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beanlot · 1 year

Text

MISTRESS

sevika x maid!reader

at first, you were her maid. but master liked you just enough to make you her mistress.

word count: 4.0k

genre: smut

warnings: amab!sevika, age gap, sevika cheats on her wife, slight spanking, spit, vibrator use, master/servant relationship, breeding kink

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“what a gorgeous colour.” her fingers ironing the corners of her lips, mahogany lipstick cleansing from the cedar skin in superlative fashion. she was objectively sumptuous, a classy woman surrounded by old money and platinum basin sinks; an easy life enough that she didn’t even have to raise a finger to apply honeydew exfoliation masks to her glistening skin. “don’t you think?” she stares at you through the mirror, umber eyes fanned by silky lashes - lids glossed with everlasting lustre of golden butterscotch, tempted to believe you could see your reflection if stood close enough.

“yes, madam.” you nod, fingers clasped onto a hanger, vintage dress glittered with merlot gemstones fluorescent against the sapphire tiles of the floor. you weren’t lying, it was a gorgeous colour. and madam wasn’t particularly sinister against you, or even sinister at all..

“you filthy pig.”

“don’t you dare touch my antiques.”

“look at you, fix this messy hair. i will not have guests over whilst you look like a disgusting hooker.”

mostly.

“vika loves this colour.” she sighs, french-tipped nails tapping against the argyle jewellery around her neck. her scent of prevailing pumpkin spice suffocating you momentarily when she turns around, taking the hanger from your grip; you’ll watch as she lays the dress against her body, feminine curves of her hips accentuated through the garnet jewels as she subtly twirls around. she hum, lashes batting through the scrutiny before she shoves the hanger into your chest hurriedly. “be a dear for me and tighten the waist.”

and sure, you don’t expect the best of treatment regardless. you were on the back burner, disposable in every aspect with your dull shirt collar; onyx skirt tucking in your buttons and the driest of hands from the constant polishing. “yes ma-“ a shrill bark interrupts you, and it’s when you turn around that you see a woolly poodle, pastel frilly dress, wiggling through the door.

“ugh, pinkiebear! what are you doing, my baby snuffles?” and just like that, as madam scoops the pup into her arms, you’re left alone in the bathroom. moroccan rose handwash beside her gold-plaited cosmetics, pomegranate face serums and emerald earrings; you’d wondered what the oils would feel like on your fingertips, the creaminess against your skin soaking with pulchritude. it feels like bait when you see that one tub is already open, pale watermelon serum calling your fucking name - she won’t notice, there’s no way.

so you tenderly swab at the surface, the velvety touch on your skin.. it already makes you feel pretty, glammed up, like her. and the dysphoria only amplifies ironically when you massage the pearly ointment into your cheek, the winsome highlight when you turn your head not going unnoticed.

wine glass and plate in hand as you approach sevika’s master’s study, nudging the door with your shoulder. it was smoked salmon and caviar, and if you weren’t so fond of her, it would be rational to believe she was intentionally inflicting the purgatory of starvation onto you. but she was not resentful, her muffled tone of come in prompting you to amble inside; the air murky from her cigar smoke, illuminated by dim apricot from the scattered lamps. and she’s there, with every inhale, you can decipher the ocherous flame between her lips - her fingers clearing her desk when she sees the wine bottle tucked under your arm.

“thank you, darling.” she murmurs within the fever dream, fumes seeping through her lips to which she fans out when you’re beside her desk. it’s elixir to taste, and although it’s toxin on your tongue, it’s contradicting - plate and wine glass settled against the oak, careful to avoid her disarray of books and orderly inklings when you pour the currant. she examines this, raising an eyebrow before tapping the tobacco against an ashtray. “are you hungry?”

fuck, you have no idea.

“no, master.” you shake your head, because even though you could feel your organs internally booing inside from the withering, you were under an obligation of being polite. and hell, it was reasonable for her to concern herself with your wellbeing per se: she was older, much older; yet you merely took it as manners, sympathy that you weren’t born into such opulence. so when you finish pouring, tenderly placing the bottle beside master’s glass - it’s paralysis when her coercive words refrain you from leaving the room as you intended. “come here.” she instructs, virescent globes eclipsed with hues of oxblood when you maintain eye contact from your awkward distance. she’s manspreading, white button-up loose against her chest, and the uncertainty only amplifies when master’s tone becomes demanding. “come.. here.”

so you shuffle towards her, and you’re not sure if it’s the nicotine or the peril brunt of her influential stare, but your blood pressure raises when you stop - that maybe you’d said something wrong, gotten a wine she didn’t like, or you were vicariously responsible for the chef’s error. but the neurotic thoughts plummet when you see her slice an intricate cube of the salmon, fork held out to you with sincerity.

“try it, it’s good for you.” she advises, and you’re under automatism to obey - her fingers scraping against yours when you take the fork, examining the glassy block. you’re not sure what it’s seasoned with, only able to distinguish the honey glaze and sprinkle of pepper; you couldn’t even fucking describe what salmon tasted like, a luxury that your flimsy uniform never got to see up close. and you feel emotional when it finds itself between your teeth, erupting with foreign rich oils and glacé syrup.

you want to appreciate it, had you not interpreted the investigative glances she’s giving you. skeptical eyebrows dipping in, defining the droopiness of her lids and the eclipse of gunmetal in her narrowed pupils - they search your face, because there’s something about you that master just can’t pinpoint. “you’re glowing.” she mumbles, fingers branching out toward you and framing your jaw ever so tenderly; thumb stroking along the curves of your cheekbone, the familiar and velvety texture of your skin no stranger to master. “you’ve been using my wife’s stuff, haven’t you?”

great.

of course, how could you have been so recklessly fucking dense? you’d just swabbed a few thousands onto your face and expected that nobody would’ve been able to put two and two together, and now you’re stood here like a fucking embarrassment whilst her conquering globes assess you. master was going to obliterate you for even contemplating putting your filthy wilted fingers on her wife’s belongings, and you’re just waiting for her to call the chef over to slice you into little pepperonis and use your torso as a fucking piñata for her fancydancy din-

“looks good on you.” she mumbles, and the harmonising words nosedive into your stomach with more adamantine force than waiting for her to beat you to a pulp. her fingers streamlining down your jaw before she picks up her plate, ludic smirk concealing the mulberry on her lips as she offers her plate towards you. “don’t tell.”

you look back and forth, and it’s only when she nudges the porcelain into your stomach that you realise what she meant. she was only really interested in the wine, and within her hospitality, gave you something to eat for the night.

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“your muscles are all contracting, just relax.”

“i’m trying..”

“you should really look into tai-chi, saves me hours of making these for you.

i’ll be back tomorrow,

ice or magnesium for any muscle pain,

is that a chip in the wall?

anyway, i’ll see you tomorrow, my lovely~.”

you’d been waiting outside her room for about forty minutes, folded blouse and dress shirts in hand; although you liked to consider yourself respectful of master’s private conversations, not even the bricky walls and thick interior of the hallways could muffle the massage therapist’s jarringly piercing voice - one that only amplifies when master’s door opens, a tiny woman pootling herself down the hall with a bowl of water, peppermint leaves floating within the misty pool.

it’s rosemary and eucalyptus when you inhale, frissons of sweltering air blossoming your way as the door closes over only slightly. but you’re prudent, you’re conditioned to be, waiting outside her door for her to have her few minutes of privacy - but she calls you in when she identifies your shadow against her marble tiles, eyes absentmindedly tracing the silhouette of your hips.

and when you walk in, nudging the door ever so slightly, she’s face-down on the master bed; surrounded by canary silk pillows and lime basil candles, her wine cellar visible from where you stand. you approach the palladium drawers, and whilst your job was plainsailing, the difficulty of having to avert your eyes from her bare back did it’s due diligence to make it just a little harder for you. but you stay silent nonetheless, the palatable glimmering against her burly shoulders, one that made you envy a massage therapist’s expertise as you organise her shirts.

“you have pain, master?” you mumble, clearing your throat when it starts to disintegrate at the mercy of her tensing shoulders, glorious muscle twitching. “my shoulders, darling. it’s not so bad.” she doesn’t move, and although you seem satisfied with the composed silence, the thought of leaving in it made your stomach sour.

“is there anything i can do?” you offer, graphite eyes piercing into your body when she turns her head against the pillow - you can tell she’s engrossed in those retrospective thoughts of hers by the way she’s zoning out, clouding globes that flutter over you before she pats the mattress.

“lay with me..” she mutters, black pepper fragrant when she inches away, leaving you a temptingly delectable space beside her. it feels wrong, and your ears can already feel the wrath of madam’s scream when she finds out you dared even the slightest courage to lay in her bed, beside her wife.

but master was at the top of the food chain.

so you reluctantly obey, not oblivious to the raw sensation of eagerness when her bare abdomen raises slightly from the mattress - she’s toned, noir curves that only excite the vim when you’re slithering into the space she’d left you. but it’s not enough to dilute your inhibitions, your body rigid when her fingers flutter against your waist; she notices this, intoxication when her whisper caresses against your ear. “relax, relax.” she whispers, the suggestive timbre diminishing you - she waits until you slump into the satin, plumose textures under your fingertips, before her arm cases over your waist and trails you against her bare chest. it’s morally profane, warmth from her breasts contagious on your spine, skin sweltering idyllically - kittenish and lewd and wow you’re getting horny.

it’s silent for a few minutes. but you feel dirty, her vanilla comfort something you ruined.

“you remind me of my wife when we first met.” the vanilla wisps against your jaw curdling into vulgarity when her fingers tenderly clutch at the hem of your skirt, and although one part of you feels like nothing more than a doll for her to use the one night her wife is out attending a dinner, another is relieved when the wintry air strikes your thighs.

“young,” her fingers lifting the skirt enough that her perverted eyes can search your hips, the way they embrace the black straps of your underwear.

“pretty,” her nails glissading against your inner thighs, forefinger sinking between them enough that they’re under automatism to separate. you try to convince yourself that it’s because you don’t want to get into trouble, disappoint that streak of high expectations you managed to leap over the past few weeks - but by the vim in your clit, it was disgustingly undeniable it was because fantasy was becoming reality.

“fertile.” she delicately taps your clothed clit, subtle sensitivity that already gets your hips rolling into her crude touch. her engagement ring flaring in your peripheral when her left hand slinks around your body, black opal glinting as her palm rests against your breasts. “look at me.” her lips tickling against your cheek as you turn to her, hues of predatory oxblood glossing over her lead pupils. she likes that she owns you, conditioned you to be her little pet, dominated your identity to nothing more than her servant.

so the overly obscene taste on her lips when she’d pressed her forehead against yours, skin searing with wealthy indecency was no shock. she was impulsive, lips against yours, unseemly sounds of anticipated smooches as you drink up the taste of peppermint. she wants to be delicate for you, but the instinct outlasting the grace when she hears you hum. you’re heedless of your sloppy grinding, shaky exhales which only worsen when she pulls away; her thumb draping your bottom lip down only slightly. jewels of her spit streamlining into your mouth, your tongue absorbing the droplets filthily. “pretty girl.” she swallows, eyes darting along your jaw, her spit slowly drizzling down your neck.

you want to tell her that this is wrong, that she’s a married woman, but the night already feels drilled into stone when her fingers manipulate the buttons on your chest, cleavage satisfying her sadistic eyes with every one coming undone. your shirt loosens, sinking down your back and accentuating the feminine enticement master was under whilst her fingers revel in the linen cotton of your bra, the straps cunningly draping off your shoulders. “these would look gorgeous in some silk.” she whispers, your breasts tingling when there’s nothing there to cover them anymore, her fingers folding your bra down to your stomach.

“would you like that.. me to buy you some pretty outfits?” she mumbles, admiring the way your nipples harden under her fingertips, delicately pinching the responsive buds. you nod, because you expect her to want you to, flinching when you roll your hips against her sturdy thigh; thick imprint of her veiny cock paralysing you momentarily.

“do me a favour.. lean over in that drawer.” she gestures to the bedside cabinet, and you’re sceptical when you lean over, your skirt hitching up ever so slightly. and if the humiliation of having your ass presented to her like a fucking showpiece wasn’t degrading enough, the barbaric strike of her palm against it was. you squeak, flinching necessarily - her palm easing the inflamed area intricately, before walloping back down onto your skin. you want to fucking weep, blinking through the blur of your tormented tears, opening the drawer to which a plaited vibrator lays.

“that’s the one.” she confirms, taking it from your fingers as you lay back into the mattress, ass ignited with scorching goosebumps from the brutish force behind her arms. you go to defend yourself, because honestly, you feel lower than the bottom of the food chain - you were no blossoming mighty oak, but rather a withering sunflower under her assertion.. but she knows what you’re about to say. “master, i haven’t do-“

“you’ll be fine, we haven’t used it yet. it’ll make you feel good.” she sits up, and although she intends to comfort you, it only intimidates you further when her tongue wets her lips; fingers slewing the fabric of your underwear to the side and leaving your slit prey to her predacious stare, only amplifying when she unveils how truly drenched your folds are. but she doesn’t say anything, only leaning over whilst a bullet of her spit seeps between her lips and missiles itself against your clit.

you already feel numb, the heavenly pressure of seventh heaven when you hear the whirring of her vibrator, your thighs quivering with the company of your stimulated whines when the tip purrs against your clitoral hood. “that’s it, atta girl.” she praises, her breasts pressing themselves against your bare spine when she situated herself beside you again. it’s nirvana, humping against the vibrator so primitively, erogenous arcady to hear your incessant whimpers echo throughout the room. you’re sweating by now, at peace with the fire and brimstone breeding on your skin - but you want more, your fingers grazing over the stiff imprint of her desperate cock.

her breath is jagged, submerging the vibrator harder onto your clit, your ankles starting to twitch at the susceptibility. you’re not sure if it’s enough to make you come just yet, but that thought deteriorates when her finger glissades down your slit and streams itself inside of your hole. “fuck.. you’ve made my cock all hard.” she sighs against your cheek, your walls greeting her indiscriminately; spasming with every hum against your clit. she’s testing the waters, fingertips taking a liking to the spongy textures when she tenderly twines it upwards, the pornographic desire in your clit to orgasm more reckless than ever. but you’re not the only one suffering, because sevika is finding that her cock is actually starting to fucking hurt from the distress of not being able to just have her way with you again and again and again.

but she’s patient, finger gliding itself in and out of you; assaulting that carnal pit in your walls as your thighs tremble as she fucks you with them. instinctive sobs leaving your throat unmonitored, and honestly, you wouldn’t be able to describe it even if given a fucking thesaurus - sneezelike corkscrew ballooning itself inside your hips when she hooks another finger inside, arousing squelching with every hammer against your folds. “please..” you whisper, unbeknownst to the soreness in your fingers as they lock, clenching tightly on her belt.

and when she’s satisfied with how vulnerable you are under her, the sensitivity just right, she’ll admire the quavering of your hips and the tightening of your thighs before dragging the vibrator away from your clit. “huh?” you squeak, cunt clenching around her fingers at the sudden loss of her manipulation. you’re about to complain, wail about how much of a fucking tease she is, but she relieves the anguish by leaning over your thighs; her tongue replacing the device and doing its dirty work when it swipes over your hood, delving between your folds and schemingly flicking over your erect bud.

just like that, you’re shaking again, thigh hoisting itself up and planting itself on her bare, burly shoulder. your mewls of master twirling repeatedly in a rabbit hole of ecstasy when her damp lips envelop your clit and suck with cruelty, fingers maintaining their agonising operation; battering into you with precision and artsy discipline, like she’s done this too many times before.

but it’s dispiriting for her, because she wants to be a lovemaker for you, wants to appreciate you for the fine young woman you are - yet the throbbing in her cock conquers that yearning, and it’s then that she pulls away with such self-hatred. “are you gonna let me put my cock inside your cunt, darling?” she exhales, fingers slewing out of your brimming hole, selfishly drizzling your discharge over the mattress and coating over the sable leather of her belt when she goes to unbuckle it.

“yes. yes, master.” you comply, ultramarine daze when you blink; pixels of orchid blooming in your vision when you even did as much as look down to her belt. fingers tackling the every latch, submerging as they frame her veiny shaft - cock springing out and admittedly, inciting nothing more than disruptive thoughts of am i going to fucking live to see tomorrow after this.

she’s thick, and monumental.. fucking handcrafted by gods with such clarity. enough that all of that internal envy becomes more.. not envy, because you know this is gonna really fucking hurt, and you’re not liking how much she exceeds your expectations at the expense of what’s gonna happen to your poor fucking vagina. “you still want it?” she murmurs when she notices the hues of uncertainty in your eyes, superficial doubt that she interprets easily - it’s an ego boost, artificial concern to conceal her everlasting inclination to ruin you. but you blink at her, flickering between her eyes and the slightly palatable mulberry tip of her cock, before you nod.

it would be cruel for her to nosedive straight into you, and even she knows this, her tip glissading through your folds and lubricated with your slick. she’s slightly sensitive, the warmth of your cunt only amplifying the immense throbbing, but she’s consistent this time - your clit rubbing against her head only instantaneously as she accustoms herself with your textures.

“this might hurt, just a little.” she whispers against your jaw, fingers grappling at your hips as her own angles forward, tip insidious as it skims into your walls; your body merely a betrayal of your conscience when your walls welcome her. but it’s smooth, as she pushes herself in with such fucking entitlement, your insipid moisture coating her cock.

because she owned you, every little fragment.

her mindless breaths against your bare shoulder, the subtle rocks in her hips purely intuition. she hasn’t felt this in years, the vehemence of her girth wrapped around such a fine woman, and it motivates the urge for her to start thrusting your hips back into her. your whimpering sobs with every cudgel of her skin against yours, the indignity of her abdomen pounding against your spine and the raunchy heat of her cock assaulting your cunt.

influx of adrenaline when she hears you mewl, her sloppy kisses on your nape sultry and blistering. “i know, i know it feels good..” she sighs, both hands clenching at your thighs, your hips, your waist- anything to feel herself become adaptable inside of you, anything to get a taste of the rapture inside of herself.

“pretty.. pretty girl..” her muffled groan echoing in your ears as she gets herself off into you. she was dictating your self-worth, dictating your fucking life.. and although some of it felt as if it was just pulling the pieces together, another felt it all shatter into irreversible ruins as her left hand compressed itself onto your clit; engagement ring ever so slightly abrading itself against your wet folds.

and that’s when you feel it.

the sheer pinnacles of rhapsody so distinct as her fingers roll your clit in circular motions superlatively, cock swollen and erect. “please.. please..” you sigh, the jagged timbre exposing how receptive your bundles of nerves were; fingertips touching the very eminent icicles of orgasm when she speaks her foul language in your ears.

“i’m gonna come inside you, do you want that?”

“uh huh.”

“gonna make you the mother of my fucking kids..”

“mhm, yes, master..”

and then it erupts inside, whirlwind of frenzy that you could only compare to what felt like being edged for hours. your clit numb and jaded, the overstimulation aggravating as your walls pulse around her cock so tightly that she doesn’t even need to continue pummelling into you. conclusively, you were a mess - her palm sealing itself over your lips to repress the uncontrollable cry, tone it down ever so slightly, arms that confine your body as you tremble and do your upmost fucking best to recover.

and after a few minutes of her rocking a few inches back and forth into you, the dishevelled grunt and adhesion of her bangs against your cheek; quivering fingers against your lips and hips that airbrush themselves to divinity let you know that she’s just came.

and something feels off, seriously off. so full and saturated, and it’s when her cock slews itself out of you that you know there’s no way you’re the only one behind all the mess; looking between your legs and flinching at the pearly cream drizzling out of your hole, thick and balmy. your juices meshing together in such harmony that you feel disgust, and yet hypnosis. because she never wanted a maid,

she wanted a mistress.

#sevika x reader #sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #arcane x reader #sevika smut

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asumofwords · 11 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my lovelies, I hope you weren't stewing in anticipation for too long hehehe. I am so tired, I will say I had plans for this chapter to go a different way, but it just didn't make sense for the plot line at all or the characters, so here we are. This is a long one because I refuse to cut it. Enjoy! <3

Chapter 70: Return to me

It felt like time moved slowly.

So surreal.

Like wading through murky waters.

You blinked, spinning to face the voice which called your name.

There, standing in your chambers, was Aemond.

He was back.

Early.

He stared at you in confusion watching your body heaving. The Prince stood beside the table, scrolls pilled atop a tome in his hands.

It looked as if he had only just arrived back. As though his first thought was to return to you.

He was back.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

He was back.

“Are you alright?” The One-Eyed Prince asked, placing the scrolls and tome on the bare table in front of him.

You blinked at him.

Were you ok?

Were you ever going to be okay?

You thought of Aegon’s hands.

Before you could even stop yourself you were across the room, throwing yourself into his body, wrapping your arms around his waist. Aemond stumbled back a step from the force, arms open at his side as he looked down at you in confusion and concern. You tucked your head into his chest and breathed deeply.

He smelt of him.

He smelt familiar.

Sandalwood, sweat, musk, and a hint of dragon.

He smelt safe.

Why did he smell safe?

Slowly, Aemond’s arms wrapped around you, holding him to you tightly as you struggled to keep your composure, to keep the tears that threatened to overflow at bay. He held you to him until you calmed, and all sense flooded back into you.

This was Aemond.

Aemond.

And where had he returned from?

Sheepishly, you pulled back, not daring to look up at his inquisitive eye. He released his hold on you reluctantly, yet kept his hands upon your shoulders as you stepped back.

“Y/n?”

Two large hands came to cup your cheeks, tilting your face to look at him. Aemond’s brow was drawn, his eye searching your face with worry. It made your heart clench, and the tide of emotion rose again.

“Zaldristos.” Aemond whispered, and that was all it took.

Your face crumpled and the tears you had desperately tried to keep at bay overflowed, rolling down your cheeks as you looked at his face.

It was too sweet.

It was too kind.

It was not him, you told yourself.

Sway him, echoed Lucerys’ voice.

Don’t let him see.

Lie.

“I’m sorry.” You cried, “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

Thumbs came to brush the tears that fell from your eyes, Aemond’s lips pursing together tightly.

“Mirre iksis shijetra.” All is forgiven, He uttered.

A small sob lifted from your lips as he held your face.

Aemond pulled you back against his chest and let you cling to him crying. You let the anger and frustration, the fear and sadness rush out of you and flood the room. The leather of his tunic wet beneath your cheek.

Aemond held you against him until the tide rescinded, and your crying turned to sniffles. He had shushed you, and brushed a gentle hand against your back as he let you open up the doors to the tide that had swallowed you whole.

Only then, once you had calmed in his grip did he let you go. Aemond wiped the remaining tears from your face gently, and whispered assurance that he was not angry at you.

He thought you were worried about him.

“Please don’t leave me again.” You sniffed, watching as he sighed sadly, lips coming to press against your brow that was furrowed.

He made no move to promise you that he wouldn’t, or assure you that he would try to stay. He simply looked at you sadly and held your face in his hands.

“What’s happened?”

What’s happened?

You leave the Kingdom to go fuck your whore, and leave me with your monster King.

I am alone. Alone as I can be.

Alone with you.

What has happened?

“I am frightened.” You whispered.

Aemond stooped his head, face lowering to your height.

“Iksā iā zaldrīzes, skoros issi ao sȳngagon hen?” You are a dragon, what are you frightened of?

You.

Aegon.

The war.

My mind.

You closed your eyes shut tightly and nibbled at your lips.

Could you trust him?

What would you tell him?

Could you tell him that Aegon has been making himself present when he was absent? Could you tell him that his brother gets closer and closer each day that he is gone?

Could you tell him that the anger and fear brings the visions?

The voices?

“Tell me.” Aemond cooed, concern laced in his voice.

You shook your head again, turning your face down as you kept your eyes screwed shut. The image of Aemond bent over Aegon as he lay his fists into the King’s face flashed in your mind.

The rage on Aemond’s face as he stood at the table, staring his brother down.

The words of an angry, second son. Resentful of the eldest who had no care for the throne, or duty.

Tell him.

“Tell me.”

“Aegon.” You whispered.

Your entire body tensed as soon as the name left your lips.

How was he to react?

Would he take it out on you? Would he blame you? Could you tell him what happened? Could you trust him with this? Would he not believe you?

Or would he believe you and take it out on you anyway, raping or beating you as he saw fit to soothe his own rage.

“Aegon?” Aemond parroted, voice sharper. His hands slid to hold your shoulders again.

You slowly nodded your head, letting your arms curl around your middle.

Be small.

Look weak.

Look timid.

Look frightened.

But you did not have to pretend you were frightened.

You were.

“Has he touched you?” Aemond growled, his fingers curled into your shoulders sharply, the sheer rage in his voice causing you to flinch.

Aemond stiffened as he saw you react, and as if caring for you, he released his tight grip on your shoulders, fingers smoothing where they had dug into your flesh meanly. An attempt to calm you. To soothe you.

An attempt of kindness.

Had he touched you?

Just my hair.

Just my breast.

“No.”

Dracarys, Lucerys uttered in your head.

Dracarys.

It was like the beat of a drum.

Dracarys!

You dug the palms of your hands into your eyes as Lucerys continued to chant inside of your head. His voice getting louder and louder with every second. The voice twisting and crackling, grating against your mind.

Then, the screaming started.

The wailing and mournful cries of Helaena. The screams of her torment. The screams of her terror. The cries she had let loose when Jaehaerys was slain. The anguish you had been forced to listen to for days on end until it quietened.

Until her cries were extinguished by her own hand.

“Y/n?” Aemond noticed your sudden discomfort.

You rubbed at your eyes sharply as you shook your head.

You wished it would stop.

Dracarys!

You wished he would stop.

You wished she would stop screaming.

Dracarys!

You wished they would-

“Shut up!” You screamed into the room, and suddenly your head fell quiet.

No more Lucerys. No more Helaena.

No more Dracarys.

No more screaming.

Just a ringing in your head and a sickness that turned your stomach.

“Look at me.”

You shook your head again, keeping the heels of your hands pressed so tightly into your eyes you saw stars.

“Zaldristos, jurnegon rȳ nyke.” Little dragon, look at me, Aemond spoke gently, hands coming to pull your own from your eyes.

You opened them slowly, the world around you blurred as your vision adjusted. Aemond was searching your face, fear present in his lone eye.

He knew something was wrong.

“Kesan daor ivestragī zirȳla renigon ao.” I will not let him touch you, He promised.

But he has.

And you can’t stop him.

“Please don’t leave me with him.”

Aemond pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

His mouth was warm, and you let yourself melt into the tenderness. You let yourself sink into the second of kindness and care. Something that once you were surrounded by, and now was rare to find.

When Aemond pulled back, he brushed your hair away from your face, watching his fingers move through your silver locks.

“Kessa daor renigon ao. Issa sepār sylugon naejot sȳngagon ao. Gaomagon daor ivestragī zirȳla ūndegon bona issa.” He will not touch you. He is just try to scare you. Do not let him see that it is.

How you wished he was wrong.

Aemond breathed out of his nose sharply and pulled you over to the chaise to sit you down. You sat and stared into the fire. The ringing in your head making your mind feel fuzzy.

Was this how it felt for Helaena when she had her dreams?

Aemond left for sometime and you waited anxiously for his return, picking at the skin around your fingers, pulling it away from your nails with painful tugs as blood rose to the reface.

It stung. But it grounded you.

You needed something to ground yourself with, lest you float away. The more you stared, the more you thought of it. The more you thought, the more you thought of him. The dungeons. All of it. Until the thoughts tumbled and spiralled and your breath held in your chest.

You could feel the cold, biting stone beneath your back. You could smell the dampness of the cell. Could remember the green mould growing in the corner, the bitter cold that settled into your bones. The small window. The dripping of water. The pacing.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

“The King asked us to dine with him this evening.” Aemond pulled you from the memories, the maids following behind him with trays of food and decanters of wine.

You felt your stomach roil at the thought.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Aemond moved across the chambers to stand in front of you, taking your hands in the both of his as he rubbed a soft thumb over the top of your knuckles. Pulling your hands toward him, he helped you to stand before moving you to sit at the table with him.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

“I told him we would dine alone this evening.”

Aemond watched your reaction carefully as you looked up at him.

And just like that he began to eat with you, as if he had not just told you, that for the first time ever, he had denied the King’s request. You stared at him in shock.

Aemond had said no to Aegon.

Aemond had said no.

“Thank you.” You didn’t know what else to say, your mind still feeling fuzzy and jumbled, as though your head was the yolk of an egg that had been stirred by a whisk, or a careless hand.

Aemond simply hummed, as though it was not an incredibly big deal, and continued to eat his meal.

It was silent on your end, you found you could not find words to say, or things to relay to him, or ways to offer your gratitude. You knew you had to give him gratitude. And yet, nothing came to mind.

But Aemond had sensed this, and instead filled the space. Telling you of his trip, avoiding the topic of Harrenhal, and all the things he had achieved and done.

He told you of his ride to the South, to the Hightower lands and holdings, of his reunion with his uncle Gwayne Hightower, who he had not seen since his youth, a man who you had never met before. He told you of how he and Vhagar had flown through a storm to get to the Golden Tooth, but after noticing you shift in your seat, he had changed the conversation, swiftly and well. The way you had been taught to with the Septa.

And you were grateful for it.

For this little effort he was making. Tiptoeing around topics that could further trigger you, likely beginning to fear the madness that had caught up to Helaena, was coming for you.

When you had both finished your meal, and your heart had slowed in your chest, the maids came to ready you both for bed and cleared the room. Aemond had crawled in first, leading you with his hand as he sunk beneath the sheets, before pulling you in beside him. Not aggressively, nor forcefully, but with kindness and patience and open, waiting arms. You had curled up against his side, and he had held you against him.

You both fell to sleep with an uneasiness surrounding you and the knowledge that you would have to offer him thanks, and show him in a way he would understand.

When you rose from the depths of your dreams, you found Aemond wrapped tightly around you. His warm chest pressed against your back as he held you to him with his large arms. His legs were curled beneath you, almost wrapping you in a tight ball. You shifted, trying to create some space, Aemond waking up from the movement.

His lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder as your moved, his legs stretching to give you space to straighten your own. You shifted in the sheets, turning to look at him.

His eye was already on you.

“Hm.” He grumbled, sleep in his voice, and body seemingly not wanting to get out of bed.

You gave him a small, and short smile.

“I am going to spend my day with my wife.” He purred, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You blushed, closing your eyes.

You felt his length twitch against your side.

Heat curled its way around your gut.

You needed to show him you were grateful.

Aemond shifted, grinding softly against your leg, rubbing his hardness against you as he groaned. The noise only making you burn hotter. His hand came to cup your cheek, dragging your lips to meet his as he pulled you in, pressing his mouth against you sensually.

He was hard.

The Prince groaned again, hand moving to tighten itself in your hair as he ground up against your hip. It made your core clench and your heart thump loudly in your chest. Your hands grabbed his wrists as you let yourself kiss him back.

Aemond pulled you closer, wedging a knee between your thighs as he ground the muscle up into the crux of your legs. A breathy moan flitted past your lips as he ground you against the muscle, pushing and pulling you with his hand. You felt yourself begin to wet against his thigh.

“Good girl.” He cooed, pulling you back and forth as he continued to kiss you.

You melted into the touch, letting a hand trail itself along his chest, slowly dipping to feel the muscles of his stomach. Your hand played with the tight cords on his hips, fingers delicately brushing under the hem of his breeches.

Aemond sighed into your mouth happily, thrusting his hips up into your hand, a wordless consent to continue. And so you did. You let your hand disappear beneath the material of his pants, brushing against his throbbing member.

Sway him.

As your fingers grazed his length, Aemond let out a soft hiss into your mouth before kissing you bruisingly, drawing your bottom lip into his. You heart raced as you let your fingers wrap around him timidly, your grip loose and unsure. He was heavy in your hand, and twitched as you wrapped around him.

With an experimental tug, you pulled your hand up and then back down his length, feeling his veins beneath your hand. Aemond was velvety soft, and your hand brushed the course hairs at his base with every movement.

Aemond moaned loudly into your mouth as you began to glide your hand up and down him with more confidence, fuelled entirely by his reactions. His hips would stutter and buck up into your hand, and breathy moans tumbled from his lips and into yours.

When your hand reached his tip, you moved over it, feeling the wetness that had begun to leak out of it, slicking your palm with his arousal. It helped you guide your hand easier as you began to pump him in a rhythm. You ground yourself down on his thigh in return, enjoying the feeling that sparked up your spine.

As you felt his pre-cum coat your palm, you thought of what it would taste like.

You had heard that women often took their husbands, or men into their mouths, Aegon having loudly boasting about it. You remembered how he had looked when you had stumbled upon him in the gardens, how he had groaned and his face had been red.

And then you had thought about Aemond.

About how he had been between your thighs and brought you to your peak. How it had felt good, and wet, and warm, and unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You wondered if it was the same for men.

Would they feel just as good? Could they be brought to their peak with just a mouth?

“Aemond.” You whispered into his mouth as he began to fuck himself into your palm, his thigh grazing your pearl with every movement, aided by the slick that leaked from you.

“Aemond.” You whispered again, pulling away from him and releasing his cock from your hand.

His eye opened and he looked at you. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were pink and swollen from kissing you.

You looked down shyly.

Sway him.

“Do you want to…” You began, not sure how to ask, “I want to…”

What did you want?

To taste him? To feel his weight on your tongue and his musky seed?

What did you want?

How had he said it?

“I wish to taste you.” You whispered, not sure if Aemond would be opposed, or excited by the offer.

You opened your eyes and looked at your uncle.

His eye was hooded and he gazed at you hungrily. Lustfully. Tongue darting out to wet his lips. Aemond shifted beneath you, knee coming away from your core, brushing against your pearl as it moved causing you to mewl.

He lay back against the pillow before he slid the sheets down his body revealing half of his length that peeked through the top of his pants. The tip was hard and red, and weeped against his stomach. Aemond brought his hands to either side of his breeches before slowly sliding them down his body, revealing his whole length to you.

He grasped his cock and slowly ran his hand up and down it, watching you as you could not take your eyes away from the act.

A thousand thoughts tumbled through your mind.

How do you do it?

What do you do?

What if it was bad?

What if he didn’t like it?

“I’ll guide you.” Aemond whispered, sensing your anxiety.

You nodded gently before crawling between his legs, unsure of where to sit, or lay. He kept his hand on his cock, slowly travelling up to the tip where he would squeeze, running a thumb over the slit where his arousal leaked free.

“Come here.” He cooed to you, grasping your cheek with his free hand as he lowered you down towards his length.

He smelt musky, salty, with the undertones of him. You looked at his length as he stroked it and wet your lips.

“You can kiss the tip,” He began, running his hand up the length as he held it for you, “Be gentle.”

You leant forward and brushed your lips against his tip, feeling him shift beneath you and a sigh falling from his lips. You opened your mouth and kissed him softly again, the tip of your tongue darting out curiously to touch the velvety skin.

Salty wetness spread across your mouth, and you licked at the slit again, hoping to capture more.

Aemond moaned below you, which emboldened you to lick at him more.

“Thats it.” He purred, watching as you licked and kissed at his tip, spit beginning to dribble down his length into his hand as he held it for you, “Take me in your mouth.”

You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, an uneasy anxiety settling in your body. His chest rose and fell sharply, as though he was restraining himself, and his pupil had swallowed the violet of his eye whole, leaving a dark black orb.

Opening your mouth, you took him on your tongue, slowly sliding down, tasting his saltiness as you went. Aemond groaned, moving his hand down to allow you for room.

You swallowed around him and heard him curse beneath you, “Just like that.” He stroked himself in your mouth as you held him on your tongue, saliva rolling down into his waiting hand.

His free hand came to tangle itself inside of your hair and you flinched at the contact, sucking in. Aemond’s hips thrusted upwards into the heat of your mouth and you felt him prod at the back of your throat, a small gag falling from your lips. Aemond shushed you as he tightened his grip, before pulling your head upwards, his length almost falling from your lips before he pushed you back down it.

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, He moaned as you let him guide you up and down his cock, wetting it with your mouth.

The praise went straight to your core and you felt yourself moan around him, thighs rubbing together beneath you to ease the heat between your thighs.

“Hollow your cheeks.” Aemond commanded, and you did, hollowing your mouth around him and sucking. His hips bucked into your mouth, hand holding you down on his length as you tried not to gag, feeling him at the back of your throat.

Sway him.

He was heavy and hard and musky, but the taste was not unpleasant, and you oddly enjoyed the feeling of him in your mouth. Aemond’s grip in your hair loosened, but still held onto you, and you let yourself follow what he had told you to do, bobbing your head up and down his length as he moaned and writhed beneath you, his hand still at the bottom of his shaft.

“Keep going.” He groaned, hips rising from the bed to thrust into your mouth.

You moaned around his length, feeling his cock throb on your tongue, his voice spurring you on.

Pleasure him.

“Sīr gevie lēda ñuha orvorta isse aōha relgos.” So beautiful with my cock in your mouth, He moaned, and you clenched around nothing, bobbing your head faster with vigour.

The praise making you want to bring him to his peak.

“Ao hae bona?” You like that? He asked.

“Ao hae ñuha orvorta isse aōha irosh?” You like my cock in your throat?

You hummed around him, pulling up to suckle at his tip, tongue lapping at the underside of his cock.

“Fuck. You do.” He groaned, hand tightening in your hair, "Vaogenka riña.” Dirty girl.

Aemond’s hand tightened back in your hair, holding you still as the other came to pulled the rest of your hair into his hands, holding you in his mercy as you lapped at his tip. He began to guide your head down his length, forcing you to swallow the whole of it now that his hand was removed.

You gagged around his length and felt tears begin to prickle at your eyes, the wet sound of your throat around his length as he held you there, pushing up into your heat. You couldn’t breathe and began to panic, pushing back up against his hands. Aemond let you come up for air, gasping as his length fell from your lips and slapped heavily against his stomach.

Aemond huffed a laugh as he looked at you, wiping a tear that had fallen down your cheek.

“Issi ao jāre naejot gūrogon ziry?” Are you going to take it? He asked you.

You nodded catching your breath and swallowing tightly.

You wanted to please him.

“I'm going to fuck your throat, and you’re going to take it.” He told you, eye darkened and lips pulled into a smirk.

You could feel the wetness between your thighs as your core throbbed in want.

Fuck.

Why did this make you so aroused?

Why was his voice so enticing?

“You ready?” He asked, gathering your hair back into one hand as he grasped his length in the other.

You nodded and he guided his cock back into your lips sliding in against your tongue, his hand gripping your hair as you bobbed your head with his guidance. His pace quickened, fucking up into your waiting mouth, and you could taste more of his arousal on your tongue as you went.

Aemond's hips thrusted up from the bed and into your throat, though not quite as deep as he had gone before, only just avoiding the back, allowing you to breathe through your nose. You sucked your cheeks in and revelled in the feeling of him sliding across your tongue hotly. Heavily.

You moaned again, shifting on the bed.

“I bet your cunny is wet.” He purred, and you whined in embarrassment.

You were wet.

So wet in fact, it had begun to trickle down your thighs.

“Such a good wife for me. Such a perfect mouth.” He praised, beginning to fuck into you farther and deeper, his tip beginning to bully the back of your throat.

Small gags fell from your mouth which only seemed to stir him more. With every gag he heard, the harder he became, groaning and rutting into your mouth without any cares as he chased his peak.

“Going to give you my seed, and you’re going to take it.” He moaned, your throat tightening around him as he fucked roughly into your mouth.

“Fuck.”

You could feel his thrusts begin to grow sloppy, tears rolling down your cheeks from gagging as he neared his release. His hands tightened in your hair painfully and you felt his member throb on your tongue.

“Fuck, fuck-“ His hips began to stutter, and Aemond thrusted deeply into your mouth, causing you to splutter on his length. He pulled back and groaned loudly, softly thrusting into your mouth as his salty spend flooded your tongue.

Aemond continued to thrust into your mouth softly, prolonging his release as you felt rope after rope of his hot seed coat your tongue, pooling in your mouth. The room was hot and the air around you was stifling, your legs rubbed together beneath you as you tried to relieve your own need.

Aemond breathed heavily on the bed below you as he slumped into the pillows, “Fuck.” He whispered, hands loosening their grip in your hair as he began to run his fingers softly through it. You held him in your mouth with his seed, unsure of what to do.

Do you swallow it?

Were you to spit it out?

You could still feel Aemond’s cock twitching in your mouth, your tongue trailing the underside of his cock softly in thought, unaware that you were doing it.

Slowly, he pulled his cock from your mouth, the softening length laying against his stomach with a wet slap. His hands held your face as he looked at you, his spend still on your tongue.

“Open your mouth.”

You opened it, showing him the seed that pooled on your tongue.

It was certainly not what you had expected, salty and musky, not repulsive as you had thought it would be. In fact, you felt that you did not mind the taste at all. It was proof of your triumph.

Aemond groaned, and you saw his cock twitch below you.

“Such a good girl for me waiting.”

You keened at the praise, mouth still open showing off your success.

“Now swallow it.” His eye locked onto yours.

You closed your mouth, looking him in the eye as you swallowed. You fought to not gag, the sensation foreign and not entirely appealing. Aemond’s mouth parted as he looked at you before he sat up, face hovering in front of yours.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth to show him that you had swallowed his seed, tongue poking out between your lips.

You felt an odd sense of pride.

“Sȳz riña." Good girl, He praised you, before pressing his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue pressed against your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You let him in, and felt him seek out the remnants of his seed, tasting himself on your tongue as he held you against him.

It was vulgar.

Deprived.

Filthy.

And you loved it.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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449 notes · View notes

bucknastysbabe · 1 year

Note

Can you make Maegor smut i can barely find any

I shall try my hand, I apologize for the 90 year wait. This was very fun and I hope you don’t mind the dark themes :) This goes out to you, dear anon, and Big Daddy fan #1 @fairysluna

And you sluts too: @borikenlove @aemondsversion @ilikeitbetterangsty @lovelykhaleesiii @godrakin @xfancyuu

Rating: EXPLICIT READ WARNINGS

Tags: TW: non-con, blood, knives, restraints, rituals and implied soul magic, background sacrifice, forced impregnation, dissociation, Maegor needs an heir still, black bride!reader, voyuerism, size kink, sex pollen/drugging, he’s a bit fond of her for now, Targs using old Valyrian magic, pnv!sex, creampie

Belly of the Beast

Huge armored Kingsguard drug you beneath the bowels of Maegor’s labyrinthian complex, your feet dragging along the ground. You’d ceased fighting two layers ago. Tyanna of the tower glared down at you, raven hair almost shining in the gloomy light. She was clad in a deep purple satin dress, pale face pinched. The rumored sorceress hummed, “You’ll do fine. We need an heir. Stop fighting it, I see it in those bovine eyes of yours.”

You whimpered in pain, feet and shins ragged from the rough treatment. Maegor was no where to be seen. You had only see him on your wedding night, the beast splitting you open and depositing his seed before leaving. When it appeared your womb had not quickened, the guards had seized you in the night. Which led to now. Something sinister curling in the air, the dark glow of the lanterns casting the halls in a murky bloody tint.

Tyanna took a left, disappearing. The guards dragged you onwards, pulling you into a rounded room. Your heart beat wildly with terror. What was this place? It reminded you of the paintings of old Valyria. Oily black stone fused by horrid magicks into bestial creatures. Tall columns twirled with blood wyrms, casting their evil gaze upon you. You cried out in fear, but your mouth was covered with thick bound rope, irritating and dry.

In the middle of the room lay an elongated stone plinth, blood smeared in unreadable lettering. Maegor waited like a hungry lion, huge muscles rippling with every movement. You could see his purple eyes dragging along your bound frame, obscene cock twitching at the site. He boomed, “Put her on the table.”

You stopped struggling again in a state of shock. You weren’t sure if they were going to kill you. Ser Darklyn and Bracken hauled you upright, placing your body on the bloody slab. Maegor shooed them off, locking each of your limbs in some sort of mechanism. He thumbed one of your teats, growling, “Such a fertile body, we’ll get a heir my littlest queen.” You gazed up at the gnarled ceiling, depicting unspeakable things and creatures. You whimpered softly as Maegor undid your gag, rumbling, “There, now they can hear your delightful crying.”

There was a balcony and there stood the dowager Queen Visenya and Tyanna. Visenya’s face was hardened, her hands covered in more blood. She called down, “Do not be afraid girl, this is a new beginning. You will give Maegor the dragon we so desperately need. Think of it as a gift.”

You nodded yes but your mind howled and tore itself apart at the seams. This was not a gift. This was an abomination. You thought of home, the seaside and the barking seals. Not this perverted facsimile of a sept. Visenya barked, “Give her the draught, my king.”

“With pleasure”, he smirked. The beast of a man stalked back to your side, a hand twice the size of your head caressing back your sweaty hair. He murmured, “Open up, you might be my true queen.” You did as so, opening your lips and drinking the thick liquid. It tasted horrid, you fought back a retch before Maegor’s hard lips forced it’s way on top. He smothered you, another huge hand squeezing the soft flesh of your hips.

There was no more you could do as he climbed on top, muscled trunks of thighs splitting yours open, tongue probing your mouth. He grabbed at your hair, biting and sucking roughly down your neck. He murmured, “Close now.” Visenya began to chant in an abnormal sounding tongue of Valyrian. Your skin felt hot to the touch, the glyphs on the walls seeming to glow.

A wave of intense arousal flowed up from your toes to head, making you whine in anguish. The sensation so intense you wrapped your legs around the king’s scarred waist and thrust your profusely leaking cunt up. Locked under the arousal your ego stood trapped, screaming for help. Instead you moaned, “Breed me my king, please, it hurts!” Maegor’s hard set eyes rolled some, his beard scratching your bloodied neck.

He chuckled darkly, “I’ll give it to you little bride of mine, fill that tiny cunt of yours, not waste a gods damned drop.” Pale calloused hands wrapped around your waist, almost encircling you. You bucked underneath him, slick pussy dragging ever so again Maegor’s huge cock. From above, Tyanna and Visenya’s stark faces disappeared as you refocused on him.

Your king, your stud, the one to fill your womb up so you can give him baby after baby. Simply a broodmare for the taking. You arched your full tits against his impossibly built chest, whining at the drag across his body hair. Maegor nuzzled at your collarbones, humming, “It’s so…delightful to watch you squirm. I could break your pretty bones into dust y’know?”

Tears burned at your eyes, the ache between your legs becoming a heady burning. In a warble you begged, “Please, do anything my king, need it, wan’ your cock, pleasepleaseplease!” Openly sobbing now, the brutish king moaned in delight, cock swelling further from your pretty tears and swollen lips. He spanned a hand down your writhing body to land on the base of his cock. Maegor grabbed the Valyrian steel knife and nicked the thin skin of his cock, grunting in annoyance as it began to drip blood.

He tossed the knife callously aside and grabbed your wide hips, shoving his cock in to the hilt. The pair of you cried out, the loud howl echoing in the dim chamber. Maegor growled, “Fucking- fuck! Tight little bride you are, felt ya’ split. Bleeding pretty on my cock.” You weren’t even registering the loss of your maidenhead, hyperfocused on the wonderful feeling of your untouched walls accommodating and stretching for Maegor’s girth. He paused in awe, patting your lower stomach.

Maegor rasped, “Look at this, can see my cock through you. Fucking hell.”

He fucked like the bull they called the king, powerful thrusts sliding you through the tacky blood. Maegor grunted and cursed, muscles flexing and glistening. He panted, “It’ll take, it’ll take, good little girl.” You begged softly, “My arms, my King, please!” In a flurry of movement he unchained you, pulling your smaller frame onto those sinful thighs of his. You rolled onto him like a brothel whore, bouncing and humping, growling and scratching.

He pulled you into a kiss, snarling, “They always said the untouched ones were the hungriest for it,” his hand came down on your ass with a loud crack! Mewling onto his hard lips you embraced the sweet pain, body still on fire with need, need, need. Maegor cursed again and rumbled, unhooking your feet and manhandling you face down on the slab, jerking your ass up into the air.

Your fingers scrabbled as Maegor quickly reentered your pussy, groaning in pleasure. “See, please him, be the bearer of that strong seed,” said your addled mind. The claps of Maegor’s hips echoed against your softer ass, him swiping a hand across with a smarmy look. He cruelly cooed, “Yeah? You like your king stuffing your sweet cunt full of seed? Mmm, when you’re all rounded out I’ll fuck another into you right after. You’re mine.”

“Yours, yours,” you whimpered deliriously.

He pulled you tighter and drug his thick cockhead across a spot you didn’t know existed, eliciting a guttural moan. One big hand locked around your slim throat, the other sneaking to that throbbing bud between your legs. You squealed and squirmed, the nerve endings sparking like wild fire across your used frame.

“No, you take it,” he snarled.

And take it you did, crying and whimpering as your belly tightened and tightened, whole body erupting in goosebumps. Your legs gave out but Maegor kept you aloft moving his huge arm from neck to your tits. In a trembly caterwaul of his name you clamped down on his thick cock and gushed on him and the bloody mess below. Maegor gasped and stuttered, sharp canines locking into your shoulder. His strokes dug deep in shallow, sloppy thrusts.

He practically roared when the load of spend painted your overspent cunt. Load after load while he cooed praise and panted in your ear. The fervor that once gripped you had abated, leaving you a boneless mess, emotions comparable to a husk. Maegor felt around for something then bent you over, shoving in a plug of sorts as soon as his cock exited. He patted your ass and rumbled, “I’m feeling blessed by the Gods today. You shall come wash up with me in my chambers, littlest bride.”

Tyanna was gone.

Visenya called down once more, “Splendid. Let’s hope the seed takes, girl.”

Maegor proudly carried you through the underbelly and up to his quarters in the red keep, showing your mottled, blood soaked body off. You went to somewhere quieter in your mind. A seaside cliff. Salty air. Seals barking. Home.

#hotd fanfic #maegor x reader #hotd smut #Maegor targaryen smut

614 notes · View notes

aris-ink · 2 years

Note

Please consider writing about Daddy Joon who adopted reader after her mother died and who forces her to sleep in the same bed as him and one night she wakes up to him force breeding her 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 doing his absolute best to make her a mommy 💛

no words fhdhshdfsd

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!father au

warnings: mentions of death and violence (not towards the reader), some angst, soft corruption and manipulation, pseudo incest, daddy kink, somnophilia, dub con, hints of breeding kink, dirty talk, praise, creampie

edited.

Namjoon tried his best to be a good father. He didn't get the chance to watch you grow up, and he was perfectly aware of the fact that you were a woman now. But deep down, in his heart, he still saw you as his little girl. You changed his life, marked him forever. All the unexplored and untouched nooks that twisted through his soul; your light went right into them, a gust of bone chilling wind, breaking through the cobwebs and dust, rattling him to the core. Awakening something so old and primitive from its sleep, it felt nearly sinister.

But it was perfectly fine, Namjoon figured. All little girls had a monster under their bed; it just so happened that yours protected you. Ironic, how it didn't even occur to him that perhaps what you needed protection from was him.

When your mother passed away, he took you in without a moment of hesitation. A lost baby bird that needed their wings nursed back to health. You didn't have to be looked after anymore, sure - but you still needed your daddy. All little girls needed their daddies. And Namjoon would have gladly went to hell and back to provide you anything your heart desired.

It was sweet, your friends thought; how close you were with your stepfather, how tight knit your bond was. Especially knowing you barely remembered your own father. His absence left a hole in your life that seemed impossible to fill before Namjoon started dating your mom.

But what would they say if they knew? If they knew how as soon as you moved in with him, he had you sleep in his bed? How he coaxed you and rocked you in his arms while he brushed your tears away? Weren't you too old for this?

"I'm worried about you, baby," he whispered, his hand burning hot on your knee. "I won't let you sleep alone."

You were opposed to the idea; but something in the way he spoke to you made your mind cloud, the low murmur of his voice filling it up like fog.

"Just lie down for me, sweetheart. Good girl. Don't cry."

He didn't really give you much of a choice; and you felt so warm and safe in his embrace, so loved. Still, a tiny pang of guilt stirred in your chest. Like you were doing something wrong. It definitely seemed wrong to feel every muscle of his body; in his chest against your back, in his arms as they enveloped you. The intimacy of it felt so... new. You've shared hugs before, but you never shared a bed, let alone cuddled in it.

You tried to ignore this train of thought, willing it to crash and crumble. Your cheeks warmed as he sighed against you, from the sheer embarrassment of your own paranoia. This was Namjoon, for god's sake; your mother's ex husband. He must have been suffering too. He must have felt lonely. But most of all, you knew how worried he could get about you. He had always been much more mindful than your mother, paying attention to your moods, asking you about your day, helping you with your homework. You drifted off with only him on your mind, surrounded by the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body entwined with yours. The comfort of it lulled you into the best sleep you've had in months.

After that, you slowly stopped rejecting the idea of sharing a bed with him. Namjoon held an important place in your heart for years. No wonder he'd be the one to keep it from falling to pieces. He was just looking after you.

Right?

Then why did that murky, uncomfortable feeling continue to unfurl in your chest? All logic was against it. And yet you couldn't help but pick up on the little things; how persuasive he was, how his hands wandered over your waist under the sheets. Why did it all bother you, when technically he wasn't doing anything wrong? Most importantly, you reminded yourself over and over again; you weren't doing anything wrong.

Though you might have been unaware of it, Namjoon could see how conflicted you were. He could also see the goosebumps on your skin as he caressed your back, your muscles tensing, suppressing shivers. Unfortunately, it didn't look like you'd give in so easily.

"Go to sleep, baby," he murmured, leaving a kiss on your head before turning to lie on his back. You just needed a little push. That was okay. All good fathers knew their little girls inside and out; and sometimes they had to do what was necessary for their greater good.

You breathed a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into the cool pillow.

"Goodnight, daddy."

Something in his lower stomach stirred. The affectionate title fell from your lips so quietly, like you were already on the verge of succumbing to your exhaustion, slipping right off the precipice and into its dark embrace.

He hasn't heard you call him that in weeks. He listened to your breathing even out, lifting himself up on one arm.

Fuck. He needed you. You needed him too, didn't you? Of course you did. He knew you did. That was what he told himself when he brushed your hair away from your neck, pressing his lips into its column. He covered every inch of it he could reach with butterfly kisses, ending the trail right below your ear. Unlike his lips, his hand was less gentle, squeezing your hip, like he was searching for a way to keep at least some semblance of self control. It was difficult when you felt so soft and warm beneath him. Even more so when he realized that for the first time, he was finally able to act out on his fantasies. For the first time, he had you in his bed, with no one to come in and interrupt you, no one to witness him sliding down your underwear, sticky from how he played with you. The excitement bordered on predatory, but what else could you expect with that thing you set free in somewhere in his soul, the darkness that broke through? It was all your doing. And Namjoon was all yours. The most sinful, immoral parts of him included.

Sinful they were, for no good father should ever touch his little girl the way he touched you, but how could he resist when you responded so well? Your nipples felt so hard under his tongue, the little twitch in your body enthralling. You were so easy to defile; so willing. Namjoon didn't think he's ever felt more in love.

The sight of his aching, fat cock lined up with your cunt was enough to make it drool. He was so hard every vein and ridge seemed to throb. You wanted this, didn't you? You just needed that one, little push. One push of his hips, and you'd wake up gasping from your needy, mortal dreams, only to awaken in heaven; his hand around your mouth, his thick cock filling you up to the brim.

It didn't take long. He pressed his weight into you, groaning as you startled, trashing under him.

"Shhhh, baby," he whispered, breathing harshly into your ear. "It's just me."

Your pussy clenched around him. Namjoon stilled inside you for a moment, holding back a grunt. He looked up at you, trying to force himself to slow his thrusts. The tears stuck in your eyelashes made his heart twist. He took his hand off your mouth, replacing it with his tongue instead, kissing you and trying to pour all his love into you.

He could feel your distress, feel the hot tears flowing down your cheeks.

"Don't cry, baby," he breathed as he pulled away from your mouth. "It's okay. You're so good for daddy."

"N-no," you stuttered out, your hands trembling as they pushed at his chest. "Get off me."

An unexpected, hard thrust had your back arching, a gasp leaving your throat.

"Get off you?"

There was a significant change to the tone of his voice; it was lower and dark now, his eyes stuck on yours as he continued to fuck you.

"That's not what this cute, little cunt is telling me, baby. You're squeezing me so tight."

His teeth gritted at the last word. You couldn't believe the soft moan that slipped past your lips, your body betraying your morals. Namjoon gripped your jaw, fingers digging into it, his cock making wet, obscene sounds as it split you open.

"Fuck," he growled. "You hear that? So wet. Good girl."

You didn't feel like a good girl. More tears threatened to spill from your eyes, and you quickly found yourself realizing you were helpless.

"Please, daddy!" You whined, still pushing at his chest, but your attempt at trying to make him see reason had the opposite effect. His cock only seemed to grow harder inside you - if that was possible - his balls slapping against you faster.

In one swift, rough motion, he turned your head to the side, plush lips pressing right into your ear.

"Do you want me to stop? Is that it? You want daddy to stop pounding your little pussy?" He dropped his voice down to a whisper. "Or is my little girl crying because she's ashamed of how depraved she is?"

The pressure of your hands pushing at his chest softened. You blinked a few times before burying your face in his neck, your arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders.

"Daddy-" you sobbed out, half pleasure, half pain.

Namjoon groaned, his hand slipping under your thigh.

"It's okay, baby... I love you. You're my good girl."

He pressed his lips into your shoulder, leaving kisses over your sweaty skin, his cock reaching deeper than you've ever been touched. He could tell from the way you gasped, trying so hard not to give in to him - and failing.

"Daddy's almost done, baby," he soothed. "Gonna fill you up so- oh-" his hips stuttered when your pussy clenched again. "Ohh fuck."

"Wait, you can't-" the words were abruptly cut off by his kiss, your protests turning into more incoherent, muffled moans.

A string of saliva connected your lips when he pulled away.

"Be a good girl," he groaned. "I can feel how much you want it. Want me to come inside you and make you all mine, huh?"

Your thighs tightened around him as his finger found your clit, slippery and throbbing.

"Want daddy to make you a mommy," he grunted, circling the sensitive bud in fast circles, desperate as he felt you clench. "Yeah? Want to be all fucking mine?" He was hanging on by threads, the filth spilling from his mouth turning into breathy moans when you started coming. He fucked you harder, letting you claw at his back, hot seed spilling deep into your tightening cunt. The sound of your loud whines only made him twitch more, his head spinning.

"Good fucking girl," he whimpered, stilling in between your legs.

He stayed inside you, unable to force himself away, his hands running up and down your arms soothingly.

"Baby," he whispered a moment, lifting his head.

You didn't shy away from his gaze, but more tears lingered beneath your lashes, and he couldn't help but sigh.

"I love you."

He pressed a kiss into your forehead, his thumb wiping your wet cheeks.

"Don't cry."

You struggled to reply verbally, instead choosing to hide within his embrace.

"It's okay," he reassured. "I promise. I got you."

You nodded into his neck.

"Good girl."

Namjoon knew he had to pull out eventually. He sighed again, dropping another kiss on your lips.

"Get some rest, baby."

A shudder went through you as he lifted himself up, dragging his cock out of your cunt, leaving behind nothing but a feeling of emptiness and his cum dribbling out of you. He almost shuddered too, his abdomen clenching at the sight.

"Good girl," he couldn't help repeating himself, his hand massaging the soft flesh of your thigh.

He wanted to fuck you again. The thought of overwhelming you stopped him, though. He knew just how much you could handle, and that was it for tonight. It was more than enough.

He lowered himself onto his side, wrapping both arms around your waist. This time, you didn't try to scooch away. You didn't try to get closer either, and he left it at that, the soft hum of post orgasmic bliss filling his body and tempting his lids to drop.

"Goodnight, daddy," you whispered, or sighed, he couldn't be sure, your voice so soft as it breached the sleepy, softened walls of his mind. His heart fluttered in his chest, fingertips brushing yours.

"Goodnight, baby."

He tried not to think about tomorrow. Tried not to get excited over the possibility of you getting pregnant; of finally being able to be a real family, the kind he could never imagine with anyone else.

How could Namjoon ever consider fate cruel? Meeting your mother has led him to meeting you, and in a twisted, tender way he loved the role he took on for you. He loved providing for you; he loved the authority that came with his title. And he loved you, so fucking much. Fate has been kind to him in all aspects so far; even sweeping your mother out of the way for him. He didn't have to lift a finger. Before she died, he had started thinking that she might need a little push, too. Down the stairs perhaps. But all is well that ends well, he supposed, and this ended as well as it could without him interfering.

Did he feel any grief at all? No. Why would he? The woman has been far too self absorbed, far too neglectful of you. She was became nothing but a burden; one he was glad to be rid of.

He knew that wasn't the case for you, however. You were too kind to think that way. He didn't mind, though. No matter what, he wouldn't let guilt eat you alive. It was the last promise he made to himself before falling asleep, his arms tightening around you. He'd fill you up with his love and his cum until you could think of nothing else, glowing and warm.

You were his little girl. He'd take his time; and he had all the time in the world.

#no words but also ily #yandere bts #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts smut

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moraysoiree · 2 months

Text

homesick

Just my idea of what it feels like to be far away from home.

characters: Floyd Leech x gn!reader (platonic, could be read as romantic), mentions of Jade and Azul word count: 1134

Ramshackle dorm prefect’s life was in no sense easy. Sitting through classes and thinking how you can’t even put all this knowledge to good use because of your ‘magiclessness’ was, for lack of a better term, pure torture. Thank god the classes ended, finally granting you some freedom to wander off in hopes to lift your spirits by hanging out with one of the strange people that were in abundance here.

To your glee, on the way to the first floor you noticed a familiar figure on a terrace just a flight of stairs below: one of the eel guys was standing there, leaning against the guardrail with slumped shoulders. Given the idleness, figuring his current mood was no big feat. The chance was worth taking, though.

‘FLOOOOYD!!’ you started skipping down excitedly, not even bothering to get to the floor and jumping off the middle right onto the unsuspecting victim. ‘Shrimpie!’ wide-eyed, Floyd still managed to catch the falling anvil and laughed, spinning from the momentum. ‘Ye gonna kill us one day,’ he grumbled. ‘I wish I could kill you that easily,’ you pinched his cheeks, causing the displeased eel to click his teeth in a mock threat. ‘A point. You little fishies, on the other hand…’ he trailed off. Both went on to lean onto the banisters, laziness afloat in the sunny spring air. The mood wasn’t as bad as expected. Or, rather, improved rapidly, for that matter. ‘Sup with the classes,’ you tugged on the lilac ribbon hanging from his forearm. ‘Skipping, huh? What would Azul say?!’ you covered your mouth, appearing to be scandalized. Theatrical jests usually amused him, but not today for some reason. Or was it Azul’s name that got on his nerves? Either way, Floyd wasn’t really in the mood for talking, so the clue was taken and both stared off into the distance silently. And was there a lot to stare at, as college’s balconies had the best view onto the sharp cliffs, mercilessly slicing the rumbling waves into white foam.

Something occurred to you, and you asked, fidgeting with the very same ribbon still: ‘Say, don’t you ever get homesick?’. Floyd tore his eyes off the sea and gave you a thoughtful glance, ‘Mm-hhm… not really. There are a lot of things on land. I think Jade got it worse’. ‘Jade?! How come?’ It was hard to believe that Jade, who navigated human society better than the majority of humans, was, in fact, facing some trouble adapting. ‘S’ not like he doesn’t love it here, too, I mean. But y’know how he goes to wander by himself and chew on his plants or whareva-you-call-it. That’s different from me. Gets melancholic ‘nd all.’ Floyd sighed and stretched, crossing arms behind his head. ‘And you don’t? Like ever’. ‘Don’t think so? Lotta interesting things just keep happening around. This school is kinda special tho. Many fishies to squeeze, and jumping right into my jaws, too,’ he shut his eyes in delight, but his general expression shifted into something more sinister, something ascending from the murky depths, prowling and lurking. ‘Kinda like home. Ya kno’ it’s crazy down there. You can never stop or rest. Unless you wanna be eaten, ‘course. Same here,’ he waved at the Night Raven College’s walls. ‘So your bloodlust is what keeps you going? Should’ve known better,’ you scoffed, and Floyd rolled his eyes. ‘Mean! I like many of your things, like clothes, and phones, and the strange food you have. S’ not like I only care about beatin’ up some krill,’ you eyed his messy uniform doubtfully and pondered whether the eel really liked clothes as much as he claimed to.

‘But you’re like Jade, aren’t you, little Shrimp?’ Floyd snapped you from your thoughts forcefully, and you noticed he was staring at you sharply. ‘You get those sour moods and sigh a lot’. Look who’s talking about moods!? But he was right, although it came as a surprise that such things didn’t escape him. He’d always seemed too caught up in his own emotions. Or was it precisely because of it that Floyd had noticed the way his friend was a bit too quiet on one day and a tad too distant on the other... ‘I love you all, but I didn’t really choose to be here, and I don’t even know if there’s a way to go back. Even if there is, will I survive with people overblotting left and right and making it everyone’s problem?!’ Floyd laughed. ‘Nothing to laugh about in my life’, you sighed. ‘You would be shocked how hard it is to live without the little things, like my favourite songs, or the trinkets I’d collected, or the bakeries I’d always visited’. He was listening silently, letting you get it all off your chest. ‘I had friends back home, too. Will I ever see them again? Do they miss me, I wonder.. Maybe I died in my world and got isekai’d here so there’s not really a place for me to return to at all?!’ Floyd scrunched his face up at your outburst. ‘Now you sound just like Firefly Squid.’ Then, however, his expression became serious. ‘You know, Shrimpie. There are a lot of things in this world that are out of our control. You can have a down-to-the-minute detailed plan, covering the next forty years, but what use will it be if a shark gobbles you up tomorrow? You should value the ‘now’, or ya risking to miss all the fun n’ regret it later,’ his hand ruffled your hair. ‘I get that it ain’t easy for ya to be all gung-ho about it all the time, but that kind of thinking is just a waste. Say what, how ‘bout we go make Crowley get his game up with your homeworld instead? I can squeeze him real tight if ya wanna.’ You thought about it for a solid moment, seriously considering the offer. ‘I’m good. Spare the unfortunate soul, he’s got his plate served to him from people throwing hands last week’. ‘And who’s to thank for that ya think?’ Oh. Of course. ‘What a spectacular friend I have, rushing to avenge me before I even ask!’ The phrase might have been a joke, but you put your genuine gratitude for the so much needed reassurance into it. To that display of emotions, Floyd’s eyes glinted mischievously. ‘So you saying you owe me one?’ You regretted your choice of words instantly. ‘Come ooon, ain’t gonna eat ya, Shrimpie. Not yet, anyway. Speaking of food… What a rad way to repay me, huh?’ ‘Mostro Lounge?’ Floyd groaned. ‘Heell naaah if I see Azul today I’ll punch smn. Hard.’ So it WAS about Azul, in the end. ‘Canteen it is then. Takoyaki?’ ‘Ya know me best, Shrimpie.’

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #floyd leech #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #octavinelle #a repost & a gender neutral ver of the thingie i wrote like. a year ago #istg i've had that tweels x reader draft molding in my google docs for almost a solid year already sorry if ya had your hopes up😝✌️#yume brainrot too strong to think about other guys #i WILL try to finish it. no promises tho bye🎠

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doumadono · 6 months

Text

Warnings: manipulation, rusalka!Toga, fem!Reader

Summary: on Halloween night, you and your friends venture to a lake near a quaint village, determined to debunk the rusalka legend as mere folklore. Little do you know, the eerie creature is far more real than you could ever imagine.

Word count: circa 2.3k

A/N: this story is my final offering in the collection by a talented @candycandy00 I hope you enjoy this brief horror tale

The autumn night was heavy with an eerie stillness, a prelude to Halloween, the night she chose to haunt the living. Himiko Toga, the rusalka, lurked in the shadows of a murky lake. Her long, light hair draped over her waterlogged form, and her beautiful but otherworldly allure concealed a malevolent intent.

In a nearby village, the locals spoke of the legend of the rusalka, a vengeful water spirit who lured unsuspecting souls to their watery graves. Children dared one another to approach the lake after nightfall, and the bravest among them claimed to have heard a hauntingly beautiful, yet chilling melody that resonated from its depths.

Nestled within the heart of a dense, ancient forest, the village lay hidden from the bustling world. Surrounded by towering trees and a sea of vibrant green, it was a place of solitude and tranquility. The thick woods enveloped the village in a natural embrace, concealing its existence like a well-kept secret.

For the villagers, life here was a world unto itself, a haven of simplicity and the quiet rustling of leaves. It was a place where the daily rhythms of life were dictated by the seasons and the cycles of nature.

The journey through the dense woods was a challenge, and the village remained untouched by the hurried footsteps of those from the more populated areas. This isolation was both a blessing and a curse, preserving the village's unique way of life while also keeping it sheltered from the outside world.

On this particular Halloween night, a group of adventurous teenagers from one of the surrounding towns gathered by the lake, their laughter masking the fear that lingered in the back of their minds. Among them were you, a curious and bold young woman. You'd heard the legends but believed them to be mere stories to spook the timid. "I don't get what all the fuss is about," you said, you voice tinged with skepticism. "It's just a lake, and there's no such thing as a rusalka. Not to mention those people live like they would be stuck in some ancient times. That's sick!"

Your friends exchanged uneasy glances. "You're brave, Y/N, but be careful. Some say they've heard a song coming from the water," one of them warned. "I came across an old article while browsing Google," the guy mentioned, "and it mentioned something quite unsettling. It seems that a significant number of people, particularly young boys and girls, have mysteriously disappeared in this place."

You waved it off, unfazed. "I'll prove to you all that there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Come on, seriously?" one of your female friends laughed heartily. "You don't actually expect us to believe in all that internet nonsense, do you, Tom? Witches, rusalkas, and all those creepy tales are just meant to spook the kids, nothing more."

As you approached the edge of the lake, you felt a sudden chill in the air. The night grew darker, and the surface of the water seemed to ripple with a sinister presence. You shivered but continued to move closer. With unwavering determination, you set out to debunk the local legend of the rusalka that had been perpetuated by the villagers. You firmly believed that this eerie tale was nothing more than a concoction, a clever ruse to send shivers down the spines of curious tourists and entice them to leave their money in this quaint, remote place.

Just as you reached the water's edge, a hauntingly beautiful melody began to drift through the night, captivating your senses. The notes were hypnotic, pulling at the very core of your being.

Toga's ghostly figure emerged from the depths, her eyes fixed on you. "Come closer, my dear," she whispered, her voice like a siren's call. "I have something to show you," she sung, playing with her long, blonde hair. Her flowing hair cascaded like shimmering waterfalls. Her eyes, large and alluring, seemed to hold secrets of untold depths, their color an enigmatic shade of yellow, reminiscent of golden sunlit waters. Her complexion was porcelain fair. As a rusalka, she moved with an otherworldly grace, her every motion reminiscent of water's gentle caress.

"Holy shit! Do you see that?!" Tom's exclamation pierced the air, his eyes wide with astonishment.

The rest of your friends were quick to react, their expressions mirroring his shock. Startled whispers filled the air as they instinctively began to move away from the lake shore, creating a small, anxious cluster.

"Come on, let's go, Y/N!" one of your friends called out urgently, waving for you to join them.

"Retreat, guys! This is getting too weird!" another one urged as well.

But it was as though their voices had faded into the distance, a mere murmur in the background, as you continued to draw nearer and nearer to the mysterious entity emerging from the shadowy waters. Its silent beckoning seemed to compel you, a magnetic force pulling you closer with every step.

Your friends watched in horror as you stepped into the lake, your movements guided by the rusalka's eerie song. You waded deeper into the water, your face bearing a tranquil expression that sent shivers down their spines.

As Halloween night deepened, the legends of the rusalka proved all too real for you and your friends. Himiko Toga's vengeful spirit had claimed another soul, and her haunting melody echoed through the chilling darkness. Himiko led you further into the murky waters. As you moved deeper, the moonlight cast an eerie glow upon the lake's surface, creating an unsettling spectacle. The world above seemed to fade away as you became ensnared by the enchanting melody.

With each word, her allure seemed to grow, wrapping you in a cocoon of her seductive timbre. The world around you began to blur and fade into obscurity, as though her voice held the power to transport you to another realm. As she spoke, your attention shifted solely to her, her words becoming the only reality that mattered. Nothing else held significance; her voice was your anchor and your universe, a hypnotic cadence that pulled you deeper into its spell.

The rusalka's voice was both beautiful and melancholic. It whispered secrets of the underwater world, of long-forgotten loves and tragedies that had unfolded beneath the waves. Your thoughts and fears were replaced by a sense of tranquility, your will utterly dominated by the rusalka's spell.

Himiko leaned in, her yellowish eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Her voice was a sultry, almost hypnotic purr as she spoke, "You know, becoming one with me, it's going to be… exquisite. All I need is just a tiny, little taste of your blood."

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, "What do you mean?"

A sly grin curved her lips as she explained, "Well, it's quite simple, really, my sweet darling! Just a drop of your blood, a mere morsel of your essence, and we'll be forever connected. Our desires, our pleasures, they'll meld into a tantalizing dance of passion."

Your heart raced, the air suddenly charged with anticipation, as you asked, "And how does that work, exactly?"

She moved even closer, her breath warm against your skin, "Oh, darling, it's a secret spell only we can share. But trust me, it'll be the most electrifying connection you've ever experienced, hihi!"

Your thoughts were a whirlwind, but curiosity and a burgeoning desire overtook any hesitation, "I… I think I am…"

Unbeknownst to you, every word she spoke was a clever ploy to draw you deeper into the water. Her delicate fingers reached for yours, their touch gentle as they caressed your hand. With a subtle, sensuous motion, she brought one of your hands closer to her lips, her tongue lightly tracing your wrist. Her actions seemed as if she were trying to capture the scent of the life force coursing through your racing heart.

Back on the shore, your friends watched in helpless horror as their friend disappeared beneath the surface. The rusalka's haunting song lingered in the air, creating an unsettling atmosphere.

Meanwhile, your friends hurriedly left you by the lake, determined to seek assistance. As they sprinted towards the village and knocked on several doors, their desperation grew with each step.

Only one door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman. With a sense of urgency, your friends quickly explained the dire situation unfolding at the lake. Desperate to save their friend, your friends sought the guidance of an elderly villager, and it turned out she was known for her knowledge of folklore and the supernatural. She listened to their tale with a heavy heart and instructed them to bring a rare herb that was said to have the power to dispel enchantments. She offered them a piece of the dried herb and decided to help them face the rusalka.

With the herb in hand, the group returned to the lake, determined to break the rusalka's hold over you, even though they were scared you were already long gone. The night was eerily silent now, devoid of the haunting melody that had drawn her beneath the water.

The rusalka sensed their presence and confronted them, her beautiful but malevolent form shimmering in the moonlight. "You dare to challenge me?" she hissed, her voice filled with centuries of anger and sorrow. "You have no power here, weaklings."

Your friends held their ground, brandishing the herb. The elderly villager chanted incantations that carried the power to weaken the rusalka's spell.

Amid the chaotic scene, your friends gathered around the water's edge, their voices raised in a chorus of desperate screams. The rusalka, had a tight grip on you, your head submerged beneath the unforgiving surface already, leaving only your nose and forehead exposed.

"Let her go! Release her!" one of your female friends shouted, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and anger, the urgency in her pleas piercing the air.

But rusalka, with her eerie, yellowish eyes and an ethereal grip on your form, seemed indifferent to their protests. Her grip remained relentless, and her silent, haunting stare seemed to taunt your friends' futile efforts.

The tension in the air was palpable as your loved ones desperately tried to break the hold of this mysterious, otherworldly being, their voices echoing in a symphony of fear and determination, all while you struggled for breath, your life precariously balanced between the surface and the depths.

As the herb was cast into the water and the elderly woman chanted her incantations, a subtle magic began to weave its enchantment.

Slowly but surely, Himiko's form started to fade away. Her grip remained unyielding, as she continued to sing her haunting song, a desperate plea to retain her presence. Himiko began to emit an otherworldly, high-pitched squeal that reverberated through the still night. Her voice, though beautiful, had a chilling quality that sent shivers down their spines. It was an eerie, haunting sound that seemed to defy the very laws of reality.

As the piercing notes continued, those witnessing this spectral phenomenon felt a sense of unease. Her voice grew louder, more desperate, as if trying to break through the veil of existence. The air around her shimmered, and she began to slowly fade away, becoming transparent, like a wisp of mist in the moonlight.

With each passing moment, she vanished further, her voice a ghostly memory in the stillness of the night, leaving a haunting imprint on those who had the eerie privilege of witnessing her mysterious departure.

You gasped, your senses returning as the rusalka's hold over you waned. The villager's determined efforts had disrupted the enchantment, freeing you from the vengeful spirit's grasp.

With a final, mournful wail, the rusalka disappeared beneath the water, defeated but not entirely vanquished.

You were safe, but the chilling memory of the rusalka's haunting melody would linger, a reminder that some legends held truths that were best left undisturbed.

The lake would forever be a place of whispered fears and shrouded mysteries.

You, forever changed by your encounter, had a profound respect for the supernatural. You couldn't help but wonder if the rusalka had truly moved on or if she still lurked in the depths, awaiting another chance to ensnare an unwitting soul. You had to concede that there were phenomena that defied the boundaries of time and comprehension, veering into the realm of the supernatural, forever beyond human understanding.

At times, Toga would reappear in your dreams, a haunting presence that both captivated and unnerved you. Her voice, like a gentle, melodic whisper, would fill your slumbering mind. Those enormous, yellow eyes, seemingly capable of peering deep into your very soul, held your gaze, and her untamed, hair was fashioned into two haphazard buns. In your dreams, she would extend an invitation, beckoning you into her enigmatic world. The allure was undeniable, like a magnetic pull that drew you in. But just as you were about to step into the unknown, you'd jolt awake, drenched in a chilling sweat, the remnants of her presence lingering in the recesses of your consciousness.

Years passed, and the memory of that Halloween night at the lake haunted the villagers. The rusalka, though defeated, was never truly vanquished. Her presence lingered in the water, and the lake remained a place of eerie quiet, where the night held its breath as if waiting for the return of the vengeful spirit. And as the years passed, the rusalka's haunting melody became but a distant echo, a testament to the enduring power of legends and the strength of those who dared to face the unknown.

#lovhalloweenhorror #himiko toga x reader #himiko toga #horror story #mha x reader #toga himiko #toga mha #toga himiko x reader #league of villains #x reader #horror #horror fiction #divider by cafekitsune #x fem!reader #reader is female #horror short #rusalka

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ccuniculusmolestus · 25 days

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What do you think about Camilla/Charles? I don't know what to think, was Camilla forced to sleep with him prior to his deterioration/alcoholism or was it out of choice earlier? Because if she was indeed initially doing it consensually.....it would baffle me, considering how romanticised she is in this fandom, and apparently criticising her means you're a misogynist.

Oh boy.....

I agree w u sooooo much. Anyway, I do think it was consensual starting out (which must have been their teens probably). Now, not to imply that power dynamics don't exist even in siblings (you know older siblings have more of an influence on a younger sibling) and you know, especially in that time, a brother would have more influence/power over a sister.

THAT BEING SAID. Them being twins becomes very significant. Not only are twins a symbolism of mirror imagery (so then they are "equals") and the power dynamic might still exist but it wouldn't be as pronounced. Additionally, Camilla and Charles' similarities are focused on intensely in the book. Donna didn't just do this randomly (writers seldom do), and she didn't do it just to focus on Camilla's boyishness, at least not in my opinion.

It leads me to believe the relationship between them very much started out consensually, though the whys might remain murky. The loss of one's parents will cause trauma and everyone deals differently w it, idk, I don't want to say it was their way of coping bcs it just seems.....weirdly disrespectful.

I see people always bashing on Charles for what he became towards the end of the book, but Richard remains a well liked figure despite literally fantasising about r wording camilla. Curious.

I like Charles, perhaps even a bit more than I like camilla. (In the first part). He seemed more human and likable to me 🤷‍♀️ Not henry, not Francis, not Richard and not camilla possessed the reluctance or empathy when they, in a very cowardly manner, murdered someone who had thought of them as friends. Richard might have expressed grief and regret later on, but I take anything he says with a grain of salt, since he most likely only wants to paint himself in a better light. It was Charles who seemed truly broken after what they did, which makes me think he was better than all of them, which makes his corruption and deterioration even more sinister and tragic.

And I'm sorry you feel that way, but its so valid. To those people who bully others for their dislike of a fictional female character (yes. Very feminist of you to bully women (and others) for not liking the fictional character you can project on. Where would international feminism be without your tumblerina war on members of a niche fandom.) Camilla is not a feminist icon. She would not like you if you were another girl in her class because she thrived off the attention she got on being the sole girl in a pack of boys. Maybe its because Richard's hyper romanticised version of her is so vivid that most of you forget what camilla really was like, and even if you dont care for/congratulate her for being a "girlboss" man manipulator (for leading them on and playing a weird game of incestous jealousy with her incestous brother)-- i dont know, incest just makes me uncomfortable, and I kinda lose respect for characters who engage in it consensually. Even if its fiction it just gives me the ick.

That being said, I don't care if this fando, romanticises camilla or kin her or project on her-- bitch idgaf. Do whatever you want, write and interpret her as you wish- the fun part about having your mind is that ITS UR MIND!!! Whatever happens there is none of my damn biz 😘 and if this answer triggered anyone, I also dgaf abt that

#wait im lowkey winning the idgaf war #valid ask anon #hope this answered it #the secret history #tsh #tsh donna tartt #richard papen #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #asks!#ask

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luxuriouswaigee · 29 days

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The Demise of Muzan Kibutsuji: A Lego Block's Revenge

Once upon a time, in a breathtaking twist of fate within the awe-inspiring realm of "Demon Slayer," Muzan Kibutsuji, the dreaded demon lord, met a demise so shocking, so unexpected, that it sent tremors through the very fabric of his dark domain.

In the hush of the night, within the murky depths of his lair, Muzan brooded over his wicked plans, his heart filled with malice and ambition. Little did he know that a mischievous sprite had crept into his inner sanctum, leaving behind a solitary Lego block, innocuous yet sinister in its design. This seemingly harmless toy would prove to be the instrument of his undoing.

Lost in his own thoughts, Muzan prowled the chamber, his mind ablaze with treacherous plots and ruthless strategies. Oblivious to the imminent danger, he trod back, only to unwittingly crush the Lego block beneath his heel. In a sudden, searing pain that shot through his leg, Muzan staggered, he inhaled so hard that the lego block flew deep inside his throat.

The demon lord gasped in shock as he struggled for air, his unearthly powers useless against this trivial yet deadly obstruction. His loyal minions, once awed by his invincibility, now stood frozen in terror as they witnessed their mighty leader choking on a small plastic toy.

Despite his formidable might and unwavering resilience, Muzan's destiny was sealed. Each fruitless attempt to dislodge the block brought him closer to the brink of death, his once fearsome countenance growing pale in the dim light. In a final, desperate bid for survival, Muzan unleashed his demonic abilities in a futile effort to expel the accursed block, but it was too late.

With a strangled gasp, Muzan crumpled to the ground, his life slipping away before his horrified followers. The revered demon lord, whose very name had struck fear into the hearts of all, met his ignominious end not in battle against a hero or a rival, but at the cruel mercy of a humble Lego block.

The tale of Muzan Kibutsuji's downfall spread far and wide, a sobering parable of how even the most powerful beings can be brought low by the most trivial of circumstances. It stood as a grim reminder to all denizens of darkness of the fleeting nature of life, a stark reminder that even the immortal must face the inevitability of death.

#fanfic #muzan kibutsuji #demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #silly #muzan stepping on a lego block #kimetsu no yaiba

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 months

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salt-and-vinegar dreams

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Pairing: Percy/Annabeth Rating: T Word Count: 1256

Summary: Percy might have an evil, prophesizing grandpa hijacking his dreams, but he also has Annabeth, and she's welcome any time.

Based on Percy’s extensive and up-close experience of bullying and recess dynamics, Camp Half-Blood makes no sense. Sure, if he compares pretty much any aspect of his life among mostly humans to his life here, there are some fairly glaring differences, but this is what stands out:

Out there, a kid who wins a fight becomes the Toughest Kid, and nobody wants to mess with that kid. In here, a kid who wins a fight also becomes the Toughest Kid, but everybody wants to fight them to see how they measure up—even if, instead of pushing another kid down on the playground and kicking sand in their lunch, they clobbered the god of war with a humongous wave. Percy kinda gets it, in a weird way, like he’s kinda getting everything about this, being here, being who he is. But he’s also tired.

He’s tired of dodging Clarisse’s attempts to take her turn at him. He’s tired of turning his last conversation with Luke around and around in his mind until it becomes a whirlpool it’s hard to pull back from. He’s tired of the dreams. Sinister, persistent. Always at the cottage in Montauk, which really pisses Percy off because that’s their place, his and his mom’s, but as soon as things go all dark and foggy, he can’t keep Kronos out. Just once, he’d like to tell that trespassing asshole there’s no welcome mat for a reason, maybe slam the door in the face he keeps hidden under a hood like preserving maximum spookiness when Percy already knows who he is isn’t the lamest thing in either this world or the subbasement the Titans call home. Instead of being stuck in the front room, Percy would like to run deeper into the cottage to grab the baseball bat he knows is somewhere in his room (back of the closet? Under the bed?) and use it to crack that dumb lantern he carries. He’d like to rush Kronos before he reaches the door, keep him outside and chase him around, spraying him with the garden hose.

Yeah, there’s a lot Percy’d like to try. At the top of that list is a good night’s sleep. These new Kronos-flavoured dreams suck; like a watered-down salt and vinegar from the heavy fog. And when he wakes up? Clammy skin from that fog, and the general bitter aftertaste anyone might associate with interacting with their creepy pit-grandpa. Zero out of ten.

So he’s a little worn out.

While everyone else is cramming their final days at camp with hand-to-hand combat—plus other normal stuff kids do for fun—Percy’s getting really into afternoon naps. Oh, that’s supposed to be an old-person thing? Uno reverse, Gramps. He already has the Poseidon cabin to himself, so it’s not hard to find a quiet spot. Even with his shiny-new status as the Ass-Kicker of Ares, the Mount Olympus Backtalker, the Lotus Casino Strip Poker Champ (ok, maybe the rumours are getting out of hand), the other campers don’t usually seek him out here. His guess is that the cabin stood empty so long that it became sorta mythically untouchable. Maybe that makes him the murky algae growing on the glass of the haunted aquarium, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to sleep.

Except one person never hesitates at the threshold. She doesn’t seem to mind the fishermen’s cathedral aesthetic or the unusual light; it spills down through tall, diamond-paned windows and reflects off the lap pool to cast a wavy aurora maris on the ceiling. Annabeth’s not daunted by the creak of suspended skeletons or the lobster traps piled by the door (why?).

She gives him the face that says he’s making a stupid choice which may or may not actually be wrong (she’s still deciding) and asks, “Why aren’t you outside?”

“I’m the demigod version of Superman: I prefer my solitude,” he says, then pauses. “Or, I guess Clark Kent, ’cause I’m not on duty.”

Annabeth frowns.

“Who?”

“Just… this journalist. Doesn’t matter.”

“You felt like being alone?” she somehow translates, sifting through the broken oysters of his words for the pearls.

He looks at her, her head tilt that could be cautious except he knows it’s thoughtful, her steps that miss all the squeaky boards his personal water feature has swollen with damp, the way her straightforward question spreads like a ripple—you felt like being alone alone alone alone?—because her eyes keep asking it after her lips close. Her feet keep walking into his abandoned marine museum, his one-storey lighthouse, his rejected Little Mermaid film set. He looks at her.

“Not… exactly,” he says, liking her here. “I was just gonna try to get some sleep.”

“Would it be alright if I stayed?”

There’s this feeling in Percy’s chest—sore and warped, but warm and still. He’s glad she asked; it means he doesn’t have to. It would’ve come out of his mouth wrong, fumbled and awkward, even though they’ve slept near each other before, basically the whole quest. He nods; it’s alright if she wants to stay. He can’t say he’ll probably be able to sleep better with her watching over him, that, actually, he’s scared a lot of the time, but not so much with her nearby. Even if their eyes are closed and their defenses are down.

Though Percy doesn’t stray from tradition and put his guard up as he lies down on his cot, there’s an awareness of a different nature. Annabeth darts a look at him like she’s suspicious that he’s going to keep watching her, but then she does something kind: she sits at the edge of the pool, right in his line of sight. She has her back to him as she strokes her hand back and forth through the water. Percy rolls onto his back, exhales. He’s not going to fall asleep, but he’s watching the light change on the ceiling, and he’s listening to the gentle waves break against the sides of the pool, and his eyelids are feeling heavy…

The cottage surrounded by darkness.

Kronos with the swaying lantern, the billowing cloak.

Percy: wide-eyed to be suddenly adrift inside his own mind, the cottage a trick.

An ominous message, full of blame, full of a sickening pride, full of ownership and control and—

Do you ever dream about Mom?

The look in his dad’s eyes, and then falling, but falling through light, falling like floating on water.

Percy knows he’s still sleeping—it’s the one similarity between this scene and his seaside encounter with Kronos—because he’s looking down at the lap pool from above. The water’s serene, undisturbed.

When he faces Kronos, does his body give clues? Does he twitch or flinch or groan? Anything that might call Annabeth away from the pool? Because she’s sitting there on his cot, holding his hand while he sleeps. Did he do something to make her scared for him, or is it another thing? A scared-if-you-don’t-feel-this-too thing. Scared if you do. Percy doesn’t know if this is real, but the feeling of wanting it to be is. They’re just… a good team. And if his tired brain was reaching for an antidote to Kronos’s unwelcome invasion of his subconscious, yeah, it coulda done worse than Annabeth’s hand tucked into his, light on her braids casting shadows like sea turtle ribs.

She’s looking at him. Her head tilts, and it could be cautious, wary, unsure.

Except Percy knows it’s thoughtful. She’s always thinking.

Right now, she’s thinking about him.

#my writing #PJatO #Percy Jackson #Annabeth Chase #percabeth #Percy Jackson fic #PJO fic

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sadnymi · 2 months

Text

"My Dreams Are Just Dreams... Until They're Not" modern Mattheo riddle × reader [ chapter four ]

[previous chapter] [Next chapter]

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language,childhood trauma ,abusing, cheating ( not the main characters)

Please understand that from this chapter onwards, the story will delve into darker themes. I urge you to pay close attention to the trigger warnings provided.

words:2,128

Reading Time : 8mins 30sec

Summery : A week at my best friend's beach house, surrounded by our friends as we meet her soon-to-be fiancé's companions, marks a turning point where the very fabric of my beliefs begins to unravel. It's during this week that I encounter the boy who incessantly appears in my dreams, blurring the distinction between the world of my subconscious and the tangible reality before me. Matthe Riddle emerges as the poison I willingly imbibe, a curse that feels akin to a dream, weaving its tendrils into the very essence of my being.

[ Gif is not mine ]

That's the sinister aspect of ghosts

they whisper secrets from the shadows,

revealing truths that haunt your mind and pursue you relentlessly, leaving behind clues that lead you deeper into a forgotten past.

They shroud the present in darkness, obscuring your vision and dragging you down into a murky abyss of fear and uncertainty.

"I know what I saw. He was here, right there, looking at me," I assert, feeling the weight of their sympathetic gazes bearing down on me. What I despise most is that I'm beginning to doubt myself, to entertain the notion that my mind conjured him up again in the most horrifying way imaginable, solely to torment me

"I believe you, y/n. But perhaps you've been sleep-deprived and stressed lately, skipping meals and—"sarah tried to speak

"I'm fine, and I slept well. Just ask Mattheo."

"What does Mattheo have to do with any of this?" Julie inquires, her tone laced with confusion.

“ penny comes closer to me saying softly “ Okay... I mean, there's nothing here now, right?"places her hands on my shoulders, offering reassurance. "We should head out and not let that bastard ruin our night, right?" She nods at me, and I force myself to focus on her words, ignoring the sympathetic looks from the boys and, most importantly, Mattheo's piercing gaze.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's go," I reluctantly agree, mustering a feeble attempt at a smile as they all head towards the door, leaving me behind to cast one last glance at the closed door before turning to face Mattheo, who remained there, waiting for me.

"He was there—I'm not losing my mind," I assert, desperate for him to understand the turmoil raging within me.

I try to decipher the emotions etched across his face. Is it pain? Hurt? Or something else, something I'm weary of ignoring?

“I know, love," he responds, And once again, the familiarity of that damn word "love" echoes in the air, as if it's where it’s belong like I heard it before so so many times

"Come here, give me your hand," he offers, extending his hand towards me. I hesitate for a moment,

unsure of what to make of his gesture, before finally placing my hand in his. His grip is firm yet gentle, as if he's holding on for dear life, as if this moment is the culmination of a lifetime of waiting. His touch sends shivers down my spine .

"Come on, guys, what's taking you so long?" Lorenzo's voice breaks the tension, and I allow him to lead me towards the door, Mattheo's grasp on my hand never faltering.

Once we finally out of the door making our way to the beach we keep a few steps between us and our friends

"Do you... do you believe in ghosts?" I asked him in a hushed tone, ensuring none of our friends could overhear us.

"Not really," he replied softly.

"I think ghosts are souls that were meant to have more time, souls that linger here, waiting for something,or someone to free them cause they deserve much better " he explained his words carrying a weight of sorrow and uncertainty.

"What if the ghost belonged to someone bad, someone who did terrible things and harmed many people?" I questioned, the fear creeping into my voice.

"Is that someone the one you saw in this room?" he inquired gently.

I wrestled with the decision to confide in him. He was supposed to be a stranger, yet he felt like the only anchor in a sea of chaos.

"Who are you, Mattheo?" I whispered, my exhaustion seeping through every word. I felt like a ghost myself, a mere shadow of who I once was, still trapped in his life.

He gazed at me, a profound look that conveyed his pain. I shouldn't have been able to sense it, shouldn't have known something so intimate. Glancing at our friends, who were now more than ten steps away, I hesitated before placing my other hand – the one he wasn't holding – on his heart.

"You're in pain," I stated, and once again, that inexplicable feeling of something more, something precious and mysterious, enveloped us. His eyes shifted to my hand on his chest.

“Why are you in pain?" I asked, feeling the sting of tears threatening to escape. The two of us, entangled in our own pain, faced a darkness that seemed insurmountable.

He remained silent, as if articulating his feelings would intensify the pain. "Before I sleep, I heard you. You said you're going to fix everything. What does it mean?" I questioned, and he responded by placing his hands on mine, offering a soft smile. "You ask so many questions," he teased, a tactic I was keenly aware of and detested.

"I'm not falling for your trap. Using that smile to distract me won't work," I asserted, determined to resist his charms. However, his smirk persisted, and he remarked, "It seems like it's not working from here, love. I think you're blushing." I freed both my hands from his grasp.

"You're wrong. I'm frustrated. Don't you know the difference?" I retorted.

"Yeah, I think I know the difference," he smirked again, and I felt ensnared by his voice, his words, and those captivating eyes. Shaking my head, I began to walk away, distancing myself from the magnetic pull he exuded, and headed towards our friends.

The journey didn't take long before signs of the fire and the soothing sounds of the ocean reached my senses. I closed my eyes, allowing the scent of the sea to envelop me.

I endeavored to ignore him as much as possible, wrestling with myself not to glance in his direction, suppressing thoughts about whether he, too, might be casting his gaze upon me.

Seated on the sand, I forced a smile, trying to engage in the conversation with my friends. However, my mind was preoccupied with someone specific, and I struggled to suppress thoughts about his hands – their size compared to mine and their explorations across different parts of my body. I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself, but memories of his touch lingered. Recollections of dreams, including an intimate one that wet dream wasn’t the first I had of him maybe the first if me whispered his name like a prayer, plagued my mind. I resented my thoughts and the unsettling sensations in my core, especially recalling a dream where he was intimately close, between my legs, and kissed me as if his life depended on it.

Hugging my knees tightly, I attempted to banish the sinister thoughts plaguing my mind, but to no avail. Not even the soothing sound of the ocean or the gentle breeze could calm the storm raging within me.

After taking a deep breath and closing my eyes in an attempt to calm myself, the raging fire inside me persisted. Excusing myself from the group, I navigated through the dancing and inebriated crowd towards the drinks table. Without hesitation, I grabbed a cup and quickly downed its contents, hoping it would extinguish the turmoil within me. Yet, despite my efforts, the flames continued to burn relentlessly

Then, I felt his presence behind me, his shadow consuming me. Closing my eyes, I sensed his hands on my waist, pulling me closer. "Is that also frustrating?" he whispered softly in my ear, and I hummed softly, hating how my body betrayed me.

"What is it, my love? Is something bothering you?" I tried to speak, but I couldn't trust my voice. Shaking my head, he asked again, biting my ear softly. , "No,"he whispered ones more and his grip tightened.

"Because whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it's not just frustrating right now." Stepping back, he left me angry and breathing heavily. I turned to him, angry and breathing heavily, unable to speak or control my body. He looked at me with a smirk, acknowledging the frustration evident in my eyes.

My eyes drifted to his arms and a specific tattoo, and he must have noticed because he grabbed my waist again, pulling me closer.

I touched his tattoo hastily, asking, "What does that mean?" Looking into my eyes, he smiled softly, answering, "Just a family

"Mattheo, I..." attempting to speak, but it felt as though I had lost the ability to, my body devoid of control. "I think... I think that—"

"What do you think, baby?" he interrupted.

"I think you might be the boy of my dreams," I uttered. His laughter washed over me, and suddenly, it hit me how my words really sounded and the embarrassment of it engulfed me. I attempted to pull away from his grasp, but his strong arms refused to release me.

"No... I mean literally, you always show up in my dreams. You were always there, every night, every day, every single dream. I know it's you, and I was sure of it after I—I said your name in one of them," I confessed.

"Did you?" he asked, his breath tracing my neck as he leaned in close.

"Yeah," I managed to say, feeling his presence enveloping me.

"What was I doing in that specific dream, love?" he asked, leading me to a more private corner. I didn't notice until my back hit a wall, and I found myself gazing into his eyes, feeling as though he could see right through my soul.

"You were...," I began, struggling to find my voice under his intense gaze and the pressure of his hands on my waist.

"What was I doing to you in that dream, baby?" he pressed, asking once more his dominance palpable. I felt compelled to answer, to do whatever he wanted me to do.

“ you were touching me “ I looked away from him

His hand on my face forced me to meet his intense gaze. "Where?" he pressed.

I hesitated, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "You know," I whispered shakily.

"No, I don't," he murmured, his lips almost brushing against mine.

“ down there “ I shakily replied. He smirked, his other hand making its way to the part I needed him the most. He started rubbing, and I couldn't help but moan. “ there ? “ he asked and I think I said yes or I wanted to

He started rubbing slow circles around the outside of my hole… gently flicking my clit back and forth without actually rubbing it “ was I doing that too? “ he teased, and I nodded, trying to hold back my moans and the tears in my eyes.

"Don't hold back on me. Let me hear that beautiful voice," he urged. "Mattheo," I said his name like a prayer. I gasped, eyes rolling back as he rubbed at me, spreading my wetness all over. His fingers slipped teasingly between my sensitive folds, and I whined through his ministrations, begging for something I didn't fully understand.

"Shhh," he whispered, leaning forward until I felt surrounded by him. "It's okay, love. Tell me what else I did in your dream." I struggled to speak, my body overwhelmed by his touch. "All you have to do is tell me, love," he coaxed. I slowly nodded my head, wrapping my hand around his forearm. When I looked at him, he met me halfway for a kiss. It was sweet, but soon it escalated into more as he pinched my clit between his fingers.

"Spread your legs, baby," he commanded, and I complied, feeling a deep desire to fulfill his every wish. With his lips on my neck and my hands in his hair, I tried to open my eyes and control my moans.

In the midst of this intense moment, I felt a shiver race down my spine as I caught sight of the ghost once more. Its spectral form hovered nearby, its eyes boring into us with an eerie intensity. Despite my attempts to dismiss it as a trick of the light or a figment of my imagination, the ghost's presence felt undeniably real. A wave of fear washed over me as I struggled to comprehend what I was seeing.

Tag list

@hereticdance

#mattheoxreader #fluff imagines #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle masterlist #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle

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kamesama · 5 months

Text

— a little death: ryōmen sukuna.

— notes + warnings: reposted. n/sfw because i said so. death. kind of depressing. first time writing for jjk / sukuna. — word count: 1044

death played many roles. took many forms. far too many.

you’ve seen some of them; in white hospitals, in remnants of wrecks by the road, in your nightmares. you could taste it. smell it. track its outline with your digit.

and you didn’t need a single word of confirmation to point out that you were looking at death, then and there.

it was not a walking corpse, with its skull peeking out of some worn-down black cloth stinking of wet earth and spoiled flesh. it didn’t carry a scythe over its shoulder, nor an hourglass at its hip.

no. no.

it had a glorious frame; arrogant. skin and face marked with ink lines; pitch black and quietly sinister. crimson eyes; keen and seeing. and a grin; crooked and downright malicious.

your body screamed, screeched and howled. naturally. your heart stomped and pumped your blood so hot and heavy it nearly made you light-headed. only for a moment, though. just a single, initial moment — like a promising prologue.

your feet melted into the ground covered in ancient bones and murky waters. muscles and movement utterly betrayed you despite an instinct shouting at you to run. fingers trembling. breath shaking. you stood like some poor, cornered thing counting the teeth of its slaughterer.

and, nonetheless, a part of you desired those teeth. or whatever could possibly find you within the belly of this cul-de-sac.

the crooked smile was no more. it hung downwards, as if overwhelmed by the weight of a sudden disappointment. it pained you for a split-second; like an arrow piercing the flesh, passing through and barely — just barely — closing the wound in its wake. porcelain, marked skin wrinkled and twisted into an expression of pity.

“why aren’t you running.” there was not a single curve in his tone indicating a question; only leaden discontent at the dull languor. disgust, even.

and he got closer, looking down at you as if you’d suddenly found yourself on your knees. you could see the invisible blood stains; hands marred by sins, tarnished so greatly and beyond salvation. strong, demanding energy emanated from the pores of his aura; cruelty oozed out of them relentlessly. one single heartbeat overwhelmed you with fear so grand that it twisted your gut, grasped your chest, clawed your throat, and moistened your eyes.

it seemed to please him, for a glint shimmered in his eye like the evening star. his eyebrows rose as if in sweet delight, smile once more breaking out onto the surface. his voice was heartless, yet his words were like a merry chirp.

“don’t look at me like that. it’s unsightly.”

a hand on your head, contact seemingly feather-like but heavy enough to force your gaze downwards. his touch was burdened with something terrible; like the stainless blade of the guillotine hanging above the nape of your neck so intensely that you could nearly imagine it had a breath of its own.

“dear, there is no fight in you. this isn’t any fun.”

blank moment. a second-worth of void and emptiness. a white page. untouched snow. board wiped clean.

and a realisation right after.

terror settled into your bones. smell of an end looming overwhelmed your senses. all accompanied by a quiet whisper of self-loathing.

this was it — a final moment. one last suffering.

you were afraid. the tears on your face were a tell-tale sign of it.

but what else could you do other than embrace it?

your movements were like a gasp, sudden and desperate and pushing your body to jerk itself into an impetuous action. desperately, your arms wrapped around the firm waist of your executioner, grip tight like that of a child holding onto its mother’s skirt.

you could hear that crooked smile widen. you could hear it even above a shattered, lowly sob that crawled out of your throat with anything but decency and fairness.

“oh? look at you. pathetic…” claws ran over your scalp and slithered their way down the outline of your ear, down your neck. they felt like cold needles, sending frigid shivers down your spine and leaving frost on your bones. they felt so loving.

“shh… you know what’s coming, don’t you? pity you aren’t running away and trying your best, but this works too. say, you know what’s going to happen, right? you know you’re going to die, right? for no good reason. really, for no good reason at all.”

fingers gripped your chin with a painful, stinging touch.

you met that gaze; callous. crimson. cruel.

another heartbeat brimming with fear shot through you. a bullet. a warning. your muscles desired so desperately to spring into action, to choose flight.

you simply couldn’t.

a cut on your skin appeared, resembling a string of a spider’s web. droplets of your blood appeared like beads of water hanging on those strands, glorious. there was a steady wave of pain so thick you believed your jaw would be rendered useless within seconds. your teeth could no longer bear enough strength to leave a bite.

tears overflowed.

“do you want to leave? you can’t. it’s scary out there.” he cooed, his words comforting, sweet. yet, everything in his eyes told you that he knew that he was the scariest thing out there. and he knew that you knew.

and yet, you did not lament your unsightly, looming death.

you wanted it served to you on such a plate.

you were spoon-fed so many lies that his condolences tasted like honey. you swallowed them eagerly. too eagerly. you patted your own back in the dreadful mornings, in the dead hours and in the long showers. it made the way he petted your head – dripping with ill-intent and forged sympathy — ironically comforting. a cruel i love you spoken after a scolding.

yet, no matter how false, distorted, gruesome his touch was, the tormenting hell of it was better than the one with unwashed coffee mugs, empty seats at the table, and hollow feelings invoked by your mother’s words. better than the soulless silence with an apparition of a lover.

this was the greatest fantasy, the supreme lie and, at the same time, the most crystalline reality.

it cut your skin. it slit your muscles and it shattered your ribs.

it tore your heart out.

thank you for reading! — kamesama.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #kamesama

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always-between-birches · 2 years

Text

Favourite Podcasts this Autumn

🍁🍂✨🍁🌰

Bridgewater

An obsessively skeptical folklore professor in a cozy Massachusetts town, his overenthusiastic TA, a badass retired police officer and other cool folks experience spooky events and sinister supernatural occurences in the murky forests and swamps. Spooky and atmospheric, but not too scary.

🌰🍁👻🍂🎃

Unwell

To care for her fiercely independent mother Dot after an accident, Lily, a jack of all trades, returns to the old gothic boarding house her mother owns. Together with Wes, a strange teen who works there, Abbie, a researcher looking into the small town's history, and others, she slowly begins to experience... strange things a-happening. Spooky and slowburn, scary-ish sometimes.

🍂🕸️🍂👁️‍🗨️🍁

The Magnus Archives

An almost belligerently skeptical new head archivist at an academic (!) institute for paranormal research tries to organize the chaos left behind by his deceased predecessor, recording witness statements on tape as he finds them. Over time, he and his assistants, as well as other interesting and exceptional characters, find themselves face to face with the subjects of their research, and begin to understand that the institute is not what it seems. Actual Horror, pretty scary.

🍂🍁🌰🍂

(and best of all: all of them include explicitly queer, and unwell/bridgewater also explicitly bipoc characters in the ensemble main cast in a good way)

#autumn #october #unwell #tma #bridgewater #the magnus archives #bridgewater podcast #unwell podcast #autumn activities #podcast recommendations #halloween

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: I'm testing out using gifs for chapters, let me know if I should continue, or refrain from doing it. I think it looks cool lmao.

Chapter 27: No Turning Back

The flight to Storm’s End was not too long of a journey. Arrax flew below you and Syndor, and you watched as the younger dragon struggled to keep up with your speed.

When you had noticed this, you slowed Syndor down, opting to fly him closer to your brother, looping below them and up. A tiny laugh barely heard from your brother bursting in the air.

Finally, you and Lucerys are flying together and you had only wished that it had been under better circumstances.

How many times had he begged you for this? And here you were, flying to Storm's End to remind a stupid old man of his oaths and secure your mother on the Iron Throne.

Lucerys was a good dragonrider. Though he and Arrax were young, their bond was irrefutable. Arrax felt Lucerys and vice versa. It was a joy to watch him grow into a young man, and you could not wait until they were both fully grown so that you could fly them down to Dorne to pick star fruits together and eat them fresh from the tree.

The air was cold and had a bite to it, and suddenly you were thankful for your riding gloves. Once you had ridden without gloves in the cold, and your fingers had become dry and cracked and raw afterwards.

A lesson you would not forget.

The closer you got to Storm's End, the darker the clouds became. The air around you changing significantly and becoming almost static and charged.

You huffed an aggravated sigh, knowing that you may arrive wet from the storm building around you. Though you could not deny that it was almost expected at a place called Storm’s End.

The storm building in the sky was not unlike the storm building inside of you.

A loud clap of thunder rang across the sky as you flew above Lucerys, the lightning striking across the clouds before you, lighting up the keep at Storm’s End.

The keep was a large cylindrical tower that sat on the edge of the cliff. Large crashing waves crawled up the side, looking like arms reaching to hold it and drag it back down into the murky depths below.

The wind whipped your hair back away from your face, as both of your dragons slowed their wings to begin to descend down to the ground.

Deep rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning distracting your descent as Arrax landed before you in the large entrance garden of the keep. Syndor however, was too large to land with him, opting to move out to the side near the cliff.

The large dragon landed heavily against the ground and bowed for you. You dismounted Syndor, patting him gently as you walked briskly to join your brother, who still stood beside Arrax, as six guards stood at the bottom of the steps preventing his entrance.

Above you, the storm began to move in quicker, the thunder and winds getting stronger with each strike. Once you were at Lucerys' side, you noticed that he hesitated to walk forward. Your hand reached out, gently touching his shoulder, the young boys body jumping slightly at the touch.

“It’s okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle smile. "Ivestragī īlva jikagon.” (Let us go.)

Lucerys scratched Arrax’s neck gently as he passed, the small light coloured dragon purring in response as you walked forward together. The guards of Storm's End all turned to watch you, large dome topped building behind them. You moved through the yard heading towards the entrance of the keep together.

A deep bellow crackled through the sky.

Your stomach dropped.

Lucerys jumped beside you, turning to look back, though you recognised that sound. Behind the wall of the entrance, the large shadow of Vhagar stood up behind it.

Syndors screech followed in response. The small dragon jerked with anxiety, sensing the bond with your brother, causing it to react to the sight of the large beast.

The wind picked up, blowing both of your cloaks sideways and you sucked in a stiff breath.

Your uncle was here.

Looking down at Lucerys who still watched Vhagar sitting behind the walls, you dipped your head towards him subtly.

"Tolvie run kessa sagon mirre paktot, Lucerys.” (Everything will be alright, Lucerys.) You cooed, giving him a gentle smile, even though your own heart jumped wildly in your chest.

Your brother stepped forward to the guards and you stood tall beside him, “I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon, this is Princess Y/N Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards nodded, sharply turning their heels to lead you both into the stone walls. You smiled at Lucerys, pride filling you. Flanked on each side by guards, you and your brother walked into a large hall.

The Hall was darkened, due to the lack of light as only a few torches were lit and affixed to the wall. The barren room felt cold as you entered, sending a large shiver up your spine.

The keep had no warmth to it, had no life to it, and felt as though it was ready to disembowel itself. There was no welcoming presence as you arrived, and no joy or talking to be heard. All there was, was the storm outside and the echo of your footsteps across the cold stone floors.

Lord Borros sat heavily in a large stone seat before you, two guards on each side, whilst his daughters stood stiffly away from him, lined perfectly, faces wooden.

Prizes to be won.

Women to be traded for lands, or gold, or alliances.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon and Princess Y/n Velaryon.” The Baratheon’s Knight announced to the hall.

You stared at Lord Borros, whose eyes roamed your figure. A shiver crawled through your body. Before you could open your mouth, you felt the hair on your body stand up. You were being watched. Movement to your side caught your gaze and you turned to see a familiar head of long white hair.

Aemond.

The One-Eyed Prince stood lazily beside another daughter. A long leg cockily stuck out away from him as he leant back on his heel, hands clasped behind his back.

Cocky bastard.

You felt Lucerys stiffen beside you.

“Son and daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” The knight continued.

Aemond's eye slid over your body, smirk crawling onto his lips as he then looked to your brother, the same smirk widening deeper as he watched Lucerys' unease.

A crack of thunder boomed through the room, the lightning glowing inside of the Hall as you turned your head sharply away from the watchful gaze of your uncle, and back onto the Lord before you.

“Lord Borros…” Your brother spoke softly, the Lord's hard face staring him down, “We have brought you a message from my mother…the Queen.” Lucerys voice held strong at the end.

There he was.

“Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the King.” Borros spoke snarkily, “Which is it? King or Queen?” He asked. “The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He laughed and you felt rage simmer inside you.

“Queen Rhaenyra is the true born heir to the Iron Throne. The late King Viserys named her his successor.” You spoke sharply, lifting your head to stare at Lord Borros who smirked at you meanly.

Aemond shifted in your periphery.

“Whats your mothers message?”

Lucerys held his hand out with the scroll holding it out to a knight, who took it from his hand, walking up to where Borros sat. Though once the scroll was in his hand, Lord Borros yelled out.

“Wheres the bloody Maester?” Borros looked about the Hall in search of him.

The Baratheon could not read.

His all imposing demeanour suddenly dwindled in your eyes.

The wind outside whistled through the windows and doors, grumbling thunder breaking the silence of the room whilst you all waited for the Maester to arrive. You tapped your foot against the stone impatiently as Lucerys turned to look at Aemond and you followed his eye.

Your uncle stood still, watching you both, face void of anything. His eyepatch sitting snugly upon his cheekbone, as his usual black leather attire donned his lithe figure.

In that moment you wished to rip the patch away from his face, reveal his eye to the room and the girl beside him. You wished for all to see what your brother had done to him.

A younger boy no less.

Let it be a reminder of what the mighty House Targaryen can truly do. You smirked cruelly at your uncle who’s eye twitched in response.

Your brothers hand came up to rest upon the hilt of his blade, the sound of the glove on the metal made you look down at him. You uttered a soft “Dont.” to your brother through your teeth, not moving your lips.

Footsteps bound into the room as the old Maester ran to Lord Borros’ side who’s hand was impatiently held out with the scroll loosely in his grip.

Reading it, the Maester leant down to whisper the message from the Queen. Lord Borros’ chest rose and fell heavily with anger as he seethed on the stone chair.

“”Remind” me of my fathers oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact.”

You looked sharply at Aemond who had not taken his eye from you.

Lord Borros leant forward in his chair, “If I do as your mother bids…which one of my daughters will you wed…” All three turning to look at their father as he spoke, “boy.”

“You will address him as Prince Lucerys, Lord Borros.” Your voice rang out into the hall, “If you had sired any sons, my mother would have offered my hand to your House.”

You eyed his daughters as you spoke, “My brother is not free to marry. He is promised to Lady Rhaena Velaryon and your House swore an oath to Queen Rhaenyra.” You sneered.

“So you come with empty hands.” The man growled.

“Go home, pup, and take your bitch with you.” You tensed at the insult and from the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond twitch, “And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

“Lord Borros, I apologise for any confusion but your likeness to a dog is uncanny. I should thank the Seven that you are unable to sire a son, lest I be forced to birth a litter of pups-”

Your brother cut you off swiftly, voice louder than yours, “I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.” Lucerys turned on his foot and began to leave as you continued to stare at Lord Borros, before moving to follow him.

“Wait…” Prince Aemond's voice cracked across the room, your steps faltering as you turned together to look at the tall one eyed man.

“My Lord Strong.” He taunted your brother, yet did not lay his eye on you.

"Uncle.” You responded, sensing Lucerys tense beside you anxious as he shifted from side to side. Aemond's one eye slid to yours before back to your brother who walked warily into the space beside you.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?” He asked, shifting to stand with his legs wide.

“Your brother usurped the throne from its rightful heir, uncle. Your words hold no power of truth.” You snapped.

“I will not fight you.” Lucerys spoke, “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond sighed, “No.” He reached up to slip the patch off of his eye, revealing the sapphire stone to you.

Lightning crackled outside, causing the orb to glint in the flash of light. "I want you to put out your eye," Lucerys shuffled beside you nervously and you walked to stand in front of him.

“As repayment for mine.”

He sneered, hand coming to pull his leather coat to the side, revealing the blade he always carried, “One will serve.”

He pulled the blade from its sheath, tossing it towards you both. The blade clanged on the ground loudly, rolling towards your feet, as you stared at him in rage.

“I would not blind you.” He smacked his lips, “Plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

Lord Borros watched cautiously, eyes shifting from you and your brother back to Aemond. You lifted your chin higher moving to take a step towards the blade hiding Lucerys behind your form with your own.

“No.” Lucerys replied.

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

“The only traitor in this room is you, uncle.” You growled, stepping forward again towards the blade.

“Not here.” Bellowed Lord Borros.

“Give me your eye,” Aemond yelled, and started towards you, and you felt Lucerys' hand pull your arm backwards, making you stumble with the yank as you watched your uncle bend down to scoop up the blade, “or I will take it, bastard!”

“Take his eye and I will take your other.” You promised.

The sound of a blade behind you made you turn your head as you watched Lucerys unsheathe his sword, holding it up, the guards around you unsheathing theirs.

Lord Borros Baratheon jolted out of his seat, “Not in my Hall!” He bellowed. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof.”

Aemond stood still watching you both, arm poised with the blade. You heaved uneven breaths as adrenaline rippled through you, your body still poised, unarmed in front of your brother, ready to fight.

“Take Prince Lucerys and Princess Y/n back to their dragons….Now.” Borros commanded.

You watched as Aemond twirled his blade and placed it back into its holder, the sound of your brothers being sheathed behind you.

The guards surrounded you and walked forwards you to push you out of the hall. The storm raged wildly outside as the rain was blown sideways with the wind, loud booms of thunder breaking across the sky with flashes of lighting amongst the clouds.

You and Lucerys descended the steps outside rapidly making your way towards Arrax who roared loudly in distress, sensing Lucerys' anxiety.

“Lucerys!” You called out to your brother, voice drowned in the rain.

He turned to look at you quickly, “Fly home, get to mother and deliver the message. I will be with you shortly.” You moved to turn back inside but Lucerys' hand caught your arm.

“We swore to our mother! We are messengers, not warriors!” He yelled over the storm.

You watched him for a beat, looking at the anxious dragon behind him and his desperate face, streaked with fear and anxiety.

“Ok. We will go.” You leant forward to kiss his head, holding his face in your hands, “I will be right behind you, okay?” His cherubic face softened as he nodded, walking swiftly towards Arrax who leant down for him to mount.

As you ran to the side of the walls to exit and find Syndor, lightning lit up the sky, and yet at the side of the wall where the large shadow of Vhagar had been now sat empty space.

There was no sign of the large dragon.

Your stomach dropped and you looked to Lucerys who had also noticed, watching at you anxiously, waiting for your command.

“It’s ok!” You called out, before moving to run in the rain outside.

The downpour drenched your cloak and attire, making it pull heavily on your neck with the weight. Your hair slicked to the sides of your face and back.

Syndor sat where you had left him, looking up at the storm above him, also agitated.

“Syndor!” You called out to him, and he turned to your voice, the large black dragon moving slowly towards you, each step vibrating the floor beneath.

The large dragon leant down and you crawled up his wing and onto his large horned back. Hands coming to grasp tightly on his spines with your gloves for purchase.

“Sōvegon, Syndor!” (Fly) You called out against the loud thundering rain.

You looked up into the sky, eyes squinting from the droplets assault as you watched your brother and his dragon slowly make their way into the sky.

Your large dragon unfurled his wings, stretching up high with his legs as he moved to run and push off of the ground. Wings pushed you both higher into the storm, the waves below you crashing against the cliff's edge as thunder grumbled above you.

You watched your brother as his dragon struggled against the storm's wind and rain, their figures tiny in front of you. You moved behind him, Syndor catching up to your brother as you both dove higher and higher into the sky, trying to escape the storm below.

A patch of light was far above you and you both flew towards it, a break from the torrid sea and storms assault. As you soared higher, lightning lit up the clouds above you, their shapes illuminated.

“Sōvegon, Syndor!” (Fly) You commanded again, hoping to get to Lucerys sooner to give him and his dragon a piece of calm.

A thunderous boom cracked above you and the sky lit up. Horror wracked through you as the shadow of Vhagar hid amongst the clouds above Lucerys.

“Lucerys!” You called out, but your voice was lost in the storm. The young boy looked up and saw the great dragon in the clouds above him as he looked about in search of it again.

“Sōvegon Syndor!!!” You yelled, the dragon beating its wings faster to chase up with your brother.

Vhagar emerged from the clouds in front of you and Lucerys, diving at your brother as you and Syndor swooped downwards to miss the giant dragon's talons. Your brother and his dragon faltered from fright, Arrax’s movements becoming more and more scattered as the dragon became overwhelmed with fear.

Aemond's laugh echoed in the sky as he and Vhagar disappeared back into the clouds above you. Vhagar roared out as she turned around, coming up from underneath your brother, jaws snapping at the back of Arrax’s tail.

“Keligon Aemond!” (Stop) You screamed out at him, his high Valyrian curling around you both in the drowning sounds of the storm.

Lucerys dove down to escape Vhagar’s claws once more and you flew up above him, calling out to your uncle as you flew.

“Nyke paktot kesīr!” (I’m right here!) You called out hoping to take the attention from your brother, to give him time to get away.

Vhagar dove from above, coming straight toward you as she roared, and Syndor flipped away from her, your grip faltering at the sudden movement as she continued downwards towards your brother. You turned Sydnor around to follow after them, tailing Vhagar before flying over him to come between her and your brother.

The ocean was close below you, its choppy waves carrying the salty water up into the wind to spray your face. Aemond's laughter came from behind you still as you soared forward, reminding yourself that you were messengers not warriors.

You would not be the one to start the war.

Arrax flew into a cavern and you and Syndor pulled to the side violently, barely missing the rocks of the cliff. Syndor pulled out across the water beside it, both of you disoriented by the thunder and rain.

“Lucerys!!” You called out, hoping to hear him call back.

You looked around you, trying to see through the barrage of rain that fell into your eyes. It was dark all around, the only light coming from the sudden flashes and booms of lightning around you.

“Arrax!” You called out to his dragon as you both flew back towards the entrance of the cliff.

Vhagar and Arrax were nowhere to be seen.

“Sōvegon!” You commanded as Syndor took you above the cliff, a large crevice down the centre.

“Ao enkagon iā gēlȳn!” (You owe a debt!) The sound of your uncle's voice blew across the air.

You urged Syndor to fly towards the sound, wings beating against the wind that brushed your wet hair across your shoulders, your cloak heavy behind you.

“Taoba!” (Boy!) He taunted, the faint figure of Vhagar ahead of you as you sped towards them both.

Suddenly, Arrax emerges from below, large flames licking at Vhagars face. The fire lit up the sky before you. Fuck. Vhagar let out a bellowing roar, shaking the air around you as she pulled away from the flames.

“Daor, Arrax!” (No, Arrax!) Cried your brother, as he steered to control his dragon. “Dohaerās Arrax!” (Serve me, Arrax!) His shaky voice called across the air as the small dragon frantically flew away from Vhagar.

“Lucerys!” You called out, flying closer to the both of them, as they soared higher in the sky.

“NO, no, no, no! No, Vhagar! No!” Aemond yelled as his dragon suddenly steered upwards chasing your brother rapidly.

“Dohaerās!” He called, “Serve me, Vhagar! No!”

You watched as the small figure of your uncle pulled desperately at the reins on his dragon, though she did not listen, taking him high into the sky as you chased them.

“Aemond!” You screeched into the air. “Stop!”

Syndor roared as he felt your distress, his wings desperately trying to catch up to your brother and uncle.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar!” He cried again as the great dragon soared upwards in chase of Lucerys.

“Sōvegon, Lucerys!” You screamed into the air, heart racing in your chest as the rain beat against your skin. Your brother disappeared into the clouds above, the small dragon flying into a clear patch of light.

Vhagar continued to chase upwards and you behind her, as Aemond cried for her to stop and obey him. Suddenly she pulled down to the side as he wrenched his reins sideways away from her trajectory.

The dragon shook her large head angrily as she growled. You kept upwards, overtaking Aemond and finally surfacing up into the light.

You broke through the clouds, their soft edges peeling back as Syndor pulled you out of the storm. The sky was bright, the light stinging your eyes. The rain had stopped, and above the storm below, was peace.

You felt yourself calm when you saw Lucerys in front of you.

“Lucerys!” You called, and the young boy turned over his shoulder to look at you, brown hair wet and stuck down on the sides of his face, his dragon seeming to calm at your presence.

“Y/n!” He called out, relief in his voice as he turned his dragon towards yours. You felt a large breath slip from your lips, as your heart settled in your chest.

“You’re okay!” You called out to him, watching his face calm as he looked to you as you flew closer, you were almost there.

Your hair stuck to your face, a cold chill wrapping itself around you as the wind blew against your wet body. Arrax screeched in relief at the sight of you and your dragon, wings gliding into the sky.

Gods, you could not wait to go home, and take the wet and sodden clothes from your body. And to bathe in a boiling hot bath, and drink some spiced wine from Dorne and cry.

Actually cry.

The clouds separated below Lucerys, and jaws rose from beneath them. Vhagar's large form burst through the clouds, jaws snapping over Lucerys and Arrax.

Arrax screamed.

You could not breathe.

“No! No! No! No! Vhagar!” Called a voice.

You watched in shock as what’s left of Arrax’s corpse fell back down into the storm below.

Lucerys.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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