins, she can think of several ways why that might be a lie. At least they seem more savoury than the other pair of men with silver hair.

Hugh Hammer is a monster of a man, tall and built like a bull, and he frowns like one. By contrast, Ulf, ‘the white’ as the people of Dragonstone call him, is thin and wiry, next to Hugh, he looks like nothing more than skin on bones. They only make gruff grunts of acknowledgement when Jace introduces them, glaring at her through harsh violet eyes.

The last of their group is a girl, with black braids and dark skin, dressed in humble brown riding leathers. She’s shorter and slimmer than Luke, but the scar across the bridge of her nose and the creases around her mouth lead her to wonder if she is older than she appears.

“Nettles,” she says, extending a small but calloused hand.

Luke doesn’t understand at first.

Jace huffs a laugh. “Princess Lucerra, might I introduce Nettles.” He turns to the girl. “Nettles, Princess Lucerra is the daughter of the Queen, you should address her accordingly.”

She tuts to herself and bends her knees in an odd attempt at a curtsy. “Sorry, Princess.”

Luke takes her hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “That’s alright, I’m not usually one for formalities at the best of times.”

Once Baela appears, dressed in leathers that match Luke’s, they make their way out to the yard, towards the Dragonmount.

In all her years living on Dragonstone, she has only seen glimpses of the larger dragons, heard their roars from the mount, seen their distant figures soaring through the sky. And all of a sudden she is faced with Vermithor, Silverwing and Sheepstealer, stalking towards their new riders.

Her heart leaps at a familiar whistling screech as Seasmoke rises from the mount, twirling through the air before he lands to come to Addam’s side.

She watches as Jace’s eyes light up at the sight before them; six dragons, eager for flight, ready to take their place in this war.

She has to wait until the others have taken flight before Grey Ghost finally comes to join her. Not too eagerly, she summons some of the dragon keepers, bringing with them heavy bundles of leather. The dragon grumbles at the company, but she keeps a hand against the scales of his neck, stroking where his hide is delicate, uttering phrases of reassurance.

It takes her a while to figure out how to fit the saddle. The dragon keepers had always helped her with Arrax, but she manages it, helped immensely by Grey Ghost’s unusual but welcome show of patience.

Once she has given him a few moments to adjust to the feeling of the saddle, she gives the order, and they bolt into the sky.

At first they are a restless mass, flashes of bronze, silver, pale green, emerald, and grey dancing over the castle, until Vermax emerges from the group, darting out towards the sea. The others follow behind him, forming an instinctive formation, Grey Ghost and Moondancer, Seasmoke and Sheepstealer, with Vermithor and Silverwing bringing up the rear.

Luke looks over to Baela, her silver curls flailing in the wind behind her, a wide and eager grin across her lips. Ahead of them, Jace keeps his eye fixed on the horizon, leading them all through twists, turns and dives down towards the sea until seven tails skim the surface of the water.

“Today is only the beginning,” he promises once they have dismounted. “We’ll be an army in our own right, the most formidable force of dragons since the conquest.”

“An ambitious standard,” Baela says with a sly smile, tearing her gloves off with her teeth. Luke can’t help but agree.

There can be no room for error in a dance of dragons. One faulty manoeuvre and you fall. One oversight and you are claimed by teeth and talons. And that’s so long as you can keep control of your dragon. Restraint and unity, above all else, is essential. Fly as one. Think as one. Die as one.

Jace has the Dragonseeds training from the early morning until dusk each day and Luke is keen to include herself. Grey Ghost is still wary of the other dragons, especially the larger three, Vermithor, Silverwing and Sheepstealer, but he warms to Vermax, Seasmoke and Moondancer well enough. They fly over Dragonstone and Driftmark, along the routes she and Arrax had well memorised.

Grey Ghost eases under her guidance every time they fly. Each day she pushes him a little further, urges him to fly faster, climb higher amongst the clouds where the air is thin and dive back down to the sea until there are tears streaming from her eyes.

When she comes back to the ground she goes to the yard, to spar with the sword Lord Corlys has gifted her and practise with her bow.

The sun fades with no great bursts of red or gold painting the sky. Darkness creeps in slowly, and the clouds above Dragonstone turn to a deep violet. The wind howls against the battlements around the courtyard, but the air is still. Luke’s fingertips are raw as they pull back on the bow. She has promised herself she will not return to the castle until she can shoot ten bullseyes in a row.

She releases the arrow. It cuts through the air with a whistle and lands in the straw, perfectly centred. One.

She traces her fingertips over the feathers of the next, squinting at her target through the low light of the evening and the dull fatigue in her eyes.

Two… three… four…

She hears the crackle of dirt underfoot as someone paces behind her.

Five… and the sixth is a little off centre. She gnaws at the flesh inside her mouth, but allows herself the benefit of the doubt and lines up her next arrow.

“You are relentless, Princess.”

She finally lowers the bow, realising the ache that has appeared in her left arm, but what is pain to her now? She’s suffered worse. “Would you expect different of me? We are at war.”

Alyn takes a step closer to her, plucking a finger against the string of her bow to her frustration. “Lord Corlys speaks very highly of you... and your brothers.”

She flicks his hand away from her bow. “How endearing, but it is a shame he has never mentioned you.”

“Addam and I are bastards, nothing of note.”

An attempt at humility, or perhaps he means to insult her? But there’s a sadness in his eyes, despite the small smile playing at his lips.

She presses her teeth together. Sometimes she feels foolish for not having realised why her hair was brown sooner. Jace whispered it to her, as they watched Harwin Strong leave the Red Keep from a window.

“Have you always known?” She asks.

“My mother always told us stories of our father, a great warrior and an even greater sailor; some might say the greatest the world has ever known. Imagine my surprise when the Lord of Driftmark paid a visit to Hull and told me my true father was Laenor Velaryon.”

One of her hands curls into a fist. “Don't you dare. Laenor was an honourable man."

“I wouldn’t dream of denying it," he says with a slight tilt of his head. "Though he had an incredible talent for fathering children, despite his... preferences."

In a fluid flash of movement she positions another arrow into her bow and shoots. Seven. “So you’ve decided to approach me merely to insult my father?”

“He is my father as much as he is yours, Princess.”

She huffs a disbelieving laugh and lets another arrow loose. Eight, though slightly off again.

Alyn’s eyes follow her strike. His lips curl into a strange sort of smirk. She can’t decide if he’s impressed or amused. “I've gotten off topic. No, I only meant to say that Lord Corlys is fond of you.”

“Why would I need to hear that from you?” She asks, keeping her eyes on the target as she lines up her ninth arrow.

“Surely it hasn’t escaped your attention of his-”

Crack. She grins as number nine splits right through the first arrow.

“-current displeasure.”

"Have some sympathy for our grandfather, Alyn, he is still in mourning for his wife after all."

His nostrils flare as he takes a slow and steady breath. “He believes Rhaenys might have had a chance, if only Rhaenyra had allowed Prince Jacaerys to join her at Rook's Rest.

Luke stands rigidly as a shiver slips down her spine. Burned beyond recognition, their scouts had said. The Queen who never was, left as a pile of ash in a pool of dried blood underneath the rotting carcass of her dragon. Meleys was a force enough on her own, and Rhaenys had a lifetime of skill and experience. It still hadn’t been enough to save either of them.

“To send Jace would have been to condemn him to death," she decides.

“And yet you managed to survive an encounter with Vaghar.”

Crack. Number ten cuts through number nine, leaving a scattering of splinters on the ground below the target. They both watch them fall.

The howls of the wind become more ghastly with every passing moment, as does the sound of the waves, crashing and retreating against the shore below the castle and the cliffs. If Laenor were here she is certain he would anticipate a storm approaching.

With a grim “hmm” through a clenched jaw, she sets the bow aside and marches to pick the arrows from the target.

Alyn trails her at a respectable distance, standing just over her shoulder. “Rhaenyra needs the Velaryon fleet,” he says under his breath, “she cannot hope to win this war without us, without Corlys.”

Luke sighs. “The Targaryens and the Velaryons are kin. Corlys will defend his family.”

“If we are so closely bonded, why did Rhaenyra need to betroth her son to Lady Baela?”

Rhaenys had seen right through Rhaenyra and called the arrangement for what it as. A desperate offer, but they needed Driftmark. It seems a lifetime ago they were stood in the throne room of the Red Keep, arguing over petitions.

With a particularly tough yank, she pulls the final arrow and turns to face him with a vacant glare. “Are you trying to bait me?”

“I wish for you to know that we can speak freely with one another, we are family after all.”

She pouts her lips disapprovingly, not realising she's doing it.

“I do not doubt Lord Corlys’ loyalty,” Alyn says, “but the Queen would do well to earn it.”

A flash of anger fades from her chest as quickly as it comes. He's insulted her family so brazenly, but somehow she understands him.

Because he’s right. The Velaryons have sided with Rhaenyra by the will of one man, even after she named Joffrey heir to Driftmark and Daemon beheaded Vaemond Velaryon for daring to speak against them. Her mother treads on thin ice, and should Corlys decide his interests could lie elsewhere…

“Luke!”

She snaps her lips shut and glances over her shoulder. Baela is waiting for her on the steps to the castle.

“You’ll be late for dinner if you delay any further,” her step-sister calls, striding towards them, uncaring as the hem of black gown drags along the dirt of the yard. “Gods, are you still in your riding leathers?”

“You can help me dress,” Luke says, reaching for her bow and her sheathed sword. She buckles it to her hip, letting her fingers run over the golden seahorse hilt. She tilts her head to Alyn. “I wish you a pleasant evening,” she says shortly.

“And you, Princess,” he says with a smile. His gaze doesn’t linger on Luke for long before he turns to the woman beside her.

Baela looks rather immaculate this evening, her hair pulled into a bun to display a pair of delicate pearl drop earrings and a silver necklace sitting on her collar.

“Lady Baela," he says in a surprisingly warm tone.

Baela mutters a formality, glancing at him for only a moment before her eyes dart to the ground.

Luke grabs her arm and the two march back through the doors of the castle.

Baela shoots a few glances over her shoulder, to find the corridors as quiet as they had left them. “What did he want?”

Luke sighs, knowing she can’t stall for too long. “He spoke of my father- our father, I suppose.”

“Anything else?”

I wish for you to know that we can speak freely with one another. He’d certainly been honest in that regard.

“Nothing of any significance,” she says as lightheartedly as she can.

Baela pouts her lips and presses no further.

Lord Corlys’ displeasure eases once Jace names him Hand of the Queen. Rhaenyra presents him with the very pin she tore from Otto Hightower in a brief ceremony before the council. Alyn and Addam stand by his side, now proudly bearing the name Velaryon.

With the Velaryon fleet holding the Gullet and the Dragonseeds patrolling the skies, Jace puts forth his strategy to take King’s Landing within a matter of weeks.

Luke stands by her mother’s side and keeps her eyes fixed on the floor.

There is just one detail keeping Jace from mounting Vermax and leading the other dragons to the capital.

“We have Vermithor and Silverwing to match Vaghar on strength,” Addam says, “and aside from that we have the numbers to overwhelm her.”

“It would require sacrifices nonetheless,” Rhaenyra says, clutching at Luke’s fingers. Her touch is still cold.

Jace stands at the other end of the table, leaning on his palms over the vast expanse of the North. “Vhagar may be their only fighting dragon, but Aemond is ruthless.”

The Queen agrees. “We will wait upon Prince Daemon’s word.”

Luke frowns. Wait for what?

Until then, Jace sets another plan into motion. Two ships wait in the harbour, one headed for The Eyrie, the other for Pentos, and the dragon keepers have been instructed to prepare Tyraxes, Moondancer and Grey Ghost to leave Dragonstone.

Viserys is too young to put up any resistance. He sits in Rhaena’s arms, fiddling with a silver bead in her hair and cooing to himself. But the boy knows something is wrong when his sister holds him a little tighter and his brother, Aegon, starts to wail.

Joffrey clings to Luke’s hand, his head darting between his older siblings. Jace can’t look any of them in the eyes, but Luke glares at him all the same.

“You can’t be serious, Jace,” Baela says, crouching beside Aegon to muffle his cries against her shoulder.

“It’s for your own safety.”

“No,” Rhaena breathes, “we can’t be parted from each other.”

“It won’t be forever, just until the war is over.”

“But you cannot say when that will be,” Luke says.

Jace meets her eyes.

Her brother has always been her protector, the voice of reason where she had an impulse for recklessness. Braver than her, stronger than her, stubborn in his own way but not as determined as his little sister.

Now looking at Jace is like looking in a mirror, two pairs of brown eyes, with the same flecks of gold around their pupils, glaring back at each other with passive fury that could bring the Targaryen dynasty to its knees.

“I won’t go,” Baela grumbles.

“Nor will I,” Luke says.

“And me!” Joffrey pipes in, “please, Jace, I want to fight alongside you!"

“Enough!”

The older siblings cease their bickering, the stunned silence interrupted only by the cries of the little ones as Rhaenyra rushes to take Viserys into her arms. She looks more like a mother than she has for weeks, without a crown, her hair loose about her shoulders and wearing a simple gown underneath her black robe.

“Oh my loves,” she breathes, rocking her youngest into a settled sadness. Viserys gurgles little sobs into his mother’s neck, but the quiet It dispels Aegon too, clutching at Baela’s skirts and gazing up at Rhaenyra with sad, lavender eyes.

Luke squeezes Joffrey’s hand. What she wouldn’t give to be that small again, curled into her mother’s arms.

Keeping Viserys in one arm, Rhaenyra brings the other around Baela’s shoulder, pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead. “You have all been so brave, but you should not have to be.”

“It is our duty, is it not? To stand by your side and claim what has been taken from us,” Baela says.

Rhaenyra’s eyes fall to Luke. “I have already asked too much of my children.”

Luke frowns. She was not ready to go to Storm’s End, she knew it the moment she saw Vaghar over the battlements. But she will be ready the next time she crosses paths with her uncle.

With the little ones handed back to their nursemaids, and Baela and Rhaena taking Joffrey’s hand to bring him to bed, Luke stands before her brother and her Queen.

The heat from the hearth, almost the height she is, burns against the right side of her face and lights a fire in her eyes. “I want to fight for your throne,” she says.

“Out of the question," Jace snaps.

“I have already survived an attack by Vaghar.”

“Barely. And Arrax didn’t.”

“Grey Ghost is not Arrax.”

“You’re being foolish.”

“Do you think you know better than I what is at risk? Is that why you get to play war and I do not?”

“This is not a game, Luke,” Rhaenyra warns.

She shakes her head frantically, hardly aware she’s doing it. “Of course it isn’t, but there has to be a reason, a reason why I suffered.” Her breath seems to fade from her lungs. “Aemond- the Greens must suffer for what they have done to our family!”

“You think you could be the one do it?” Jace sneers. “You slashed out Aemond’s eye and had nightmares about it for eight years.”

She digs her nails into her palms to stop herself from screaming at him. She allows herself a moment to slow her breath, to gather her thoughts through the pumping of her heart in her ears.

“Things are different now. I am different.” She sees it in the world around her, fixing her attention to the cold and the colour grey more than she used to. She feels it in the constant ache in her muscles, like every movement she makes is wrong. She’s so tired and yet restless. “Please, mother, do not send me from your side.”

“She should return to Winterfell, to her betrothed-”

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra holds a hand to silence him. When she looks back to Luke, she seems equally exhausted, hardly able to muster neither a smile or a frown. “I would not have you be a warrior.”

“But-”

“Promise me, Lucerra, promise me you will stay by my side.”

“I… I promise, your Grace.”

Joffrey and Rhaena leave the very next morning. After a tearful farewell, Rhaena boards the ship that will take her to the Eyrie with her pale pink hatching, Morning, perched on her shoulder. Once the ship sets sail, Tyraxes swoops down from the Dragonmount, to fly alongside them.

And the day after that, the little ones begin their journey across the Narrow Sea, to be fostered by the Prince of Pentos. They make their way down to the harbour in the early morning, the Queen and her children, with Ser Erryk to accompany them.

Aegon toddles along the dock with his dragon, Stormcloud, clutched in his arms like a doll, while Viserys keeps his egg close to his chest.

“Don’t lose it, Vis,” Jace smiles, “hold it tight.”

The boy shakes his head and tightens his grip as much as his pudgy little arms will allow.

Rhaenyra holds them for what must be an eternity, knowing it will never be enough time. She lets them go, choking down a sob as she bids farewell to two more children. She cannot bring herself to linger for long. Once the ship leaves the harbour, she walks with Ser Erryk back to the castle.

Luke, Baela and Jace stand and watch the ship until it vanishes over the horizon. The sun has started to set and the sky burns a blood red, illuminating the sea in a similar shade.

“It won’t be for long,” Jace says, “the moment I step foot in King’s Landing, I’ll send word, and we’ll be together again.”

Luke looks to the West as the sun sets. The Red Keep is there, somewhere beyond the skyline, it always has been, but now she feels more aware of it than ever.

She doesn’t dream much as of late. Her sleep is broken, fading in and out of darkness. Sometimes she sees glimpses of faces, flashes of silver hair, spurts of blood and flickers of flame.

Other times she feels a breath teasing the skin of her neck, a cruel whisper of a voice as a hand traces along her body. Her own voice hums in her throat. She utters the last half of a name that makes her blood burn.

She shifts up to see if Jace is still in his bed. Luckily for her, he’s fast asleep, jaw slack and snoring.

After that she starts sleeping in her own chambers, no matter how loudly the wind howls or how the sound of the sea makes her shiver. When Jace asks her why, she lies and says it’s because her nightmares have stopped.

Tags: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarssslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc #aemond x fem!lucerys #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond x original female character #aemond x reader #my fics #karma is a god

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 8 months

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What is Broken (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) SNEAK PEEK

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, maybe smut in the future idk

Author's note: Ok well since Studious came out of me trying to power through my writer's block, hopefully this'll not only be as good, but also work as well for kicking writer's block's ass. Idk how long it's gonna be. It's based on a convo I had with the Aemond AI (made by @foxyanon ) on a day when I just didn't feel like being happy at all. Coming soon (I hope)!

What is Broken Sneak Peek

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess,

Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

#What is Broken #aemond #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #ewan mitchell

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pinkydevil16 · 2 years

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Aemond targaryen x targaryen reader: part 25

With Rhaenys dead Rhaenyra decided she was done letting the greens take her families lives, Daemon agreed and the two prepared their battle plans. Allying whoever they could for their conquering of kings landing, they needed to be able to take down Vhagar and Aemond quickly. The news of Y/n bending the knee to Aegon had been one Rhaenyra's followers did not take lightly, declaring her a whorish traitor. Daemon had kept himself from cutting their tongues out, explaining his daughter was cunning and would always support her mother. Y/n was playing to her strengths, using her womanly wiles to keep Aemond on her side, manipulating whoever she could to stay alive. No one aware she had a dark plan, her mother would sit on the throne even if it killed Y/n. The blacks mourned Rhaenys the queen who never was, Rhaenyra swearing her name would live on through Jacaerys who would be her heir.

Aegon feared Rhaenyra's uprising, he had been wounded in his fight with Rhaenys, they had killed her and her dragon but not without Aegon receiving a blow to the leg. The maesters had wrapped his leg, it would heal easily but he needed to rest. Y/n spent the day with Aemond, he had spoken of his victory watching his wife's reaction. Y/n had smiled and congratulated him, asking if she could give her praise to Vhagar. Aemond climbed atop Vhagar as he watched Y/n stroke her speaking soft words he could not hear, admiring her beauty and the love she had for his dragon.

"I am sorry you have had to kill those you love Vhagar, one day you will be allowed to rest peacefully in old age." Vhagar huffed out an agreement and pushed her head further into Y/n's arms. Y/n stroked her head a few times before climbing infront of Aemond. Pulling his arms to wrap around her as she leant into him, relaxing her body to enjoy the flight. The two soaring through the air, enjoying the view from above the clouds, both content as they relaxed against Vhagar. Flying higher into the sky as Y/n spoke in high valerian to Vhagar, commanding her to fly straight up. Vhagar followed her commands, the two gripping to the saddle as Y/n screamed with excitement. The rush of commanding a dragon flowing through her, her plan was working she was gaining power with Vhagar. Aemond was proud, he saw this as a sign Y/n belonged to him body and soul, Vhagar seeing the claim and supporting it.

"You truly are the love of my life." Aemond kissed her as they coasted through the clouds, the closest to god man could get and with the strongest dragon Aemond truly was the closest to god he could be. Landing Aemond assisted Y/n to climb down, both stroking Vhagar before walking hand in hand through the red keep unaware of the looming battle over the horizon.

Rhaenya and Daemon had allied enough soldiers they could take over Kingslanding, and take back Rhaenyra's rightful crown. Jacaerys had married his cousin, securing Rhaenys' line as she had wished. They demanded blood for what they had lost, the Green's blood would run through the village like a river once the Black's reclaimed their throne. Rhaenyra's loss of her children had hardened her worse every day, she feared greatly how her daughter faired against the traitors who stole her throne.

Aegon healed well, a slight limp as he walked showing his victory of war, he heard of the allies in the north but did not fear them. It was too long a journey to the south and they would be able to apprehend the traitors before they posed a threat. The counsel blinded by their trust in Aemond and Vhagar, they had the most powerful dragon, a great warrior and Rhaenyra's daughter. Their advantage great against the black's, Alicent believed they were too relaxed wanting to reign hell on Rhaenyra but she was a woman in court. Her opinion thrown away by her father who had grown too egotistical from his time being hand, he finally had full control. Aegon let him do as he wished, too drunk and unworthy to care of the kingdom. He had the people's love what else mattered?

Aemond barely cared for the war, he did his duty but inside he wanted to rule, he should have been named heir and sat with his beautiful queen. He would have ended the war before it began, slaughtered their dragons and anyone who opposed his birth right. Y/n would rule gloriously alongside him, a perfect queen of the people whilst he could be ruthless still. The two sides of the coin working in harmony, he dreamt of it often, his arms wrapped around Y/n. He knew one day they would sit upon the iron throne, small children running around, Y/n swollen with more. Aemond wished for Aegon to kill Rhaenyra and Daemon, Y/n could run into his arms and he would appease her by poisoning his brother and heirs. He would let Halaena live, he cared for his sister she would eventually be greatful for being freed from Aegon. He wouldn't have his spiteful grandfather as his hand, he would accuse him of poisoning Aegon. Marry his mother to some lord to be rid of her, It had become his favourite fantasy. Y/n spurred him on, talking of him being king, putting an heir in her and wanting to be a queen.

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#aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond the kinslayer #house of targaryen #queen rhaenyra #daemon targeryan #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #hotd aemond

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olet-lucernam · 4 months

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A Hollow Promise [16] chapter iii, part iv

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : loki's return to asgard becomes imminent, and his guard shows her hand.

recommended listening : bones, imagine dragons

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Loki caught her against the glass wall as her body buckled, collapsing into him, the lights above them flickering violently. He retained enough presence of mind to throw up a hasty illusion, veiling them from the cameras.

“Astra-”

“You know me-”

“Darling stop, stop, you have to stop-”

“You know me,” she pressed out past the agony, shuddering, clawing at his bicep, “you know me like I know you, how do you know me, how do I- why do I-”

“Hush, my heart, you need to stop,” Loki hissed, seizing her upper arms in a bruising, grounding grip.

The backlash was so powerful that he didn’t even need to consciously pull forward his magic to identify its source. He could feel the shards of an old, broken spell, not hers or his, corroded over decades by the proximity to her overwhelming magical core, and having shattered like rusted iron- becoming the equivalent to shrapnel in a wound, surrounded by scar tissue, shredding her open as she tried to rip it out of her.

“Why,” she gasped out, “why can’t I remember-”

“The seal upon your memories is caused by corrupted magic,” Loki explained coolly, brisk and clinical, hoping that unambiguous truth would give her an anchor. “Damaged by and now feeding off your mana. The more you try to destroy it, the more it draws from your core to protect itself. And the worse the pain will become. You cannot purge it alone. And I do not have time to pull it apart.”

“But you can.” Her voice was trembling, but honing in on him- distracting her from her near self-mutilating attempts to rip it out of her. The lights blinked, slowly stabilising. “You can break it.”

“I can break it.” Loki confirmed calmly.

She shivered violently.

Loki raised his hand to her cheek, his thumb soothing across her skin. He made his magic gentle, a cool mist, settling and seeping in to leech and neutralise the pain.

“Loki-”

“I have you, beloved,” he murmured, letting her lean her forehead against his shoulder, feeling her melt into him without a thought. “Now hold still for me.”

As she relaxed under his touch, sinking into a trusting ease that left Loki aching, he shifted, his middle finger tracing a serpentine loop against her carotid artery- like a love knot, like an ouroboros, like a net- closing into itself.

His mana trailed the motion, anchoring a spell as strong as spider’s silk, intricate and entrapping.

She held still for him, letting him etch his magic into her, holding her own mana at bay like the tide, only letting fine rivulets through to forge his spell deeper into her, drawing it down past the surface and into her meridians.

His spell settled into her, delicately wrought as filigree.

It was a long moment before she spoke again.

“Astrid.” It was murmured almost flush against his heart, her lips skimming leather and her breath clouding gold plate. “Astrid North Strange. That is my name.”

Names had power. She would know that.

And she had given him hers in full.

“Astrid,” Loki echoed softly. “A Norse name.”

His thumb stroked her jaw, absently.

“It means beautiful and beloved of the gods.”

Her body started with a soft huff of unvoiced laughter.

“Mm. How lofty.”

Loki hummed in lighthearted agreement. He had always liked the way the name fell- the weight of it like a chant, like a soaring stride alighting into a thudding footstep, like a sigh that dropped into a snarl through gritted teeth- As-trid, As-strid, As-trid.

The meaning was stately, as was its natural carriage, but Loki liked to think he could hear something far more visceral in it- the sound of a heartbeat.

“Wait for me?” He said, in quiet entreaty.

She hummed sweetly.

“The alternative being?” She wondered wryly, lifting her head into his touch with a sated sigh, absently caressing his sleeve. “Yes. Yes, I’ll wait for you. I’ll take your deal.”

Loki closed his eyes, leaning in and pressing his mouth into her hair, hoarding away this last moment- to seal into his memory like candied flowers in a glass jar, to ration out when he would need them, in coming days.

She pulled away gently, her hand remaining on his arm- lingering within the boundary of the illusion he had set, not yet disturbing and dispelling the veil of magic.

She- Astrid- breathed deep, looking up at him calmly, the mass of her blonde curls falling back over her shoulders.

“Thanos is going to lose,” she announced.

For anyone else, it would mean almost nothing. It was an empty affirmation, closer to a reassurance.

At least, in anyone’s mouth but hers.

She looked almost surprised that the words had come out, reaching up to tap a finger against her lips.

“Oh,” she said, quietly delighted. “Well. Look at that.”

Loki shook his head, faintly desperate. “Astra-”

He cut himself off.

Loki didn’t know what he wanted to tell her, or how he wanted to react.

She smiled serenely.

“Haven’t I made it clear?” She said, exhaling into a surrendering laugh. “I don’t know if I’m capable of loving in moderation. For my father, I went through hell and made a deal with the devil.”

She reached up, and touched his cheek tenderly.

“For you, Loki- how far do you think I’ll go?”

It sunk in slowly, the weight of it grounding him, binding him like satin ties.

Something within him that Loki had long thought dead- something that he thought had been killed partway by Odin’s lie, in greater part by the Black Order, and taken its last gasps at his own hands- returned to life, demanding space inside him, shoving aside scar tissue and jagged wreckage to breathe anew.

Necromancer, he thought, eyes watering, fondly accusing.

Loki grasped for her hand, turning his face into her palm, his lashes lowered.

Her expression tightened, even as her hand remained pliant in his.

“We’re out of time,” she announced quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Loki said, lips moving against the base of his thumb, reluctantly loosening his fingers from around her wrist. “And do not apologise to me for being right.”

Loki caught the gleam in her eyes, as though she wanted to argue.

Instead, she gave a short, firm nod, her hand slipping out of his.

“Alright. Let’s get to work, beloved.”

He had no time to react to the endearment as she briskly stepped around him, breaking the illusion and reaching for the case she had dropped.

Loki swivelled halfway to watch her. Sinking to one knee, she unlatched the case and lifted the lid with a hook of her finger, rising with its contents in her hands.

In one hand, she held a set of manacles, gripping through the rings of the shackles deftly- the restraints hastily manufactured to hold Asgardian strength, Loki deduced from the uneven edges and poorly distributed bulk. As light skimmed the flat of the cuffs, Loki caught sight of a set of runes shallowly etched into the metal, forming a rudimentary magic-supressing seal.

Hm. It must have been an instruction from his brother- smart, Loki couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. Thor would possess just enough knowledge to instruct the array, but not quite enough to realise that Loki had worked out how to unlock most rudimentary arrays centuries ago- despite the fact that Loki had utilised such skills during their many misadventures.

In her other hand, she was holding a strange curve of pewter metal. It looked as though it had been cobbled together from scrap, the shape of it reminiscent of a lower jawbone-

“Ah,” Loki said lightly, “is that the muzzle?”

She was examining it with an expression of utter disdain.

In one motion, she tossed it over her shoulder, sending it clattering against the back wall of the cell.

Loki grinned, carefully crafting it to read as taunting to the cameras.

“Well. I can’t imagine Director Fury will be terribly pleased about that.”

“In which case he can come down here and muzzle you himself,” she replied shortly, walking towards him, casting a judgemental look over the manacles and their deficient craftsmanship. “I’m not doing it.”

Laughing, Loki offered his wrists up to her placidly.

“I imagine that he is more likely to send his pet superheroes to complete the task,” he commented, tilting his head at her, as she snapped the first cuff closed around his wrist, her fingertips lingering to trace along the ridges of his hand.

“Given that Fury is a baseline unenhanced human, that seems pragmatic.” She commented neutrally, unlocking the second cuff and widening its hinge. “And as the director of SHIELD, pragmatism is a prerequisite.”

Loki leaned down until his breath skimmed her cheekbone, close enough to feel the heat exuded from her skin and bask in it.

“And yet here you are, darling,” he murmured against her cheek.

Her eyes flicked to his as he pulled back a few scant inches, alight and glinting like gold thread in sunlight.

“Here I am, prince.”

She closed the shackle around his wrist, letting its internal gears grind into place. Loki let his gaze flit down, contemplating the rings of metal and the rope-chain connecting them- which offered far too much slack, he thought, but he deigned not to mention it.

“I suppose this is goodbye.”

She tilted her head. “Mn. Don’t tell me you’ll miss me?”

Loki smirked at the mockery steepling her eyebrows, knowing it wasn’t intended for him.

He lifted her hand in his, his touch delicate, every inch the Asgardian prince who had learned courtly manners and courtesy at his mother’s hand.

“I am rather tempted to keep you, songbird,” he murmured. Loki saw her swallow, and the shadow of longing that crossed her features like a cloud, and Loki’s fingers twitched against hers.

It was only the memory of the Black Order- of the Other- of him- that kept him from seizing her against him and running.

If you fail- if the Tesseract is kept from us- there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can’t find you-

A moment of weakness and selfishness would see her dead. They could never know. Loki could never give them a whisper of a reason to realise that she was somehow important- not until it was too late for them to stop what they had already set in motion.

A game of patience it is, then.

“Next time, perhaps.”

The parting words risked being a few shades too sweet, too much softness from the remorseless villain who thought mortals little better than insects. But Loki had confidence in his calculating mask, and it wouldn’t be so implausible for him to consider her a pretty amusement- like an enamelled music box, or a sun-charm that scattered rainbows through its prism. Surely, a would-be conqueror would dwell on what should have been amongst his trophies of war.

In tales from both Midgard and Asgard, monsters were well known to covet beautiful things, stealing them away to hoard in their strongholds.

The narrative made sense, Loki decided- and allowed himself to raise her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles, darkly possessive.

“Farewell, Alethia.”

He released her hand.

Her own hand hovered in the air, her expression guarded and easily misread as the watchfulness of those first hours.

After a moment, she pulled it back to herself, gaze dropping and her lashes shielding her eyes, her head remaining high and poised.

Loki saw the stuttering hitch on her careful inhale, as she took a step back, pivoting smoothly and walking to the cell door.

After a few seconds, the door opened remotely, allowing her to step out.

So they were watching, after all.

And had done nothing when he had wrapped his hand around her throat.

Duly noted.

Loki remained perfectly still, watch the door close in front of her, separating them once more.

The tension he recognised in her was less like grief, and more like rage. It burned, quiet and ominous as a fire.

Before he could say anything else, she abruptly turned him and cupped a hand across her mouth, shielding her lips from view.

“I do love nothing in the world so much as you,” she quoted, voice muffled, eyes crushingly wanting above the screen of her fingers. “Is not that strange?”

It felt like a final, desperate entreaty, the last thing that she could give, a final resort to make sure he understood.

Loki drew his shoulders back, and mirrored her motion, covering his mouth with his palm.

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.”

The sentiment contained was pulled from the deepest and truest part of him, wrung out of his soul, the discomfort of its earnestness pressing against his edges.

Loki watched her take it in, wordlessly devouring his declaration as though it was the last drink before crossing a desert.

It took nine heartbeats for her to walk away, taking Loki’s heart with her.

Her footsteps echoed through the passageway- constructed through a hollow vertebrae of coolant pipes and electrical cords, a maintenance spine than ran the length of the Helicarrier- reverberating off the raw metal, rinsing through the crevices and hollows like currents of a rising tide.

She moved at a quick clip, brisk enough to send her hair whisking back from her face, mind running hot as blood.

Astrid North Strange prided herself on being smart. Her father did not raise an idiot- a superior, self-interested, materialistic, prideful, wilful smart-aleck who had absolutely no moderation when she wanted something, yes, but not an idiot- and she had no intention of becoming one. He had impressed upon her that the brain was an organ, and should be treated as one, maintained and rested and exercised. He had taught her to think, sharpening her willingness to question like a scalpel at a whetstone, until he could trust her to make up her own mind and defend her position against anyone. And he had taught her not to think too hard, sometimes- to embrace bursts of dopamine and serotonin just because, to say no or yes and feel no need to justify herself, to be selfish and take sometimes.

It had grounded her, strangely. She couldn’t be detached, or a passive observer, or a voyeur to life, once she realised that she wanted things. Once she wanted and felt, she found herself bound to the universe, invested, breaking the limitations of the apathy that she had drifted within.

Pain and love are symbiotic, he had told her once, with that wry, self-deprecating twist in his smile. And both are fuel. Motive. Don’t hold yourself too far above them. It- it’s not worth it.

For all that, he still hadn’t liked her plan. Even at the time, Astrid had acknowledged that it was less than ideal. But he had understood that it was important to her, and that she could no longer be at ease in ignorance, and that any argument he made against it would be hypocritical, to say the least, considering how he had raised her. Instead, he had helped make arrangements, set up a place for her to retreat to if ever she needed it, and let her go with a kiss to the temple- trusting her to be smart.

And, presumably, not to steal an Infinity Stone on sheer impulse, allow herself to be captured by SHIELD, become enamoured at first sight with the demigod who had attacked New York with an alien army and become a fixture on the list of dangerous entities maintained by the sorcerers of Kamar Taj, and within less than twenty-four hours decide to conspire with him to prevent an exponentially worse entity from obtaining the most powerful artifacts in existence.

In her defence, the context was extraordinarily exonerating.

He wouldn’t- couldn’t- be that upset with her, once he heard the facts.

Right?

She halted, the residual momentum almost swaying her forward.

Astrid gritted her teeth against a sigh, pressing into her browbone.

Yeah. Daddy is going to lose his goddamn mind.

She hated the idea of disappointing him. Frustration, worry, exasperation, even his rare anger would be tolerable- but disappointing him-

But-

Astrid glanced down at her hand, rubbing her fingertips together absently.

Beautiful and beloved of the gods.

It made sense now.

Astrid was incapable of lying. However, she was perfectly capable of being imprecise, as all truths could be.

When she told Loki that her name was one of the few things she remembered, from whatever had come before, it was the truth.

What she had omitted was that she remembered a plethora of names, all of them equally hers.

Seraph. Zhan. Sol. Lihn. Sigyn. Könül. Alwari. Æsanna. Astrilde. Astrid.

Later, she would gain more- North. Strange. Sweetheart. Doctor. Stephenson. Stephensdottir. Alethia.

And now she had his names for her.

Darling. Beloved. Sweet thing. Songbird. My lady. Dove. My heart. Astra.

Her heart fluttered.

Yet when Stephen Vincent Strange had pulled her from oblivion, steadied her through the rush of sensory overload, and tentatively asked if she had a name, Astrid was the one that she had chosen to give. She hadn’t given it much thought at the time, and it hadn’t been questioned; it was not an unusual name in the far north of Scandinavia, no matter the circumstances under which she had been found.

It was Astrid, and Astrid alone, that had any reason to wonder why that name.

And now she knew.

That was how he knew her.

Her fingers closed into her palm.

Astrid was not an idiot.

It took finesse to deceive when you couldn’t lie, and even more to convince someone of the truth when you were prohibited from speaking it explicitly. While it was rare that Astrid held all the cards, she usually knew the hands of everybody else sitting at the table, and therefore how best to play her own.

And so, as much as she wanted to turn back, to reclaim everything that she had been looking for-

Forward. The only way out was through.

Alright. Time to get to work.

Closing her eyes, Astrid drew a measured breath.

On the exhale, she sank away from her surface, and cracked herself open.

Captivity had provided her with plenty of time to hone the technique, meditating out of her corporeal form and into the astral plane, settling her frayed nerves each day like smoothing ruffled feathers. But this time, the transition was almost effortless, smooth as a gloss of olive oil.

Her awareness haemorrhaged out of her flesh- and within seconds, she could sense every living presence aboard the Helicarrier.

Each soul was a pinprick of energy, like stars dispersed amidst the black of empty space. On the periphery of her awareness, the densely clustered populations of Manhattan, Queens, the Bronx, Brooklyn and Hudson County were an unresolved blur, like a smudge of light from the Wintergaten on a clear night in the mountains.

Astrid kept her focus within the confines of the airborne aircraft carrier, sifting through them like grains of sand in a rockpool-

Her attention was wrenched in an unexpected direction, an abrupt swing of a compass needle as it was tossed upright.

Loki.

The seal that he had etched into her neck was like a lingering kiss, cooling against her skin. It was a chain- forged with her consent, binding a tether between them, rippling like a livewire.

The link was woven as delicate as spun ice, strong as spider silk, a net as fine as a mesh of gossamer lace. She could feel its gentle tug at her meridians, his living magic an endothermic reaction against her, soaking in her warmth and leaving her trembling and breathless, like morning light breaking upon fern frost. Her own mana thrummed against his, molten gold and rich as fresh blood.

She could feel her heartbeat in her mouth, her head light as champagne swirling into a drain, tipping her perspective as gently as the sway of a waltz.

Loki, alderliefest, beloved, my infinity, mineminemine-

Swallowing, Astrid breathed slow, tamping down on the power bleeding out from her core, quaking with the sheer force of it, compressing it into something solid and malleable.

The excess power that shimmered, omnipresent, at her surface was already enough to cause a power surge in a modest lowrise. Unlatching her core could take down a few city blocks, if directed effectively.

But in that instant- her mana leapt like liquor tossed on open flame, her bones nothing more than kindling to make it catch, as though half of its potency had laid dormant until now.

It only proved her instincts right.

The moment that she had seen him- seen him- sculpted and vicious and wrenchingly beautiful, blunt and snarling as snapping jaws, blazing like an aurora, misrule and placidity and rage, quiet contemplation and haughty sangfroid and wicked humour and wounded tenderness, perfected imperfection, the line of his mouth begging for the sweep of her fingertip, the clarity of his eyes holding her captive, the timbre of his voice melting away the rest of the world-

It had slotted something into place for her, leaving her devolving into maddening certainty, feeling something in her break against the contours of his existence.

Her soul could have shattered apart.

For the first time, Astrid realised bitterly, she finally understood why Orpheus had failed, and turned to face his beloved Eurydice.

It was bad enough, to lose him so soon- but to leave him, to abandon him now, alone and knowing that he wanted to keep her-

Even knowing the consequences- even knowing that this temporary loss was the compromise for a future gain, delayed gratification taken to a logical extreme- she still wanted to turn back. The intensity of it was enough to make her want to gouge out her own heart and press it into his hands, to make him truly understand that there was nothing beyond him, nothing that could aspire to be more, that this was what she had been searching for, that she couldn’t-

But Astrid was not Orpheus.

She had proven it, in hundreds of agonising steps, sulphur smoking out her lungs and brimstone staining her eyes, hardening herself against the pleading cries at her back and her heart shrieking in protest.

Fidelity.

Astrid scoffed softly.

This was the form of her faithfulness. This was what he had asked of her.

Alright.

Turning away, she refocused, and searched.

There.

She snagged upon one particular presence- one that Astrid had encountered often enough in the past months to isolate with relative ease- located a few decks above her.

They were at a fair enough distance for it to work.

Without pause, Astrid filtered out from their precise location, tapping at the ambient currents of energy to resonate back to her like vibrations through a taut wire, chasing along their routes.

Hydraulically-controlled doors. Digitally-secured security access points. Voice-activated elevators.

All easily sabotaged in order to force someone to take the long way around, and with little suspicion arising from it, given that the Helicarrier was still recovering from the recent assault on its electronic systems.

And buying her time.

Astrid opened her eyes.

Raising her hand, she sliced two fingers through her hair, sectioning off a skein at the front, just above the arch of her right eyebrow. Splitting it into three, she began braiding it back with practiced efficiency, falling into step, weaving a verse of sour-tongued, irreverent spellsong.

“Show me how to lie You’re getting better all the time, And turning all against the one Is an art that’s hard to teach

Another clever word Sets off an unsuspecting herd, And as you step back into line A mob jumps to their feet…”

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astralarias · 2 months

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The Hope of the World - COYH Zine

Hi!! Here is my completed fic I wrote for the GW2 Commander of your Heart Zine! It was so much fun to take part and I hope you enjoyed seeing all the gorgeous art and wonderful writing from all involved.

My piece was a reflection on Jioxa and how she feels she fits into the world, her place in it as Commander. It is set in an ambiguous dream-vision, but no matter how real, a visit from an old dear friend gives her the encouragement she needs to stay strong.

1.5k words | Implied Trahearne/Commander | No content warnings

She dreams of him, sometimes.

Nights when the buzz of thoughts in her head give rise to great thunderstorms, when all her doubts and fears crash down upon her. Torrential, unending.

She dreams of him, and he becomes her safe haven from the storm. His presence is like the serenity of the full moon on a clear night; quiet, soft, watchful. It’s in these fleeting moments that Jioxa finds peace, or something close to it.

It never lasts. She wakes to a world rocked by Dragons and Gods, the chaos she wrought upon the world heavy in her veins like lead. It was the only choice, and she knows this, but knowledge isn’t feeling, and oh, how she feels. She laments, for Soo-won especially, source of all, who Jioxa only knew in her pain and torment.

But she dreams of him, and often she wishes in dreams she could stay.

Tonight is one such night. The day had been long and arduous, leaving her body aching and her mind clouded. Sleep found her easier than usual, and the waking world gave way to a more pleasant illusion.

She sits on a precipice, overlooking a soft darkness dotted with a million stars. The spiral arm of the galaxy stretches out from beneath her feet to far above her head, purple and blue and gold. Eternal Alchemy in its most beautiful form. She’s wearing a simple, comfortable outfit, and her long black hair is loose, settled around her shoulders.

He’s beside her.

Trahearne. As he was - as she remembers - before Maguuma. Back when the world was - not easier, but simpler. He turns to her, and the smile he gives warms her heart. She meets his eyes, her bright orange to his yellow, and he blurs in her vision as tears well up.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, taking his hand in her own, running her thumbs over the bumps and imperfections. The physicality of him, even in a dream - she’s missed it dearly.

“As have I, dearheart,” Trahearne replies, and her heart flutters, his love for her almost flowing between them. As if she was like him. As if she could feel what he felt, as he could do with his own kind. It’s a bitter thought, that whatever they had was not as deep as it could have been, were she - sylvari. She chokes down the word her brain had initially supplied, better.

It isn’t that she hates who she is, but she can’t discount the nights she’s spent laying awake, wishing she was more. More ‘asura’, more intelligent, more lovable. He makes her feel like she’s enough, but she wishes she could be more than enough for him. To connect with him, through thought and feeling alone; who wouldn’t yearn for that?

She sighs. As her parents had always said, thinking was like kneading dough. Helpful and necessary, but go on for too long and your bread would become chewy and tough. Think too much, and you’ll spin yourself into despair. Ugh. She wrinkles her nose. She’s using her parent’s metaphors, now? She’s getting old.

She shakes her head to clear the unwanted worries, and looks back up to the serene sylvari beside her.

“Trahearne,” she says, “can I ask you something?”

His gaze softens, warms like the spring sun. “You know you need not ask. What troubles you?”

She knows this is all an elaborate play orchestrated by her tired mind, but his presence is as comforting as it had been in life. She leans against him, and he moves his arm around her shoulder to hold her.

“Why me?” Jioxa begins. “Throughout everything, I was your first choice. You could have chosen someone better, after we killed Zhaitan. Someone - a soldier, a tactician, someone braver and stronger. Why did you stick with me? What did I bring to - to everything?”

For a moment the world hangs in silence, as heavy as a brick. When he speaks, gentle, she lets out a breath of relief. She’d almost wondered if she’d done something wrong, made some transgression by asking. The last dregs of her fear melt away as he tugs her closer.

“My heart, you underestimate yourself,” he says. “I didn’t need a soldier; indeed, I had plenty. I didn’t need bravery or strength, although you displayed both in troves, more than I had any right to ask of you. I needed you, yourself. A pure, kind heart, and a voice to inspire courage, to light the way through the dark and keep that light ablaze when I could not. Had you not been by my side, I - and the Pact - would have faltered in our first steps.”

He pauses, looking down at her with eyes full of warm sincerity. “You brought to me something more valuable than all the armies of Tyria combined. Hope. Something that had evaded my grasp for the longest time, after all those years in Orr.”

She feels heavy tears stream down her cheeks, although she doesn’t recall starting to cry. She’s silent, words slipping between her fingers despite how she scrambles to hold onto them. His own words are everything to her, a lifeline - but she can’t quite bring herself to believe him.

Trahearne turns to her, a slight furrow to his leafy brow. She sniffles, trying to wipe away her tears - unsuccessfully, as they don’t seem in any mood to stop.

“Jioxa,” he says, near a whisper. “May I show you something?”

Curiosity flickers in her chest, stirring her heart. The tears stop, and she fixes him with a quizzical look, her ears pricking up a little. Words are still beyond her, but she manages an eager nod. Whatever Trahearne has to show her, she knows it will be worthwhile.

He smiles, reaches out, and presses his hand to her forehead.

The cosmic environment fades out into a dizzying rush of color for a brief few moments. As the world stabilizes again, she finds herself in a familiar environment. Unearthly birdsong echoes in the distance, and great, towering coral colors the otherwise bleak landscape.

Orr.

And….a Pact camp. She and Trahearne stand behind a stack of crates, hidden from view of the soldiers, who lounge around a blazing campfire. Of the faces she can see, she notes a human, a charr, and a norn. There are two other figures, their backs turned. An asura, and a sylvari.

The asura is small, lithe, lively. They stand on a small box, gesturing wildly with their hands as they recall a story. It’s clearly exaggerated beyond all belief, but the others around the fire seem enraptured. Their eyes shine, their expressions ones of joy despite the war-torn environs.

The asura comes to the conclusion of their story, and the others clap and cheer. Jioxa smiles to herself. She’s not sure what Trahearne is showing her, here, but it warms her to see these people’s happiness.

The asura takes an over-dramatic bow and turns to clamber down from the box. Jioxa swears her heart stops, for a few moments.

It’s her.

Much younger, scrawnier, but undeniably her. Her face - her eyes shining with pride, her little ears, and that ponytail she used to wear day-in, day-out. She swallows the lump in her throat, turning to look up at Trahearne, who stands silent beside her.

“Why-”

“Look,” he says, softly, kneeling down to her level. “Look around, dearheart. Look at those soldiers; they’ve all lost friends this day. This was one of the hardest battles of the war against Zhaitan, and yet - you were there, always. To bring even the slightest joy to a place like Orr is no small feat, yet you did it as if nothing was more natural. You never stopped bringing hope and joy to these people, even when you, too, were scared and reeling. You were their guiding light. As you were mine.”

Raw emotion writhes in Jioxa’s chest, and she blinks back yet more tears. She glances back out at the soldiers gathered around the campfire. Trahearne is right; they look at the other-her with nothing short of adoration, reverence. She is not just their Commander; she is their reason to keep going, through all the death and despair of the Dragon.

With everything that had been going on at the time - when this scene was real - she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been doing nothing more than being herself, fearful and flawed but her, no mask, no shield.

Her gaze wanders back to Trahearne. She meets his eyes. He’s smiling, and she takes a moment to bask in his pride, lets it wash over her like sunlight. Then, she nods. Wordless, but that is all he needs; she understands. He hugs her close to him, and in his arms she closes her eyes as the scene fades away once again. She clings to his warmth and safety for as long as she can, until her consciousness fades into a soothing void, the dream - or was it more than that? - giving way to sleep.

When she wakes, it is back in her bed, and the reality of Trahearne’s absence squeezes at her heart. A familiar ache, now. But for the first time in longer than she can recall, a sense of peace permeates her mind. She opens her eyes, taking a deep breath. A brighter future is waiting for her to light the way.

#coyh zine #gw2 #asura #*#*writing #jioxa

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disgraceful-writings · 8 days

Text

Love

Chapter 1

Prince Aemond hasn't been at the castle due to his brother's, the king, orders. Will it be worth lives?

“My prince”, a maid knocked on the doors of Aemond’s chambers at Harrenhal early one morning. Aemond placed his hand on Alys’s head to have her keep going. “What”, he grumbled out after a quiet moan. “You’ve been summoned to King’s Landing by the queen mother”, the small voice quivering and almost quiet. Aemond sighs, looking down at Alys smile after licking the underside of his cock. Smiling back at her with a quiet laugh, Aemond grabs her cheeks to bring her in for a kiss. “Must you go?”, Alys asks. “Mother summoned me, I am her son and the prince”, he stands and begins to redress himself, “I must follow when duty calls for me.”

She stands bare before him, rubbing his chest, “Or you could stay here with me and finish what we started?” He grabs her wrists, kissing her forehead, and leaves the room. The air seems thicker, like a man could choke if a breath was taken. No one spoke to the prince as he made his way to Vhagar, only bows. The sun barely shown as dark clouds form in the sky above, Vhagar roars, shaking the earth below his feet.

Upon landing in King’s Landing, Aemond is greeted by his mother in the Dragon Pit with tear stained cheeks. “My son”, she sobs while grasping at him. “What is wrong mother?”, Aemond confused, attempts to give the support she is looking for. “Your family”, she chokes back, “Rhaenyra has killed your boys. They told your wife a son for a son after killing Rhagar and then killed Aemon to ensure you understood. Thank the gods they were unable to kill y/n” Aemond’s head started to spin as he goes stiff in his mother’s arms. Those boys are his world, how dare Rhaenyra take their lives. His own blood. The blood of the dragon. The blood of two children who have nothing to do with this war. They were only of the ages 4 and 1, still babes to the world. A world they will now never see.

In the Red Keep, everything was quiet except for in the nursery. Rhagar tossing and turning, having his same nightmare as the night before. A dragon atop the iron throne, a stag, lion, and direwolf stood in the court amongst the people. The dragon roars green flame above the crowd, only to be suddenly stabbed in the heart by the stag from behind. The people always solemn with no faces. Taking the dragon’s place on the throne, the lion and direwolf circle each other in front of the throne, waiting to strike. The stag moves to command them but is cut by the throne and bleeds out onto the steps. The lion beats the direwolf to the throne, only to have the ceiling collapse upon it, burying it and the throne. The direwolf sits atop the rubble, staring at Rhagar and commanding the death of the dragon. The people of the court then have weapons of every kind pointed at Aemon. The direwolf howls and Rhagar is stabbed through his back.

Upon waking, he wails for his mother and father, causing little Aemon to begin crying as well. His mother is the only one to show, with the exception of the wet nurse. “What is wrong, my little dragon? Did you have the same dream?”, his mother soothing him by holding him close, rubbing his back. He nods, clinging to her neck for comfort. She smiles softly at her son, “It is only a dream, but some say it could be a vision and only special people have visions.” He looked up at his mother, “What if, just this once, you and Aemon come sleep in my bed? Then you will have me beside you.” “And kepa?” (father) “And possibly your kepa in the morning”, y/n knew Rhagar loved his father more than Aemond loved him, why else would he be the whispers of the Red Keep and Harrenhal.

She scooped up Aemon, dismissed the wet nurse, and brought her two boys to her chambers for a quiet night. Humming a lullaby learned from her wet nurse as a child, she places Rhagar on the bed and Aemon in the cradle at the end of the bed, already hearing Rhagar’s snores from Aemond’s side. “How can these two come from him?”, she questioned the mother. A small rustling caught y/n’s attention. Turning her head, she saw two men with swords and went to scream for the guards but was gagged and bound by another man behind her, seemingly having come from the wall. The largest of the three quietly steps over to Rhagar beheading him. As she screamed and cried, the man holding her whispered in her ear, “Your husband killed prince Lucerys in cold blood. Queen Rhaenyra said a son for a son.”

One of the other men looked at the babe asleep in the cradle and gestured towards him, “Might as well kill them all. Send that one eyed freak a message.” The larger man looked at the babe then back at y/n shaking her head, pleading with anyone that would listen. He takes his blade and cuts Aemon from throat to stomach, turning to the distressed woman with her son’s blood dripping from the blade. Walking towards her, ready to stab her heart, the man is interrupted by guards entering the chambers ready to protect who they could. Two of the men ran through the secret passageway, dropping the princess in the process. With her hands no longer bound, she reaches for her son Aemon and holds him close to her, covering herself in his blood. She walks over to Rhagar and sits at his feet, caressing his cold cheek with her thumb. “The man has been taken to the dungeons, your grace.”

Upon arriving at the Red Keep, Aemond ran to their shared chambers hoping and praying it wasn’t true. Opening the doors, he found two maids cleaning the blood from the floors and straightening the room. “Where is she?”, Aemond asked. “She is with the silent sisters. She insisted on dressing the boys herself”, Alicent said, having followed him in worry. Aemond turned and ran to where the silent sisters did their work. Freezing at the door, he saw his wife covered in their boys’ blood, wrapping Aemon with the same delicacy she had when he arrived in the world, and she held him for the first time. She looked up at Aemond after covering her son’s face and broke the man. Looking back at her sons, she stated, “I don’t want him near them. They are my sons”, Aemond opened his mouth only for no words to come, “I don’t want him near me either.” Y/n stepped back from the table, signaling to the silent sisters she was finished and left, passing Aemond on her way. He grasped her arm, causing her to stop but not look up at him. She heard him take in a breath and let her go.

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