#silver beaded gown

[fashionsfromhistory]

Ball gown worn by Austine McDonnell Hearst

Marguery Bolhagen

c.1961

The MET (Accession Number: 2009.300.2556a, b)

Currently on view: In America: An Anthology of Fashion

#evening dress #fashion history #vintage fashion #1960s #marguery bolhagen #hearst family #1961 #20th century #silver #blue #silk #beading #united states #ball gown #the met #popular

[the1920sinpictures]

1915 Peach evening gown with a velvet bodice overlaid with silver beaded swags, silk tulle sleeves, a peach cummerbund and skirt. From Augusta Auctions.

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Reminiscing

~

"Okay, this one."

Lily's irate frustration was a nearly tangible crackle in the perfumed air of the boutique. Draco glanced up over the rim of his spectacles.

"Absolutely not," he said calmly.

Lily's fists balled up in the skirt of the slinky, forest green dress she wore. Thousands of shimmery little beads were sewn into the light, clingy fabric. The slit ran all the way up to mid-thigh and the halterneck straps were beaded strings.

"Why." Lily's question sounded from between grit teeth.

"Turn around," Draco said flatly.

A moment of hesitation, and then Lily spun around to reveal her back, exposed from neck to tail bone.

"Absolutely not," repeated Draco, looking back down into his phone, typing out an email with one forefinger, painstakingly slow.

"It's a dress. You want me to buy a dress. This is a dress."

"I want you to be respectably dressed for your seventeenth birthday party," Draco replied without looking up. "You're coming of age, yes, but you will do so whilst dressed as you ought to be."

"As I ought to be," Lily repeated scornfully.

"As a Potter-Malfoy ought to be."

"Why can't a Potter-Malfoy wear something like this?"

"We don't go out in public half-naked."

"This is a floor length gown."

"The whole length of your left leg is on display, as is the entirety of your back." Draco glanced up once more. "Your whole back. You're practically naked."

Lily"s clenched jaw shifted as she gnashed her teeth some more. With forced calm, she said, "Papa, I do not want to be wearing some sort of Victorian ballgown for my seventeenth birthday party."

"More's the pity. But no, definitely not this one either."

"I can wear a jacket over it." Lily raised one eyebrow when Draco looked up again. "I want a leather jacket."

Draco snorted, shaking his head. "I don't think so."

"Dad said I could get one."

"Your dad is an idiot."

"I want one like his."

"Absolutely not. He's a lunatic with a flying motorcycle. You don't want everything he has, trust me."

"It's just a bloody leather jacket, Papa, please!" Lily actually stomped one booted foot, her voice rising shrilly.

"I'm used to strops, darling, I invented them," Draco said, completely unbothered. "Besides, what would your grandmother say. She would faint."

"She told me to get the jacket in black." When Draco looked up in genuine surprise, Lily went on, "She said black would go best with her opal earrings that she's having reset in silver for my birthday present."

Draco stared at her over his spectacles as she stood glaring back at him, hands on her hips.

Then the bell above the door tinkled merrily, and Harry's voice filled the silence of the stylish little boutique as he exchanged cheerful pleasantries with the owner.

Reaching breaking point, Lily shrieked, "DAD!"

"I will not tolerate that sort of screaming in a public--," Draco started.

"Green, eh?" Harry said, walking into the private area Draco had reserved for the afternoon, his own boots loud on the wooden flooring.

"Because I have your eyes," Lily said in her most honeyed voice. "Grandma's eyes."

"Good choice, Lils," Harry said affectionately, sitting down on the plush sofa next to Draco before carefully picking through the collection of truffles set out in little crystal bowls.

"You haven't looked at the dress very closely," Draco said, voice tight.

"Oh?" Harry popped a hazelnut truffle into his mouth, straightened his glasses a bit, and leaned back, crossing ankle over knee. "Let me do that, then." A pause, and then, "She looks great!"

Draco twirled one forefinger through the air, motioning for Lily to spin. "She's half-naked."

"It's the trend now or something," Harry said, shrugging and scratching carelessly through his beard.

"I want to wear it with a leather jacket, Dad," Lily said hastily. "A black leather jacket. One like yours."

Harry grinned, roughing up his hair as was his wont. "Like Sirius'. Yeah, why not? Let's get you one."

"Harry."

Draco's lips were very thin as he pulled off his glasses and turned the full force of his displeasure onto Harry.

"Don't," said Harry. "We said she could pick her own outfit."

"The Minister's going to be at the party," Draco said tightly.

"Doubt he cares, honestly," Harry said, eating more chocolate. "Besides, it's Lily's day."

"I don't like to be ganged up against," Draco said, teeth gleaming white on a forced, very dangerous smile.

"Babe, we're not ganging up--," Harry started.

"Where is James?" Draco said suddenly, raising his voice over Harry's.

"My ears are burning," James drawled, sauntering in. Draco turned in his seat to look at him, his mouth slightly open.

James' hair was a bright, lemon yellow where it stood in a carefully styled, vertical mass on his head. The sides had been shaved down close to the scalp and dyed green.

Draco could only splutter in apoplectic dismay at the sight.

"What are you supposed to look like?!" he finally managed to ask.

James shrugged, scratching behind one pierced ear. "Dad thinks it looks cool."

Draco whirled around in his seat, now glaring violently at Harry. "He was supposed to get a haircut that's also suitable for school."

"He's still on summer break," Harry said.

"His head looks like a bloody sunflower!" Draco said. "Harry, you had one job--"

But Lily was now cackling loudly at James, who in turn stood grinning proudly, hands in his pockets, fourteen years old and sincerely unbothered about a single opinion that wasn't his own. Harry couldn't help grinning, too, but he quickly moved closer to Draco and took one of his hands with both his own.

"Babe, we've talked about this," he murmured gently. "This is one of those times you need to let go. Remember how we talked about letting go?"

"She's seventeen, and he looks someone cracked an egg on his head," Draco seethed.

Harry leaned forward and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

"How about lunch at the Ritz?" he asked gently.

"And then we buy me a black leather jacket," Lily said, hitching up the skirt of her dress and stomping loudly back to the changing room.

"Life was easier when I was seventeen," Draco muttered darkly, glaring at where their son was inspecting a rack of dinner jakcets.

Harry grinned again. "Yeah. A war, a megalomaniac. I really miss those days."

~

#sometimes i like to think draco would be THAT parent #he's just too posh and too proper 💁🏻‍♀️ #my writing #dads drarry and their kids

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hii, I would like to request something for Daemon.

At Rhaenyra wedding he sees reader(targaryen or valeryion), who was away for some time, and he falls in love with her again seeing as in the past they had a fling. He chooses her over Rhaenyra and they get married days later with Viserys approval. They reunite with the family on Driftmark for Leana's funeral, there Rhaenyra gets jealous when she sees Daemon being soft with his childrens and reader. Later she tries to sway Daemon and make him leave his family with the excuses of the Greens being against her but he gets mad and threatens her or something like that.

Thankss

Author's Note- Thanks for the request. It was very interesting writing this one. I made a few changes in the scenes to fit in. Do not fret requesting for more. Requests are always opened and we'll appreciated.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Dancing with Dragons

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Summary- Things and situations are bound to change as well as hearts...

Tag List- @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenx, @instabul, @shine101

Warnings- Threats, Suggestive Content? Westrosi Things

GIF Credits to @userparamore

Daemon looked around the feast in boredom, trying to find something to keep himself intrigued throughout the night. He could feel two pair of eyes on his figure. One belonging to his beloved niece while the other belonged to Laena Velaryon.

He wished to see a certain familiar face walking through those huge doors. It had been quite too long since he had seen his cousin sister, much to his dismay.

Even though it had been more than a few summers, Daemon still remembered the secret nights spent in each other's embrace. Moans and gasps mixing into groans of pleasure. Her smooth skin layered by beads of sweat. Eyes closed in euphoria, hair messed from tugging

Daemon smirked to himself as he took a sip of the Dornish wine served in the feast. His eyes traveled to the dusky skinned lady sitting on the opposite side of the table.

He stood up, stepping down the stairs and joining the dance. He could feel the movement of the Velaryon girl, turning to find her behind himself.

A conversation ignited and Daemon could feel a few sparks; though he knew it was not of love, but of simple lust towards a woman with a pretty face and pure innocence.

"Lady (Y/N) of Houses Targaryen and Arryn"

The room stilled as the dancing pairs moved out of the way of the late Queen Consort's younger sister strided in gracefully with an authoritative aura following her like the sunflower following the sun.

Her blue gown of expensive silks wrapped around her beautiful body smoothly, accentuating her features and pushing her breasts together to create ample cleavage. The silver thread forming falcons on the skirt of her gown.

Daemon let his eyes follow their way down her attractive figure. His legs moving on their accords as they lead him to her. Their eyes met, bodies only a few inches apart.

"Glad to see you here, Lady (Y/N)," Daemon bend down to place a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her palm. "The pleasure is all mine, Prince Daemon," her voice was music to his ears, making him hum in pleasure.

"Lady (Y/N), it is our pleasure to have you with us here," Viserys stood up with a smile. It was no surprise to anyone that the king was fond of his former good sister. Right from her birth, the Arryn Lady had been close to the king and his rebellious brother.

"It is much too my delight to join you in celebrating the Realm's Delight's marriage, Your Grace," (Y/N) said softly, her eyes kind yet a thin mask of caution remained. It had been quite some times since (Y/N) visited the place.

"Hope you enjoy the feast," the king said kindly, sitting down once again. The dancing resumed but this time, it wasn't Laena dancing in Daemon's arms but his old love. Sly smirks and non-verbal conversations exchanged amid the buzzing laughter of all the noble people.

"It's been long, sister," Daemon whispered in her ear, his hand discreetly grazing the curve of her back. "Indeed, brother," she whispered against the smooth skin of his neck.

A low groan bubbled in Daemon's throat. His hands grabbed her neck, bringing her closer to him as everyone danced around them. He could see the hunger in her eyes, the parting of her lips as a small whine of his name escaped; disappearing into the loud atmosphere as a small breeze on a winter day.

"Say it," he hissed, his eyes resembling a predator's, ready to pounce. "Mazverdagon nyke aōhon," (Make me yours) (Y/N) whispered, making Daemon smirk. One of his hands moved down to tangle around her waist, bringing her closer to him.

"Skorkydoso?" (How?) Daemon asked teasingly, his tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his lips. "Mazverdagon nyke aōha ābrazȳrys. Tepagon nyke aōha riña, Daemon," (Make me your wife. Give me your child, Daemon) she replied back, her lips way too close to his to deem appropriate.

Daemon smirked, his hands grabbed hers, making his way to his chambers. His eyes darkening with passion. His mind clouded with all the pleasures to come.

The winds were a bit too wild in Driftmark but it was no issue to the huge dragons of the Targaryens of Dragonstone. The red and bronze dragons descended down the skies followed by two more dark dragons. While one was a full grown, coal black, the other was yet not a fully-grown one.

Vermithor growled loudly, making the guards straighten up as the Targaryens of the Red Keep stayed firmly on the ground, watching as the dragon-riders stepped down from their mounts.

Daemon was the first one to step down, walking to Vermithor to help his sister-wife down. A crimson red blanket wrapped around their youngest, a daughter. (Y/N) smiled as Daemon carefully took Daenys from her, cooing at her softly.

Daemon looked up to find his eldest daughter and son walking towards them, head held high as they both smiled at their parents. Visenys looked like her father, carrying his character traits as well while Aelar had took after her mother, while adopting a few things of his father.

"Brother, sister," came the fragile and weak voice of the king. Daemon and his wife turned, a smile on their faces as they moved to greet the rest of the family, their children on their toes. "Your Grace," Daemon and his son bowed while the ladies dipped into a curtsey.

"Look at you both," Viserys chuckled, the side of his eyes crinkling. Daemon moved closer to his brother, letting him look at the little Targaryen, who was no more than three summers old. "She is beautiful," Viserys said with a smile, placing a caressing hand on the baby's head whose was sleeping peacefully in her father's arms.

"Aemma," (Y/N) said, offering her good brother a smile. Viserys felt his eyes fill with tears at the name, as he smiled at the baby. "Alicent," (Y/N) greeted the Queen, who was until now, standing quietly with her kids. The Hightower Queen smiled, "Lady (Y/N)."

The Targaryen Lady found her eyes drifting away to the heir of the throne, Princess Rhaenyra, who stood by Laenor and her kids. While (Y/N) had heard the whispered rumors about the offspring of the princess, she didn't expected it to be true; but to find them gazing at her in reality, (Y/N) now made sense of the rumors.

"Princess Rhaenyra," she said with a smile. "Lady (Y/N)," the Princess replied with gritted teeth, her eyes burning holes at her as she looked at how she had turned Daemon into a soft and dotting father; a stark opposite of the man she knew him to be.

Rhaenyra could feel herself becoming jealous of her aunt. A nagging in the back of her mind as she watched Daemon place a loving kiss on (Y/N)'s forehead as she laughed at something her father had said. Their son and daughter standing beside them with a smile.

A plan formulated in Rhaenyra's mind as she silently watched the small family interacting with the king and her half-siblings. A sly smirk finding its place on her lips as she thought of what she needed to do.

Daemon stood against a dusted table, trying to find something interesting, while Rhaenyra spoke about something he didn't care about. He discreetly looked at her and thought of possible reasons as to why he was attracted to her at the first place.

Perhaps it was his want for the throne which made him crave her, or perhaps it was his somewhat rebellious nature which matched Daemon's. Or just frustration towards his brother.

"Are you listening to what I speak of, uncle?" Rhaenyra asked, sighing as she watched Daemon look up with raised eyebrows and bored look. "The Greens are against me and my children. Alicent and Otto will do anything under the sun to harm us. We need you. I need you."

Daemon scowled, glaring at his niece as she moved to caress Daemon's cheek with her hand. "Please, Daemon. I want you," Rhaenyra whispered, her lips near his neck. "Step aside," Daemon pushed Rhaenyra back softly. "I must warn you beforehand, Rhaenyra, if you dare come near me again, or attempt to get closer to me; I will have Caraxes eat you right in front of that lover of yours."

Letting the threat hang in the air, Daemon turned and went straight towards his wife who stood conversing with Rhaenys. "My love," he kissed her cheek from behind, letting his hand wrap around her waist. "Daemon," (Y/N) smiled, leaning into him.

"I will leave you two alone," Rhaenys said, excusing herself from the couple who gazed lovingly at their kids. "Visenys looks happy here," Daemon commented. Visenys was busy doing something in sand with Aemond, giggling like a child she is.

"They look happy," (Y/N) commented, looking at Daemon who frowned at her words. "He can have her after... 60 summers? Yes," Daemon grumbled, making (Y/N).

(Y/N) leaned into Daemon's chest, smiling dreamily as she looked at her happy family.

#hotd imagine #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon au #daemon targeryan #daemon x y/n #caraxes #request

[pipsipey17]

across my memory.

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

main masterlist

summary: an arranged marriage led you to leaving the woman you love. who knew that you would meet again merely a decade later only under different circumstances once upon a december.

contains: angst and some fluff (if you squint hard enough)

a/n: i recommend listening to once upon a december while reading this cause i sorta based this story on that song :>

You have received an invitation by the neighboring kingdom of Volkov, they were inviting you and your husband to their grand ball in celebration of the king’s birthday. 

As you were checking yourself in the mirror you suddenly heard a knock on the door, “Are you all prepared my dear?” your husband asked. 

“I- um… yes, I’m all ready now.” You replied and stood up swiftly from your seat then grabbed all your belongings before leaving the room. 

Once you opened the door, your husband greeted you with awe and admiration in his eyes. You were wearing a deep red ball gown with beads and pearls surrounding it, there was nothing really special about your ball gown, in fact, you found it stocked away in your closet. “You always look so mesmerizing, my love.” He said and kissed you on the cheek and offered his arm for you to hold. 

Attending grand balls wasn't something you really liked, in fact, you always found them socially tiring but your husband thinks otherwise. He would always be happy to attend these gatherings, because of the chance to socialize with other people which he oh so love whereas you were acting like an obedient wife following him everywhere he goes.   

~~~

You finally arrived at the ball and as usual, you walked beside your husband as he chatted with some of your friends and acquaintances. 

“Artur, it has been a while old friend.” A man suddenly said as he shook your husband’s hand and kissed your gloved hand as a greeting. You realized that it was the king himself, Roman Volkov. 

“It has been indeed, I see you’ve finally married.” Artur gesturing to the woman who is assumingly his wife who has a fan covered across her face, only her eyes seemingly visible to you. 

Emerald eyes. Eyes that you remember all too well. 

It’s her. 

“I’m Natasha, it's a pleasure to meet you Artur.” Natasha spoke and bowed slightly to him.  

“The pleasure is all mine,” your husband said as he kissed Natasha’s gloved hand, “This is my wife, Y/N.” Artur introduced and you bowed to her slightly in greeting. 

“Why don’t you both ladies chat whilst Artur and I chat to catch up on things while having drinks?” Roman said as he planted his arm onto your husband’s shoulder.

“Sounds like a great idea,” Artur suddenly chimed.

A total bad idea.  

“Alright, but don’t drink too much.” You said to him.

“I’ll see you later, love.” Artur said, then kissed you on the cheek before he left with Roman. You could feel Natasha’s eyes on the both of you. 

Natasha removed the fan from her face revealing her full facial features, it’s like she hasn’t even aged. She still looks beautiful as you remembered. “Follow me.” she said before you both walked in silence.

Someone holds me safe and warm

Your mind was racing with questions, it has been merely 12 years since you saw each other and the night you promised her a life with you for eternity. 

Horses prance through a silver storm

Figures dancing gracefully

“Some wine?” Natasha offered as the two of you entered what assumably is their entertainment hall because of the piano on the side of the room and with the bookshelves around.

“No, thank you.” You replied, making Natasha shrug and poured herself some wine.

“I can’t believe you’re married, for how long?” you asked.

Natasha swallowed her wine and replied, “For almost five years now.”

Your heart sank upon hearing those words, but you knew it was bound to happen after what you said to her all those years ago.

“I'll end our marriage in five years time, and I promise that I'll be with you until my last breath.”

Across my memory

“Do you actually love him? Is that why you didn't leave him like you said you would years ago?” Natasha suddenly blurted out.

You were taken aback by her question, “Natasha, I-”

“It’s only a simple yes or no question Y/N.”  

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down before saying, “Yes, I love him.” 

That wasn't enough to convince her. She started to move closer and you kept backing away but eventually your back hit the wall, “Look me in the eyes and say that one more time.”

Far away long ago

You looked into her emerald green eyes, oh how you missed those eyes of hers, eyes that would look at you with much love and admiration, but now, her eyes were filled with something different, rage, anger, and sadness.

Glowing dim as an ember

Your mouth opened but nothing came out making Natasha smirk and say, “I know you’re lying but if you insist.”

You wanted to speak but you knew she wasn't done, “You said to wait for you for five years but I waited for six long painful years before I fully convinced myself that you weren’t coming back. I eventually decided to marry Roman. I told myself that I’ll learn to love him and hopefully forget about you throughout our marriage.

But I couldn’t, I acted like a faithful wife around him but I acted like I was in a brothel when he wasn’t around. I slept with multiple women trying to banish you from my mind but I just couldn’t.”

You were stunned and shocked with what she said but she continued, “You probably have forgotten about me after all these years, seeing that you didn’t come back for me five years after you got married.”

Things my heart used to know

You couldn't stay quiet any longer,  “How could I forget the woman who loved me for who I am, the woman who made me feel like I was safe with her. The woman who made me feel like I was… home.” You replied and you suddenly felt your eyes sting, tears wanting to fall but you stopped yourself from being too vulnerable in front of her. 

“If you truly loved me, you could’ve done what you promised all those years ago!” Natasha said in an almost yelling tone. She saw you flinch at her words and immediately regretted raising her voice at you, “I-I'm sorry.” she said and approached you once again.

Things it yearns to remember

She cupped your cheek and her eyes flickered onto your lips silently asking for consent. You nodded slightly and closed your eyes until finally feeling her lips on yours. It was filled with passion and longing, almost like it was a perfect puzzle.

You missed this, you missed the feeling of kissing her, touching her, you missed everything about her.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I last saw you.” you said which made Natasha smile sadly. 

Your tears started to stream down your cheeks and she was there to wipe them, just like how she would before. 

“Would you still run away with me if I asked you to?” Natasha asked with a slight smirk on her face.

You shook your head slightly, “I can’t.” you whispered.

“You can’t or you won’t?” Natasha retorted.

You held her hand and placed it onto your stomach, “I’m… pregnant.” 

You felt Natasha tense up at the unexpected news but she asked, “Does he know?” and you shook your head, “I haven’t told him yet.”

“We can still run away together, we’ll take care and raise the child like our own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Natasha,” you let go of her hand and walked to where the wine bottle was, grabbing yourself a glass.  “Artur has been wanting to have a child for years and me leaving him for you is a death sentence, for me and especially you.” You said and immediately drank half of the wine in your glass. “This unborn child is now my priority. That is why as much as I want to leave the place I call hell everyday and take another chance of a new life with you I can’t.”

You took another drink and more tears started to flow down, “It also would be best if this is the last time we’ll see each other.” you said with a choked sob. 

Natasha immediately approached you and made you face her, “No, no, moya lyubov, please,” she begged. If her voice already sounded like she was hurt, her eyes showed more pain. “It’s been more than a decade since we last saw each other Y/N, isn’t this supposed to be a sign from the gods that we’re meant to be with each other?” 

She was right, despite after not seeing each for years on end, fate had decided that the both of you would meet once again once the both of you had lost all hope. 

Only in different and more complicated circumstances now.

Natasha held your hand and said, “Please Y/N, don’t leave me again.” Her eyes were begging for you to leave with her.

A sudden knock on the door made you both stand still. “Y/N? Are you in there with Natasha?” It was your husband. 

“I… uh- yes, we’re in here.” you replied and Artur entered the room. 

“As much as I hate to interrupt your chatting but we best get going, it is almost midnight and I know how much you value your rest.” He said as he wrapped his arm around your waist, “I sure hope you and Natasha had a great chat.” 

“We did.” Natasha dryly replied with a fake smile plastered on her face as he looked at your husband. 

Artur smiled and asked you, “Well, shall we go?” 

“Yes, let’s go.” you replied and Artur started to walk you outside with him. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to ask Natasha… alone.” you said to him.

“Alright my love, I’ll wait for you outside.” Artur then left the room and once you heard him shut the door you immediately rushed towards Natasha and crashed your lips onto hers one last time. 

And a song someone sings

Natasha felt it, and you did too.

It was farewell.

You walked out of the room without saying another word, only holding onto the memory of a forbidden love that two women failed to save despite being given another chance to do so.   

Perhaps in another life or in another universe, you and Natasha lived the lives you wanted together. It just wasn’t this one.

Once upon a December

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x yn #black widow #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #black widow x yn #marvel #avengers #avengers imagines #marvel x reader

[dejaonline]

same space | shuriri x spoiled!black!fem!reader

Summary: you and shuri have a unique romantic history—the two of you have been bonded by an “arrangement”, but it’s been a good while since you’ve seen each other last. What happens when a routine drunk call + rescue reveals that it is no longer just the two of you.

Content includes: mentions of drugs and alcohol, swearing, semi-offensive insults.

Translations:

nkosazana- princess

umhle nkosazana yam- you look beautiful, my princess

Author’s note: ahh! Baby’s first fic! I am extremely nervous posting this, but i’m equally just as excited. I wanna say thank you to my baby boo @prettymrswright for all of her help and encouragement throughout the process. my tummy is achinggg (anxious girlies stand up!) but i cannot wait to hear what you guys think! thank ya’ll in advance for reading <3

Tagging some of my favsss: @prettymrswright @sapphicvqmpires @kisskourt @inmyheadimobsessed @pvnks0ul @vampzxi @quintessencewrites

Shuri took a deep breath, bracing herself for the chaos awaiting her just behind the heavy doors of the mansion. She could feel the music up through her arm as she pushed through the barrier.

She stepped inside and took in her surroundings. Glitter covered the marble floors, shimmering beneath the beams of light coming from one of the many disco balls hanging down from the high ceilings. A neon ‘Studio 54’ sign was mounted on the wall surrounded by vintage photographs and abstract art pieces.

To the left was a dimly-lit lounge with large, plush earth-toned couches and loveseats. People dressed in rhinestone covered jumpsuits and bell bottoms were socializing throughout the space, some smoking or sitting at the bar with decorated martini glasses.

The young royal ventured down a dark hallway to the right of her, following the sound of music emitting from the commodious ballroom. Colorful rays of light bounced off the walls and beneath Siri’s black boots, multi-colored tiles danced around to the beat.

The queen stood out amongst the sea of metallic gogo boots and fringe. Her slender frame was concealed beneath a black, oversized blazer and perfectly tailored pants to match. Her wandering eyes hid behind her favorite pair of black shades.

Shuri did her best to avoid getting sandwiched between a couple of inebriated bodies thrashing around her. She swiveled her head, attempting to locate you amongst the crowd until finally spotting you.

You were tucked away in a roped off section, attention focused on someone sitting dangerously close to you in the conversation pit. In the center sat a glass table, littered with empty liquor bottles, ashtrays, and assorted sizes of plastic bags. Your smooth, rich skin was covered in a sheer, floor length gown. Diamonds cascaded in detailed patterns across the fabric and tufts of feathers decorated the sleeves and hem, sweeping the silver open-toed platform heels on your feet. Your fresh braids lay parted down the center, hanging down to your lower back. You looked opulent and sexy in the iconic gown. The shimmer on your eyelids and glossy lips catching the light.

You sat with your legs crossed, one arm stretched out beside you and the other resting on your thigh while you sat back engaged in a conversation with a girl in a beaded mini dress. You watched her lips as she chatted about..stuff.

Your liquor induced arousal was immediately redirected once you caught sight of the slim figure looming behind the stranger.

“I hate to cut you off baby, but my ride is here.”

You eyed Shuri from head to toe, lingering on the bit of exposed chest behind her blazer. You leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on the girl's left cheek before standing to take Shuri’s awaiting hand.

She pressed her palm against the small of your back, steadying you.

“You okay to walk, nkosazana?”

You looked to Shuri with big, pleading eyes and she took the hint. She wrapped one of your arms around the back of her neck and scooped you up into her arms bridal style.

The two of you made your way back to the entrance. You were highly intoxicated and giggling in Shuri’s hold, your head pressed against her chest. You caught a whiff of her signature scent, the mix of sweetness and musk that you recognized as Tom Ford Vanille Fatale. You bought it for her a while back and it had been her favorite ever since.

Meanwhile, Shuri was playing it cool, trying not to make it obvious how happy she was to have you this close again. She cracked a smile at how easily tickled you became at her praise.

Although the noise level had significantly quieted down, Shuri whispered into you again.

“You look beautiful, my love.”

Another giggle escaped you and it was music to Shuri’s ears.

“Thank you, shuri bear”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that, y/n” Shuri huffed before letting you down, her still wrapped around you until the swaying ceased.

“Oh, by the way, this is Riri.”

Shuri softly tapped on the tinted window, prompting the stranger to roll it down.

Riri sat stone-faced and unamused. Her sharp jaw clenched in annoyance before she threw an uninterested two finger wave your way. She still had not looked in your direction, but your gaze locked in on her. She sat slouched in the front seat of Shuri’s Maserati Quattroporte, wearing a baggy denim jacket over a tight fitting white crop top with matching baggy jeans.

Your attention focused on the neat star design braided into the side of her head and the joint tucked behind her ear.

Even drunk, you could sense that she didn’t like you. Or at least she didn’t care much for you. She didn’t even know you, how could she not like you?

“You good, Cher?”

Riri’s low voice pulled you from your thoughts and you tightened up immediately, flipping your braids back and straightening out your dress. You wouldn’t let her see you sweat, but can admit you were impressed she caught the reference. You threw on a fake smile before bending down to reach her level.

‘You’re in my seat, Riri—“

Before she could respond Shuri snatched you away from the window.

“Hey watch the dress!” You shouted.

Shuri pulled you around to the driver’s side pushing you up against the side of the car. You yanked your arm out of her grip.

“The fuck was that for?”

Shuri stepped closer to you, the front of her body touching yours.

“Riri is my girlfriend, she’s not riding in the back.”

You stared blankly at Shuri as your thoughts began to race again.

Girlfriend? When did this happen? How did this happen?

It seemed Shuri could read your mind.

“We can talk about this later. Just sit in the back and be good for me, please? Riri likes to fight.”

Shuri opened the back door, helping you inside. She was about to close the door, but stopped to pop her head back inside the vehicle, taking your chin between her thumb and index finger.

“Play nice” she whispered

Your eyes followed Shuri as she hopped back into the front seat. The engine purred to life and the three of you were off.

You stared out the window at the star lit sky, watching the lavish residence disappear from view, thinking back to the last time you had seen Shuri.

Four months ago the two of you were inseparable. Showing up to parties together, showering each other with gifts, sneaking away to private islands. It may have seemed extravagant to others, but it was a lifestyle the two of you were accustomed to.

You enjoyed your time together, but both parties especially enjoyed the freedom that came with not committing.

It was no secret that you and Shuri had undeniable chemistry. She would do anything for you, go anywhere with you.

The reason you weren’t in Riri’s position was because you didn’t need to be. Girlfriend or not, Shuri was never really out of reach. Your history ran deep and you had been through a lot together. Somewhere down the line, friends became more and things became romantic.

You both saw other people, nothing serious. Shuri usually had a few girls on rotation. It didn’t really bother you because she would abandon whomever she was using to occupy her time with to be with you.

It was one of the things you loved most about her. She was kind and attentive, kept you in check, never let you get lazy or unfocused.

On top of that she really knew how to f—

“-uck is she back there daydreaming about?” Riri snapped.

“She does that a lot” Shuri laughed.

“You wanna hit this or not? Don’t got all night.”

Riri held the lit joint between her fingers, pointing it in your direction.

“Thanks.” You replied dryly

You took it from her, then began to examine the bubblegum pink rolling paper.

“You roll this, Riri?”

“Yeah. Problem?”

You didn’t miss the small smirk that crept upon her face as she awaited your response.

“You used my rolling papers.” You stated matter-of-factly.

Your voice came out more shrill than you intended.

Shuri cut her eyes to you through the rear view mirror. It was a look you had come to learn was a silent warning.

“You left them behind the last time you were over, nkosazana”

You looked back over to Riri, who had now cracked a full blown smile. She watched in amusement as you took a long drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

You blew a path directly at her with the remaining smoke, letting it drift around her chiseled face and creating the illusion of her sitting among the clouds.

Her gaze had yet to leave yours. She was studying you: the way your nose scrunched up in annoyance, how your plump lips seemed to always sit in a permanent pout, and fixating on the way your chest increasingly rose and fell.

Maybe it was the weed or maybe it was the fact that Riri was stunning. Her eyes were intense as they bore into you, it made you nervous. It also made you extremely horny.

The car finally rolled into Shuri’s garage. And although you felt a suffocating heaviness in the vehicle, neither you nor Riri moved. You both knew better than to touch your own door handle.

Shuri went for your door first. You stepped out and pushed right past her, leaving no room for conversation. The clicking of your heels echoed throughout the vast garage as you stormed off, hips swaying beneath your dress.

The couple silently watched your figure stride past the rows of parked vehicles and vanish behind the door, making your way inside the house.

Shuri sighed deeply, carefully contemplating her next move. She grabbed Riri’s hands and kissed her knuckles before guiding her inside.

Inside, you made a b-line straight for the kitchen. You swung open one of the cabinets just above your head, snatching a wine glass from inside before slamming it shut.

Shuri was leaned up against the wall, right next to the small space that housed her impressive wine collection. Her eyes traveled down to the glass in your hand and she rolled her eyes, turning to grab the handle.

She disappeared inside, a look of contemplation on her face as she scanned the rows of bottles. Finally, she reached for a 1973 Chateau Montelena Chardonnay. She sauntered toward you, sending you a cryptic smile before heading right for the same cabinet you were just abusing.

In her hand she held two more wine glasses.

“I taught you better than that, y/n.” She teased.

Shuri made her way into the living room and you followed behind.

Riri sat alone on one of the couches, her hand rested over her face.

Shuri stood before you two, looking as beautiful as ever, oozing with charm and sex appeal. She set two of the glasses down, prompting you to add yours to the mix. You jumped at the ‘pop’ of the cork, anxious to have the glass back in your grasp.

“I think we should play a game, get to know each other a little better.” Her accent was thick, but it was no match for the tension in the air.

“And why would we do that?” You questioned.

The last thing you were interested in doing was learning anything about Riri. You felt you had gathered enough information about her from the ride to Shuri’s place: her name and the fact that she has a nasty attitude. Which is rich coming from you.

“Because, princess,” Shuri paused as she filled each glass. “If I’m going to keep both of you in my life, I want you two to bond, learn to get along.” She passed one to Riri, then you, before picking up the last for herself.

Before she could take a sip, her kimoyo beads hummed to life, signaling that someone was trying to contact her.

“I’ll be right back” was all she said before rushing out of the room.

Silence once again fell upon the house. You sipping from your glass, Riri staring you down from across the room. She was the first to speak up.

“So, what escort service did she find your ass from?”

You choked on your drink, appalled at the accusation.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, Keebler elf?”

You were trying to keep your voices down, afraid Shuri would hear from wherever she ran off to.

Riri stood up from her seat, coming face to face with you.

“There’s no way someone would be desperate enough to cling onto someone with a whole ass girlfriend the way that you do without getting paid for it.”

You stood your ground, pushing your upper body up to meet Riri halfway, mere inches away from her face.

“And you’d have to be one dumb bitch to think that title has any meaning.”

“Y/N!”

Before you could register the end of that exchange, Shuri grabbed you up for the second time that night, dragging you down the corridor and into a guest room. She slammed the door behind her, shoulders raising and dropping as she breathed heavily.

Stupidly, you opened your mouth to defend yourself.

“Shuri, that’s not fair, she was being awful to me—“

“I do not care! That is my partner, you do not speak to her like that. You disrespect her, you disrespect me. You’re lucky she even allowed you to step foot in our home!”

Our home. Your throat tightened at the sound. You were starting to feel sick.

“I should have told you earlier, I’m sorry.”

Shuri kneeled in front of you, taking your hands into hers.

“I met Riri a while back, when I went on that trip to Massachusetts.”

“That was six months ago.” You were trying to keep up with the timeline of events that Shuri was explaining to you.

“Yes. We kept in touch, nothing serious.” She peered up at you, waiting for your reaction.

“Go on.”

She cleared her throat before continuing.

“Of course you know, I got this place here in New York to be closer to you. But then I had to return home for a while.”

Things were starting to add up. You remembered having to say goodbye to Shuri, how much you had missed her over the last 4 months.

“Riri came to help me in the lab and we grew to enjoy each other's company. Not in the way that I’m used to, this was real. We made things official and when all the chaos settled, I asked her to return to the city with me.”

You were speechless for a moment, taking in Shuri’s words. You didn’t find yourself being angry, you had no right. The two of you were never exclusive and until a few weeks ago, you didn’t even entertain the thought of it. It had never bothered you that Shuri preferred an open relationship, but hearing that she was serious about Riri struck you to your core.

“Does she know?” You whispered.

“About us?” You nodded in response.

“Yes, I told her up front. My love for you never ceases. No matter who I am with, no matter where I go. You may not have chosen me, my love, but I will always choose you.”

Classic Shuri, girl always had a way with words.

“So how does this work?”

“Riri doesn't care for monogamy, that is how this even works in the first place. We’ll have to set some boundaries, of course, but I believe that we can figure this out. You just have to trust me, okay?”

It was a lot to consider. To say that you and Riri were at odds was an understatement, and establishing mutual tolerance would take some work. But you saw how much this meant to Shuri.

“I missed you, Shuri” you said honestly. Fatigue began to overcome you, and Shuri knew she didn’t have much longer to converse with you.

You laid back onto the bed while Shuri removed your heels. She covered you with a blanket and bent down towards your face. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second.

“We’ll talk some more in the morning. Get some rest now. Did I already tell you how beautiful you look?”

“Yeah, but you can tell me again.”

A big smile broke across Shuri’s face. She placed soft kisses on your cheeks, one after another, and lingered as she made contact with your forehead.

“umhle nkosazana yam”

It was the last thing you heard before sleep carried you off.

#shuri x reader #shuri x riri #shuriri x reader #shuriri #shuri x you #shuri x y/n

[bebemoon]

look for the name: LAILA

@lilaxizze

alexander mcqueen bias-cut black chiffon evening gown, from the 'deliverance' collection, s/s 2oo4

kthyscrafts (on etsy) handmade chiffon black cape/veil

saint laurent "suite 1o5" satin sandals in black

oakcha "midnight nymph" eau de parfum, inspired by yves saint laurent's "black opium"

alexander mcqueen small silver metal "ottone" jewelled clutch

early victorian cut steel upper arm cuff/armlet

chanel pearl, enamel and bead silver cuff bracelet

#laila #lilaxizze #name #request #hope you like ! #meaning: of the night #black #silver #veil #etsy #saint laurent #vintage #cape #alexander mcqueen #gown #oakcha #perfume #edp #jewellry #clutch #footwear #victorian #cuff #armlet #bracelet #chanel #queue

[nonasuch]

The 2022 Miss Universe pageant was last night!

Which means: the National Costumes are here.

Yes, there is video. It’s worth watching if you want to see how some of these look in motion, but I’m warning you in advance that the emcees keep doing these shitty little rhyming couplets, and they will make you want to strangle them with one of the many available voluminous gown trains. So I’m suffering on your behalf, and liveblogging.

First up: Albania.

Sparkly flag-inspired bodysuit with train is the voting “present” of the Miss Universe National Costume Competition.

Angola. She did a fun dance on her way to center stage, which would probably not have been possible in her original costume, which was “tree-inspired” and too big to ship to New Orleans.

Argentina. This is where the video does come in handy, because without it I would not be able to award her First Contestant To Visibly Struggle Under The Weight Of Her Outfit. It’s a waterfall. The rainbow crotch area was certainly a design choice.

Armenia. I would like to see what’s going on with the bodice behind the... shield thing? but she never put it down.

Also, it turns out that when one contestant has a costume dedicated to solemn remembrance of the Armenian genocide, and the contestant immediately after her has a costume that’s about beach parties, there is kind of an uncomfortably abrupt tonal shift that happens onstage.

Aruba. Like I said: weird tonal shift! She did a little shimmy dance at Miss Armenia as they passed each other and it was clearly awkward for both of them. This is made of recycled materials leftover from Carnival, which is cool? I guess?

Australia. This is a prom dress. Boo.

Bahrain. A rare pants look! There’s a lot of detail in the headdress and bodice that’s kind of getting lost, but it looks cool in motion. Also the theme is apparently “Bahrain is rich as fuck,” so congrats I guess?

Belgium. Okay so the theme of this costume, my hand to g-d, is “the window on the International Space Station that Belgium built.” Why does this requires a shit-ton of leftover Christmas tinsel and some very awkward-to-wear angel wings? I do not know.

Belize. This is fun! It’s a good “lesser-known Batman villainess” kind of look. Like if Ivy and Catwoman co-mentored someone. The actual theme is “the world’s only jaguar reserve, which is in Belize,” but I think it’s also kind of implying that she might be a were-jaguar. Which, again, is fun!

Bhutan. This goes in the “just an actual regional/folk costume” category, which is also kind of like voting Present, but it looks like the fabrics are nice.

Bolivia. She has an entire Andean condor on her head so I’m already on board. This photo only shows the cloak, which is covered in silver spangles in honor of Bolivia’s silver mines, and is also why her condor is perched on a miner’s helmet. The dress underneath is entirely made of swags of sparkly gold beads, so the visual effect is actually pretty nice in motion.

Brazil. The construction details on this are actually quite lovely! Lots of intricate beading and rhinestone work. Unfortunately that doesn’t convey well at any distance, and also that white fin peplum thing flaps around really awkwardly when she walks. Oh, wait, she can flip it up to be a clamshell thing behind her head!

That looks much better.

British Virgin Islands. First giant flower of the year!

Bulgaria. Apparently this is made of neoprene? So with that and the rainbow stripes, the effect ends up being kind of “what if Midsommar, but at a rave.”

Cambodia. It feels weird to say “yep, standard Miss Universe warrior goddess costume” but basically that’s what this is. I do like the green-and-gold color palette, though.

Cameroon. “The baskets represent the nation’s agricultural movement.” Okay! I like how it’s giving “Valkyrie, but make it Global South,” though I’m not sure three entire country-shaped cutouts were necessary.

Canada. Another fine Miss Universe tradition: contestant who knows how to dance en pointe so she’s going to goddamn wear a costume that goes with pointe shoes, Or Else. Some nice beadwork! I would let her be the third, secret red swan in Swan Lake if that were a thing.

Cayman Islands. Sexy Blue Iguana is a fun concept! There’s a tail in back of the cape.

Chile. Sexy Atacama Desert is kind of abstract, as these things go, but I respect her choice to wear something she could walk in.

China. Hilariously, the announcer was like “This look... does not match the bio we were given, so I’m gonna wing it!” The fabrics are nice -- the satin drapes and moves well -- but the embellishments are kind of meh compared to some of the Miss China looks I’ve seen.

Colombia. This is a legit great Sexy Phoenix, but I need you all to know that her crown got turned a little sideways while she walked to the stage and she clearly knew it and just as clearly could do nothing about it, and I feel bad for laughing but it was funny.

Costa Rica. Sexy hummingbird! I think I’ve identified a recurring theme for this year. Corset and wings are made of recycled materials, which is nice, and they look well-made -- a lot of wing-based costumes tend to flop around or go crooked in motion, but not these.

Croatia. Oh, honey. This has big “my mom helped me make this the night before it was due” energy, unfortunately.

Curacao. “Meet the Fisherman’s Wife, a woman with a key role in Curacao’s fishing industry.” Okay? Honestly you could have left off the basket and said “this costume represents the beautiful marine life of Curacao” and I would have been like “yep, checks out” but now I have many follow-up questions.

Czech Republic. This is meant to be a Mucha-inspired look but uh. Mostly it’s just. beige. I’m starting to feel like all the other Slavic countries saw advance photos of Miss Ukraine and were like “let’s just phone it in this year, girls, there’s no point.”

Dominican Republic. “This costume recognizes the importance of birds in Dominican culture.” They did make it with silk feathers, which I appreciate, because it would have been very weird to use real ones with that mission statement. Also I like her headdress, and the giant feather fans are a good way to nod in the direction of wings without the hassle of actually wearing wings.

Ecuador. This looks good in motion! She did some dancing onstage that worked well, and there’s a great sculpted Inca head scowling on the back of her headdress. This is still only a few notches above voting Present, though.

El Salvador. “History of Currency,” which is definitely a concept! The Bitcoin wizard staff is sure something.

Equatorial Guinea. A perfectly nice entry in the “actual regional costume” category, but on the video I was like “oh, yikes, her headdress is really wobbly” and then it FELL OFF and I felt so bad for her.

Finland. “Spirit of the Forest”? Fuck off, that’s a prom dress. Boo.

I’m going to pause here so this readmore doesn’t get completely out of control. Shit, there are 50 more of these? Well, I have only myself to blame.

#miss universe #miss universe national costume

[snailmail444]

Silent Night

NSFW ⭐️ 18+ ⭐️ MDNI

It’s your first winter star with Sam’s family! Everything is going great, except for the fact that you two can’t get a moment of privacy.

For @beet-roots Merry Kinkmas

AO3 Link

“Okay now let’s do Sammy’s girlfriend’s present!” Vincent squirms in your lap with excitement, looking upside down at you. His big blue eyes sparkle with adoration, and you think he takes after his brother.

Sam beside you looks playfully dejected. He pushes out his lip in a pout, shoving his hand into Vincent’s hair and down his face.

“Bro, stop,” he whines, and you think maybe his jealousy isn’t all for show, “you’re rizzing her up too much! She’s gonna leave me for you, dude!”

Sam’s playing, but you know he is at least a little perturbed because Vince can sit in your lap and he can’t. It’s a wonder he’s not climbing the walls right now, all things considered.

With deadly efficiency you use one hand to tickle his ribs, and Sam cringes back in a cry of surrender.

Kent rolls his eyes and coughs to hide a laugh while Jodi giggles. She gives you a sweet smile as she passes over a silver wrapped box. It says ‘from all of us’ in swooping calligraphy, and you know that means it’s from Jodi.

“You wanna unwrap it bud?” You ask, and Sam’s hand twitches out to the package before he realizes you were talking to Vince. Another pout, and you smirk at him while Vince annihilates the beautiful wrapping job Jodi did.

Dutifully, he passes back the unassuming cardboard box and crawls off your lap so you can open it properly.

You pull the top away and don’t delay in pushing back the tissue and removing the deep red nightgown, holding it up to the light to see better.

“I know it’s not very hip,” Jodi says, her voice quiet and maybe a little insecure, “but I—uh, we—just couldn’t leave it. Sammy sent those gorgeous pictures of you and I kept thinking how lovely you would look in it.”

It is pretty, albeit more conservative than you would ever pick for yourself. The gown is ankle length, with sleeves that hit the wrist. Lace and gold beading trim the edges, and you think Jodi has good taste.

You can feel Sam’s eyes heavy on you, on the nightgown, and you have to bite back a grin. He’s so desperate for you at this point, you know exactly where his brain is. Poor baby hasn’t gone over a day without sex since you two got together about four months ago, and with prepping and visiting it’s been a week since he had his hands on you.

“It’s perfect Jodi, thank you,” you say, winking at her conspiratorially before saying, “all of you have excellent fashion sense.”

In a show of good faith you change into it after dinner. Jodi was right—the color complements your complexion perfectly. And while it’s long, and shows no skin, it clings to your curves and drapes in such a way that you still look shapely. You look sexy in a prudish sort of way.

You’re not the only one that seems to think so. The moment you emerge from the bedroom to show Jodi the final product, Sam’s back to staring at you hard. As Jodi ooh’s and ah’s over you with the affection only a mother has, and Vincent stares with big round eyes and tells you you’re beautiful with a nervous little blush, Sam begins to fidget.

A glance at him and you think he might drag you out to his truck for some privacy and rail you in the passenger seat. Your cunt pulses with excitement. Vincent is going to be too distracted with his toys to bother you, and Jodi and Kent are going to take the Mullner’s Christmas cookies, so you’ll have time for a quickie if all goes well.

“And what about you, Sammy, don’t you think that—“ there’s a knock on the door, startling Jodi into silence. She presses a hand against her chest. “Goodness, now who could that be so late?”

Jodi wanders off towards the door and Sam circles in on you like a predator, fingers skimming the fabric where it hits your waist. He leans in close, and his voice is raspy in your ear. “I like this,” he says, giving it a small, affectionate tug, and you know that tone. That’s the tone he uses when he’s going to fuck you like an animal. A shiver of anticipatory arousal claws its way down your spine, and you smile.

“I can't say I approve of you coming all the way out here in the cold so late, but you know I’m always happy to see you Sebastian,” Jodi giggles, opening the door wider and letting in a pink cheeked, crookedly grinning Sebastian. He’s got a small present wrapped in his hands, and his eyes are positively glittering as he stares up at Sam’s mom.

“You know I can’t go a Winter Star without seeing you, Miss Jodi,” he says, savoring the words Miss Jodi. Sam retracts from your space while Jodi giggles and blushes, and he throws up his hands with a groan.

“Dude stop flirting with my mom,” he whines, and Sebastian laughs once before shaking his head and giving Jodi a sweet smile.

“I’m not flirting Sammy, I’m being polite. You should try it once in a while,” he says, and he winks before coming up to you and Sam.

“Why are you here?” Irritation drips off his every word, and you know Sam is properly annoyed. Pent up, desperate, and cockblocked by his best friend who’s also hitting on his mom.

Bad day for Samson.

“Other than I wanted to give you your present? I needed a break from the ‘festivities,’” he makes air quotes around festivities, and you can feel Sam unwind in resignation. “Come with me for a walk?”

“What’s the magic word?” Sam’s already stepping towards the door to his room, presumably to get dressed for the outside, and you feel a tug of disappointment. Maybe it’s not Sam getting cockblocked.

“I’ll say please if it makes you happy Samson.”

Your face must be doing something by the time Sam’s dressed and ready for the cold, because Sebastian frowns apologetically and Sam twists his mouth. Once Jodi finishes fussing over her boys and departs with Kent, Sam approaches with a sheepish smile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and you stare at him hard in a way that hopes to convey your emotions.

“You better,” You respond, and maybe it’s a little more irritable than you meant for it to be because Sam looks like a kicked puppy as he follows Sebastian out the door. You’d feel worse if you weren’t babysitting Vincent alone on Winter Star when you could be getting railed.

It doesn’t take long for Jodi and Kent to get back—an hour said and done—and everyone readies for bed pretty immediately, too exhausted from the fact that Vince woke everybody at the godless hour of five am for presents. Sam still isn’t back by the time you crawl into his bed, and you glare at the air mattress where he should be and hope he can feel the phantom pain wherever he is.

You’re drifting off when a swoop of cold air chills you to the bone. There’s a light commotion, and you hear Sam go “fucking shit ass,” before you fully process that he’s stumbling in the window. You sit back, burrowing into his blankets as he regains his footing.

“Later Seb,” he calls outside with a wave, and you wave too, tight and irritable.

“See you Sammy. If you need me I’ll be in the master bedroom,” Sebastian calls back, and you hear his footsteps recede along with maniacal laughter, a faint call of bye to you billowing in the wind as an afterthought.

“Remind me to kick his ass,” Sam looks at you once he snaps the windowpane shut with a big grin, his cheeks pink and snow dusting his eyelashes. It makes you angry how good he looks right now, how disgustingly cute and charming.

“Sure,” you cross your arms and pout, averting your gaze as Sam comes up and kneels by the side of the bed.

“Baby please, I’m sorry,” he reaches for your hand, and when you don’t give it he settles for your gripping the nightgown, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that it’s right at the apex of your thigh, “what was I supposed to do? Say no to Seb in front of everybody?”

“Yes.”

He buries his face in the sheets beside you and you finally spare him a glance. He senses it and looks up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster, and you feel yourself melting under his gaze.

“Please, let me make it up to you,” he says, and there’s a little whine in his voice. Desperation, maybe. “I need you so bad, you look so hot right now, please.”

The chill of the room mingles with the sensation of watching Sam beg on his knees and makes your nipples hard, and you decide to go on with it for a minute. “It’s just a shame. I’m not even wearing any underwear, Sammy, because I was so excited to finally get a minute alone with you.”

He whines, shifts, and you can see the excited bulge growing in his pants.

“Too bad everybody’s home now so we can’t do anything. I’m really horny too.”

“No we can, please,” he grabs your hand now, chilly fingers insistent on yours, “we just have to be quiet. Everybody’s asleep. Come on, please?”

You almost break right now, but you hold out. If you can get him that much more worked up, it’ll be worth your while. “I dunno if you’d be able to keep it down Sammy. For your Winter Star present I was gonna let you fuck me without a condom—you know, an unwrapped gift kinda thing.”

It’s something you’ve been saving specifically for a moment like this. Truthfully you know Sam’s clean and you have reliable birth control, and would have let him hit raw months ago, but making him twitch with anticipation has been more fun than anything else.

And oh, it’s worth it to watch the way his eyes widen and his face slackens. He sits up that much taller, and you’re almost surprised he doesn’t clasp his hands together and shake them.

“Baby, I promise I’ll be good. I need you so bad. I really want my present, I’ll do anything.”

You gesture for him to stand, and he does because he’s a puppet on strings, and you arch your eyebrow at him. “You can start by putting your money where your mouth is. Sit at the foot of the bed for me and prove you can stay quiet by touching yourself.”

Sam’s clothes shlump to the floor unceremoniously as he peels off his layers, and you feel a pang of guilt because he’s shivering and flushed since he’s not warm yet. In a show of good faith, you kick the blanket towards him and scoot until you’re rested on the headboard.

It’s alright, you reason, because he won’t be left alone for long.

Sam wraps the blanket around his shoulders, and you watch with enthusiasm as he shifts. His cock is hard and flushed, his nipples pink and pert from the cold, and he’s wearing that shy expression he always has before he truly gets into it. You might be drooling.

It’s hard to tell if he’s teasing you or if he’s warming himself up when he runs his hand down his chest and across his stomach painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat when he finally wraps a hand around his cock, deliberate as he spreads a bead of precome from his tip down with his thumb.

His teeth sink into his lip on the first stroke, cheeks darkening while his eyebrows scrunch inwards. He watches you watch him, and one corner of his mouth ticks upwards while he spreads his knees that much more and arches his back.

Stage fright gone, Sam’s putting on a show now, and god do you ever watch. You lose yourself in it—in the way his abs tighten and his breath puffs out intermittently like he might’ve moaned in another situation. His head falls back on his shoulders, eyes screwed shut, until finally he tightens his hand around the base of his cock and looks at you with pure desperation.

“Please,” his voice is hoarse when he whispers, and he’s squirming. For just a second you think you should tell him no, keep going, because you’re so into watching him you want to see his come paint his beautiful stomach. But then he’s blinking at you, big blue eyes pleading. “Baby?” His voice cracks when he prods for a response, and you decide he should be put out of his misery.

“Remember to be qui—“ Sam cuts you off in a bruising kiss. He doesn’t waste a second, licking into your mouth while he fumbles between your legs, rucking up the nightgown in the process.

“Quiet,” he pants while he rips the hem up past your breasts, leaving you suddenly cold and exposed, save the places where his fingers trail blazing paths towards your cunt. “Quiet, uh huh, I’ll be so—quiet—“ he nods into your skin, latching his mouth to your neck and sucking while he slips a finger into your eager cunt.

Sam’s fingers are expert, long and dexterous and callused from years of playing the guitar, and you’re the one struggling not to make any noise now while he fingers you open for him. Every glance of his fingers has your thighs twitching and you biting back little wanton moans.

“Shit, I can’t,” Sam withdraws his fingers after barely a minute, still managing a throaty murmur, “I’m so sorry, fuck, I just can’t wait. You’re so goddamn wet.”

And then he’s lining himself up and thrusting into you slowly. Inching in while he huffs air through his clenched teeth. You can tell he’s really trying to hold himself back, to be gentle, but then his forehead drops to your shoulder and he looses a high whine when his hips snap all the way forward seemingly against his volition.

You freeze, heart hammering in your chest as you hold him still and listen for any sounds that somebody in the house has woken up. Sam’s doing his best, but he’s gyrating against your cunt frivolously and begging against your chest.

“Just couldn’t help it, I’m sorry. Sorry, please baby,” he’s much quieter in his whisper now, “you just felt better— ah —than I expected—please let me move, I’ll be good I swear.”

After another moment of nothing, you finally relax your grip, and Sam wastes no time, fucking into you so hard and fast your eyes roll back in your head.

“Thank you baby— nngh —thank you,” the words are spoken against your breasts as he presses his mouth to them, sucking and nipping the skin while he humps you like an animal in heat. “Best Winter Star gift ever, swear. Thank you, oh God.”

You’re actually surprised when his thumb finds its way to your clit. Sam’s one track minded on his best days, and you would’ve thought he’d be too overwhelmed to even think of it.

“Wanna— hah —feel you come. Can you come on my cock baby?”

You go to say yes, you’re right there, and a too loud moan slips from your chest instead when he slams right into your g-spot. Sam’s free hand closes over your mouth, eyes wide and hips stuttering as he tries and fails to still to a stop.

He either doesn’t give a fuck or can’t bring himself to slow down anymore, because a moment later he’s back to absolutely railing you, making little tiny grunting whines as he does his best to keep himself quiet. “Gonna come,” he manages, strained, and that’s what finishes you.

You ride wave after wave of delicious white heat as Sam stuffs you with his come, shaking and muffling himself against your skin. He doesn’t stop thrusting, greedy and prolonging your mutual pleasure as long as he can before he collapses onto you, limp.

When you finally get your bearings back you take stock of the situation: Sam draped over you, cock still inside, nightgown around your armpits, bruises beginning to purple in the places where Sam used you as his silencer. A ripple of perverse arousal trickles through your overstimulated body at the sheer wrongness of it all, and you twitch.

That’s enough to rouse Sam, who kisses your cheek and pulls out of you, lovingly tucking the nightgown back down to your ankles and pulling up the blanket before snuggling into your side.

When you two wake, you’re horrified to find come staining the inside of the nice garment. Sam sees it over your shoulder while you’re changing and packing, and he tugs you close to him, purring into your ear, “I want you to wear that again when we get home tonight. I’m not finished ruining it.”

#stardew valley #sdv #writing #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic #sdv headcanons #sdv sebastian #sdv sam #stardew sebastian #stardew sam #sdv writing #n.sfw // #mdni

[honeybeefae]

Coronation Day (Eris Vanserra x Reader)

Eris Week Day Two: High Lord

Summary// The day of Eris's coronation is finally here and while everyone is getting ready you realize your mate is nowhere to be found. After searching everywhere you finally find him in the gardens and you see a side of him that he rarely ever shows.

(I’m sorry that these are so short but I hope you guys are still liking them! This fic was one of my favorites to write and I think it’s just the detail and imagery that really ties it in. I also love writing about vulnerable Eris so it has definitely been fun for me! <3 Thank you guys for reading!)

(I also had pictured what the dress, crown, and shoes looked like so here are the references but of course I want you all to picture what you like! It is you, after all :))

Your Dress / Crown / Shoes / Eris's Outfit (but gold instead of silver) / Garden Gates

(Also I listened to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift while writing!)

@erisweek2023

WARNINGS: None

You look up at the grand clock as the seamstress puts the final touches on your gown, your stomach in knots as you look over yourself in the mirror. It was Eris’s coronation day and everything had to be perfect, including you. The gown was exquisite, the exact dress you would expect from a High Lord’s mate, and your hair and makeup enhanced your entire aura into royalty.

The gown was the color of golden leaves with large sleeves and beaded foliage around the top to pay homage to your court. It swept the floor and had a grand trail, almost like a wedding dress, while the crown that was atop your head matched perfectly to Eris’s. 

“There, my lady, you are perfect.” The seamstress beamed in the mirror as she stepped back, taking in the entire outfit as you matched her smile with your own. “I have never seen a more beautiful and deserving woman to be our Lady of Autumn than you.”

“You are too kind, Cressida.” You blush, stepping off the pedestal and testing out your specially made-heels. “All this beauty is truly owed to you. I was but a blank canvas to your brilliant mind.”

“Now it is you who is being too kind, my lady.” She bows while she gathers her things and walks towards the door. “I will see you at the coronation!”

“I’ll be the one on the throne!” You laugh, waving to her before turning to your handmaidens with a nervous sigh. They all gush over your outfit, their voices intermingling into a crescendo before you shush them. “Have you heard from Eris?”

“Well…about that…” Luci begins, her mouth twisting down as she looks to the others who immediately look to the ground.

“What? What is wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong, my lady, it’s just-” Luci tries to explain before Nikolet steps forward, finally caving. 

“No one has seen him since this morning!” She confessed, her hands wringing together in front of her. “He was getting ready and when the seamstress came to check on everything he had vanished. They didn’t want to tell you since you were also in the middle of-”

“They didn’t want to tell me that my mate was missing…on his coronation day?!” You raise an eyebrow, trying to control your anger as the girls sheepishly nod. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I will go find him, just finish getting ready.”

“But my lady-” Luci tries to interject but you hold out a hand, silencing her. 

“He is my mate. Wherever he has run off to and why he has run off is nobody’s business but our own. Now please, get ready. I will see you all there.” You urge, shooing them, before picking up your skirts and walking out the door.

The castle is bustling with activity while you try to find him. People were running around making sure everything was in its place, that the flowers were set and the food was prepared. You try to look neutral as you pass everyone, barely acknowledging their bows and awes of beauty as you search everywhere. You weaved and waded through the crowds of fellow court members, peeking through the doors of rooms and studies until you stopped at the grand entrance doors.

Where on Earth could he be?

You bite your lip, looking side to side, before you catch a glimpse of sunlight coming in from the window above. As you turn to see its path, noting how it hits the painting of the garden so beautifully, you get an idea.

The pace of your steps picks up as you hold your skirts tightly and all but run through the kitchen, apologizing to the staff as you almost run into the cake. They shout out, wondering where you are off to in such a hurry, but you ignore them as you push through the back doors and glide down the outdoor steps.

Leaves rustle above you as the autumn air greets you like a lover, wrapping around your bare shoulders in a soft caress while your heels click against the cobblestone walkway. The trees grow thicker as you make your way to the very back of the estate, to your and Eris’s small garden of Eden.

Tall stone walls and oak trees guard it from prying eyes, secluding it for everyone except the two of you as you slow your pace and walk through the iron gate. Autumn leaves cover most of the pathway leading to the small bench at the back of the garden where you spot Eris with his head in his hands, the tree above rustling and whispering things you think only he can hear.

“Eris?” You say softly, smiling softly when he raises his head to look at you. He looks beautiful in his dark red suit, golden embellishments lining the wrists and collar, with a white shirt and dark pants to match. His hair was styled neatly, as always, but what stood out to you the most was his pained, troubled eyes. “Oh, Eris.”

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” He says, watching as you walk over to him and crouch in front of him. Your dress rustles against the ground but you don’t pay any attention, all of your focus is on him. “A true Lady of Autumn.”

“What’s wrong, love?” You ask, grasping his hands in yours. “Cold feet already?”

He gives you a small smile and your heart flips. “You could say that…though it is very hard for me to get cold.” Eris chuckles though his voice falls flat at the end as he looks down, frowning. “What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t lead an entire court?”

“You can do this. If anyone can, you can, Eris.” You squeeze his hands tightly, bending down until you catch his gaze. “I have never had as much confidence in anyone leading as I do with you. This court has been through so much and you are going to bring it back to life.”

“This court has been through so much because of my father,” He scowled, standing abruptly while you sighed and stood with him. He began to pace back and forth as he continued his rant. “My father almost ruined this court and I know what the people think of him…what they probably think of me. I am my father’s son and what if, what if I become him? What if that is my destiny?”

The air stood still as he stopped in his tracks, looking at you with fear and sadness and doubt and vulnerability. You had only seen him like this once before when your mating bond had snapped. He hated to show weakness, especially when it came to his family, and your heart broke at his confession.

“What if I am no better than my father? A monster’s prodigy?”

You walk to him slowly and cup his face, caressing his cheek with your thumb as you pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck. Eris immediately crumbles at your touch and pulls you as close as he can, burying his face in your neck as your hands run down his back soothingly. 

Something wet falls against your shoulder but you don’t draw attention to it nor to the shuddering of his shoulders. You just hold him as tight as you can while you whisper your truth into his ear.

“Eris Vanserra, I want you to listen to me.” You begin gently. “You are more than your father’s legacy. You are the creator of your own story, the holder of the pen, and right now is the first chapter of it. You have more kindness, bravery, and leadership in your pinky finger than your father ever had.”

His shoulder slowly came to a stop as you continued, pulling back so that you could press your forehead against his and look into his eyes. “My love, I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Because do you know what I see?” You ask, placing a finger under his chin when he tries to look away. “I see a man who is brilliant. A man who is loyal to his court and saved them from war. A man who may hide behind a mask but cares more than he cares to admit.”

“I see my mate, my handsome soon-to-be High Lord.” You smile, kissing his cheek. “The mere fact that you are afraid tells me, tells everyone, just how worthy you will be for this crown. You will do amazing things for this court, for all of Pyrthian. I have never had more confidence in anything in my life.”

“Y/N…” Eris trails off, lost for words, but you shush him with a finger to his lips. 

“And if you happen to falter just remember I will be right by your side ready to set you straight.” You grin, giggling when he nods in agreement. “But seriously, you are going to be a wonderful High Lord.”

Eris takes a deep breath and whispers, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have been given you?”

“You could do to remind me more often…” You trail off teasingly. “Perhaps tonight after your coronation?”

He smirked and tried to give you a kiss but you cheekily turn at the last second, letting his lips land on your cheek and smiling when he let out a huff of frustration. You grab his hand and begin to walk out of the garden, turning back to him and saying, “Now, now, High Lord, we mustn’t keep everyone waiting. Come, let’s start this journey together.”

The two of you walk back into the Forest House, smiling and laughing, while everyone looks on in confusion. You arrive quickly at the doors of the grand hall where you can hear everyone talking, wondering what was taking so long. The advisors look worn out as they get in their places, just glad that Eris has been found, while you turn to look at him adoringly. 

“Ready?” You ask.

Rays of sun shone through the windows again, catching him in just the right light to give him an ethereal glow that highlighted his amber eyes and cheekbones. “As long as you are by my side.”

“Always.” You promise, kissing him tenderly before pulling away as the doors open. “Let’s go get your crown.”

As the doors open the applause nearly deafens you, everyone cheering and smiling as the two of you walk into the room and down the aisle. At the end sits two thrones of equal size, both of your crowns sitting on the cushions as you walk hand in hand towards your destiny. 

#erisweek2023 #acotar #acotar reader #eris #eris acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris x reader #eris x reader acotar #high lord eris #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x reader acotar #eris week 2023 #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #acotar imagine reader #eris fic #eris imagine #eris vanserra fic #eris fic acotar

[miasmaghoul]

Nun forced fem on either SwissDew or Raindrop

yeah sure here

(idk what this is its barely nsfw lmao uhhh warnings for forcedfem, religious fuckery, mention of safewords without use of them, mostly implied corruption kink)

"It suits you."

"Does it?" Rain smooths nervous hands over the front of his habit, flattening imaginary wrinkles. "It feels so..."

"Pious?"

Rain gives a hum - it's not the word he had in mind, but it isn't wrong. Rain adjusts his veil as he takes in his reflection, turning to take in every angle in his floor length mirror.

It's odd how bare he feels considering how little skin he can see. His face and hands stand out beautifully, pale and sharp against rich black wool. That's all the uniform reveals, though. Nothing about this ensemble could be called flattering, and yet Rain can't stop looking. Can't stop tracing the shape of his sleeves and frowning at the one stubborn curl poking out behind his ear. The rosary hanging from his belt clinks when he moves to tuck it away, silver and red beads glinting in the firelight.

"I was going to say severe," Rain murmurs, fingering the inverted silver cross hanging around his neck. "But...I suppose that works too."

He feels the need to speak softly like this, to keep his voice low and his words gentle. He isn't a particularly loud ghoul as it is, at least not often, but something about seeing himself look so...reserved demands it.

Rain licks his lips, and finds the sight of it in the mirror to be borderline obscene.

"And how does it make you feel?"

The words are followed by the creak of a chair and steady footsteps on hardwood, a confident but easy stride, and Rain's heart skips against his ribs. The footsteps stop beside him, in what should be his periphery, but their owner remains hidden by the starched edge of Rain's wimple. He can't make himself turn to look, occupied instead by watching splotches of pink bloom on his cheeks.

"I...I don't know," he admits, and it's the truth. There's an odd stew of feelings swirling around in his skull, a bizarre blend of shame, discomfort and the most blasphemous sort of pride. His fingers tremble as he tugs at the knot binding his belt, a mindless distraction.

"Take your time," flows into his ear, velvety smooth, "but I want an answer."

Rain nods, sighing as he lets his eyes slip shut. Just for a moment. Maybe two.

He really didn't think this would be so hard. He knew it would be different - how could it not be? - but the heaviness in his gut is so much more than he was prepared for. He's been dressed up a thousand ways from Sunday; lingerie, pretty dresses, elegant gowns and the sluttiest costumes Swiss could get his greedy hands on. He's worn makeup and press-ons, learned to walk in the highest heels and had his waist cinched by corsets until he was ready to faint.

It all pales in comparison to the simple garments he wears now.

"...small, I think," Rain practically whispers, once the words find his tongue. It's the closest thing he can think of to describe the tightness in his chest. "It's like..." Rain wrings his hands together, the motion obscured by his oversized sleeves. "It's like I don't belong in this."

"That's because you don't," comes his very amused reply, and a gentle weight settles against his forearm. Rain stares at that elegant hand in the mirror, wide eyes caught on the place skin turns to fitted sleeve. "That's part of the fun," that hand thightens, a rough thumb arching over the inside of his wrist, and that voice feels like a red hot poker when it adds, "Sister."

The word makes him gasp, makes his stomach flip, and Rain wobbles in place. Has to reach out to catch himself on the body beside him, and he earns a soft chuckle in response.

"Easy, easy."

Rain feels the words as much as he hears them, radiating through the palm he's planted in the center of a lightly muscled chest. He shivers when a warm hand rubs over his spine, a familiar motion that has completely different connotations right now.

"You're safe," he's promised, quiet and serious. "I've got you."

Rain nods, takes a deep breath as he pushes himself upright, but he can't make himself open his eyes. He knows what's waiting for him when he does, and some part of him doesn't want to see it. If he sees it, it's real. A fantasy made real - not his own, but one he's been eager to help fulfill for ages now. Ever since the night he wrung this desire out of the ghoul supporting him, had pulled the words from his throat with precise rolls of his hips and a perfectly placed hand on a long throat.

"I've got you," he's assured again, and it's so genuine that Rain can't hold back his whimper.

"Sorry," he huffs, shaking his head. "It's...it's a lot."

A hum answers him, a warm palm cups his cheek, and Rain leans into it easily. Soothed by familiar skin and spiced cologne that settles flayed nerves.

"Rain," he says, and it's so gentle that he almost cracks an eye open. Almost. "We don't have to do this. You know that."

He does. Of course he does. One word and he's out, done, able strip himself of fabric that feels far heavier than it truly is. It would be easy, and there's a first time for everything. The word sits on the tip of his tongue, just behind sharp teeth.

"I know," Rain breathes instead, finally straightening up and crossing his arms over his stomach, "I know."

The hand on his spine remains, grounding, and Rain focuses on the feel of it. Breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth until the tangled mess in his belly unravels, until the pressure in his head subsides. Until he can face the body beside him and brace himself for what he's about to see. One hand fiddles with his rosary, nervous energy poured into a silent prayer he says at every midnight mass.

He can do this.

He can do this.

When Rain opens his eyes, it's as devastating as he thought it would be.

"Oh," he sighs, hot from his scalp to the soles of his feet, and the soft smile it earns him makes Rain's chest hurt.

He doesn't know where to look, too many details for his already frazzled brain to absorb; the shiny tips of polished loafers, a perfectly fitted black cassock, a blood red stole embroidered with goat heads and a sharp collar. Rain's eyes stick there, glued to that simple white square, and every inch of him tingles in a way he can't explain.

"Satanas," he says without really meaning to, and Rain is immediately rewarded with the warmest chuckle.

"Blessed be," Dew replies, and Rain feels more of the tension drain from his shoulders. He tears his eyes from that little white square with great effort and finds the other ghoul's face lined with mirth. His copper eyes sparkle in the glow of the fire, and something about it makes Rain shiver.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, taking in every inch of that handsome face. Dew's pulled his hair back, tied it into a tight knot at the base of his skull, and all it does is make him look more authoritative. "I didn't -"

"Stop," Dew orders, one palm raised, and Rain has never fallen silent so quickly. That one little moment makes something familiar start to bloom at the back of his mind, and suddenly it's just a little easier to deal with the invisible weight on his shoulders. His eyelids feel just a little heavier.

"Sorry," Rain mumbles once more, but it's only out of habit. Dew ignores it, tips his head, and then that warm palm is back on his cheek and Rain has a fleeting thought about what his habit will look like once he's inevitably tenting it.

"Tell me you want this," Dew says, voice even. He strokes Rain's cheekbone with the tip of his thumb, and Rain wishes he would push it between his lips instead. "Tell me you want it," he says again, fingertips tracing the edge of his coif, "or we'll change and -"

"No," Rain interjects, more sudden than even he expects, grabbing at Dew's outstretched arm. The cassock feels so soft, somehow plush and warm against his fingers. "No, I - I do," Rain promises, too flustered to keep his voice from shaking, "for you, I - I want to -"

He's silenced by the pressure of one long finger against his parted lips, by a soft shushing noise, and then Dew's close enough that Rain can feel his warmth. He tilts his head up, gives Rain a hungry look, and Rain can't describe how miniscule it makes him feel.

"You'll tell me if that changes?"

"Yes," Rain promises, breathless, and he nods so urgently it nearly dislodges his wimple. "Yes, I promise."

As soon as the words escape him, as soon as Dew nods his acknowledgement, Rain swears he feels the air shift. That warm hand leaves his face as Dew backs away two steps, head held high. Rain feels unbearably cold in his absence, but he knows Dew will have him hotter than he can handle soon enough.

"Look at yourself," he instructs, nodding towards the mirror. "Tell me what you see."

Rain turns on autopilot. Swivels on his heels until he's facing himself once more, all harsh lines and dark fabric. He straightens his cross, his veil, and wonders how much redder his cheeks will be by the end of this.

"I see..." Rain licks his lips again, but he can't watch it this time. "I see...purity," he supplies at length, the word syrupy thick on his tongue. "I...I see innocence."

Rain wonders if Dew will make him look at himself like this afterwards too. Once he's been used up and drained dry, left woozy and weak and with nothing in him to argue. The thought makes him queasy as much as it makes him throb, and Rain stares at the spot on his habit that he knows his cock is starting swell behind.

"Do you?"

Footsteps again, intentional. Slow. Stalking up behind him, teasing fingers trailing along the edge of his veil just enough to feel. Dew appears in the mirror beside him, and the sight of the two of them together makes Rain's knees weak.

He's starting to get why Dew wanted this.

"Yes," Rain huffs, nodding once. There's a tingle caught in his spine, between his shoulder blades, a shudder he can't quite shake out.

"Yes what?" Dew asks.

"Yes, Father," he replies, a swift exhale, and Dew looks so very pleased at the way he sways.

"Well I've heard otherwise, dear Sister," he lilts, and then he's moving. Stalking slow circles around Rain a fox ready to tear into a particularly fat hen. "In fact," he adds, coming to a stop right in front of Rain. Reaching out to slip two fingers under his chin. Lifting his gaze so all he can see is Dew's neutral expression, wild eyes and that fucking collar. "There's a rumor going around that you're a regular Jezebel." Rain winces, and Dew gives him a falsely sympathetic smile. "A common whore masquerading as a lost little lamb in need of guidance."

"N-no," Rain whispers, giving his head the tiniest shake. "I - I promise, Father," he manages, already starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges. "I'm - I'm pure, I'm -"

Dew shushes him, and then he's gone. Floating away on sure feet and gliding back to his chair. Rain watches the way his cassock billows around his legs, catches glimpses of tight-fitted black slacks beneath it, and when Dew snaps his fingers Rain follows with silent obedience.

Dew looks positively regal in the oversized armchair he's pulled in front of the fireplace. He sits with his back straight and both hands folded on his lap. Rain doesn't think he's ever seen him look so powerful, so commanding of attention, not even on stage.

"Kneel, Sister," Dew commands. "Kneel and confess your sins." He tips his head and Rain's breath catches in his throat. "Kneel," he says, "and let me decide if you deserve forgiveness."

Rain drops so hard the floor shakes.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #dew/rain #dew x rain #raindrop #cw forcedfem #cw forced fem #idk what this even is you guys let me knkw if i need to add tags idk what people expect here anymore

[fashionsfromhistory]

Helen Taft’s Inaugural Ball Gown

1909

National Museum of American History

#ball gown #fashion history #evening dress #1900s #historical fashion #edwardian fashion #edwardian #1909 #off white #beading #silver #united states #silk #lace #historical photography #art history #national museum of american history

[the-fiction-witch]

The Snow

Media House Of The Dragon

Character Jacaerys Velaryon

Couple Jacaerys x Reader (Bastard Stark Girl)

Rating Sweet

Jacaerys did his best not to make a show of his arrival but such was hard to do, he circled over Winterfell on Vermax and landed in some cleared snow. He climbed down and adjusted himself slightly before entering the courtyard of Winterfell where the Stark family and their staff met him to welcome him as their guest. Cregan Stark welcomed him in thick clothes and furs with Ice in hand,

“My Lord Jacaerys Velaryon,” He bowed,

“My Lord Cregan Stark,” Jacaerys returned even if he felt the need to wrap his cloak around him to protect himself from the fluttering snow,

“We had expected you somewhat earlier?”

“Yes, forgive me. The flight from the eyrie was longer than I expected, and Vermax is not used to flight through snow-ladened clouds,”

“Understandable, but the hour is far late for business. We will meet tomorrow at first light to discuss matters,”

“Yes of course my lord,”

“If I may, introduce my sister, Y/n,”

Jacaerys attention turned to the woman beside Lord Cregan Stark,

Y/n giggled to herself slightly seeming to be rather fascinated by the man before her, she wore a gown of a deep grey with silver threat embroidery across the fabric, and she stood without furs, jackets and cloak to mention. Her hair allowed to flutter down with silver beads woven into her braided hair,

“My Lord Velaryon,” she curtsied almost low enough for her knees to reach the snow,

Jacaerys was taken back a moment, he found her beyond beautiful. Surprised such a beauty would be locked away so far north, he did his best to be gentlemanly even if his eyes were drawn to her bosom as her dress had a low neckline that exposed the top of her icy pale skin to the snow and of course his eyes. He tried not to think of her cleavage but he did his best not to gawk even if he wanted to see what lay beneath the silver-threaded gown.

“My lady Y/n, I must admit… your beauty is quite impressive, I have not known ladies in Westeros that can match your beauty I assure you,” He said with confidence,

“Why thank you My lord Velaryon, you are very sweet. I had heard tales of your handsomeness but I admit not of your kindness,” She smiled,

“Take care of our guest sweet sister,” Lord Cregan Stark told her before he and his men headed inside to avoid the snow, leaving the two alone in the courtyard,

“I imagine you must be weary after your long flight, would you like me to take you to the chambers you shall be staying in for your visit with us?”

“Indeed, it was a long trip.” I nodded, “I admit It was tiring, and I would love nothing more than for you to be my guide through this ancient place,”

“Of course,” she smiled offering her arm,

He happily took it and walked with her through the courtyard, “I think I’d be quite lost without you my lady Stark,”

“Snow actually,”

“Oh? Forgive me I-”

“It’s alright,” she smiled, “Cregan thinks of me as full kin even if it isn’t true,”

“I see, that’s very kind of him,”

“It is, Have you ever been so far north my lord Velaryon?”

“No, I have not ever been this far north my lady, but I have heard the tales, of the endless snow storms, the fierce winds, and the people being made of steel and ice. I am curious to see it with my own eyes in my time here,”

“I think it is true what they say,” She chuckled, “That northern men are built of ice and snow with a centre of steel. Often when Southern men come they tend to shiver,” she explained,

“Then when northmen come south do they melt?” He joked,

She laughed, “I do hope you enjoy your stay with us in Winterfell my lord Velaryon, I rather love it here, the cold stone, the harsh winds, the gentle snow. It sort of chills me in a way that… makes me feel alive,” She explained her eyes on the grey clouds that fluttered the snow upon them, “Forgive me-”

“No need my lady, I understand. The cold makes you feel at home,”

“Very much so,” she nodded,

“I admit it is not familiar to me,”

“I imagine not, I know Kings Landing is a place of sunshine, and I know Dragonstone has its deep volcanic warmth,” She explained as they headed inside the dark grey halls,

He nodded, “I barely recall days the sun didn’t shine in Kings Landing, but I was a child then.” he said, “But Dragonstone, the heat feels like home. The dark stone and volcanic tunnels warm the castle even if the sea winds can send chills across the narrow sea, and storms are abundant on Dragonstone sometimes they last for days.”

“I see,” she nodded, “You must learn to like the rain?”

“You have to learn to live in its mercy,” he nodded, “Have you ever been south my lady?”

“Once, My mother took me to Kings Landing once.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I found it… awfully warm, dirty, foul smelling, full of madness.” she said, “Forgive me, I should not speak of the capital as such. I know it is your birthplace, my lord, so… I suppose it must have some good if someone so sweet can call it their birthplace,”

“My lady, there is nothing to forgive. The city is as you described. I may have been born there, but Dragonstone has long felt like my home. And I admit those reasons are part of my distaste towards the capital.”

“I understand,” she nodded, “Here you are Lord Velaryon,” She opened up a door to a sweet chamber.

The chamber had grey walls and stone floors, a wooden bed to the side with many covers and furs, and a window to the other side with iron metal across the glass, the window looked out to the Winterfell god's words and the heart tree covered in snow, the window had a seat built into the stone to look out the window on, the floor had a fur rug by the bed, a large fireplace was central to the room with a pile of logs beside it, with a iron chandelier of candles above the room even if the place still seemed dark.

“This shall be your chamber while you visit us, I hope it is to your liking,”

“I must say, my lady, it is lovely.” He nodded, “It is nice to see the Starks have such pride in all rooms of their house and take such care of visitors,”

“Guests are seldom this far north, we must do our best to take care of them. I did make sure to fetch you some more furs and blankets myself, I imagine the cold will be striking to you these forest few days,”

“You are too kind Lady Y/n,” He nodded,

“I shall let you rest Lord Jacaerys,” she nodded back curtsying as low as before which one again took his attention to her chest, she went to the door but he felt compelled to speak,

“If- you do not mind lady Y/n, may I ask something of you?”

“Yes Lord Jacaerys?” she turned back to see him,

“... I uhh it is a bold question,”

She chuckled, “You’d be surprised how bold North men are. I’m sure your question shall not be too bold for me, ask away,”

“My lady, forgive me but… when you curtsy for me, in this dress you wear, tell me to my eyes deceive me?”

“Well, that depends on what you think your eyes have seen?”

“Your dress… it uhh it tends to reveal, much of you.” He explained, “Is this… deliberate?”

“Deliberate?” she chuckled,

“I can’t help but think perhaps you are being, deliberate. For my arrival?” he raised an eyebrow,

“Not exactly, one may call it a happy accident. I am merely used to spending time alone, and thus my gowns are made to accommodate my body and my preferences.” she explained, “Forgive me if I had offended you or upset you, I apologise I didn’t mean to,”

“I will admit my eyes were caught by such a beautiful sight, but I was not offended by it, my Lady Y/n. You are free to dress the way you wish this is your home, forgive me I meant no disrespect by calling your actions deliberate. I shall refrain from such thoughts and looks.”

“I'm glad you are not upset my lord. You need not refrain yourself I do not mind. Have a pleasant rest my lord Jacaerys,” She smiled before she left shutting the door as she went,

He can’t help but let her linger in his mind for longer than he should but he cleans himself up and takes to bed exhausted from his travels. 

Part Two

#jacaerys smut #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #house targaryen #housetargaryen #house velaryon #jace velaryon #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd x y/n #jacaerysxreader #house of the dragon #houseofthedragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon jacaerys

[bits-and-babs]

Congratulations on 6k Jas! That’s amazing and you deserve ALL the followers!!

🐺 - “The Other Woman” [for any OI Character 🥰]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍

pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ cheating, oral (f receiving), semi-exhibitionism(?), almost (?) getting caught.

leto masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist |

Sweat beads at your brow and soaks into the delicate lace of your ball gown dress, the skirts draped unceremoniously over the silvering curls atop the Duke’s head. He’d dragged you away from the dance, unable to stand being away from you much longer. You moan softly, pressing the crown of your skull against the sandstone-bricks that make up the Arakeen Palace you had occupied only weeks ago as Leto Atreides’ tactician. 

“Oh-” You gasp softly as said Duke’s tongue lathes greedily over your soaked cunt, swallowing you down and teasing your clit. His beard scrapes against the inside of your thighs as he tastes you, his palms squeezing at the flesh he managed to grasp beneath the layers of fabric you managed to hold over him with your shaking hands. 

“Quietly,” he murmurs softly, teasingly, and you ball your fists against the expensive Caladanian silks. You don’t mind if you ruin them, Arakis is far too hot to be wearing these ridiculous layers anyway. 

“Leto, please,” you beg him, far from the eloquent figure you cut at his table of battle scarred soldiers that claimed allegiance to his house. It sounds pathetic, the pleas that drip wantonly from your lips. Leto drinks them down, sucking on your clit and eliciting further dishonour from your desperate body. 

“I-” dropping your skirts, you grasp tightly at his hair, pulling on the strands and bracing against the tidal wave that threatens to swallow you up. It’s coming-

“Have you seen The Duke?” 

The sound of Lady Jessica’s voice drags you from the depths of your bliss, and you come up for air. You gasp loudly, hand pressed to your heart as you turn towards the sound of her. Leto, swallowed by your skirts, breathes shakily against your core. 

She stands at the head of the hallway, concern creasing her brow. She can’t find him, no doubt looking for Leto to squirrel him away to some important Arakeen nobleman. You shake your head stiffly, knowing how it must look. 

“If you see him, tell him I sent for him.”

“Yes,” you nod weakly, only squeezing your eyes shut in fear when she disappears around the corner, her nails digging into her palms. Guilt swallows you. 

Leto smooths his hands down your thighs in an attempt to ease you, pulling himself from your robes. 

“It’s alr-”

“She knows.”

#leto #leto atreides x reader #duke leto atreides x reader #duke leto atreides smut #duke leto #duke leto atreides x you #duke leto x you #duke leto x reader #leto ii #leto atreides x you #duke leto atreides #leto atreides smut #leto atreides #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac #dune fanfic #dune fanfiction #dune smut #dune movie #✩‧₊˚ 6k follower celebration ˚₊‧✩ #જ⁀�� mail: received

[tadpolesonalgae]

Rhysand x reader: Peacock Feathers[*]

A/N: yeah, I like this one.

Summary: he always has something fun planned for Date Night.

Warnings: heavy voyeurism, heavy exhibitionism, fingering, not wearing seatbelts, sexual tension, 5.2k words

‘The most flamboyant lingerie set you have. Wear it for me.’

You huff at your husband’s minimal description for the dress code of tonight’s date. You rummage through your draws, flinging open the armoire, even the wardrobe in the corner, riffling for something. What did he even mean by flamboyant? Did he want you to strut out into the night cloaked in nothing but some sheer lace and heels? You bite your lip at the idea. It would be just like you husband to arrange something like that.

Flamboyant…flamboyant…

Flamboyant!

You rush back to the armoire, digging through the neatly set clothes, fingers searching for the material until you find what you’re looking for. You hold it up, and nodded. Yes, it would do. It would do quite well, in fact. Now, to find a way to conceal it…

You know he’s taking you out…somewhere. And unless he’s planning on smuggling you in, wrapped in a body bag, then you will need to find a way to hide the finely made lingerie from prying eyes. You sigh at yet another task to fulfil. You’re honestly going to bite Rhys’ cock off if this fails your expectations—for all the trouble he’s putting you through.

Once again, you search through your wardrobe, gazing at the menagerie of gowns and dresses. An array of satin and silk, garish and gaudy, jewels glimmering in the warm lamp light, winking at you temptingly. But no, you would choose something simple, something that would enhance your underclothes. You think about what your husband is likely to adorn himself in. If he asked you for flamboyant…it could be anything. Still, bright pops of colour weren’t really his style, preferring the brush of dark sleeves and silver cuffs than splashes of sparkling yellows or velvety oranges. The most flamboyant you’ve seen him in is a dark red suit, in celebration of a dear brother—and even then it had been so dark the crimson only showed if the light hit from a particular angle.

Having ruled out most options, you figure your best chances are either white or black, if he’s going to dress in a suit. White or black. You scan the wardrobe for anything that would fit with the lingerie. The choice is easy.

————

“Ready, darling?”

You silently move yourself to the top of the curved staircase, taking the one closest to your dressing chambers. Your husband’s eyes sweep over you, glinting with feline satisfaction as he drinks you in. One step at a time, you descend toward him, moving with elegant precision. You keep his eyes the whole while, basking in the heat of his keen gaze, and you wonder if you’ll even make it out the front doors.

A subtle string of rose quartz beads decorate your throat, the white satin of your gown flowing in smooth cascades behind you. The dress slims to your waist, the mini corset accented with small iridescent sequins that decorate the floral jacquard fabric. The heels you’ve selected hold a thin stilt to balance on, platinum lace weaving around your ankles, ensconced with silver thread keeping tiny beads wrapped snuggly against the ties. A single ring adorns your right glove, resting with grounding weight on your thumb. The band is silver, set with a moonstone, tiny amethysts framing it against the creamy silk of your gloves. Beneath the smooth fabric on your left hand lies your wedding ring, a beautiful sapphire welded delicately into the metal.

He drinks in the dusty red of your lips, matte in their texture and slightly dulled to not pull away from the rest of you. Divine. Enchanting. Refined. Perfectly attuned to him, having not gone too over the top when he’d requested flamboyance. Keeping in mind that you were a pair and would be seen together.

“You look positively delicious,” Rhys purrs as you reach the bottom of the staircase, gliding over to him. You give him a sultry smile, one that has heat shooting straight between his legs. He’s brought back to the Soirée last month, when you’d been sat on your knees between his thighs, dark rouge lipstick blurred at the edges of your mouth, perfect replicas stamped on his cock from where you’d kissed up and down the length of him until he couldn’t take it any more. He remembers how you’d swiped at the smudged tint, glaring up at him teasingly, “why is it whenever you take me out somewhere I always end up with my makeup out of place?”

Then there had been the masquerade party the month before, where you’d been set on keeping those damned masks on, hiding the beauty of your face from him. You’d insisted the anonymity had been thrilling, given a dark edge to the experience. It was this in particular that had him thinking. Turning over different venues and activities until he’s found one he believed would be pleasingly satisfying to your slightly sinister tastes.

“I could say the same about you, husband.” He looks ravishing. Charmingly debonair in his black suit, complete with smooth bow tie and crisp white shirt. Not a crease to be found. A kerchief makes a soft triangle atop his breast pocket, complete with a peacock feather decorating the smooth lapel of his jacket. “I don’t suppose you plan on informing me of tonight’s venue?” You inquire, settling a palm over his heart as you lean against him.

His hand raises to your jaw, tilting your lips toward his. “And ruin the surprise at the last minute? I think not.” He presses his lips to your own, coming away vaguely rosey from the rouge staining your mouth. You pout, fingers circling over his chest, “you like watching me squirm, don’t you? How cruel you are, truly. I cannot fathom—” you press another kiss to his lips, “—why I ever married you.” He offers you a feline grin, “maybe you enjoy the tension. The edge.” His fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him.

You’re pleased when his eyes darken as he feels the pattern of something thin beneath the satin. “What did you choose?” His voice has dropped, roughening and you suppress a shiver at the timbre. You peer up at him innocently, “and spoil the surprise at the last second? I think not.” Your teasing spurs him on, fingers deftly catching on the low collar of your dress, moving to pull it from your skin so he can catch a glimpse of what lies beneath.

Rhys gets as far as bringing a wash of cool air down your front before you’re jabbing two fingers into his chest—down his sternum. “Ah, ah, ah, husband.” You push him back, preventing him from peering down your top. “Leave something for dessert,” you chastise, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. Pleasure sings beneath your skin at your husband’s antics.

Your fingers waltz upward, delicately hooking beneath his perfectly wrapped bow tie, pulling him downward toward your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite now, would we?”

“I assure you my appetite is depthless when it comes to you, wife.” His fingers latch onto your own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You flush with pleasure, “shameless flirt.”

“Promiscuous madam.”

You raise a single, neatly groomed brow, “a madam?” You echo, then press against his chest, allowing him to feel the soft plushness of your breasts. “And what’s a refined gentleman like you doing in the arms of a lady of the night, hm?”

He growls, grip tightening on you possessively. “She’s taken something from me. Something very precious. Plucked it straight from my chest, weaving her sinful fingers between the bones of my ribs.” His mouth brushes over your own, an erotic caress of his lips. “I fear the day she returns it, for the pain it will bring.”

Your eyes dip as they follow their quiet movement. “I took yours as payment for my own.” You whisper back, “I am merely human, and cannot survive without it.” His arm snakes around your lower back, forehead pressing to your own, sharing in the intimacy. “You took mine first, Rhys.” He releases a soft breath at his name on your lips. “It’s only fair.”

He laughs softly against your mouth, and you keen beneath the sound, pushing up onto your tiptoes, desperate for another taste—

“Shall we?”

He’s pulled back, leaving your chest cold, heat warming between your legs. Your husband holds out an arm, waiting for you to latch onto him, arrogantly expecting. You gift him a saccharine smile, already planning how to overthrow him for the evening, “lead the way.”

————

The lamplights reflect in the puddles as it drizzles. Already you can make out the faint wisps of fog rolling through the dark streets.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

You turn, propping your chin on your hand as you gaze at him before straightening, looking ahead. “I was thinking whether you’d enjoy the silk of my hands or the velvet of tongue.” You glance at him sidelong, pleased when he stiffens. You could swear you see his demeanour shift to match the darkness of the night. “Do you think it wise to begin this dance so early?” He drawls. You return your gaze to peering through the chauffeurs window, watching them cut through traffic. “That is true,” you contemplate, “it is usually your role to insist on foreplay.”

You turn in your seat, catching the dark glint in his violet eyes. You offer a coy smile, enjoying rilling him up before the event has even begun. He leans over, across the space between you, mouth lowering to brush the shell of your ear, “did you follow my orders for tonight?” You swallow as he pulls back to look at you, shifting to be beside you, the powerful lines of his body pressing to your own shape. “Are you so desperate to see me in my underthings?” A serpentine smile twists the edges of your rouge mouth, “I chose an appropriate set. I think it will appeal to your tastes.”

Again, his eyes dip to that teasing window of your chest, dress cut low enough to reveal mouth-watering skin, but not enough for him to catch a glimpse. No matter, he’ll find out soon enough.

Rhysand straightens, reaching to his pocket, “I forgot to give you this, for the night.” He retrieves a headband, accented with a single peacock feather at it’s crest, set with clear jewel you believe to be a diamond. “Put it on for me?” Your heart beat increases at the deftness of your husbands fingers, brushing strands of hair from your cheeks before setting the circlet atop your brow. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and you wonder if he meant to say it aloud.

His thumb brushes beneath your lashes as he stares into your eyes. You lean into the touch, indulging in the heat of his large palm over your jaw. He looks as though he’s considering kissing you, eyes dipping lower, a deep hunger roiling in their depths. “Go on,” you encourage, shifting your body to face his as your arms snake over his shoulders.

But the chauffeur pulls up a driveway, bringing the vehicle to a stand still.

Your husband pulls away with a grin, “enjoy.”

————

The red windmill.

An interesting name.

He’d guided you to the entrance, your silk encased hand gripping the satin hem of your dress to keep it from dragging on the floor. When the receptionist had asked for a name to place for the reservation, he’d given it over, and then the two of you had been escorted to a private suite. The server had shown you around, where things were, and then left you alone, together.

When the door clicks, you turn to Rhys. “Care to reveal your secrets now, sir?” His lips quirk as he settles in a large armchair, a deep red to match the atmosphere of the chamber, lit by warm lights and accented with blacks, reds and oranges. His legs spread as he gets comfortable, facing you. “Every garment you remove, I’ll let you in on a little more,” he purrs, readying himself for the show you’ll give him.

You roll your eyes, but pull the glove from your left hand, wedding band glinting in the light. He raises a brow at the small movement. “I didn’t take you for a coward,” he taunts, but you simply peer down at your nails, examining them. “Secret, please.” His mouth neutralises into an unreadable line, “we’re here for entertainment.” You roll your eyes again, “obviously.” He grins, silently ordering you to remove another item of clothing.

Teasingly, you remove the other glove, staring him down from across the room as you perch on the arm of the chair opposite him. You drop the silk onto the cushion, the pure white an erotic contrast to the dark colours shrouding the suite. “Both your voyeuristic and exhibitionistic tendencies will be satiated.” You blink, then narrow you eyes at the man. “Have you brought be to a sex club, Rhysand?” He chuckles at the use of his full name—you only use it when displeased with him. “Rhys, you haven’t,” you gasp, “what if someone sees?” Sometimes you really could strangle your husband.

But then he stands from his reclined position, prowling forward, hands wrapping firmly around your waist as his shadow swallows you. “Isn’t that the point?” He purrs, your spine arching against him. “Don’t you delight in their attention? Revel in it?” Heat flushes your cheeks at your husband’s accuracy. “I know how you like being perceived as an object of desire. Isn’t that why you didn’t bat a single, pretty eyelash when I made my request for the night?”

His hands glide up, tracing over your breasts until they cup your jaw, “I’ll ravish you in front of the whole world if it pleases you.”

“But a sex club!” You hiss, making him laugh. “Am I laughing, Rhys?” You snap, making him calm himself.

“I give you my word, it’s nothing as disreputable as a sex club,” he purrs, but the lilt in his voice suggests a loophole. “Why don’t you remove that dress of yours so you can get to the big reveal, hm?”

He steps away, allowing you to stand. To proceed with the show. You huff, turning your back to him as you begin slowly unslotting the tiny satin cushions from their holes. One at a time. Piece by piece.

Gradually, the smooth material begins its descent off the slope of your shoulders. His mouth dries as he finds the thin, platinum straps that loop atop your arms. The satin slowly gives way, showing off the latch of the brassiere you’ve donned. Pure, glittering white. He swallows as the gown lowers over your waist, caressing the intimate skin of your waist; hips.

The dress pools at the poised set of your heel adorned feet, the silver ensconced lace matching the delicious underthings you’ve selected. His breath catches as you glance at him over one shoulder, giving him a partially concealed view of your beautiful face. Your slim fingers waltz over the skin of your arm, trailing down as your eyes follow teasingly. The other hand is wrapped over your hip, playing with the thin band of your underwear: matching lace that clings to the plump curve of your rear.

“Turn around, darling. Let me see you.” His voice sounds rougher; more strained.

Ever so slowly, you step out of the waves of satin, turning to reveal yourself to him.

A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as he slips two fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, apparently in need of some cooler air. You smirk as you begin prowling closer, stopping only when you’re positioned between his muscled thighs.

Your husband enjoys himself as he drinks you down, eyes dragging so slowly over every fine detail, and you swear you can see the plans in his mind fading back to dust. He wets his lower lip, gaze darkening as he imagines where you’d enjoy being touched, whether you would prefer his fingers or his mouth over your perky nipples. Whether you’ll insist on keeping your lingerie intact, or whether you’ll be so desperate as he is by the night’s end that you won’t care about it being hastily removed. Strewn across the rouge carpet.

Sequins and pale glass beads are woven to the brocade fabric, indentations of peacock feathers shimmering in the light, iridescent thread glimmering. Tiny sets of diamond are dotted at the base of the brassiere, looping around your back and over your shoulders. Strings of pearls dangle from the base of the lingerie, hanging in crescent circles like ribs made of moonstone—reconnecting at the clasp. The underwear matches perfectly, accented with the same glittering platinums, silver embossed feathers curling over your hips.

“You’re divine,” he breathes, violet eyes reflecting your warm light. His hands reverently pull you closer, your own settling on the corded muscle of his shoulders as he places a kiss to your navel. “Divine,” he whispers, shakily. Your husband looks up at you, your fingers weaving through his blue-black hair, so soft to the touch. He keens at your touch, revelling in the press of the pads of your fingers, feather-light as you trace the sharp cleft of his cheek.

“What’s the big secret, husband?” You murmur, hooking one leg over his thigh as you slide into his lap. He moves for your mouth, lips parting, eyes sliding closed but you set a firm hand on his chest. “Now, now, Rhys. Behave.” He groans softly at the command, eyelids lazing open to look at you. Lust and hunger dance intimately, barely hidden in the now indigo hue of his irises. Your fingers settle either side of his chin, tilting his jaw toward you, his pupils dilated and burning.

“It’s your turn, Rhys,” you whisper alluringly, hips winding over his. He stifles another groan, “wicked, wicked woman.” A thrill of excitement brushes down your spine at his pained tone. His strong arms snake around your waist, clutching you to his body, hand settling between your shoulder blades, indulging in the drag of your breasts. He grips your ass, pulling you tight to his hips, feeling the prominent outline of something delicious between your thighs—against your stomach.

“Come on, now,” you chide, mouth dancing over his own, a sensual caress of breath. “Make good on your word, husband.” A strained sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest, eyes flicking up to yours. He swallows, and you trace the roll of his throat. Then both his hands drop to your ass, hauling you against him as he stands, your thighs wrapping snuggly around his hips. “Rhys…?” Your tones shifts to irritation and he chuckles.

Your husband moves fluidly through the suite room, opening a door the server hadn’t shown you. You try to turn but he presses your face to his shoulder, hiding the view from you. All you’re able to make out is the general volume of people, but it’s a bit far away, as if from a lower floor. Music rolls up to your ears, fiery, rhythmic, and you want to set your heels to the floor, if only to spin with your husband to the syncopated melody.

“Rhys? What is that?” Your husband sets you down on what feels like a balcony, his grip loosening, allowing you to peer about. “Look for yourself,” he smirks, stepping back a little. Your thighs tighten around him, tugging him back to your chest harshly as you take in your surroundings.

He’s seated you precariously on what is indeed a balcony, thick mahogany supporting you. Large, champagne coloured chandeliers hang from the ornate ceiling, light refracting through the glass diamonds, casting their golden glow throughout the hall. You’re on the highest floor, the room is cavernous compared to the booth he’d taken you to. Below, people chatter and make merry, dressed finely in anything from night robes to stunning silk dresses to flimsy underthings with a fan of feathers haloing their heads like crowns. A menagerie of fluidly colours: purples to yellow, stripes of pink and cream, splashes of oranges and greens, the glittering sparkle of sequins and jewels gleaming in the low light.

At the front of the hall lies what appears to be a small orchestra, and you zone in on the figure at the forefront of the music, just ahead of the elderly conductor. He’s playing what might be an accordion of some kind, the music frenetic, a frenzied tango of notes. “Is that a squeezebox?” You peer closer, still wrapped tightly around Rhys’ hips. He peers with you, “I believe that’s a copy of a French Flutina. Popular in the 19th century.”

You listen closer to the music, trying to place it. Your husband smiles as recognition sparkles in your eyes, “Libertango, Astor Piazzolla.” He nods, hand cupping your cheek, “indeed.” Your hold relaxes on him a little, allowing you more leeway to watch the crowd. His mouth drops to your throat, kissing a slow trail from your collar bones to your jaw. Your breathing deepens, then catches. His lips lift into a smile over your neck, “see anything interesting?” Then he receives a light smack to his shoulder, “Rhysand!” You scold, fuming, “it is a sex club!”

Sure enough, he can make out the groping hands on the floor below, the bent over bodies, the kneeling legs, the harsh snap of hips. All while the musicians play on. A symphony of pleasure singing through the room, a harmony of moans for accompaniment. “They prefer the term massage parlour. The clientele are free to engage with other participants in whatever way they wish. No one here is paid to do anything.”

Your raise a brow sceptically, “you’ve done your research, husband.”

“Only the best for my wife.” Your lower body tingles at the title. “I hope you know I refuse to step foot in that…pleasure hall. These heels are white. And very dear.”

He laughs against your skin, “why do you think I reserved a private room for us, my darling?”

You pout at the cunning man. “How obnoxiously sly of you,” you remark. “I’m always ten steps ahead of you, dear,” he murmurs over your lips, giving you a serpentine grin before twisting you round, so your back is pressed against his broad chest. “Rhys!” You squeak, hands flying for something to grip onto, feet weaving through the wooden beams withstanding the balcony railing.

“Enjoy yourself,” he drawls, opening his mouth over the unmarked skin of your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses to you. You moan softly. All those people, indulging beneath you, hardly an idea of what’s happening above them. “Relax,” he instructs, nipping at the pearled lobe of your ear. You whine. “You try relaxing with the potential of falling to your death,” you manage, even as his arm tightens around your stomach, letting you know you’re safe with him. “You know that, should you fall, I would plummet with you,” he whispers against your skin, drawing a bark of laughter from your throat, the rose quartz beads ringing at the sound. “I would have preferred reassurance you would not let me drop, Rhys,” you snap playfully.

“That too.”

You huff a laugh that turns into a hitch as his hand cups you through the finely woven lace. A moan slips from your lips as heat warms your skin, his fingers deftly rubbing over the apex of your thighs. “Rhys…” He kisses your jaw, “look below you. All those people revelling in one another, taking what they want until they’re drunk on pleasure.” Your breathing becomes shallow.

“Any one of them could look up—some already might’ve—see you spread out on the balcony, with my hand between your thighs.” You preen against him, melting into his warmth as his fingers dip lower, oscillating over your entrance. He pushes the damp silk to the side, scooping up your slick on his middle and forth finger before raising it to his lips, groaning at your taste. You release a sultry laugh at your husband’s actions, spreading your legs a little wider, “take more, if you want.”

Rhysand growls at the invitation, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at the people below. “How many people do you think are watching you right now, huh?” You. Not us. You. “How many people do you think have seen how you’re dressed—how you’re acting—and hoped to themselves you’ll be gracing their mouths later?” The heel of his palm presses to the top of your thighs, rubbing gently as his fingers circle you, before pushing in. “How many people down there, do you think, are pleasuring themselves to you?”

Your back arches against him, his clever fingers curling and dragging against your walls. You swallow, desperate to find your words, “I…I don’t know…” you manage, and his teeth nip at your throat, biting lightly. “Have a look, darling. Seek them out.” You moan, trying to follow his orders, but the light is fairly minimal, and the bodies are fading to an erotic dance of shadows. “Can’t do it?” He drawls, pressing his fingers deeper, up to his knuckles.

He laughs darkly beside your ear, “down near the front, a little away from the cellist.” You follow his directions, landing on a figure with their head raised, pleasuring themself. “Beside the third exit on the ground floor, wearing red.” Again you follow, finding a figure strewn over a table, gazing upward. “The floor below is, opposite.” You moan loudly, the sound getting wisped away in the music.

In the booth he’s talking about, a woman is bent over the railing, her petite breasts exposed to the air—to the audience below—while an older gentleman stands behind her, and you can see how her body is pushed forward with each snap of his hips. Her lips are parted, and were the room silent you’re sure she would be moaning as you are. Her eyes are hooded, but watching you, watching as your husband’s fingers push into you, how your back arches.

He does something wicked with his digits, and you gasp, head tipping backward onto his shoulder as he presses against your clit. “Rhys…” you moan out, feeling so high already, practically weightless, as if you could fly away. “Easy,” he orders, arms tightening around you as your hips buck. “Not tipping over that edge just yet.” The possibility has your heart rate increasing, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin, buzzing at your fingertips.

Your eyes return to the couple on the lower floor. “Do you think she’s an escort?” You manage, noting her scandalous clothing and exquisite gems adorning her throat and wrists. “Does it please you to fantasise about their outside lives, hm? Create a story for them, to get off to?” You moan at his words, nodding your head. “What do you think she’s thinking right now?” His fingers fuck into you harder, keeping their pace though the pressure increases over your clit. “I—…” you can’t manage anything: it’s so overwhelming.

“I think she’s wondering how you taste, what it would be like to have her fingers burying into you like this,” he punctuates his words with a flick of his wrist, digits dragging against that glorious spot inside you. “I bet she’s wishing you were coming on her tongue instead.”

You whimper, nails digging into the banister as you draw nearer and nearer. “Maybe she’s fantasising about you, what your story is. Perhaps she’s winding a filthy tale in her head of you being stolen away by a dark stranger, auctioned off to the highest bidder for your virginity.” You pant heavily, delighting in the wet squelching coming from between your thighs, proof of your arousal for your husband. At some point, dancers had appeared onstage, dressed in thinner and even skimpier clothing than you. Jewels, gems, and peacock feathers waltzing across the skene.

“Perhaps she’s creating a story of a failed marriage, love abandoned, so you’ve left to seek out some real pleasure, from someone who will treat this cunt right.” You whimper, so close to unravelling from his silver-tipped tongue. He’s always been quick on his feet when it comes to this, perfectly attuned to the darker parts of your mind, the more private thoughts you have. “Perhaps she’s telling herself you’re nothing but a dirty whore, trying to scrape together a penny or two by selling your pretty pussy.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as your high hits you, fully seizing your body as you tighten wildly around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand as he pulls you through the euphoria. “That’s it,” he encourages, “show everyone what a filthy whore you are.” Your cunt is still fluttering around his steadily moving fingers. The hot breath from his mouth brushes over your ear, fanning across your neck, “you’re no better than a prostitute, are you?” He whispers, circling your clit slowly, working you down.

You pant heavily as your heart beat begins to even out in the aftermath. You swallow as his fingers drag out of your slick heat, coated in glossiness that shines in the low light. “Open.” You hardly have time to follow the command before the pads of his middle and forth finger are sliding over your mouth, like an obscene lip gloss. He pushes them in, against your tongue so you can taste your own arousal. His hips buck against your ass.

“So good, aren’t you. My good, little wife.” You whine at the title, and he helps you down from the balcony—carefully. He spins you around, pulling you tight to his hips, pinning you to the railing. “Think you’re all warmed up for me now? Or do you need some time to cool off?” He taunts. You buck against him, “I can take you.”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm but his eyes flick to the stage, filled with dancing song girls. “Looks like some of the entertainment is starting,” he drawls, giving you a light pat on the ass before he’s guiding you to a chair. Your legs give out when he pushes you, collapsing into the soft cushions. “Why don’t we resume after this brief intermission, hm? I’ll fetch us some refreshments.”

When you look like you’re about to stand to follow after him, he sends you a look over his shoulder. Promising more. “All I want you wearing is those gloves when I return.” His eyes darken as they drag over your body, male satisfaction glinting in his sharp gaze as he notes the slick glossing your thighs. “After all, you were so keen on finding out whether I would like your silk or velvet more.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the reminder, excitement zipping beneath your skin. Your eyes dip to his hips, “do you think you’re appropriate?” You smirk, noting the obvious outline of his cock, your tongue wetting your lower lip. He mirrors your grin, “think I should send you out there in my stead?” He drawls, sparking arousal in the pit of your tummy. “Maybe a dark stranger will whisk me away, auction me off to the highest bidder.”

“Precisely why I will be getting refreshments,” he smirks. “I’ll knock thrice, slowly, when I return.”

“Maybe I should lock you out. Make you wait like you’re doing to me,” you drawl, watching lazily from your half reclined position. His laugh is a lovers caress between your legs, “if you have the heart to.”

“It’s your heart,” you remind him, smiling.

“Exactly.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Rhysand #Rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #Rhysand x reader smut #acotar #acotar au #Rhysand date night #date night #date night with the bat boys #Peacock Feathers[*]

[mllemarianne]

Indulging

Aemond Targaryen x F!Strong!Reader

Part 1: Deserving Part 2: Indulging Part 3: Striving

Summary: After your little adventure in the Stormlands, you are now betrothed to your prince. You have everything you have ever wanted. So why are you fleeing the Red Keep on the eve of your wedding…

Word count: 18.5k

Warnings: Angst, fluff and smut (6k words total!) Sexual tension, hurt/comfort. English is my second language.

N/A: Brace yourselves for the second half of this part lol Discover what happened during the 2 weeks between their adventures in the Stormlands and the wedding! One thing is for sure: they are feral all the way to the end. Unfortunately, Aemond can’t possibly let go of his demons in one night. Some Aemond POV too this time. Enjoy!

Masterlist | AO3

Aemond

Aemond slipped into your chambers after bribing the guards, like he did every night since you got back from your little adventure in the Stormlands. Only this time, all he wanted was a few words with you. And of course, you were not alone.

Unbeknownst to you, he entered your chambers and hid in the shadows. He watched as your maid brushed your long hair and exchanged some words with you. He noticed how tense you looked, fiddling with the hem of your nightgown’s sleeve. And he knew. He knew..

You were hurt, and he had to make it right again. Especially since it was the eve of your wedding. He refused to see everything fall apart after a fortnight only. Not when he spent his life longing for this.

It did not take long before you thanked your maid, confided you had a headache and wished not to be disturbed until the morning.

Aemond ducked behind a silk screen covered in paintings of flowers and birds. On it rested your impressive wedding gown. Blue silk trimmed with silver lace. He smiled when he saw the small dragon shaped clasps. His mother had the seamstresses working day and night for it to be done on such a short notice. He could not help but imagine you in it, holding his hands and swearing to the old gods and the new that you would be his until your last day.

Holding his breath, he watched the maid curtsy and leave your chambers. He was about to reveal himself when suddenly, he froze in place.

Your eyes were glued to the door and you listened carefully as your maid’s footsteps slowly faded in the distance. After a few seconds, you got up and stripped until your naked form was all he could see in the dim lighting. Seeing you undress was always a peak of his day… but then you reached for something that did not look like your nightgowns.

…What was it? Some kind of commoner's dress? It was a simple flowy white dress that hung from your shoulders with red beads. 

Still hidden, Aemond stood in silence as his worst nightmare manifested before his eye. A chill ran down his spine when you put on a hood and grabbed a pair of simple leather boots. The kind of boots you can easily run away in, he thought.

For an instant, you seemed hesitant. Looking at your vanity, you probably thought about how awful the last hours— fortnight, even— had been. A nightmare for you, he was sure.

He had warned you. The people at court were cruel and sometimes, he wished he could sweep in with Vaghar and burn them all until they were nothing more than ashes. And he would probably do it now. 

It was too much for you. You were hurt… And you were leaving.

Good things never came to him, so however heartbreaking it was to see you flee like a thief in the night… it did not come as a surprise to him. He was but a crippled second son with nothing to offer except his love, and you deserved so much more. Your former betrothed was certainly a better option, with his own castle, lands, armies… and looks…

His chest tightening, his heart breaking, he watched as you grabbed the necklace he gave you long ago. The necklace you wore everyday since. You almost put it on, but ultimately shoved it in your pocket along with some crumpled up paper and other whatnots.

Reader

You observed yourself one last time in your mirror, to gather some strength if anything… when you unexpectedly noticed him in the dark.

His impeccable silvery white hair picked up some of the light from the fire burning beside you. Hidden in a corner, Aemond stood tall, eye locked on you, arms crossed behind his back. He had a weary frown and his lips were pressed in a thin line. 

Oh gods.

Eyes widening, your spine straightened as you got caught and he slowly walked up to you. His hair bounced on his shoulders and his wonderful amber and sandalwood scent hit you at once when he stopped mere inches away from you. 

You looked up at him and you knew he tried to keep a straight face, but you could feel the hurt behind his eye.

“Aemond– ” you said quietly. “You are leaving?” he sharply queried.

Your eyes widened even more, panic seeping through. “Aemond, I–”

“No, let me speak.” he insisted bitterly.

You feared what he was about to say. You felt his ire. You felt his ache. He was cross with you.

He had been so silent lately and you always hated when he did that. Still, you did not think he would show up to your chambers this night of all nights. Seeing your betrothed on the eve of your wedding, bad luck and all. Superstitions, merely, but your prince was keen on tradition and you respected that.

Then again, you knew why he came to you anyway. The day, nay the last two weeks, had indeed been… eventful.

A fortnight before

Reader

When you went through the Mud Gate, you saw your father and almost thirty guards standing in a circle, planning the day’s search party for Aemond and you. The Prince and the daughter of the Hand had been missing for more than a day by now. You felt guilty when you imagined your father frantically looking for you everywhere as you did not come back the previous day.

Well… you almost felt guilty.

Even though your original plan was to confess your love and devotion to Aemond during your trip in the Stormlands, you had not planned to take shelter in a village inn during a frightful storm. You had not planned for Aemond to shut down, resulting in you gouging words out of him. You had not planned to share a ridiculously small bed and to spend the night wrapped in each other's arms. And you definitely had not planned for you to make passionate love that very morning after he surrendered his heart, body and soul to you.

“There they are, my lord”, one of the guards said. Suddenly aware of the crowd, you let go of your prince’s hand and went to your father. You saw relief in his eyes and he hugged you tight when you reached him. You tried to hide your bare arms under your cloak, but you were not quick enough to escape his sharp eye.

The Queen rushed to you as well. She kept pulling at Aemond’s hair to tame it, but nothing could be done. It was still wavy from the pouring rain and the flight back. To be fair, you were both a mess. Your clothes smelled of dragon and were coated in mud and dust. 

Aemond pushed the Queen’s hands away in a gentle manner and immediately asked for an audience with the King and your father. He did not waste a single second. As promised.

He took your hand again as you all climbed the stairs, heading to the council meeting chamber. However, when you went to enter the room, your father requested that you wait outside. 

Aemond turned to you and planted a chaste kiss on your knuckles…then cupped your face and swiftly kissed you on the lips. Your pulse went wild and pink bloomed on your cheeks. He smirked arrogantly, amused by your sudden shyness. Just like when you were children, he waited to see if you would kiss him back.

To say you were shocked by your prince’s doings was un understatement. Usually, he did that when people were not looking. Certainly not under the stare of the three most powerful people in all of the Seven Kingdoms. One of them being your own father.

You kissed him back quickly. He then disappeared into the room, still smirking. Indubitably flustered, you turned around, avoiding any and all eye contact, curtsied and left. You waited until the guard closed the door to run around the corner and reach a certain tapestry. Your father had you play cupbearer during some council meetings in the recent years, so you knew about the hidden vent.

A vent allowing you to hear and see everything.

“I do think it oddly coincidental that the day your daughter’s betrothal to Lord Tyrell’s son, Luthor, was announced, my own son and her went missing only for them to reappear a day later, wishing to join our two families in front of the Seven.” Queen Alicent told your father in one breath. She turned her head to address Aemond directly. “Is she with child?”

“Your grace—” began your father.

“Of course not, mother!” cut Aemond, annoyed.

“And the Hand gets to marry his daughter to a prince. How practical, Lord Strong– ”

“No, I get the honor of marrying her,” cut Aemond again. He stood in front of your father to speak to him directly. “For the longest time, even now still, she is the reason I get up in the morning. She is loyal and has always been there for me, even when my own family was not,” he confessed, avoiding the King’s gaze. “I wish I could apologize for acting so imperiously, but I will not take no for an answer.”

Queen Alicent gently pulled him aside while your father and the King discussed the matter of your current betrothed. “Are you certain? …Does she want this as well?” You felt bad yet grateful for the Queen’s concern. You were not blind. She cared for the King, yes, but she was invariably thrown at him at a young age without any saying in the matter.

“She loves me, mother. Despite my temper, despite the snickers following me everywhere, despite my face, she loves me.” You had not said the words to him yet, but he clearly knew of your true feelings. Although, your heart shattered a bit at the self-loathing coating his words.

“My sweet boy, stop saying “despite”. It is not all there is to you.” The Queen uttered in a reassuring tone, leaning in to comfort her son but he backed off.

“I have loved her all my life.” he insisted. You knew that now, but hearing it again had your heart skipping a beat. “I was always yours” he admitted to you the same morning. The Queen opened her arms again. He embraced her this time.

“I know. And of course she loves you. She defended you so fiercely when you…”

She did not finish her sentence, but you knew all too well what atrocious event she was referring to. When his nephews and nieces gang up on him after he called them Strong bastards, no one– not even the King–  stood up to defend him. Only his mother and you. Even if he had dragged your older brother into it, you had defended your prince.

When it came to it, the King gave his verdict… and he was pleased. The King was pleased. After all these years, he knew you as a sweet, thoughtful yet daring girl. “A real warrior, that one!” he proclaimed once, when he spied you knocking Aemond to the ground during hand-to-hand combat training in the yard. Furthermore, your father was an honorable man and the King did not have any doubt regarding his intentions.

King Viserys agreed to his son’s request and told your father they could surely work something out to “ease possible arising tensions”. Namely young Luthor Tyrell losing his bride a day after the announcement of his betrothal and a moon before his wedding.

The Queen declared the ceremony could be set in two moons time, at the Great Sept of Baelor. With his head held high and his face unreadable, Aemond only replied: “I wish to marry her in a fortnight.”

Your heart stopped again. Seeing him so eager almost made you tear up. The Queen begged him to be reasonable, reminding him that some lords and ladies would be traveling from afar, that they needed time to plan a tourney in your honor and feasts. You knew Aemond did not care about any of that. And he did not budge. “We will marry in a fortnight. It is enough time to gather her family and ours. That is all that matters.” Alicent was not entirely sure Aemond told her everything, but accepted her son’s demands nevertheless. You ran back to the main entrance when the meeting was over and your prince went straight to you. Bracing his hands on each side of your waist, he whispered “It’s done, my betrothed.”

You looked at him with love and he mirrored your bright smile. He kissed your cheek this time and let his lips linger, relishing in the softness of your skin and the smell of your hair.

“Your father wishes to speak to you, dear girl,” the Queen imparted. “Aemond, you need to come with us. Unfortunately, you have duties to the realm beyond flying around on Vaghar.” she added, looking at you with a faint but genuine smile.

Aemond exhaled against your cheek, then stared at you with a look full of longing. You knew the only thing he wished for this instant was to drag you to whichever of your chambers were the closest… but to both your displeasures, he followed Sir Cristen to the armory for some princely duties. 

“I have to speak to Lord Tyrell now. However much a gentleman Luthor is, he won’t be very pleased,” your father stated when you joined him in the council chamber.

“I’m deeply sorry, father. He seemed like a wonderful man.”

He smiled fondly but incredulously. “He was everything I ever wished for you. He was perfect, indeed… but something tells me you are not as deeply sorry as you say.”

You smiled slightly as an answer.

Hesitant, he peeked at the heavy doors still open and prone to indiscrete ears. Lowering his voice, he probed: “May I ask where you could possibly have been?” 

“We visited the Stormlands. The weather made it too dangerous to fly back. We stopped at an inn for the night.” you simply stated.

“So you took shelter.”

“Yes.”

“Alone with the prince.”

“Yes.”

“And all of a sudden, the prince wants to marry you in a fortnight.”

You did not quite know if it was a question, a statement or an accusation. Or maybe was it all three?

“… he does, yes.”

He looked at you intently, demanding more details.

“I can be very persuasive.” you evasively asserted.

Indeed, he thought. He knew you went out there and got what you wanted. It seemed he was constantly underestimating you. He sometimes forgot you were no longer five of age and chasing cats around the castle grounds at Harrenhal. Now, you could inarguably rule a kingdom with that much resilience and volition.

Your father's eyes wander at your dress again. You hid once more your bare arms under your mud-caked hood. Not only did Aemond shred the white shift you normally wore underneath, he threw it in the damn hearth. “Inadvertently”, he assured you. Too eager to see your bare bosom to notice or care, more like. It had beautiful little flower embroideries, you were furious.

Your father thought about his next words carefully. Lowering his voice to almost a whisper, he inquired: “...am I right in thinking you find yourself in need of moon tea?”

You chewed on your cheek as you had flashbacks of your early morning… of Aemond slowly losing his composure as you shamelessly ground your hips on him… of the whole of you shaking uncontrollably under his taut body… of the faintest of “I love you” he breathed in your ear as he spilled himself deep inside you…

With your spine ramrod straight, without a trace of shame or remorse, you said: “I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise.”

He nodded, walked to the door. Before he left altogether, he added: “I am no fool, I will have some delivered daily and discreetly to your chambers,” You repressed a chuckle, wondering if it was necessary when the wedding was merely days away.

The late afternoon sun shone bright when Aemond found you in the gardens with Halaena. You were eating lemon cakes, both outstretched on cushioned chairs in a veranda by a glorious pond brimming with water lilies. You were freshly bathed and wore the most revealing dress you owned. 

Aemond had also changed it seemed. His long hair was neat again. The Gods knew how tangled you left them that morning. 

“My betrothed.” you jested. Or were you? It had a nice ring to it.

“See, I like this formal title.” he answered with a simple smile that curled his lips, his eye falling swiftly to your plump breasts half spilling out of your dress before he turned to Heleana. “Sister, I’m afraid I need my betrothed on some urgent matter.”

You saw fire in his eye.

“Indeed,” you concurred, knowing exactly what sort of business desperately needed your tending. “Thank you for everything Helaena, it was a lovely afternoon, I’ll be sure to find the book in the library.”

“You are not fooling anyone, you know,” she remarked as Aemond grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the Red Keep. He held onto your fingers so tight you thought you might lose them.

“You seem tense, my prince. What could possibly cause such restlessness?” you asked, yelping as he groped your behind through the fabric of your dress as an answer.

Three minutes.

That is all it took. Not even ten steps in the Red Keep and Queen Alicent intercepted you both, seamstresses in tow. A rushed royal wedding meant twice as much preparation. You needed to get your dress sorted out as soon as possible. You needed jewels made. You needed to learn the traditional nuptial dance and to learn your vows.

Aemond’s blood seemed to be boiling in his veins as you were separated once more.

Aemond

Clearly, the Gods were punishing the both of you. Aemond had to get hold of himself. He could not possibly be losing it. He was a grown man, for gods’ sake. He even wondered how he managed to go on about his day before you were betrothed to him.

The answer was barely.

It was no surprise he selfishly spent so much time with you. You made him feel good a little bit everyday, which was an exploit considering how people were utter cunts everyday.

He spent his time looking at you, observing you when you were not looking. Apparently, not as subtly as he thought he was being, you told him. He sometimes allowed himself to touch you. While you were training or riding Vhagar with him. Sometimes it was too much, and he shamelessly found relief in the arms of one of his mother’s chambermaids. He was not proud of it. Especially since you confessed spying on him once.

Training with you was the highlight of his days. He liked how strong you were, no pun intended. He liked the smell of you in the morning, when your hair was damp with sweat as you spared with your swords. You were one of the few who could best him in hand-to-hand combat. And you were truly deadly with your daggers. Unquestionably better than half the knights you trained with. He loved that about you. Even if he was horrified by the dozens of scars he found on you as you laid in bed with him.

He particularly enjoyed walking in the gardens with you. Even when you were children, you ran away from your septa only to meet him in your secret spot on top of the hill. Hidden in the tall grass, you would read books or nap under a willow tree. Lately, you also went at night to look at the stars and drink wine.

The library was his favorite. Especially since you decided you had to read books only wearing a nightgown lately. Everytime, he made sure the fire was dying. It was his own little punishment for the torture you seemed to enjoy putting him under. You were cold, but he got to see your breasts peak through the sheer fabric.

Lately, he particularly indulged in the little adventures you liked to plan. You gave him the destination, and he supplied the dragon to get there. When you asked him to go to the Stormlands the day before, he did not hesitate. He knew something was wrong. You had not joined him in the library the night before. Your absence at the morning training session had not gone unnoticed either.

Flying back in the storm was already the pinnacle of unpleasantness, but when you broke the news of your betrothal to another, Aemond fell into a sort of trance. He knew this day would come, and for a moment, he found the courage to let you go. He would not even speak, afraid to ruin everything. He knew how his silence irritated you at times, but he had to… for he knew what a life with him would be like.

He never dreamed of burdening you with a life ensnared in torment and ridicule. It meant incessant mockery, rude encounters and even ruder stares from the people of the court. He did not want that for you. He loved you enough to keep silent, wallowing in his own despair at the very idea of losing your ever soothing presence. He sacrificed his own desires for what he thought was best. He did not deserve you.

But then…

He did not expect to spend the night in your arms in a dingy inn during a storm.“I want you,” you repeated again and again while you threw yourself at him. You climbed on top of him, looking like a goddess in your simple white shift… you said all these filthy things about thinking of him while touching yourself at night… you shared how you wanted to feel him, wishing for him to make you scream his name… “Claim me!” you commanded, grinding your bare cunt on his equally bare cock.

Aemond was a prince, a dragonrider, a scholar, a trained fighter… but he was also just a man.

So he obliged. He willingly let go of everything that held him back and took whatever you would give him. Not only did you give him your body, you also gave him your heart and all your devotion. He loved you so deeply, he had no choice but to give in to what he desired the most for as long as he could remember.

The way you looked at him that morning was forever engraved in his memory. The morning sun hit his sapphire and hundreds of blue specks of light danced on your smiling face.

No one had ever looked at him like that.

It was the moment he knew that… mayhaps he could find happiness in a world that had been so cruel to him for years. The mere prospect of spending his days and his nights with you as his lady wife almost erased the misery of the last seven years. Misery he desperately tried to keep hidden from you. You, who inexplicably loved him.

Although, things were not settled yet. He could only manage to have the wedding ceremony held in a fortnight. He had his reasons. Hells, some part of him would have married you today if he had the possibility.

Aemond shook his head. Again all his thoughts were of you as the thudding of his boots echoed in the stone hallways. It was an hour before you had to join both your family in the royal dining room, and he had plans for the remaining time.

He went straight to your chambers and got past your guards without any hesitation. At this point, he did not care in the least.

He needed you. He needed you now.

His eye patch went flying through the room unceremoniously. He was about to do the same with his sword when he noticed the royal jeweler still taking measurements of your fingers and your neck. Aemond’s jaw clenched as he locked eye with you through your looking glass.

Intrigued by the giant sapphire Aemond wore, the jeweler stared at it. A little too long to Aemond’s taste in fact. He immediately went scrambling for his eye patch and held his sword right in front of him, as if it would somehow hide the clear swollen bulge in his trousers. From the look on your face, you appeared as out of sorts as he was.

He rarely spent his days without you, and while he could bear it before, now that you were his, it was torture.

Especially since he felt your touch. He savored your taste. He enjoyed your warmth and revelled in your scent. And he wanted it all again now.

He wanted your perfect breasts in his mouth and to tease you with his tongue until you arched into him. He wanted you soaking his sheets as he buried himself over and over again in your sweet cunt. He wanted you mewling in his ear while he held onto you so tight you could only shake and cry out as he brought you over the edge. He wanted to stay inside you after you were finished, relishing in your lovely heat, some part of him wishing for your belly to swell already, only to stun you with a thrust when he felt you drifting off.

Aemond wanted to worship you… but it seemed you could not be alone. For. One. Damn. Second. 

He elected to sit on your dark blue velvet settee, picked a book from your personnel collection and tried to calm himself down.

Reader

Of course, by the time the jeweler had finished his business, you were expected downstairs for your first meal with the royal family.

You were finally alone, regardless of how improper it was for Aemond to be found in your chambers unchaperoned. He stared at you with raised eyebrows, utterly unimpressed as you laughed uncontrollably, wildly entertained by his state of distress. Oh how you liked to see his walls crumbling around him everytime he was in your presence now.

“I wish I shared your amusement.” he scoffed. 

You would bet your life Aemond was on the brink of madness this very moment. You craved him too, but being late was out of the question.

“If I’d known it only took one night with me to completely unravel you, I would have acted sooner,” you bantered, raising a hand to tame a few strands of his hair.

His hands found your waist, fisting the fabric. “Mayhaps I should remind you which one of us was begging, this morning,” he purred in your ear, pressing his body to yours.

You stole away a kiss, but hauled him outside of your chamber. You did not have the will or strength to stop him– or yourself– if you stayed alone a minute more. That hitch that only he could scratch. You felt it desperately too.

You held his arm while he escorted you up the tower. Lamentably, there were people everywhere again. Your guards followed you. Servants carried wood to make fires later in the evening. Drunk knights laughed while exchanging lewd stories of their youth.

You crossed paths with a gathering of lords and ladies of the court. They went quiet and split to let you through. Some peered at you with wonder. Two of them exchanged quiet words as you passed by. Aemond's grip tightened on your arm and he quickened his pace. Of course, by now the whole castle knew of your sudden betrothal to the prince and you became a topic of conversation.

As if the day had not been long enough already, the diner felt like it would never end. First, the King drank to your health and talked of young love and the union of house Targaryen and Strong. Then plates upon plates appeared on the table and the meal went on and on. Aemond’s face was void of any emotion. He seemed so serious, but then you knew why.

When it came to spending time in his family’s company, he seemed like another person. He sat straight, rarely smiled and spoke even less. You knew he loved them immensely, especially The Queen and his sister, but he undoubtebly did not have the warm relationship you had with your brother Harwin, for instance.

You could feel how uncomfortable he was. Your hand resting on his thigh certainly did not help calming him down, even if your touch was simply loving and supportive. You let go of him, but he grabbed your hand and put it right back where it was without even glancing, all while he exchanged a few words with Prince Aegon. He entwined his fingers and brushed the back of your hand with his thumb. You tried being subtle… but you had to look.

He had beautiful hands. You thought about them all day, in fact. You could not help yourself, you had to glance at them like he always sideyed your breasts. Heat pooled at your core and you felt even more tight in your skin.

Then Prince Aegon spoke louder, making sure you heard him as well. You were used to him being a drunkard prone to raunchy discussions, and tonight was no exception.

Throughout the years, he often invited you to join him in his chambers, his carriage, even a privy of all places once, but you never agreed. Aemond punched him once, when his brother dared ask in front of him, with wandering hands to top it all off. After that, you always hid a dagger in your sleeve, hoping you would never have to use it on a prince of the crown.

“Seriously, I’m proud of you, brother. It only took you 10 years to get her.”

“You drank too much, Aegon. You should retire,” simply retorted Aemond, sipping his wine.

“To be fair, it was I who did all the work, my prince,” you jested innocently. Your prince squeezed your hand and looked at you, but it was too late. You gave his brother enough ammunition.

“Really, you did all the work? Please tell me more, y/n. I do love a woman on top– ”

Aemond banged his cup on the table and stood up in a flash. Still holding your hand, he spoke before you could come up with an even vulgar answer. “Mother, Father, my lord Hand,” he bowed his head to them before he turned to you. “I’m retiring for the evening. May I escort you back to your chambers, lady Strong?”

You had not yet properly answered that he yanked on your arm and whisked you away.

You walked through the hallways at a steady pace. The day was finally over and nothing more was expected from you both. No duties to the crown, no jewelry fitting, nothing. And frankly, you were eager to get away from everyone. “Follow us and I’ll have your heads mounted on spikes.” Aemond snarled through clenched teeth at the guards who went after you. They turned around immediately and scattered. 

Aemond half-mumbled half-cursed something resembling “Can’t be alone for one minute in this damn castle” as you snorted in a very unladylike manner.

“Want me to put on my nightgown?” You asked, desperate to cheer him up.

“We are not going to the library.” he simply stated.

You spied a wine jug in his hand. He nicked it from the diner table. You soon realized he was not taking you to your chambers or his either. He walked you to the gardens.

He dragged you far, up the hill, through the tall grass and close to a tall yew tree. It was your favorite spot, for it was far enough that nobody ever bothered you there. It was where he first kissed you when you were still a young girl. 

“I want you now,” he urged, pushing you against a nearby mossy stone wall, tugging up the hem of your dress without a preamble. He shoved his face in your bosom and licked the valley between your breasts. Your hands went straight to his neck, weaving your fingers through his silky hair shining bright in the moonlight.

Even though you were better than Aemond at hiding your desperation, it did not change the fact that you were a wanton mess at that moment.

You were dripping wet, even feeling it down your trembling thighs. It was a miracle it did not show on your dress after hours of tensely sitting down during dinner, looking at his fingers and imagining all sorts of things.

One of his hands found its way up your thighs and brushed the apex of your sex, briefly playing with your clit before he pushed past your fold with two of his fingers. You gasped, head falling back against the wall.

“Hm… desperate too?” he murmured in your neck as his fingers went in and out of you with ease, finally taking care of that burdening itch. “I could slide right into you.” 

“Yes… please…” you begged, squirming over his expert hand, your forehead buried in his neck. You grabbed his wrist and forced him to press harder, setting your nerves aflame. You whined, hearing the lewd sound of your drenched cunt with every stroke of his long fingers. He ground his hard length against your left thigh with the same pace.

Without notice, he cursed and pulled back his hand. Before you could protest, he grabbed the collar of the blue silk shift you wore underneath your bodice and tore it to free your shoulders and arms.

“If you tear up another of my shifts again, I am feeding you to your dragon, are we clear?”

“I’m getting you dressed with clasps.” he grunted.

He left an apologetic peck on your lips, then went to lick and bite everywhere from behind your ear to your shoulders while you shamelessly pawed at his hard cock through his trousers. He groaned and started fumbling with his belt. You left open mouth kisses to his marred cheek, drunk on his amber and sandalwood scent. You were rewarded with a faint whimper.

He finally freed his manhood, his trousers falling at his feet, still tucked in his boots. Unbothered, he reached underneath your skirt again and bunched up the fabric to your waist. He hooked an arm under each of your thighs and hoisted you up.

Oh gods. He meant it. He wanted you now. And he wanted you against this wall.

Your legs dangled on each side of him and you wrapped them around his hips at once. You hooked a finger in the leather band of his eye patch and yanked it off, wishing to see all of him. He flinched, surprised, but kissed you immediately after.

He nudged you at your entrance, coating his cock in your wetness, brushing your clit every time. “Hold onto my shoulders,” he mumbled in your mouth. You nodded and bit his lower lip in return.

All the tension since you got back to the Red Keep that morning, as you were deliberately kept apart, led to that very moment. You braced yourself and buried your face in his neck, for you knew this would be vigorous, feverish and unrestrained. And you did not want it any other way. You wanted to feel him.

He lined himself up and pushed into you, driving right to the hilt. Still gasping from the full impact of him, you could not breathe as he rocked his hips into yours at once. He covered your mouth with his, stealing away any and all sounds that fell from your lips.

He tore whimpers from you with every thrust. You already felt pleasure building deep in your belly. Your hands roamed his shoulders and neck, desperately trying to feel him through his damn collared leather clad tunic.

He grunted and groaned while you made high pitched sounds, stars flashing behind your eyes. He slammed into you at a torturous pace, so deep his pelvis brushed against your most sensitive part.

“Don’t stop,” you wailed in his ear and he hiked you up higher against the wall. His fingers dug into your plump flesh and you knew you would be bruised in the morning. This new angle had your body spasming and clenching around him. He suddenly hit that spot within you. Every. Single. Time.

Trapped between the wall and his body, you had no choice but to take it. And you loved every second of that feeling.

He pressed even closer to you, desperate to fit all of him in you, his aching balls slapping your cunt every time. He moaned your name loudly and sloppily kissed the side of your open mouth.

His rhythm started to falter. He was close too. You let out a strangled noise and his face fell down into your cleavage.

“More…” you pleaded. “I need more…”

One of his hands let go of your thighs and snaked between your two bodies. You felt his calloused fingers squirm their way to your cunt and you whimpered when he started circling your clit slowly, a stark contrast with the steady pace of his hips.

Your eyes rolled back and with a few more hard thrust, he pushed you over the edge. You jolted in his arms, arching your back as your vision blacked out. Hands clawing at his shoulders and pulling at his hair, you cried out his name as your orgasm ripped through you, waves after waves of pleasure crashing onto you again and again as he kept pumping.

You squeezed him so tight he followed you short after, plunging as deep as he could, groaning your name loudly against your bosom and filling you up with his hot seed. You cried out again as he pulsed inside you, his hips still snapping at yours erratically while he shuddered from his high.

He finally cooled down, completely out of breath. You were shivering hard, head back against the wall, eyes closed, overpowered by this intense moment you just shared. 

He gently pulled out, leaving you with a strange feeling of emptiness, his seed trickling down your inner thigh. When he let go of your legs, you nearly collapsed. They so much as buckled under your weight. He untangled himself from his trousers and boots and laid down half naked in the tall grass with you.

You stayed there a long time, savoring this quiet interlude away from the rest of the world, sipping wine while basking in the moonlight. The warm summer air blew the wispy hair around your face. You listened to the waves crashing on the rocks by the coast. The trees made their own music with each gust of wind. Faint clather came from the Red Keep in the distance…. It was a beautiful cloudless night, and you gazed at the stars.

True to himself, Aemond kept quiet. Except this time, you did not need any words to know how he felt. He was half sprawled on top of you, his head resting on your bosom, bobbing up and down as you catched your breath still.

He turned to you. “Was I too rough?”

“Did you hear me complain?” you asked back.

He hummed and laid his head down again on your breast. It was different from your first time, but in the most exhilarating way.

You slowly brushed his long hair cascading on his back while he traced figures on your arm and chest, leaving patterns in the pearling sweat. He loved doing that, it seemed. Every time, goosebumps rose everywhere. 

“I thought of taking you in this garden so often,” he confessed before he took another sip of wine from the jug and handed it to you. “But I never imagined it this way.”

“What did you imagine? Midnight swim in the pond?”

He grinned. “The lords love to piss in that pond when they are drunk, so no.” 

He turned his head and looked at you, his gaze positively burning. You felt something awaking in your belly again. You nodded at his silent request and let him guide you through his vision. 

He rose, took off the last piece of clothing he still wore— his leathered tunic— and laid it down on the tall grass. He made you sit so he could take off your skirt. When you reached for the laces, he grabbed your hand and shook his head.

He wanted to do it himself. You obliged.

You squirmed out of your skirt but did not attempt to do anything else. He unbuttoned your bodice, discarded what remained of your blue silk shift and he folded it all into a makeshift cushion. He gently pushed your bare back down on his still warm tunic, your folded dress under your backside, propping you up a little. Your breasts pebbled as the chill air from the coast blew. He slowly climbed on top of you, kissing you, caressing every inch of your skin, his hard cock pressing at your core again. 

When he took you against the wall, it was needy. It was rough. It was an itch that desperately needed to be scratched. And it felt so good, you knew you would never forget it. But what Aemond truly wanted was to make love to you in this garden. 

No frivolities. Just you. Just him. No titles, no pressure and nobody else around.

Propped up on one elbow beside your face, his hand went to hold the nape of your neck while the other brushed your still sensitive clit, awaking all your senses and having you sighing already. He kept going, but you wished for more.

“Please, I just want to feel you,” you pleaded, and he did not fret. Holding onto one of your thighs, he went in slowly. He looked upon your face to see it change with every inch while he easily slid himself in you, still wet from both your releases. You liked the stretch. You liked when he reached deep and took your breath away.

He paused to let you adjust and you smiled at him, eyes half closed. He kissed you slowly too, his tongue caressing yours. You melted in his embrace, his breath stuttering against your neck. He kissed your shoulder while you were momentarily lost in all the sensations.

Aemond had his issues. He had his temper, but when he let his soft side come out just for you, you could not help but get emotional.

His lips brushed yours before his head rested in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning your skin, biting and licking your shoulder. You bent your knees on either side of him for better traction and you rocked your hips against his so he knew he could move.

He grabbed your hip to refrain you from moving. Then his hands reached for yours and he laced your fingers, bringing them beside your head. You felt his heart beating fast against your own skin. 

Then he moved. Slowly.

You enjoyed jesting and teasing him, to talk big like you were in absolute control all the time, but for once, you were the silent one. You felt so vulnerable. You half-panted half-sobed in his arms, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as he slid in and out of you without hurry. So calmly. So softly.

It was measured and unhurried. Completely overpowering. Every thrust was long and perfect, continually stroking that spot within you. His hair fell all over you and you inhaled his intoxicating amber and sandalwood scent.

He pulled you apart completely. You felt yourself break, overwhelmed by your feelings and every nerve in your body set ablaze by this agonizingly gentle rhythm.

He was yours. Aemond was yours, as much as you were his. After years of longing, you got to have him. 

Feeling your shaky breath, Aemond cursed and let go of your hands. He held you even closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, making sure you were alright.

“I love you”, you only whispered back, your fingers brushing his scarred cheek.

He groaned and picked up the pace, grasping at your thighs, your waist. You left kisses in his neck, hands splayed on his shoulder and lower back, feeling his muscles flex. Whining loudly, you neared your peak and you knew this one would shatter you in a million pieces.

With the night sky above, you were already looking at the stars… yet he made you see more. So many more. 

The following days

Reader

The Queen tried to chaperone you but it was a losing battle. You manage to escape her and her guards' notice every time. Highly annoyed, Aemond even tried to reason with her, saying you spent every day of the last 10 years together without any need for a chaperone.

“You are betrothed now, it would not be proper.” she explained. You laughed uncontrollably, while Aemond looked impossibly bewildered. You recalled him saying these exact words multiple times to you… before he essentially ravished you somewhere in the Stormlands. Oh how he seemed more laxed with the notion of propriety. What a terrible influence, you were.

Lately, you were constantly swarmed with people asking what flowers you wanted for the wedding ceremony, what kind of meal you desired for the feast or which fabric you preferred for your dress. You only cared that your dress was blue with elements recalling the Targaryen dynasty and your Riverland heritage. “With clasps”, you insisted, since Aemond took the sordid habit of tearing up your clothes.

Your family confirmed that they would get to King's Landing in time for the feast and tourney held the day before the ceremony. You could not wait to see your older brother Harwin.

As you served as cupbearer during a council meeting one afternoon, you also learned that there was no news of your former betrothed. For all you knew, Luthor Tyrell did not know yet that his bride had been claimed by the second son of King Viserys.

And claimed you, he did.

Something magical happened in the gardens that night. Your first time was driven by undeniable lust. When he took you against the wall, it was a desperate need. But in the tall grass under the stars? It was pure love. Unconditional, indisputable and passionate love.

Nothing held you back. No guard to spy on you. No one to whisk you away from him. When your passion reached its limit, you screamed his name knowing absolutely no one would hear you but him. You had never felt so free and so loved.

Truth be told, you could not bear to spend time away from each other. You still trained in the morning. Although, you sometimes hid in the armory to indulge in a heated moment after, mostly involving you “yielding” and putting your smart mouth to good use. At midday, you shared a meal outside in the gardens. Which often resulted in Aemond feasting on… something else entirely. In the evening, you still took joy in reading in the library. Except showing up in your best nightgown became mandatory now. The room was always awfully cold… and so was the desk when Aemond would bend you over it and sink into you until pleasure won you over. He sure knew how to warm you up nicely and efficiently. Nobody ever tended to the fire in the library. 

But mostly, when you asked to claim his nights, he took you very seriously. And Aemond Targaryen was a very dutiful man.

Every night, he bribed your guards, slipped in your chambers and climbed into your bed. Since your stay in the Stormlands, not a single night was spent without his strong arms holding you close and his scorching heat keeping you warm all through the night. Every morning, he left before the first light to be found “asleep” in his own chambers. 

The more intimacy you shared, the more things you noticed he loved doing for you… or to you.

He loved burying his head in the crook of your neck to smell your heated skin…  He loved the sounds you made when you fell apart on his tongue… He loved how you trashed and clawed at him when he did not slow down after you climaxed and overstimulated all your senses until you came a few more times, leaving you an utter breathless, babbling and squirming mess… 

But more than anything, he loved caressing every part of your body he could reach after you made love. When you had no energy left and laid down in damp bed sheets, his hands would roam freely on your skin, drawing idle figures and waking every nerve in your body. He did it so often you found yourself daydreaming about his beautiful hands brushing your arms.

However much you liked it, you soon found out something was amiss.

Aemond wanted to train in hand-to-hand combat again. Your septa told you many times over how “wildly inappropriate” it was, but you did not care as it often resulted in one of you sitting on the other’s lap. You sometimes felt the envious gaze of other knights standing around, but paid no mind. Aemond, on the other hand, minded with every fiber of his being. He was very protective of you, even more so since you were his.

Still, hand-to-hand combat was fun, but you loved sparring with swords and daggers too much. You insisted on it that morning in fact. You did not know why, but your prince was not quite himself. He went easy on you, whereas he showed you no mercy usually.

“Bit tired, my prince? Didn’t get enough sleep last night?” you quipped, trying to rile him up. You had, in fact, kept him quite busy.

You heard a few giggles coming from the knights nearby and Aemond scowled at them. He threw another limp jab at your left with his sword and you knew something was bothering him. There was always something when he kept silent like that. “Attack me, Aemond!”

He exhaled, spinning the handle of his sword in his hand. He seemed to regain his usual strength. His sword came down hard on yours. You dodged and danced, trying to get to his blindside, but he would turn around and stop your blow in a loud clang of steel.

You tried again and this time, you felt his sword slicing into your forearm, though your training gear. You winced at the hot white pain that shot through you, tears welling up in your eyes instantly.

His sword went flying to the ground. He was all over you, holding your arm and putting pressure on the wound, making you cry out at the instant jolt of pain. He ordered Sir Cristen to go fetch Maester Mellos immediately whilst he took you to the armory. Aemond got everybody out and made you sit on a large wooden table right before he settled on a bench in front of you. He did not say a single thing during the whole process. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you reassured him, your other hand coming to brush some of his hair away from his face. He unbuttoned your tunic before you could say anything else. He tore up the sleeve of the white shift you had underneath to both see the wound and somewhat preserve your modesty.

“Aemond! You owe me three shirts now!” You reproached him, annoyed yet amused, trying to calm him down but he looked absolutely panicked. “I swear I’m okay–”

“I'm so deeply sorry. Please forgive me,” he begged, using the remains of your sleeve to soak up the blood.

“It’s just a cut, it’s not even that ba–”

“No it’s not!” he insisted.

He would not look you in the eyes. He only ever looked at your forearm bleeding through the cloth.

“Why? What do you mean?” Were you missing something? You grabbed both his arms but he untangled himself immediately and put pressure on your wound again.

“Your arms,” he blurted out, mortified.

You observed the bloodied cloth. Well, it was indeed a deep cut. Not the worst you have ever had, but nothing that would kill you before sundown. “I mean, yes I’ll probably have to get it sewn but it’s not life threatening. It’s almost not bleeding anymore.”

He hummed low, as if it was somehow an answer.

“I have been training with the sword almost everyday for years with you, of course I’m bound to have some scars to show for it.”

Then you get it. The scars.

You had small scars everywhere. Scars he gave you. They are not very visible but if someone were to see you up close— naked, for instance— of course they would notice. It dawned on you that when he traced figures on your arms, he was focusing on every little scar under the pad of his fingers. You thought he simply liked seeing the goosebumps spreading on your skin.

“Do you resent me for it?” he asked seriously.

Everything snapped into place in your head. He feared you held a grudge against him, like the one he held still against Prince Lucerys. It occurred to you that he probably hated himself for it everytime he laid his eye upon them. 

“Have I ever given you that impression?” you asked, guiding his answer.

He stayed silent, but you now worried it was out of embarrassment.

“I hold you no grudges, I just don’t care, Aemond,” you comforted him, caressing his cheek. He hummed again but did not say anything else. You got down from the table and embraced him. His fingers traced a small line on your shoulder.

It must have been difficult for him to even comprehend how you could possibly not care. Not when all his life revolved around one scar on his face. He regained his voice after a while.

“I just hate that I gave them to you.”

“You act as if the line across your left ribs isn’t from one of my daggers. Do you resent me for it?”

“...No.” he admitted.

“Because you know I would never hurt you intentionally. Same for you with me.”

Maester Mellos indeed confirmed it was not a bad cut. Aemond insisted on sewing it himself anyway, always making sure the pain was bearable as you refused milk of the poppy for such a minor affliction. As with everything that Aemond did, he was very meticulous and precise. Nothing short of perfect. He had practice, after all.

Since Drifmark, Aemond refused to let anyone tend to his wounds but himself. You knew he resented Prince Lucerys for his eye, but the tension between families made him believe Lord Corly’s maester purposefully sewed the wound badly. The long jagged scar forever a bitter reminder of the cost of claiming the biggest dragon in the world.

Aemond insisted you rested for the rest of the day, which was ludicrous. You however agreed to go hide in the garden to read all day in the tall grass. He even stole candied plums from the kitchen for the occasion.

Five days before

Reader

Someone must have spied on you being improper because double the guards– the Queen’s guards–  suddenly followed you around. As you trained. As you walked in the garden. Even as you read in the library. 

It was not as much of a problem in the afternoon since it was the only time you spent apart and guards strangely left you alone. Aemond had his duties to the crown and his dragon to tend to. You still had lessons with your septa or you helped the realm by serving wine to a council made entirely out of rich men who appeared to care only for their own rich men’s needs. You thought they only came for the fine dornish wine you served, at one point. Still no news of your betrothed for a day, Luthor Tyrell, as well.

You spent time with Princess Helaena as well. More and more each day lately. She was in fact a very charming and helpful person. Aemond usually found you in her company when he fetched you later in the afternoons.

But the guards following you around were getting on his last nerve. That evening, in the library, they stood tall at the entrance. They looked away from you since, again, you were dressed very inappropriately, only sporting your blue silk nightgown adorned with pearls and silver beads as well as the necklace Aemond gave you long ago.

“100 gold dragons for each of you if you leave my betrothed and I alone until the wedding and not tell my mother.” Aemond snapped. The guards exchanged a quick look, bowed and left.

“They were only here to make sure we act properly before the wedding. I’m positively baffled you dismissed them. It is most improper. I’m afraid I’m a terrible influence, my prince.”

“I just want to be alone with you, like we always have been in here. Is it too much to ask? And I have to read these, as a matter of fact.” he complained, pointing at various scrolls and books in front of him. 

While he went through an impressive pile of scrolls, you read a book Halaena recommended to you and scribbled away on your papers. You had indeed something important to read too… but you were distracted.

So distracted.

You spied his fingers thrumming in a steady beat on the desk. His perfect hands grazed his parchment, letting it fall on the desk while he grabbed a quill to strike down a note. The pad of his index finger then wandered on the words of an ancient book, gliding smoothly across the paper. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as you imagined these fingers on you. Or in you.

Lost in your fantasies, you jumped when one of his fingers unexpectedly pointed at you.

“Why are you always looking at my hands?” inquired Aemond, his eye narrowing, ever the suspicious mind.

“What could you possibly mean?” you say, shifting in your seat, putting your quill down and opening a book on the fauna of Westeros’s southern lands. His eyes bored intensely into yours, a smirk on his lips.

…and your attention strayed again.

He stroked the binding of his book with the back of his hand. Then he traced idle figures on the cover. He pinched a corner and small veins popped out as his fingers flexed. 

“You say I not so subtly ogle at your bosom, but you staring at my hands this very moment is on the verge of being outrageous, my lady.”

“I won’t apologize,” you answered, standing up and closing your book. He stood too. What a proper gentleman, so well mannered. You walked around the desk and stopped before him. “You have beautiful hands.”

He watched studiously as you grabbed his right hand. You held it gently, caressing the back with your thumb. He mirrored you and you watched his veins and nerves come into sight as he flexed his thumb, caressing your palm in return.

“I think you lust after my hands,” he murmured.

You brought it to your lips and started kissing every knuckles… while your other hand grabbed the belt of your nightgown. “Mayhaps I do…”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked down as you fumbled with your garment, then glanced around nervously, making sure there were no other witnesses.

Under his burning gaze, you slowly parted the silky fabric and revealed your naked form to him. You stopped kissing his fingers and brought them to your breasts. He squeezed the plump flesh instinctively. You sighed quietly.

Then you guided his hand down your torso. He exhaled loudly.

Next, you tugged his hand down to your belly. He felt goosebumps rising on your skin.

At last, you brought his fingers to your wet folds and he immediately pushed you backward until you were pinned against a bookshelf. You gasped as your back crashed against the old books and dust fell on you.

He captured your lips before you could make more noise. You gripped his broad shoulders while he pressed his whole body to yours. His fingers already going in and out of you, his thumb gently circled your twitching bud while you mewled in his ear.

He grabbed the hair at the nape of your neck and tugged it back to have better access. He kissed and licked your skin like a starved man while your hips rocked on their own. You ground into his hand, seeking more friction. He pushed down the heel of it and upped the speed, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing through the room.

His fingers were merciless as he took you higher and higher, savoring the sight of your face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Were you imagining my hands when you touched yourself at night?” he breathed arrogantly in your ear.

“Every time,” you panted. 

“Good,” he said. Then his eye darkened as he whispered in your open mouth: “I won’t stop until your legs shake.”

Oh gods.

He grabbed your neck and squeezed it gently to keep you in place. He felt your walls throbbing around his fingers, your slick soaking his hand and your thighs. You were close and Aemond held your gaze until your eyes rolled back in your head. Your muscles wound tighter and tighter until you cried out as your climax hit you like wildfire, burning through your veins and ravaging your every limbs.

You curled your fingers tight into his tunic and groaned helplessly against his chest. Your thighs clenched on his hand as though you were trapping it against your cunt. 

He fucked you through your orgasm with his fine fingers as you whole body convulsed uncontrollably. Face flushing, back arching, you braced yourself on his shoulder as you slowly came down from your high.

But he did not falter.

He kept going, ruthlessly pleasuring you and bringing you right back to the edge, your feverish moans music to his ears.

Keening in his tight embrace, you bit your bottom lip to stop you from wailing even louder when another climax hit you like a lightning strike. You were overwhelmed, kept mindless with ecstasy from his fingers still plunging into your cunt.

Aemond loved to see you come, whether it was on his hand, his tongue or his cock. Seeing you enjoy his body and praising his every move was what kept him going everytime. And he knew you could take it.

Amidst the euphoria, his lips crashed onto yours and coaxed fiery kisses from you. You writhed against his strong body, shuddering painfully and almost trying to twist yourself away as he drew yet another release out of you.

Barely breathing, practically weeping, the overstimulation left you a twitching mess when he finally slowed down his assault on your cunt.

When the pleasure finally faded, you collapsed on him, your body ridiculously limp. You felt him gently pulling his fingers out of your soaked core, and could not help the high-pitched sound that got drawn out of your mouth. He held you up in his arms while your whole body quivered still, kissing you everywhere on your face.

“How d’you like my hands just now, hm?” he asked pretentiously.

Unable to form complete sentences yet, you grabbed his prodigious hand and brought it to your lips as an answer. Astonished, he watched you lick his fingers clean before you kissed him so he could taste you on your lips.

“Your turn,” you hushed.

You grabbed his belt. You needed him in your mouth. You needed him now. You wanted to swallow all of him until his long shaft hit the back of your throat and—

« Prince Aemond?” a shaky voice resounded at the entrance of the library. You both froze into place, Aemond’s hands braced on the bookshelf while you were on your knees, fingers wrapped around his hard—

“I– I am here on your mother the Q—Queen’s behalf. You are needed in the c– council chamber.”

Clearly hearing you both panting, the poor valet waited in front of the door, eyes glued on the ceiling. You were mortified.

Aemond snarled when you let go of him. You stood up while he adjusted himself in his trousers as best as he could. He kissed your forehead before he left. You all but covered yourself and ran to your chambers, wholly embarrassed.

At least, when he joined you later that night, you picked up where you left off.

You were solicited more and more everyday regarding the upcoming wedding. Your dress was almost finished, decorations and tables were laid in the great hall, wedding gifts came in from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet something casted a shadow on the merriment.

You knew the lords, ladies, knights and servants of the court always addressed Aemond with the respect a prince is entitled to… but the snickers and the whispers always followed him everywhere. And now they followed you as well.

You were a curiosity. It was strange, considering they saw you together a thousand times before, since you were children. Yet every time you two appeared in public, whether at a feast or in the hallways, you heard the chatter. You heard the jeers. Had they nothing better to do?

One evening, you stopped to greet Lady Beesbury, one of the few ladies you actually enjoyed the company of. You asked how married life treated her. She replied quickly, her gaze darting to Aemond constantly. She left before you could ask any more questions. Aemond pulled your arm and encouraged you to keep walking.

Not quickly enough, for you had time to hear another lady whisper: “Why him? Do you think she’s with child? Poor girl.”

You were astounded. The allegations against your virtue did not bother you in the least, but that being betrothed to Aemond inspired pity? Absolutely preposterous. No one could ever make you feel bad about your betrothed. Furthermore, your dresses were so tight to begin with, where could you possibly be hiding a pregnant belly?

You diffused the tension by addressing Lady Beesbury’s behavior. “Does she think I’m too important for her now that we are betrothed?”

“She was afraid of me. She wanted to get away,” Aemond said quietly, his face unreadable. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologize for simply being you. She is a bad mannered cunt. How could people act like that around you?” you retorted, outraged at her behavior.

“I’m used to it.” he answered, and it hurt to hear.

“Well they can go fuck themselves on spikes at the front gate, for all I care.” you muttered under your breath. He hummed when you expected a chuckle. He usually enjoyed it when you swore like a bravosi sealord.

Aemond

You walked in the gardens, fleeing the people. Aemond did not fear many things in life, but this, this whole interaction, was exactly what scared him the most. You told him that you did not care about the court gossip, the looks, the fake conversations. But in all seriousness, how could you not care?

“Why him? Do you think she’s with child? Poor girl.” one of the ladies had uttered to another. Aemond hoped with all his heart you did not hear that. 

All these people made his life so miserable for years. How could you possibly want to share the burden? To be a target just as much as him? Aemond had agreed to let you in, to let go of his apprehensions and just give in to you. Yet a snarky voice in his head kept saying:

She could change her mind.

It was why he insisted on having the wedding ceremony a fortnight later. At least, it prevented too many people from attending the festivities. Less chances of having second thoughts.

Some part of him flinched at how dishonest it sounded. Like he was tricking you into marriage. But he never wished for something so ardently before in his life. Well, possibly as much as wished for a dragon.

It is not like he was ever worthy of you. A prince, sure he was, but merely a second son with no hope of ever reaching the throne. Or any throne, for that matter. Aegon would get the Hightower family seat with Daeron at his side. Helaena would go wherever the most advantageous marriage would provide her with a castle. Aemond would be left with being a war commander, mayhaps. Probably.

Moreover, he was a damn cripple.

At least, you assured him you did not mind the scars he gave you. The shock when he first saw them at the inn, dozens of small little cuts scattered out across your perfect silky skin. He loathed himself for days after that. And you miraculously held no grudges. How? It seemed so simple.

You both skipped the library and spent the night flying around the city on Vaghar instead. Away from the crowds, he let you ride in front of him this time, his hands roaming freely.

The peace was short however, for that was the moment everything turned into a mess.

A day before

Reader

Your wedding celebrations consisted of a series of events on a two day span. First, a tourney in your honor, then a feast to celebrate the winner. On the second day was the actual ceremony in the eyes of the Seven at the Great Sept of Baelor and a wedding feast. 

To everyone’s surprise, large banners flaunting the Tyrell sigil arrived in Kings Landing that morning. Luthor Tyrell and his entourage showed up for the festivities.

The first things he requested upon his arrival were water for his horse and a private audience with you.

Unluckily, you were already at the jousting grounds. Your family had arrived the day prior, and you wanted to spend time with them.

From Dragonstone came Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and all of Aemond’s nephews and nieces. But most importantly, with them came your brother Harwin.

As the eldest son and heir of House Strong, he represented your family in the tourney and you had to make him promise not to die hours before your wedding. In no way did you doubt his abilities, but he was your dear brother and you missed him terribly already. 

Aemond followed you around but kept relatively quiet. None of them felt comfortable enough to talk extensively if you were not the one driving the conversation. Harwin tried to be the bigger person and asked your prince about his sword masterful crafting. Aemond praised the castle’s blacksmith and complimented your brother’s armor. You had no expectations to begin with, but the small conversation filled you with hope. Aemond certainly tried hard for you.

It almost made you forget how much you hated tourneys. First, women were not allowed to enter. Since you were better than some of the men participating, you thought it was profoundly ridiculous. Secondly, men died in gruesome ways in these tourneys. But mostly, it lasted hours. 

This tourney, however, was held in your honor. For once, your betrothed was celebrated rather than feared. He proudly sat beside you in the royal dais, along both of your families. Everyone looked at you and you felt a little intimidated. You watched as every participant stood in line and bowed. First, there would be sword fighting. Harwin would compete in this portion.

Your father leaned between Aemond and you and said “The first lord on the left is Luthor Tyrell. He arrived unannounced earlier this morning.”

Aemond hummed and stared at him. Studied him. Dissected his every move.

Luthor Tyrell beat every lord that came his way. He was truly impressive, even if you noted some weaknesses. He did not guard his left side enough, he underestimated smaller opponents and took a couple blows in the ribs. Ultimately, your brother Harwin all but smashed his shield in half and pinned him down in the dirt. Bested, Luthor yielded and Harwin won. Aemond smirked at the sight and, to your surprise, applauded your brother. 

Then the joust followed.

You finally had a closer look at your former betrothed. He was indeed a handsome young man, a couple years older than you at least. He was tall. He had tousled light brown hair, pale blue eyes and perfect teeth. He looked exactly like you imagined. You knew why your father chose him in the first place. He was the perfect young lord and heir of the Reach.

And he was approaching you, tall on his white horse, holding a lance.

“Your graces,” he beamed, bowing to the royal family. “My lady Strong, let me introduce myself. Sir Luthor Tyrell. I now see that you are indeed the fair maiden my father described you to be. I come to ask for your favor. It would be a small kindness since our betrothal fell through, don’t you agree my lady?” 

The whole crowd seemed to go wild with chatter. Aemond, quietly seething by your side, was astonished by the man’s audacity. As much as you did not want to give it to him, withholding your favor is considered extremely rude. Ladies of the court are basically forced to give them to whoever dares ask.

You stood up, grabbed your small wreath of blue ribbons and let it fall down his lance. He thanked you and went to stand on the left side of the jousting grounds.

“Cunt.” Aemond uttered hoarsely. You tittered, grabbing his hand.

The crowd fervently cheered and cheered as Luthor won every round. He had perfect technique. To Aemond’s displeasure, he knocked the last knight to the ground, and won the tourney.

Luthor bowed as Aemond handed him a dragon shaped trophy made out of pure gold. When you congratulated him, he turned to you.

“It was indisputably your favors that got me through this tournament, my lady Strong. Faith knows best, as I often say.” he bowed and kissed your hand under Aemond's watchful eye.

You could not quite put your finger on it, but every time that man opened his mouth, something felt odd.

Soon enough, everybody gathered in the great hall for the feast. Aemond usually loathed these kinds of events but attended anyway, for his family’s sake and yours. He made small talk with lords and ladies but you knew he hated every second of it. Especially since the talk of the town was your former betrothed showing up and winning the tourney held in your honor. The very feast you attended now celebrated his victory.

You made it your mission to distract Aemond all night. Your hands would wander when you danced. You would whisper filthy promises involving your wedding night. You ate fruits in a suggestive manner when no one but him looked.

“Behave, y/n.” he murmured, sliding his hand to your inner thigh under the table. “Or I’ll make you.”

His “threats” usually did nothing to calm you down, though. All was well… that is, until Luthor Tyrell approached the royal table and went straight to you.

“Your graces,” he enthused, addressing the most important people in the Seven Kingdoms before his eyes fell on you again. “May I offer my congratulations on your imminent union. Our paths unfortunately crossed briefly in the grand scheme of things, but would you consider giving one dance to a poor jilted lord, my lady?”

You felt Aemond stiffen beside you. He stared at you, curious to see if you were considering it. Even if you were betrothed to a prince, you had to accept. Now was not the time to ruin political alliances over a dance. As much as he hated it, Aemond knew that. You squeezed his hand still gripping your inner thigh, asking him to let go of you. He did, reluctantly.

Unsurprisingly, Luthor Tyrell was a fine dancer. The man really was perfect. He smiled and greeted every lord who crossed your path and complimented you on everything, from your dress to the flowers in your hair. Then he asked about your family’s well being. Your lands, your court. He talked of how much of a catch you were.

You knew you had a substantial dowry, but you had no claim to anything else. Luthor went on, praising how Harrenhall was the only castle that matched his equally grand castle at Highgarden.

You started to feel unsure about where this conversation was going.

“Highgarden sounds wonderful, my lord.” you commented casually.

“It is. Certainly better than King’s Landing, if I may say so… The only thing it is missing is a lady, actually.”, he flirted, startling you. “Lady Strong, I hope you will forgive my boldness, but I cannot simply watch you wasting away your life chained to this court.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord?”

Shocked was the word.

“What does the prince have to offer you? I would give you the Reach, my lady. I’m an heir to my father’s title. I’m offering you a comfortable life in a better castle with extensive gardens, lands stretching to deep turquoise waters, armies to keep you safe from our enemies. I’m offering myself to you as well. I’m a skilled warrior, obviously, but also a dancer, a poet and a musician. Furthermore, I’m told I’m unmatched when it comes to… pleasuring a lady.” he bragged shamelessly, his hand pressing the small of your waist.

You felt sick to your stomach. “This is how you court ladies, Lord Tyrell? On the eve of their wedding, talking about the women you bedded before?”

“I’m sure the prince can be a charming person despite his… interesting appearance, but you shouldn’t throw your beauty and life away for a man like that. I have it all. Wealth, a castle, lands… eyes.”

And there it was. A beautiful face hiding the most disgusting man you had ever had the displeasure of encountering.

Pulling away, you declared: “I’m not quite well, my lord, please excuse me.” You could not bear to spend one second more in company of this horrible excuse of a man.

“The song is not finished my lady, it would be rude to leave.” he urged with a big smile but a menacing tone.

From the beginning, this man used bigoted social conventions to coax you into giving him your favor at the tourney, dancing with him at this ball and now holding you hostage until the musicians ended their song.

Well, fuck courtesy. To the seven hells with propriety. Abandoning him in front of the whole court seemed like the perfect thing to do.

You pulled away again, but he grabbed your arm and forced you to stay with him. 

Your reflexes from all your hand-to-hand combat lessons with Aemond kicked in and in one swift move, you were the one holding his arm at an odd angle. In your other hand, you held your dagger retrieved from your sleeve, pointing right at his left ribs. You had ample time to observe his weaknesses at the tourney, after all.

“You’ve come here under false pretenses, my lord. Leave for the Reach at first light and my father will never know the treasonous words you spoke here today or the real motive of your visit.” you threatened. He squirmed and you pushed your dagger a little more into his tunic, almost cutting through it. “That is all you will ever get from me. And from what I gather, you do not deserve this kindness.”

He stepped away from you and brushed his clothes with the back of his hand. He put on a smile. A smile you now knew was fake. Reeking of malignance, his last words were quiet so only you could hear them. “Enjoy being a cripple’s whore.”

And he left. 

So perfect, so charming, you thought. And you almost married that perfidious swine, for gods’ sake.

You went to stand close to Aemond on the outskirts of the hall, seeking his ever calm and collected nature. By some miracle, he did not witness this mess. You knew that if he had, Luthor Tyrell would be a fuming pile of ashes by now. He deserved it, to be fair.

No, Aemond was simply exchanging some words with his older brother, already drunk on ale and wine.

You hooked your arm in his and rested your cheek against his shoulder, his warmth comforting you. You observed the lord and ladies dance, letting the merry mood seeping into you again, determined not to let an insignificant man’s words ruin your night.

You tugged on Aemond’s arm so he would turn to you, and you played your little game one last time. Being sneaky was no longer necessary, you thought.

You reached for his neck, tilted your head and kissed him quickly, in the middle of the great hall.  Surprised, he looked around at all the people watching. You almost regretted it, remembering all too late how he hated being the center of attention… But he kissed you back regardless. He even lingered a bit longer before returning to his conversation with Prince Aegon.

It definitely cheered you up… for a time.

Shortly after this joyful moment, you overheard a conversation coming from the other side of the pillar beside you.

“Luthor Tyrell is so handsome. She turned him down for the one-eyed prince, can you believe it?” a lady blurted, and your eyes could not have rolled harder. 

“The prince has no prospect, at least 10 people have to die for him to be on the throne. What a twat she is.” another lady added as you choke on your wine.

Aemond got somewhat used to the same comments throughout the years. But never had you heard things so mean said about you in such a short time.

“He scares me, frankly. Imagine him hovering over you in bed. So up close. Ugh, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I could ask my maid.” a third lady confided. “I know the prince seeks her out for a good fuck from time to time.”

“She would have been better off with one of the crowned princes.”

“She can’t marry one of them. They are her nephews!”

“Shhh, quiet! People have lost their head for saying that.”

Again, people slandered your brother, questioned his honor and speculated about him being the true father of the crown princes.

You realized Aemond was not talking with Prince Aegon anymore and listened to the same horrible conversation as you. He yanked on your arm and hauled you into the hallway before you could unleash your wrath on them.

You went to a balcony and breathed in the fresh air coming from the coast. It was a cloudless night again and the stars shined bright. The silence felt good. 

You observed a bunch of lords walk drunkenly in the gardens only to stop in front of the pond to relieve themselves. These are the fine men presiding over this kingdom, you thought. Very distinguished, You thought. You promised yourself to never again fantasize about Aemond taking you amidst the beautiful water lilies. 

“She had a point.” Aemond conceded, recalling the frightful gossip you heard. 

“That was the most idiotic and insensitive conversation I’ve ever had the displeasure of eavesdropping.”

“Luthor Tyrell has everything. I have nothing to give you.” he uttered, sincerely.

“I have never heard so much nonsense. You have the biggest dragon in the fucking world, Aemond. Not that it matters anyway. You are enough. When have I asked for anything more?”

He opened his mouth but then pressed his lips in a thin line.

Now was not the time to be bereft of speech. “What is it?” you coaxed.

“This is what I meant… the mockery.”

“I can take it. I told you, I’m a strong lady.” you tried to jest, but it came out too abrasive.

“Your eyes are glassy.” Aemond stated.

“Yes, because the words were harsh, it caught me off guard!”

“It will never stop. I don’t want to see you tormented all the time.”

“I won’t have this conversation again.” you finished, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Aemond went mute once more, but you were used to it by now. Difficult conversation usually ended up in silence on his part, anyway. He always tiptoed around you, carefully choosing his words not to upset you. Admirable, yes, but insufferable sometimes. “My apologies, I didn't mean to sound harsh.” you spoke softly.

He hummed.

You went back to the ball and joined the royal family. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra spoke with the King and Prince Daemon. Their children were dancing and enjoying their night. 

Words from the ladies of the court about the crowned princes still floated around in your mind, though. It had for years, if you were honest with yourself. This is when you looked… Really looked…You watched… you observed… and finally…

…you believed it.

Aemond

The night was a disaster. After you went back to stand at the head of the royal table, Aemond noticed how quiet you were. And you were never quiet. Your eyes were locked on your brother. He drank wine and exchanged pleasantries with Jacaerys and Lucerys as young Joffrey looked bored. That is when you murmured to him: 

“You were right…”

“As I so often am,” Aemond jested, trying to lighten the mood. “But what are you talking about, my love?”

You inhaled deeply. “They look like my brother… They look like me.”

“Y/n— »

“They took your eye for that, and you were speaking the truth. I’m so sorry, Aemond.”

He held you in his arms and felt somewhat conflicted. Years had passed, but one thing had remained. You were adamant in defending your brother. He could not blame you, he would have done the same for any of his siblings, even Aegon. Yet seeing you acknowledging the truth he dared spoke about his nephews– and cost him an eye– did not give him the satisfaction he thought he would get out of it. You fully believed him now, but the revelation was disconcerting nonetheless. You obviously felt guilty.

You asked to retire to your chambers. Half of the royal family had already left, anyway.

It was the only night Aemond had to sleep without you by his side. It was bad luck, his mother claimed. He kissed you goodnight after he walked you to your door.

But as he walked to his own chambers, he promptly turned around and went right back to you. He knew that tonight of all nights, you needed comfort. He needed to make sure you were alright. He needed to know if you were okay after your revelation about your brother… He needed to be certain the gossip did not affect you that much… He needed to be sure that Luthor Tyrell was not a threat with his perfect smile and all that.

He could not chase away the thought of you not showing up the following day, leaving him completely humiliated at the altar in the Great Sept of Baelor. 

He knew you would never do this to him, but he thought about it nevertheless. The voice in his head repeated the vile words again. She could change her mind.

And here you were…

Aemond

You stood in front of him, wearing a hood and taking off like a thief in the night.

Aemond scrambled for his words, but you would listen to what he had to say, even if it resulted in you leaving him. “I knew it would be hard for you. I knew that people would be cruel and I warned you. But you convinced me that you didn’t care. You said that they could go fuck themselves on spikes at the front gate.”

You chuckled, but it only added to Aemond’s heartbreak.

“You promised me. You said that you wanted me. I told you I was yours. You promised.” he scowled.

He tried to say more but words would not come out. And he knew how you hated it when he kept silent but he feared he was about to say things he did not mean. Angry words cost him an eye once. 

“You are everything to me. You are the strength I need to go on about my day. You are the courage I aspire to with your bold words and actions. You are the wisdom I seek when people of the court get on my last nerve… And the ladies were right. ‘Tis true. I don’t have a castle of my own. I don’t have lands. I don’t have armies or even a court that loves me. My father is King yet I don’t believe he ever cared enough about me to give me any of that. I have nothing to offer you but my complete devotion, but it is not enough, is it?”

By the time he finished, silent tears were falling down your cheeks.

“…You really think I’m leaving, don’t you?” you bemoaned.

The world stopped. He was still angry but his eye narrowed at you. “...are you not?”

“Seven fucking hells, Aemond,” you swore, wiping the tears off of your cheeks.

Aemond never felt so confused. Your words somewhat reassured him, but he needed confirmation in plain words regardless. “Just answer me. Are you leaving?”

Reader

“No, I’m not leaving!” You huffed, and you saw his shoulders relax, relieved from whatever was going on inside his head. You could not believe it. He still doubted you.

One of his hands fiddled at the lapels of your hood, silently asking what it was for. Well, at least, he saved you the trip to his chambers.

“We are leaving, actually.”

The clarity Aemond got for half a second was smothered into confusion again. You handed him a hood, took his hand and lured him to a hidden door on the back wall of your chambers. 

He followed you in dark corridors littered with dirt and dead rat carcasses. You emerged behind a tapestry somewhere in the west wing. “Do you mean to tell me I’ve been bribing the guards for the last two weeks when there was a door leading straight to your bed?”

“I didn’t know. My brother told me about it only yesterday.” Your chambers were Princess Rhaenyra’s, before she left for Dragonstone. Of course your brother would know of this passage, but Aemond refrained from commenting on it and you appreciated that.

You lead him through the mudgate. “Want to leave on an adventure at this hour? Are we eloping, my lady?” he asked, following you diligently all the way to the beach, near Vaghar’s nest.

He saw dragon keepers guarding her and a small gathering of people beside a fire. Instinctively, Aemond reached for his sword but you grabbed his hand before he could draw it.

Slowly he recognized some faces. Healena was there. Your brother Harwin too. You were sure that at this moment, Aemond’s mind was racing as he imagined a hundred wild scenarios involving his dear sister being secretly in love with the man too. The last man, Aemond did not know.

“Your grace, my lady.” he rejoiced, bowing.

You let go of his hand and took off your hood. He watched you grab the necklace in one of the pockets and put it on. Tendrils of your hair blew everywhere with the sea wind, almost like the flames of the grand fire burning beside you.

You reached again in your pockets and grabbed a crumpled paper… and a small blade of dragonglass.

It dawned on Aemond that…you were never running away.

This was a Valyrian wedding.

You beamed at him. He was silent but not by fear. He was truly and utterly in shock.

“I wouldn't have changed my mind. Not ever.” You said. “We would have waited a fortnight, two moons or twelve, that I wouldn’t have changed my mind. I want you. And you are enough. Take off your hood.”

“If you would please take place, facing each other, we will begin.”

Aemond appeared weary. You, on the other hand, had the brightest smile he had ever seen. He watched as you glanced down at the piece of paper and tried your best. “Aemond… konīr issi daor isse iā Valyrīha dīn— dīnil— dīnilūks. Nyke sepār jeldan na— naejot urnēptre hen mirrī angotan.” you stammered. There are no vows in a Valyrian ceremony. I just wanted to show off a little bit.

His eye was the widest you had ever seen. He stared at you as if you were a goddess and you felt how much he loved you at this very moment.

“Avy jorrā— jorrāelan, se kesan sagon on— ondoso aōha paktot ēva aōha mōrī tubis”. I love you, and I will be by your side until your last day. “Well I hope that made sense, because it is all I could learn in a fortnight.”

Helaena clapped enthusiastically behind you. When you asked for her help, she spent every afternoon teaching you the basics before Aemond came to fetch you. She even gave you small assignments to do later in the library. For once, your septa approved of your doings. 

You kept your eyes on him. He was still silent, but you knew it was because he was overwhelmed. He kept blinking, his eye getting red with emotion.

He reached for his eye patch and took it off, baring himself in front of you and the others. That in itself, meant the world to you.

You took the dragonglass and brought it slowly to his lip. You waited for some kind of reaction. It was the part you feared the most. Aemond had enough blades cutting his face for a lifetime and beyond. He nodded and you made a small cut in the middle of his bottom lip. Still looking at you, he frowned when you put the blade in his hand and waited for him to do the same to you.

“It’s okay,” you mouthed quietly. He raised his hand and made the smallest cut he could possibly make on your lower lip. Even if you were okay with the scars everywhere on your body, he obviously did not wish to add more.

You both traced the Valyrian symbols on your forehead. Aemond only looked away when he cut the palm of his hand and let you do the same.

He could not believe you were doing this. Just for him. He felt foolish for ever believing you would leave.

Holding each other's bloody hand, the priest went on with his ancient text. You could not decipher a single word for your life, but you knew the gist of it. When the priest stopped and backed off from the makeshift altar made of random rocks on the beach, you jumped forward, grabbed Aemond by the neck, and brought your lips to his in a fiery, bloody kiss. He circled his arms around you immediately and you felt his hands fondling your back and waist.

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear. “Avy jorrāelan,” you answered back. “That was an easy one. It was about time I learned the language.”

After the secret ceremony, Aemond brought you to his chambers for the first time. He had already bribed the guards anyway. For once, you would be the one sneaking away to your chambers before sunrise. Or not, since you were legally lord husband and lady wife. In the old fate, anyway. 

As soon as you entered, you inhaled profoundly. The whole room smelled of him, of his wonderful amber and sandalwood scent. An oil for his hair, apparently. You spied the bottle beside his looking glass.

There was a simple luxury to his chambers. A fire already burned brightly in the hearth. Gold details, flowy red curtains flanking his windows, shelves and shelves of books and a large wooden canopy bed covered in pillows and blankets.

He stripped down from his hood, sword and knife but your attention drifted elsewhere. You noticed something familiar. You went to his bed to have a better look at the torn piece of white linen fabric dangling from his headboard. It had little flowers embroidered on it.

“Is that…?” “Yes. I kept it.” he confessed as you recognized the remains of your white shift. The one you thought he threw in the fire at the inn. “It smelled like you.” he explained, coming up to stand behind you.

He grabbed a strap from your dress and tugged it, the fabric making a small hesitating sound and you grabbed his hand immediately.

“Aemond Targaryen, if you rip my Valyrian wedding dress, I swear to the old gods and the new—” He chuckled, but then delicately slid the straps down your shoulders. The dress fell down to the floor and pooled at your feet. You wore nothing underneath.

Towering over you, he guided you to his bed but you raised a hand to stop him.

“Hm hm, no. Take off your clothes first.” you demanded. Surprised, he smirked but agreed to your demand.

You were bold and daring in your everyday life, but when it came to your intimacy, you usually let Aemond have it his way. You loved surrendering all control and let him ravish you thoroughly, but that was not your plan for the night.

He would have the wedding night. You, however, would have this night.

While he unclasped his dark leathered tunic, you threw the pillows and blankets in front of the fire. Aemond kept undressing as you made a cozy little bed on the floor. 

When you turned around, Aemond waited for you, stark naked, his manhood already hard, screaming to be taken care of by you. He approached you again, but you stopped him once more.

“No. This is my night.” you said. “Let me.”

You went to him, angled your head and captured his lips in one searing kiss. He hummed into your mouth while your hands freed his hair that was still tied at the back of his head.

“What? I can’t touch my wife?”

Now that formal title, he would use without jesting. You would insist on it.

His hands found your waist and you let him caress your shivering skin while you made him walk backwards to the makeshift mattress you built out of blankets.

He laid down slowly, looking up at you like you were a goddess. The fire crackled soundly in the stone fireplace, heating both your bodies. You straddled him, caressing his chest and relishing in the sight of him under you. His fingers thrummed on your thighs and you were distracted for a moment. He looked at you with a malicious smile. Damn him and his hands.

“No touching, husband. Not until you listen to me”

“Hm?”

He was aroused and confused, his cock keenly digging into your lower stomach. Unfortunately for him, you would make him wait a little more. 

You desperately wanted to lay down on him. You wanted to feel his whole body under yours. You wanted to kiss him passionately while you rocked your hips. But what you wanted the most tonight, was to worship him. Aemond thought you were leaving him. He thought you would change your mind. He thought he was not enough.

You would prove him wrong.

You dragged him to a Valyrian wedding, for gods’ sake. The ceremony was secretly planned since you got back from the Stormlands. Your brother Harwin came from Dragonstone with the priest, even. You studied High Valyrian everyday, only practicing speech when tucked far away in the gardens with Princess Helaena.

“Nothing would have changed my mind, Aemond.”

You locked eyes for a moment. His gaze was burning, his eye darkening by the minute. He refrained from moving except for his damn fingers tracing idle figures on your thighs.

“I know that now.” he answered, trying to avoid the conversation by flexing his fingers on your legs and diverting your attention. He knew you well.

“If I have to tell you one more time that I’m serious when I say that I want you, Aemond Targaryen… I married you tonight, have I not?”

He nodded solemnly and you laid down on his chest to kiss him again. His lips were hot and soft, and he flinched as the small cut you made there cracked open. Your tongue flickered against his, slipping between his lips and tasting him eagerly. Your arms circled his head and tugged at the tie holding back his hair. It was wavy from the humid coastal air on the beach. You loved when that happened.

He rocked his hips into yours instinctively, but you stopped kissing him immediately. You shook your head. He nodded, understanding your silent demand.

Then you got off of him and he protested loudly.

“Where are you goin—” he began… except when he saw you pulling all your hair in a bunch with his hair tie, he kept silent again. That temper of his, sometimes.

He subtly moved one of his hands so it stayed limply against your leg. Like you would not notice him desperately trying to touch you. 

You kneeled between his legs, braced yourself on his hips and kissed the tip of his cock. He gasped and closed his eye. You ran your tongue across the slit and his head instantly fell back into a pillow. 

You rolled your tongue over his tip and sucked every drop of his seed that already pooled there. He hissed, fisting the blankets already.

You licked from the base and he throbbed against your tongue. Then he cursed as you took all of him in your mouth at once.

His tip bumped against the back of your throat. You tried your best not to gag as tears formed in the corners of your eyes. He raised his head to watch you. Not breaking eye contact, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft. He groaned every time the tip brushed the velvety walls of your throat. 

You rubbed your thighs together, seeking any kind of friction to ease the pressure building in you. You circled your clit with one of your hands, even if it was still sore from the fresh cut during the ceremony. You moaned loudly and the vibrations had him whimpering.

His balls tightened, and release gathered in his spine. His hands went instinctively to your head, his fingers rummaging through your hair, pulling it when you swiftly quickened your pace. He shivered and you knew he was utterly at your mercy. He cried out and his grip tightened on your neck, forcing you to stop your sweet torture.

“This is a wedding night. If I come, it is between your legs, not in your mouth. Come here.” he demanded angrily, sitting and trying to grab you.

“No. You have done enough.” you stopped him, using his own words against him. You all but repeated what he told you at the inn during the storm. “You have been insufferable, my prince.”

You pushed him flat on his back without preamble, settled your hips over his, and slowly sank down onto his length. Inch by inch, your cunt swallowed him whole.

Eye wide, a plethora of curses fell from his mouth. He grabbed your hips to hold you still while you braced yourself on his chest, wincing a bit from the pain in your right hand’s palm. You panted already, the coil in your belly almost hurting, begging for release. But you looked him in the eye and made sure he understood you. 

“You. Thought. I. Was. Leaving.” you said, rocking your hips with each of your words for emphasis. You ride him hard, taking no prisoners. Mayhaps it was the position, but you swore you never felt him this deep before. His mouth fell open at the overwhelming feeling and he growled.

“You. Are. Enough.” you sighed as his cock brushed your sweet spot repeatedly, his pelvis brushing against your clit as well. You arched your back, already feeling pleasure taking over you.

For a moment, neither of you uttered a single word. You noticed how the bandage around your hand came undone and how you smeared blood all over his chest.

Well, fire and blood, was it not?

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth grinded, his face scrunched as he neared his release. You were on the edge too but your leg muscles slowly gave out, screaming for mercy. Your rhythm faltered and you cursed yourself for skipping leg training during your hand-to-hand combat lessons. Your movement almost came to a halt when he decided to be an arsehole.

“You thought it would be easy to ride a dragon, my love?” he queried arrogantly.

Affronted, you tried to shut him up with a sharp thrust but your calves were no longer cooperating.

“Come here!” Aemond asked again, yanking on your arms so you end up splayed on his chest.

His arms crossed at your back to keep you in place. He looked into your loving eyes and you felt the air leaving your lungs as he began fucking up into you with strong, heavy thrusts. His embrace tightened more as you squirmed on his chest. He instilled a ferocious pace and you cried out as he took the lead, having you mewling in no time.

His hard cock slid against your sensitive wall, making your toes curl and legs quiver. Rubbing your plump breasts up against his chest, you circled his head with your arms, caging him in as your fingers were lost in a sea of silvery white hair.

His muscled arms were like iron around you. Your shaky legs tensed even more and squeezed around his hips while you praised him in his ear.

You did not mind if the whole castle heard you. You moaned as loud as you needed to while he kept thudding that perfect spot deep inside you. Every touch inflamed your very nerves and sparked pleasure through your every limbs.

He was already on edge before you took him inside you, so you noticed the signs of him starting to fall apart. You felt his heart beating wildly against yours, you felt his leg twitch despite the punishing rhythm of his hips having all your attention. Sweat pearled at his temples, tracking down his face and you did not hesitate to lick it all up.

“Don’t just hold me, touch me!” you begged.

“But you said not to, my love,” he teased you and you cursed his whole Targaryen ancestry. Vindictive prick.

“I said touch me!” You insisted, voluntarily contracting your inner muscles to squeeze him so hard he yelped loudly and saw stars momentarily.

One of his hands went to caress every inch of your back, sides and trembling thighs. He captured your lips and muffled your sobs as he battered into you still, gritting his teeth as you held on for dear life. 

“Please!,” you pleaded, trying to pry yourself from his strong embrace, your body starting to spasm as you cried out with every thrust now. «Aemond!»

“I don’t want you begging, I want you screaming.”

Then the feeling started in your toes, burned through your thighs, your belly and your chest until your whole body combusted. You shivered and wailed as you reached your high, almost alarmed at the sheer force it hit you. Hot spasms of pleasure wracked through you, burning you up like wildfire, until your vision blacked out. You screamed his name, your whole body convulsing and shivering.

You collapsed on his chest and felt him kissing your neck. You whined as he rutted into you right through the remainder of your climax, slamming over and over again in your tightness, so tight he almost could not fill you anymore. You clenched around him like a vice, your walls gripping his cock so hard he believed you would swallow him. 

He felt you pulsed and it was too much for him. His release had his whole body shuddering violently, muscles seizing up. His grip tightened even more and you knew you would have bruises all over your back and hips in the morning.

He buried his face in your neck, bellowing as he cummed hard. Warmth spread through your belly as he spilled into you, filling you deep, dripping out of you already.

You ground yourself into him, his twitching cock stroking your walls again, wishing to give him a taste of his own overstimulating ways. He whimpered, his face twisting in agonized pleasure, his hands darting to your hips, desperately trying to stop you from moving but you kept going. Four more thrusts and you went over the edge a second time. 

Eyes closed, you slowly caught your breath. He kissed your neck and bit your ear. You moaned softly as he slid out of you. You still flinched and twitched as your nerves slowly settled down.

When you hoisted yourself up, you noticed the blood smears on his chest. In his hair too. On your bosom and hips as well. You could only imagine what your back looked like. 

Both of your hands bled through the cloth covering them. You were not particularly fond of blood, but with the fire raging beside you, you thought the consummation of this Valyrian union could not have been any better.

“Husband,” you murmured.

“Wife,” he whispered back, smiling, looking at you like if you were a true Targaryen.

That night, you made love again. And again. And again.

Your absence at breakfast was noted. To say the Queen was shocked when she found you was an understatement. You were both naked and asleep in a bloodied mess of blankets and cushions in front of the fireplace. Visibly embarrassed, she looked away as you covered yourself.

She did not approve of you eloping and getting married in a faith that was not her own but understood nonetheless. At least, your virtue would never be questioned now, you thought to yourself, almost laughing.

She convinced you to clean up, get dressed and immediately go to your maids. The ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor was mere hours away.

“I’ll fetch gloves to hide your hands.” she added, before she left Aemond’s chamber.

You were exhausted but there was indeed another ceremony to attend, another feast to endure and a private bedding to have– you both insisted on that one– in the eyes of the Seven, this time. 

At long last, you were lord husband and lady wife.

But that was not all…

Your brother Harwin chose this moment to announce he gave up his title to stay as Lord Commander of Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. Your father thought it was madness but it was Prince Daemon who had asked. There was apparently an understanding between the two men. Ultimately, your father agreed. You understood his reluctance. He spent his life grooming his eldest son to take his rightful place when the time came to it…

But so did he with you.

Your scholar of a father knew the importance of giving both his sons and daughter a thorough education. 

He had you read books from a young age so you were knowledgeable and wise. He had you training in the yard with the boys so you would learn combat, strategy and to defend yourself without any man’s help. He had you live in King's Landing since you were ten of age so you would learn to navigate through high society…And he had you play cupbearer during council meetings so you would know what running a castle– even a kingdom–  entailed.

Suddenly, you were the lady of Harrenhall.

Aemond Targaryen indeed had no castle of his own, no lands and no armies. So when all three came to you, you shared it all with him.

Before the moon turned, and without a second thought, Aemond packed his possessions and left the Red Keep with you on Vaghar’s back. He never looked back, for nobody at Harrenhal would dare speak ill of their Lady and her prince husband.

To your utmost delight, nothing really had to change. You could still train in the morning. You could still do your duties in the afternoon. And you could still spend your evenings in the library. It was your own small realm, with your own rules.

Aemond quickly found solace in his new life and even felt comfortable enough to discard his eye patch once and for all. One evening, you both sat on your balcony, one of Aemond’s hands splayed on your now swelling belly, and you admired the sunset above the calm waters of the Gods Eye. You silently enjoyed the peace and quiet.

You looked at him and with the brightest of smiles, you thought…

I can’t wait to give him the happy life he so deserves.

NEXT: Part 3 (Striving) or see is my Masterlist.

Thank you for reading!

The ending made me cry, not gonna lie. This is how I chose to fix Aemond’s tragic story. This is me trying to fix everything after I read the book lol

What a ride. I did not expect to write nearly 30k words total but hey. I needed it I guess. Poor Alicent, she can’t get a break. Always walking in on her sons being naked and improper 😂 Reader is a strong and daring lady so I injected a bit more girl power in this part. She even kidnapped him into marriage! And invited Vaghar to the ceremony even, what a sweetheart ❤️

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