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legitalicat · 3 hours

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Until the death us parts

Assassin!Sihtric x Templar!reader

Authors note: This is a fic for @little-diable 15K celebration. It's the first time I dive into another universe, but unusual tasks require unusual solutions. Thank you so much @st-eve-barnes for brainstorming with me!

The rules: " (..) I'll choose one of the books listed above and will select a sentence I can find on the page belonging to the number you've chosen for your ask. You can do with the sentence/quote as you please, but it has to show up in the fic."

My sentence: “We do it wrong, being so majestical, to offer it the show of violence, for it is as the air, invulnerable, and our vain blows malicious mockery.” From Hamlet by William Shakespeare.

Warnings: mention of violence, angst, SMUT, 18+. Assassins Creed is used only as a background setting without exploring any further.

Word Count: 4,6K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

It must be late in the evening already, there is no way of telling for sure, as the small laboratory-like room with featureless walls, painted a stark white, has no windows, but you feel your stomach growling and that is a sure sign. Your eyes keep drifting to the other side of the room. The light from the flickering fluorescent lamp at the ceiling is feeble, but it is enough to make out Sihtric's features pretty clearly. He's still asleep on what looks like a surgery table, wrists and ankles strapped down.

You have failed. For the first time in your life you have failed your mission and that has brought you here in this damn cell together with the one and single reason for your failure. If someone had told you that you'd fall for your target, you'd have laughed right in their face. But here you are, still trying to wrap your head around it. It was so unexpected, this whole thing. Sihtric was different. Kind. Gentle. Warm. For the first time in your whole life, someone had cared about you without wanting anything back.

You feel anger slowly spreading within you, pulsing through your veins and making your cheeks blush. But it's not directed at him; it's aimed squarely at yourself. You should have come clean earlier, but fear of losing him held you back. For once in your life, you craved a brief taste of normality – being in love with a charming, handsome Dane, just a normal gay from next door, whose only flaws were fondness for crazy haircuts. How foolish! Deep down, you knew it couldn't last. You knew who he was far too well. You knew why the Order had set you on him. You just hoped you had a bit more time… Now it's all over anyway.

—---------------------------------------------

It's just an ordinary autumn day, kind of gray and windy, and there's this soothing sound of rain hitting your umbrella as you walk up the library stairs. You love your new job although it is not that new anymore. It served your purpose and allowed you to sneak into Sihtric’s life without raising any suspicion. He was a frequent guest there for his love of the books and you were the new and pretty librarian - what a perfect setting.

For you, books have always been more than just bound paper; they are portals to other worlds. Each time you open one, it feels like you're stepping into a world where magic is real, and heroes are fighting the good fight. These stories are your happy place, where you can dive into adventures where anything can happen, where the little guy wins, and the good always beats the bad. You've always wanted to be like those heroes in the stories. You kind of convinced yourself that you were, but lately, it's been harder to keep believing that.

You love the library's peaceful vibe, a place of calm and age-old wisdom. The dim, gentle light streaming through tall windows bathes the bookshelves in a warm glow, and the hushed murmurs of readers add to the tranquil ambiance. It's like a sanctuary free from the strictures of any creed, a testament to free will and creativity – ironically, the very things you're trained to suppress and eliminate.

Why? It’s a question that does not let go of you lately. You repeat the mantra ingrained in you during your training – to protect the innocent, to end violence – but doubts linger. Can violence really put an end to violence? It’s not that easy, you snarl at yourself. Yet, this nagging inner voice has only grown louder since Sihtric came into your life, challenging your beliefs with such force that at times it's overwhelming. Sometimes you can’t stand it anymore, you lock yourself up in the bathroom, open the shower and cry biting your fist to the blood.

You are so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even notice the figure that accidentally collides with you just as you reach the top of the stairs.

"Oops, sorry!" someone blurts out, but before you get a chance to reply, the stranger has already vanished into the throng of students at the entrance. You're left with a strange, uneasy feeling in your stomach. Instinctively, your hand reaches into your pocket and there it is – a small, folded note that makes your face turn pale as you clutch the door handle for support.

“PR275 4 A7 H3

P19, L160

2 28 5 19 14 10 20 6 13”

You don't even need to read it to know what it means, yet you find yourself dashing through the spacious corridors, coat flapping open, scarf still wound around your neck, trailing in the air. Your heart pounds in your chest, the blood roars in your ears. The sound of your shoes slapping against the polished wooden floor is stark against the library's usual quiet. You cling to hope. Until you haven’t deciphered it, there is still hope, you try to convince yourself, even though deep down, you know it's a vain hope.

"Hey, slow down! What's the matter?" comes the concerned voice of your boss from the office on the left.

You barrel past her, not stopping or even glancing back. You don’t care. You know this place so well, every corner and crevice, it propels you forward, guiding you even as your thoughts whirl in chaos. "PR" - that's English literature, located at the far end of the corridor. The code refers to the English Renaissance period, 1500-1640. You head for the first aisle on the left, bookcase 4, shelf 7, third book. It has to be there.

The warmth in the library is suffocating. Sweat beads on your forehead as you hurriedly unbutton your coat and fling it to the ground, the scarf landing atop it in a heap. You're breathing hard, a mix of exertion and sheer anxiety, as your eyes dart over the book titles, scanning spine after spine for the one that holds your fate. Finally, your shaking hands grasp the book - William Shakespeare's "Hamlet."

"Come on, hurry up," you mutter to yourself. Page nineteen, line 160.

“We do it wrong, being so majestical, to offer it the show of violence, for it is as the air, invulnerable, and our vain blows malicious mockery,” you read the line out loud without realizing it, quickly moving to the nearest table to grab a pen.

You unfold the small piece of paper and start counting: one, two, it’s “e”. One, two, three… twenty seven, twenty eight - “l”. One, two, three, four, five - “i”. Your heart pounds as if desperate to break free from your chest. But there's no need to go further; you know what it spells. Yet, you can't stop, you keep counting and writing down letter after letter. You need to be sure. Your fingers tremble as they slide over the paper: "e", "l", "i", "m", "i", "n", "a", "t", "e". ELIMINATE.

Your eyes keep returning to the paper, tracing over each letter repeatedly, while your lips silently mouth the word that signifies the end of your fairy tale. You quietly pick up your coat and scarf, your movements slow, defeated, and begin the solemn walk back to the entrance.

"I quit," you declare, your words sharp as you stride past your boss's office. You don't pause to see her reaction, her astonishment. You just walk out, pushing through the big, heavy library doors. Once outside, you lean against them, feeling their solid presence at your back.

The rain pours down relentlessly, drenching you completely. It seeps into your clothes, your skin, soaking you to the core. Your hair, cold and wet, cling to your forehead. You can’t make yourself care, you don’t even register it. You stand motionless, lost in a daze as you gaze across the small square in front of the library. People hurry past with their umbrellas, like a sea of oversized mushrooms, but you can't seem to tear your eyes away from the scene.

"Why me? Why now?" The questions hammer in your mind, unanswerable and haunting.

—----------------------------------------------

“Hey, honey! I’m home. How was your day?” Sihtric’s familiar, cheerful voice rings out from the hallway.

“Terrible,” you whisper to yourself, still staring out of the window.

"Please, don’t. Just stay back, don’t come any closer, not yet," you silently beg. You know deep down it doesn't really matter if he hangs back a bit longer; it's not going to change anything. It's just putting off the inevitable, really. But you can't help it. You're clinging to these last few normal moments, trying to stretch them out as long as possible before everything flips upside down.

Your knuckles are white, gripping the hilt of your Poseidon, and you compulsively check the silencer for what must be the twentieth time. The footsteps are getting louder now, and there are those squeaky floorboards right outside the door. As the first one creaks under his weight, you know Sihtric is just about to walk into the living room. Every creak feels like a countdown, and you're just hoping he'll take his time, maybe get distracted by something, anything. You're not ready, but then again, you wonder if you'll ever really be. The sound of those footsteps, so familiar and usually so comforting, now feels like they're marching right through your heart.

You can't help it – you just have to see him one more time. You want to soak in those eyes of his, thick-lashed and mismatched, that always seem to look at you so seriously but kindly. You're craving that warm, bright smile that lit up at the sight of you after a long day, and oh, that infectious laugh of his that gets you giggling every time, no matter what. But you know this moment's going to get swallowed up by anger and fear real soon. Slowly, you turn around to face him, your right hand tucked away behind your back. You're doing your best to smile, but it's shaky, and you can feel your nerves all over the place. It's just a moment, but to you, it feels like forever. You let your eyes roam over his face, trying to burn this image of him into your memory – that neat goatee, those full lips, his straight nose and strong cheekbones, and finally, those big, deep eyes that always seem to say so much. As your eyes lock with Sihtric's, you feel this weird shiver run down your spine.

That shiver turns into full-on tremors as Sihtric's concerned voice cuts through the silence. "Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong? You look like you've just seen a ghost. Everything okay?" His eyebrows pull together in worry, his eyes filled with concern.

In one swift motion, almost like a reflex, you pull your gun from behind your back, pointing it straight at Sihtric. "Don't move," you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips, as tears start to form in your eyes. "I'm sorry, babe."

"Baby, what the hell is this? What's happening?" Sihtric's voice is a mix of shock and disbelief, his body freezing in place. You want to pull the trigger, you really do, but your fingers just won't move. They're like they're not even yours anymore. A cry breaks from your lips, raw and pained, a sound of someone who's reached their breaking point, as you realize you can't do it. There's no way you can pull that damn trigger.

In just a heartbeat, Sihtric's right there, up in your face. His hand grips your throat, pushing you hard against the wall – his speed and strength just incredible. You can barely breathe, eyes wide with fear, hands clawing at his in a vain attempt to break that iron hold threatening to suffocate you. When he finally lets go, you drop to the floor, coughing and gasping for air, your head spinning like crazy from the lack of oxygen.

“You’re a Templar,” he spits the words out like they were poison, an accusation, a curse, his mismatched eyes burning with disgust and resentment, as he glares down at you. “You’ve been spying on me this whole time.”

"I was, at first," you manage to gasp out between coughs, tears streaming down your face. "But not anymore, Sihtric, I swear. Please, you have to believe me."

"Believe you? Why the hell should I?" His voice is bitter, a blend of disbelief and scorn.

You flinch as Sihtric's rough hand clutches your hair, yanking your head back against the wall. “What have you been telling them? Did you report on every time I fucked you?” Sihtric snarls in your face, mockery in his voice laced with an undercurrent of sadness, even pain.

"I didn't, I swear..." you start, but his hand comes down hard across your face, cutting you off and leaving you tasting blood.

"Don't lie to me!" he roars, his face inches from yours. "You were just about to shoot me. What did I ever do to you to deserve that?"

You're about to say something else, but then you both hear it - footsteps coming up the stairs, voices, though muffled, getting closer.

"Get out of here, now," you hiss at Sihtric, grabbing his arm as you try to get back on your feet. "I'll handle them. Look, you might not believe me, but I'm not your enemy. Just go!"

Sihtric's bewildered gaze flickers between you and the door, his grip loosening. He is listening to the growing noise outside. “Go,” you urge, “I'm done for anyway. There's no way out for me. But you – you can still make it.”

He hesitates, eyes darting, weighing if this is a trap, a desperate attempt to win back his trust. But the choice is taken out of his hands. The sounds outside are getting closer, more urgent. It's clear there are too many of them for even both of you to handle.

—---------------------------------------------

And now you're here, in this small, windowless room, feeling the walls close in on you, the air almost too thick to breathe. You close your eyes, but there's only silence, the room soundproof, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your own racing heartbeat.

"What are you doing here?" Sihtric’s hoarse voice jolts you, but you don't bother turning around. There's no need; it's just the two of you. It was about time he woke up.

"I'm locked up here with you," you snap, frustration boiling over. Your hands tangle in your hair, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you slide down against the wall.

"Would you mind untying me?" Sihtric's voice is oddly casual, as if this were a normal conversation over dinner.

"Why? So you can have another go at killing me?" you can’t help but smirk at yourself, as if it mattered anyway. To you, it feels like you're already dead. You can't fathom why they left you alive, locked up here with him. You are useless to the order now and useless things are disposed of. Perhaps this is your punishment – to face death at the hands of the only man you ever loved. Anger surges through you, propelling you to his side in three quick steps. Furiously, you tug at the leather straps binding his wrists and ankles.

As soon as the straps loosen enough for Sihtric to free his hands, his iron grip clamps around your throat, pinning you against the wall. You don't resist. What's left to lose?

His eyes burn with hate, scorn, disgust. Gone is the mischievous, sweet, caring look you fell for. That charming, adoring gaze is lost forever.

"I'm dead either way, and I'd rather it be by your hand than theirs" you manage to gasp out.

It's a bitter truth. If this was meant to be your punishment for failing your mission, then they've miserably failed. This is your twisted form of revenge, a testament to your self-determination – the power to choose your own end. A smile tugs at your lips at the irony. The powerful order, dedicated to dominating human free will, has failed to subjugate someone as seemingly insignificant as you. Fear doesn't grip you; there will be no begging. You've made your choice, and as you're pinned against the wall, Sihtric's fingers digging painfully into your skin, marking your throat, you can’t hold back a satisfied smile forming on your lips.

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already." Sihtric growls, his face twisted with anger. There's a certainty in his tone that sends a chill through you.

"So what's stopping you? Just do it already!" you shoot back at him, provoking deliberately.

"You betrayed me, played me, you're just a whore, selling yourself," Sihtric's voice is hoarse and raspy, his breathing growing heavier with each venomous word.

"Really? I think we're pretty much the same, you know. When were you planning on telling me the real you, Assassin?" you snap back, your voice just as sharp.

You sense a subtle shift in Sihtric's behavior. His eyes intensely scan your face, almost as if trying to see through you, his face mere centimeters from yours. You can feel each of his breaths against your skin, hot and rapid. A whimper escapes you under the mounting pressure, tears brimming in your eyes, yet your gaze remains steadfastly locked with Sihtric's. Your breath is cut off, his grip tightening, and your eyes begin to roll back as darkness edges in.

Then you hear it, rough and low, right by your ear. "I hate you," he growls, "I fucking hate you!" Sihtric breathes heavily against your ear, as his hands leave your throat and slide down, finding the bottom edge of your T-shirt and gliding beneath it.

His touch is warm, firm and bruising as his hands start roaming your bare skin, pushing up your bra and squeezing your breasts roughly, angrilly. Sihtric leans closer, his nose in the hook of your neck as he inhales you sharply, almost desperately, a low growl rumbling in his throat. His lips and teeth are on your neck, grazing, biting, leaving marks on their way down to your shoulder, there is nothing gentle in the way he treats you, anger pulsing through his veins, but you are unable to contain the hungry moan, escaping your lips parted in a smugly grin.

The way Sihtric has you trapped against the wall with his body lets you feel the hard bulge in his crotch, pressing against your thigh. Your head's all foggy, you are dizzy from not getting enough air, and from your thirst for more as you feel each bruising touch burning right through your skin, straight to your soul, reminding you hard that you're both here, both alive. Everything else just fades away. Right now, in this moment, it's just you and him, and the familiar heat pooling in your lower back and your walls clenching and pulsing are the only things your dazed mind can focus on. He can do whatever he wishes with you, you will not struggle, you will not protest, you are yielding, you deserve it, you accept it and crave for it, for one last time.

And in the next moment you are pulled away from the wall and bent over that metallic table, a loud whine escaping you from the force you crush against it, Sihtric’s hands pull down your jeans in one quick motion, leaving them half way at your knees. His one hand is on the back of your neck, pushing you firmly down against the table, holding you in place while the other pulls aside your already soaked panties, pushing his fingers inside you.

“Fuck, already dripping, like the filthy whore that you are. Do you like it? Huh? I will fuck that dirty smile out of you until you’ll not remember even your name anymore.”

Your mind is too hazed, too immersed in the burning sensation in your core, to be able to formulate any words, as you arch your back, consumed by your hunger, your need to feel him inside you, to take everything he can give you, all of his anger, all of his hate and all of his love and desire, if it’s still there somewhere behind that maddening dark shimmer in his eyes.

You hear him undoing his breeches, freeing his cock and giving himself a few strokes, his breath ragged and itchy. You shiver in anticipation as he places his leaking tip at your entrance and pushes inside your wet and throbbing cunt, sheathing himself with a low growl until the very end of his shaft. You cry out at the sudden stretch, not out of pain, it’s the overwhelming pleasure of feeling Sihtric filling you perfectly that makes you grab the edge of the table and push back against him as he starts thrusting into you, slapping his hips against your bottom with a relentless, breathtaking pace.

“Is that all you've got?” you hiss, hearing a curse leaving Sihtric’s lips, his heavy and rapid breathing mingling with wild groans, as he ruts against you like a crazed beast driven by his anger.

“Give me more, Sihtric. I need more of you,” you cry out, your breath panting, your knuckles turning white from the force you are clutching the edge of the table, trying to spread your thighs, to open yourself to take in more of him. You want him, you need him, harder, deeper, you want to feel all of him, bringing you to the limit, splitting you open, possessing you, making you feel the life pulsing through your every vain.

“Fuck,” Sihtric groans, his hands on your hips now, his fingers digging deep into your skin, as he fastens his pace, snapping his hips against you, savagely, brutally, “It’s what you want, huh? Believe me, you’ll not be able to walk when I’m done with you.”

Sihtric’s hands land on your cheeks, parting them, as he watches your pussy swallowing his cock again and again, your arousal dripping down your thighs. The slaps of Sihtric’s hips against you, his rapid breaths and your moans of pleasure echo around the room. Your eyes start rolling back into your head as you feel your climax pooling; each time he pushes forward, his length reaches that spot inside you that makes your back arch and your thighs tremble, feeling the tension building up and bringing you ever closer to the edge.

Sihtric’s fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you roughly up against his chest, his teeth on your neck, bruising more marks into it, the other hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing and circling it. He is angry, he is hurt and he fucking hates how much he loves and craves you; with each thrust, each snap of his hips, Sihtric feels his anger dissipating. You are his doom, his damnation, his sweet madness and there is no escape, no cure from it. He just wants to fuck you into oblivion, to make you cum on his cock, screaming his name one last time, as there might be no tomorrow, no other day for it.

“You’re mine and you’ll always be mine; nothing else matters,“ Sihtric’s breath comes out in harsh and ragged hot pants against your ear as he turns your head to kiss you harshly. A desperate sob escapes your lips as you answer his kiss, his words echoing in your ears and tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“Sihtric…,” you whine in disappointment as he suddenly pulls out, but he flips you around, lifting onto the table with one swift move as if you were weightless, yanks off your jeans and panties and sinks back into you, both of you moaning heavily as he resumes thrusting into you with an insatiable frenzy.

“Damn, how I love those sounds you make,” Sihtric hisses in your ear, “Give me more of them. I bet they all are watching us right now, straining against their breeches. Let them hear you. I want you to let them hear you,” he demands and the dirty sounds that depart your lips, something between moaning and whining, are probably the most lewd ones you have ever made.

Your fingers slide up his arm until you reach his shoulders and you pull yourself closer to him, pressing your parted lips against his. You bite his lower lip, hard, but he doesn’t pull away, his lips crash against yours, kissing you with such desperation that you find yourself struggling to breathe.

“Say it… say that you are mine,” Sihtric growls into your mouth.

You look into his expressive, mismatched eyes, rolling back into his head from pleasure that you are giving him. You love the sharp features of his face, married with scars on his forehead and right cheek, you are his and he is yours, now and forever and it doesn’t matter how long this forever will last as you are sure to find him and claim him again and again in all the possible afterlives.

“Yours, only yours and nothing can ever change that…we are bound, forever, until the death us parts,” you whisper in between your heavy breaths with half lid eyes.

“Look at me. I want you to look at me,” Sihtric hisses, wrapping his fingers around your neck and squeezing slightly, his breath panting as he locks his gaze with you, and you do as he asks.

“Fuck, I could never hate you,” Sihtric breathes, his forehead touching yours, as he keeps thrusting into you, “Do you hear me? Never! I love you too much.”

You can only whimper incomprehensibly as his words make your walls start clenching around him. You try to hold back, to prolong the moment; from his rapid, shallow breaths, his thrusts getting sloppy, you feel that he is close too and you want to take him with you into oblivion.

“I can feel you, don’t fight it,” Sihtric’s firm voice reaches you through your dazzled consciousness, “Let it go, cum for me,” and you can do nothing but to obey as his words push you over the edge, your fingers tangle in his hair and you feel your climax rolling, washing over you in waves of pure bliss as you fall deeper and deeper into oblivion, his name on your lips like a prayer. You come undone, your cries of ecstasy filling the room, your nails digging into Sihtric’s shoulders. Sihtric’s pace doesn’t falter as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, thrusting his cock as deep as he can, your thighs trembling around his waist; you are spent and pliable, whimpering mess, spasming around his cock and a moment later his own moans and groans start bouncing off the walls as Sihtric follows you spilling himself deep inside you, your eyes locked and foreheads pressed against each others.

"I love you. I love so much,” you murmur, cupping his face in your palms as he breathes heavily against your skin. Tears trail down your cheeks, and your lips tremble just above his.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it," you whisper, barely getting the words out through your sobs.

"Shh, I know. It's okay, everything's going to be alright," Sihtric draws you closer into his embrace, pressing gentle kisses across your face. You know he is lying, but it doesn’t really matter. Right now, it’s enough. You just lean into him, letting his steady rocking soothe you.

"You know they'll use me against you," you murmur after a while, “You should have killed me.”

The room goes quiet except for your heavy breathing and the comforting sound of Sihtric's lips in your hair. "Let them try," he finally says, his voice low but determined, holding you close.

#to be read #this will be reward later

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legitalicat · 6 hours

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Forever thinking about Tom

TG have the prettiest men!

Look I love Matt, he's an amazing actor and a lovely man.

But TG are just something else...

1. We have Fabien looking like a prince out of a fairytale. My man plays Criston, a loyal knight, man is literally the dream guy who will save you from dragon and then you guys will have a happily ever after. What? Did you expect me to not fall for him?

2. Then we got Tom. My man is the whole package. Dude look good in everything & with every style. He have feminine beauty but he's masculine. Man have big doe eyes with long eyelashes, pouty lips and he plays Aegon, the broken prince with teary eyes. And his voice... Did you guys listened to his songs? Man is angelic.

3. And finally here's Ewan. He's tall with a sluty waist. And the way that he smirk? Dude look good. And the wig look so so so good on him. Him having wet long silver hair and laughing like a mad man on Vhagar is everything to me. Now he's not really my type but I can see why people think he's hot.

#and ewan's slutty waist #seriously though #its so slutty i love it

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legitalicat · 6 hours

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SCREAMS

taglist: @foxyanon @alexagirlie @sihtricsafin @neonhairspray @gemini-mama

@lexwolfhale @sigtryggrswifey @skyofficialxx @djarinsgirl27 @m-a-s-h-k-a

@verenahx @mrsarnasdelicious @diiickbrainn @little-diable @maii777

@urmomsgirlfriend1 @dixie-elocin @elle4404 @bubblyabs @ylvie50

@hb8301 @willowbrookesblog @apolloanddaphnis @jennifer0305

@carnationworld @justanother-sihtricgirlie @stark-head @reidsbookstore @thenameswinter99

@deathbluestar113 @ladyinred2248 @zaldritzosrose @maryelle-cats @penumbrie

@solinarimoon @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @yungpoetfics @legitalicat @stupiddarkkside

if you want to be added to/deleted from the taglist, message me 🖤

#sihtric kjartansson #reblog #melting like the wicked witch #he too damn fine

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legitalicat · 15 hours

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The Dragon of Valhalla

An Assassin's Creed x The Last Kingdom x House of the Dragon crossover

AN: This is one of my favorite things my brain has done I love it.

Series Masterlist here!

CW: Aemond internally disrespects Anya's culture, Anya originally is cold, Eivor clocking Anya's behavior, a lot of dialogue in this one sorry, divinity, religious speak, visions of the future, discussions of death and madness

Word Count: 2k

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Ravensthorpe, Kingdom of Mercia

The sun had an hour left until it had sunken. The whole day was spent with the people of Ravensthorpe preparing for a feast at sunset. It was only now that Anya gathered her people.

Accompanied by Valka, she walked into the longhouse where Eivor, Hytham and Randvi had gathered. Aemond and Criston were standing just a few feet away.

She looked at the group with pride. It was a group of the people she trusted most. Her family and Valka had always had her best interests at heart, that she knew. And her exploits in Westeros, she knew the Prince and his Knight were able to be trusted.

“Hello,” she greeted them. Though her tone was not friendly. It was not the same she was before she left. She was here to do, to accomplish, to take. She could not waste time.

“What is the reasoning of this gathering, Little Bird?” Hytham asked his daughter.

Her demeanor softened when he spoke. It reminded her that she was back in the land of her birth. She was back with family. So, she could afford to at least be her with them.

“You are the ones I trust most in this world. Be it for one reason or another, none of you have been responsible for any adverse actions towards me. It is for this reason that I name you all to my council,” Anya told them. “Prince Aemond and Ser Criston are also representing the interests of Westeros.”

“Council? Such as that of one of these Saxon kings?” Randvi asked.

“Yes. Westeros gave me many answers, and it confirmed to me that absolute power corrupts. When my plan succeeds I shall need all of you. To advise and to ensure what I am building stands until Ragnarök,” she told Randvi.

Eivor stared at Anya. Yet Anya did not look at her mother. And if Eivor were being honest, it infuriated her. The burning anger consumed her heart.

She had thought she had done better than that. She had thought her daughter, despite her fury, still felt a warmth for her family. Hytham had assured Eivor that her journey would not lead Anya down the same road of Sigurd. And yet, she returned just as changed, just as aloof.

Before anyone else could say something, Eivor slammed her hand onto the table. It shook every plate and cup that had been set up in preparation for the feast. And slowly, Eivor stood up. She looked immense in her stature.

“You are four years gone and do not properly greet your family, your people? You are to be their jarlskona and still you do not think it wise to show your appreciation of their protection of your home in your absence?” Eivor asked.

Anya, in turn, looked to Eivor. She held up a hand towards Aemond, who had shifted in his own stance.

“You are a guest, remember that princeling,” Anya said firmly.

Aemond’s jaw clenched for a moment, but then he relaxed his body. He regained stared at Anya, though. Appearing as though he was prepared for a fight.

Anya stared at her mother, just as Eivor stared back. To see the two go up against each other was not uncommon. Anya had inherited her same ferocity, stubbornness, and sense of urgency.

Some of it was quelled by her father’s gentle nature. Hytham had tried his best to teach her the value of patience, of waiting until the right moment. He above all knew the consequences of not. To some extent, he had been successful. If you considered Anya being near unreadable until she buried her axe in one’s head successful.

“You are right. I focused hard on this, neglected to properly greet my home. I will rectify that at the feast, Jarlskona,” Anya said, bowing her head. “But, please, ma, hear what I have to say. Hear what Valka has seen.”

Eivor looked her daughter over and over again. There was no doubt the way she had grown and matured. There were few scars on her. Many in their town, those who had known her since birth, had believed her to truly be favored by one of the gods. And now, even Eivor could not deny the possibility. That was when she realized.

“You think yourself the æsir’s champion,” Eivor whispered.

“Valka has seen it, ma. She first told me of such a possibility before I left. And now, it is more clear than ever. I am fated to bring England together, under one banner. Mine,” she told them all.

She looked to Valka. Their seer, the one who Eivor trusted with questions of faith before Anya followed in her footsteps, nodded back.

“By century’s end, Alfred will lay dead and his kingdom in ashes. Anya is fated to be the one queen, Wessex, Northumbria, East Anglia, and Mercia all under her rule and her sons’ rules to follow. Her journey to Westeros allowed her find her fire breather,” Valka told those who were gathered. “The final piece arrives in three days time from Wessex. The banner of a traitor he rides for, a man of two windows, one of darkness one of light.”

Anya watched nobody but her mother. The others would understand it as an honor. The histories of the world regarded the gods of nearly any religion as Isu, once supreme beings of the universe. Together, piece by piece, it was known they created the world. It was more of a debate as to who would win after Ragnarök. Whichever deity one worshipped promised them they would inherit the earth. To be a champion would be to be an usher, a hero of the future of humanity.

Yet, Eivor could only see her brother. Sigurd was certain when he returned to Norway that he was divine sent. So certain, in fact, that he decided to take the trial. To prove he had the blood of a Tainted One, the only ones known to be strong enough to support being champions. He failed. It took less than a decade for Sigurd to succumb to madness from his body and mind breaking down after the failure.

Eivor looked to Hytham. He would know, just as his former mentor Basim knew, if Anya had taken the trial. There was a way those in his Order was trained to identify Tainted Ones. They hoped to convince the Tainted Ones to champion for humanity, to forsake the Isu, so they studied those who were known to have taken the trials. Little did Eivor realize that Hytham had already been checking from the moment Anya walked in.

“I am not interested in proving anything other than I will be the first Queen of England. Blood does not concern me. I have seven years to amass my following, and I wish to start with us,” Anya said softly to Eivor.

“And you would have us what?” Eivor asked.

Aemond and Criston knew to stay quiet, as Eivor seemed to be speaking for all of Ravensthorpe. He noted it was ultimately Eivor ruling her people in what she thought to be fair. She did not seek further judgement. She did have her own council.

“You are my mother, my Jarlskona. In matters of Ravensthorpe, I will concede to you. Always,” Anya promised Eivor.

At one time, Anya thirsted for Ravensthorpe. She thirsted for her birth right. Randvi had always joked of her being a twin of Sigurd. Eivor looked on with worry.

“But I ask for freedom to pursue this in the ways in which I see fit. The way I choose alliances, be it Saxon or Dance, the men I travel with, all of it,” Anya said, stepping forward.

She sat across from Eivor and Hytham, reaching across the table and taking one of each of their hands in hers. She looked to them, as though it would somehow show them what she knew to be true.

Eivor could not stand the idea of losing Anya the same way they lost Sigurd. And while Sigurd took years to die from the Trial Madness, she could not imagine Anya living that long.

“And what is to happen if you die?” Eivor asked.

“Valka has not foreseen such a thing,” Anya answered simply.

“And what happens should this be your destiny? They will hunt you, Anya, to force you to betray your people and your beliefs to fight for their god,” Hytham said firmly.

It was unusual for Hytham to take a firm time with Anya. She was his Little Bird. He had hoped, one day, she would learn to appreciate his teachings more. But, she spoke as if he had not told her. She spoke as if she did not know that to be a Tainted One confirmed is to be hunted.

“It is why I am not taking the Trial,” Anya assured him.

“Then how…?” he said quietly.

“The Trial was created by humans to determine Tainted One. The gods, I feel they know. They do not need our silly tests,” she said.

The way she spoke amazed Aemond. Even now, two years after meeting her. She spoke as though her words were simple, an inevitability. Something that anyone anywhere could attest to.

Aemond knew it was risky to follow her here. But she had enraptured him from the moment they met. He had been determined to give her a life of leisure, of pleasure. He longed for the day in which he could confess to her just how he loved her. How he would watch the world burn for her. And if it took her accomplishing this silly little goal of hers for him to make her his wife, he would help.

“I need your support. Publicly. I need you to tell our people, our allies, that I will bring a glory to Raven Clan of which has never been known. I cannot afford them to doubt,” Anya said quietly.

Eivor looked at the people around. Other than the princeling and his metal man, Eivor knew that already Anya had more than Sigurd ever had. She had the understanding that does not and cannot have the answers. She already showed a wisdom that some her age would never. A wisdom, it seemed, her princeling friend lacked.

“I will agree. You have the support of Raven Clan,” Eivor said. “On the condition that you take Dag ”

Aemond could see the way Anya’s jaw clenched. He knew, after a few conversations, she felt her parents both underestimated her. She loved them, of course, but she felt like they held on too tight. And from what he had already seen, that feeling was all too accurate.

Anya sat in silence, staring at her mother. She wanted to know her parents had trust in her. She wanted to be allowed to seek her destiny just as they had.

But, it was Dag. Dag was like a brother to her mother, family to her. They were so close. She loved his stories, repeated over and over to her so that she could recite them herself. And one day, gods willing, she would have her own children to tell.

“Then it shall be,” Anya said simply. Then, she looked to Randvi. “I ask your blessing, Randvi. As my uncle’s,” she hesitated.

Anya was near eight the last anyone saw Sigurd. It was almost certain that he was dead. Yet nobody could stand the thought, because they knew it would not have been a fitting end for such a warrior. He had, for a while, been her favorite person. But his fits of madness made him dangerous until all he felt he could do was leave.

“You are who was most affected by pursuit of destiny. I cannot hope to do this without your blessing,” Anya said to her.

“And you have it, Anya. Always,” she said without thought.

For a moment, Anya felt as though she could cry. At this moment, she felt as though it was possible finally. She had been worried her times in Westeros would have been a waste.

“Then let’s us feast for the next week,” she grinned.

Taglist: @foxyanon @zaldritzosrose

#dragon of valhalla #the last kingdom oc #the last kingdom #assassin's creed valhalla oc #assassin's creed valhalla #house of the dragon oc #house of the dragon #anya the ashen

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legitalicat · 17 hours

Text

Out of Context Lines

Thanks for the tag @alexagirlie

the rules: if you're tagged, make a new post and share one or two sentences (or lines for artists) from your unposted WIP with zero context.

She held his head with one hand, frantically trying to place is own axe in his grasp with the other.

And

She spoke as if she did not know that to be a Tainted One confirmed is to be hunted.

No pressure tags: @foxyanon @zaldritzosrose @targaryen-dynasty

#tag game #my wips

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legitalicat · 20 hours

Text

Appalachian Sihtric quotes (with YN)

Collection here!

CW: Shit posting, sexual vibes sometimes, language

Sihtric: Didn't you say you needed to shower?

YN: Yeah but then it started storming and if I take a shower during the storm I will get electrocuted.

Sihtric: *stares blankly at her, cannot tell if she is serious*

Osferth: Where's Sihtric?

Finan: Tied up or something.

Osferth: Okay. Where's YN?

Uhtred: Who do you think tied him up?

Sihtric: Hey what's that thing Catholics say?

Osferth: What thing?

Sihtric: 'Sorry daddy, I've been bad' or something like that.

Osferth: *eye twitches* You...you mean 'bless me father, for I have sinned'?

Sihtric: No. No. I think mine was right.

Sihtric: *drunk as a skunk* Ma'am I am sorry. I am sure you are lovely. But my woman will kick your ass and mine and she is very scary and I love her. So I cannot bed you, nor do I particularly want to.

Uhtred: I shave my face one time and he thinks I look like a girl? And an unbeddable one at that?

YN: *giggling* He loves me.

Sihtric: Woman, where are my boots?

YN: Damn Frozone I don't know did you check the porch?

Osferth: *picking straw bristles from his hair*

Sihtric: What happened?

Osferth: YN smacked me with the broom when I told her I wouldn't help you get her a possum.

Sihtric: Well what did you say that for?

Osferth: You told me not to tell her you were trying to get one!

Sihtric: Your car should be good to go. Changed the oil, pumped up the tires, filled the tank for ya. Oh and I got you a candy bar, pepperoni roll, and pop from the gas station.

Sihtric: *is about to leave, then kisses your forehead* Oh and the dishwasher will be here tomorrow.

YN: *cries in Appalachian love* I love you too damn it.

Taglist: @foxyanon @zaldritzosrose

#appalachian sihtric #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom

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legitalicat · 22 hours

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To Prepare His Bed

Note: I've been so distracted while wrapping this up, sorry if it's a mess.

Warnings: 18+! a bit of angst, a bit of smut, and a bit of fluff. mention of bullying.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: Being Sihtric's maid came with unexpected pleasures.

wordcount: 3,7k

Masterlist

The air was thick and warm, your bodies coated with sweat and glistening in the dim flames of lit torches and candles in Sihtric's room. Your hands were tangled in his loose locks while your tongues nearly intertwined as you kissed vigorously. Sihtric was tender, with soft loving touches and deep passionate kisses, cherishing every part of you and wanting to please you as much as he needed the pleasure himself. His moans were low and heavy, in sync with his slow and rhythmic thrusts into you while you felt every inch of him deep inside you.

This had been bound to happen; you, underneath him in his bed, both unclothed, with your lips and tongues locked in a passionate kiss while hands were tangled in each other's hair and digging into each other's skin. Sihtric was a widow. The widowed Lord of Dunholm, and he had been a secretive and solitary man for years. But Sihtric was also a man of status and wealth, while you were merely one of the several maids under his employment. You were tasked with washing his clothes and sweeping the floor in his bedroom, as well as preparing the bed for him every night. And you had been chosen by the man himself to wash, comb and braid his hair every few days. The latter was a task you thoroughly enjoyed as it was an intimate and pleasantly time consuming process. You loved being close to his soothing energy, and you had caught feelings for your Lord ever since the very first time you were in his slightly intimidating presence. And evidently, you hadn't gone unnoticed by him either.

You had just washed his hair one late evening before it happened. A long, silent and lustful tension had lingered before it was acted upon. Sihtric sat at the desk in his royal bedroom, his eyes scanning a map on which the surrounding lands of Dunholm were drawn, his damp hair recently combed by you and tucked behind his ears. In the dull mirror that hung above his desk, which was simply a large silver plate, you noticed his eyes followed you occasionally as you prepared his bed.

You felt his gaze upon you as you fluffed up his pillows and straightened the sheets once more. He quietly kept his eyes on you as you took his silky robe out of the dark oaken closet. You went over to him, like every night, with means of hanging the robe next to his desk, where he would undress once you had left the room, and slip into the robe before he'd stare out of his window for a moment, after which he would go to sleep. It was a routine, like a dance, it had been the same for months and you both knew what to expect each night. But Sihtric suddenly broke that routine when you neared his desk that evening.

'On the bed, please,' he said, his voice calm and gentle.

You stopped in your tracks, just behind him and you locked eyes in the dull mirror. Your expression confused, and a soft, nervous chuckle sounded before you spoke.

'... Lord?'

'I said on the bed,' Sihtric repeated as he turned to look up at you, never raising his voice or changing his considerate tone.

'Of course, my Lord.'

You bowed your head to the Earl and turned in an attempt to place his robe on the bed, but stopped when Sihtric suddenly got up from his chair before you could do so.

'Not the robe,' he said with equal tenderness as he closed in on you.

You turned to face him and he took the clothing out of your hands. He then threw his robe carelessly on the floor and backed you further towards his bed, slowly and all but threateningly. You looked up at him with big eyes. Sihtric towered over you and you wouldn't stand a chance against him, but you also knew after months of working for him that there was hardly any evil inside of him, and his movements along with his expression reassured you he did not mean any harm.

'I… I don't understand, my Lord,' you whispered while his hands gently took your face.

'You,' Sihtric murmured as he looked you up and down, 'on the bed.'

'L-Lord?'

You felt your cheeks heat up. He couldn't possibly mean what you took away from his words. But if not, then why was your face cupped by his warm and rough hands? And then why did he look at you as if he desired you, as if you had lit a fire inside of him which he could not contain anymore.

'I want you on my bed,' he said softly and paused for a second, 'or on my desk, I'm not that picky,' he shrugged and gave you a playful wink.

And that was how you had ended up in his bed, making deep and passionate love until dawn showed. He did everything to make sure you reached your high along with him, and the tenderness with how he touched and kissed you made it all seem as if it was only a dream. A dream you've had many times before it finally happened in reality. And you fell asleep in his arms afterwards. His strong arms, a place that granted you warmth, safety and comfort. But regardless of all that, you still snuck out of his embrace before he woke, and left quietly to your own room.

You were just a maid who was easy on the eye, and Sihtric was a Lord with needs and cravings like any man, and those you would happily soothe for him. But you also knew the other maids and servants would judge you for it, and you were convinced that Sihtric didn't possibly want to be seen sleeping with a maid, when he could have any lady he longed for. You assumed you were just an easy and meaningless hump to him, but now that you knew what an attentive lover he was, it only made your feelings for him stronger.

The day after your sudden pleasurable night, you avoided Sihtric, knowing you would have to face him eventually as you were tasked with your daily duties, but you tried to escape his presence wherever possible. You were terrified that it had been a mistake on his end, or perhaps a trap of sorts to see how easy to persuade you were, and that it would eventually cost you your job because maybe he hadn't been quite satisfied, even though his deep and heavy moans had told you something else the night before.

When you met Sihtric in the great hall later that day, amidst the other maids, you kept your head down as you crossed paths. But Sihtric still acknowledged you in passing, greeting you with respect and dignity, like he always did. A relief washed over you when it became evident that he simply acted as if nothing had happened around everyone else. And so you acted the same when you were to prepare his bed that evening, like every other evening before.

You tried to be oblivious to the somewhat uncomfortable silence in the room while you did your duties. You felt a strange pressure to mention the events of the night before, but you thought it was best to try and forget about it. You noticed Sihtric didn't follow you with his eyes anymore while he sat at his desk, and when you brought him his robe he thanked you politely, but without looking at you like he usually did. You respectfully bowed your head and slightly bended through your knees as you did, then turned to leave his room.

'Good night, my Lord.'

'I'm sorry,' Sihtric replied without looking away from the same map he was staring at last night.

'Lord?'

He took a deep breath, then only half turned, allowing you to see his sharp and near perfect side profile while he spoke to you while still avoiding eye contact.

'I'm sorry,' he said softly, 'if I have made you do things you did not want to last night.'

'No,' you protested, 'no, Lord, you have not done anything against my will. It was… it was a pleasure,' you confessed with a shy smile.

'But,' Sihtric scoffed lightly, then finally looked at you as you stood in the door, 'you wouldn't look at me all day.'

'I was ashamed, Lord,' you said quickly, 'I was worried that you felt it had been a mistake, and that you perhaps felt shame.'

'I don't think it was a mistake. I have no regrets, my lady. And I would not hesitate to do it again, if you would allow me.'

'I would allow you,' you giggled, your entire body becoming warmer upon hearing his words, 'but I… I'm afraid I will need an evening to recover, Lord.'

'Recover?' Sihtric furrowed his brow.

'Lord,' you chuckled awkwardly, 'if I may be so honest, you are, and I mean this with the utmost respect, very blessed with your,' you swallowed hard, 'your, well, your s-size and, eh, skills.'

'Oh,' Sihtric breathed with a whisper, and his cheeks turned a shade of red, 'I- I thank you, my lady. And I see. Well then, please, go and rest now.'

You thanked him and left, your heart beating out of your chest while you felt droplets of sweat running down your back. Your mouth was dry and your hands were clammy, but knowing that you had evidently pleased the man you had been in love with for months now, even as much so that he wanted to have you once again tonight, made you giggle in your bed as you tried to get a good night's rest and recover from the soreness which taunted your legs and hips.

The next evening you landed in bed with Sihtric once again, making love for hours and afterwards falling asleep in his arms once more. You had intended to sneak out of his room again that following morning, figuring your nightly adventures were still meant to be kept secret, but to your surprise you discovered that Sihtric had already left the room himself and so you found yourself alone in his large bed. You noticed you had slept longer than usual, as the night before had required quite the energy from you, and you jumped out of bed to start your day's routine.

As the weeks progressed, you and Sihtric began to spend many nights together in his room, after your duties had been done. The first few times after that first night were just as tender and sweet, but you gradually began to learn that as tender as he could be, his rugged warrior side had never left him after the last battle he ever fought. He slowly became rougher with you over time. Instead of carefully picking you and carrying you to his bed to lay you down gently, he started to throw you over his shoulder while you were still preparing his bed, after which he would toss you onto the soft sheets before climbing on top of you and pinning you down. And whenever you weren't making love in the late evenings, you were simply talking for hours while you sat snuggled up in his large windowsill, gazing at the Moon and her stars while you spoke of the past and dreams for the future.

Sihtric was a man with secrets and desires that were new to you, and no one could possibly make you feel as loved and safe as he did while he utterly ravaged you at the same time. It was a mystery, the way he was so rough and still gentle, and it only made you want him more. You began to taunt him during the day while you were working, giving him playful winks or running your hand down his bare chest as you stood behind him and washed his hair. And sometimes you lightly tugged his hair while braiding his locks, his low grunt sending a pleasant shiver down your spine and causing you to press your thighs together as you could only anticipate how he would retaliate later that night, and he never disappointed.

Where you had first tried to be discreet and quiet, he began to take you in ways that made it impossible for you to keep your volume down. And Sihtric didn't care, for the louder you were for him, the more he loved it. He enjoyed the idea of having others know how good he treated you, and how good he was treated in return as well. Your escapades continued and you fell asleep in his arms almost every night, only to wake up alone in his bed again the next morning. It had become a new routine, and it was one you both equally enjoyed.

But soon, your nights spent together gained a dark side to it. Naturally, the remaining maids had heard the lewd noises coming from their Lord's bedroom. And more than once one of them had noticed you were dressed in yesterday's gown, as you were spotted leaving his room in the morning after you had tidied it, as was your duty. And after days of wondering, the maids all gathered one late evening and peeked through the tiny gaps in the wooden walls, as sinful sounds and words were heard once again. Your secret was discovered, and jealousy began to spread along with rumours.

They whispered that you were degraded from being a respected maid to a filthy whore. They believed that you slept with Sihtric in the hopes to inherit his lands one day. Some even believed you had been his mistress when his wife was still alive, while you weren't even in Dunholm when he was still married. And others believed you had worked in the town's whorehouse before humping your way into the Lord's home, continuing your job as a whore not just with Sihtric, but according to them also inviting other men to your own private room on nights that Sihtric wasn't present in the town.

None of these stories were true and the lies that were made up, by those who simply wished to have one night with the man you had fallen in love with, began to hurt and affect you. Sihtric noticed you gradually started to shy away from his teasing, to the point of even politely turning him down when he made an advance in private. You eventually started to sleep in your own room again and wouldn't even respond to his tender touches anymore while you did your duties, to which Sihtric felt rejected and confused. And you again began to feel that, as Sihtric still snuck out every morning when you shared the bed with him, he was ashamed of being with you.

It all led up to one late evening which would change everything. You had been pulling away from Sihtric, which had kept him up at night as he wondered what he had done wrong while tears pricked in his eyes. He had fallen in love with you during the nights you were intimate, not just due to the intercourse, but even more by the long and deep conversations you had as he held you in his arms.

And Sihtric became truly concerned when you suddenly didn't show up one evening, at the usual time, to do your tasks of preparing his bed and untangling his braided hair. He got up from his desk and grabbed his robe, and then as you suddenly entered his room, his heart dropped and broke, for your face told him you had been crying.

'You're pulling away from me,' he spoke first, his voice trembling, 'why? What have I done wrong? Have I hurt y-'

'I wish to be freed from my tasks and leave,' you said quietly.

Sihtric stared at you, and the silence seemed endless before he finally spoke.

'I beg your pardon, my lady?' he said, barely above a whisper, 'leave?'

'I… I am not a pleasure maid,' you sniffled, 'I know you do not wish to be seen with me as you always sneak away in the morning, but the others, all the maids already know about us. They have spied on us, through the walls, and now they are talking ill of me and spreading false truths. I do not mind to please you, Lord, but it is not my duty, and if you are ashamed of me-'

'Ashamed?' Sihtric interrupted, 'why would I be ashamed of you? My first wife was a whore, by the gods,' he scoffed, 'you are my maid, yes, but your job is not to sleep with me, and you're not just a maid to me either. I have no shame in humping you. In fact, I take great pride in it and it was never meant to be seen as… as a duty. I am terribly sorry if you thought it was your job to spend nights with me. And I only sneak away because you snuck away after that first night. And I thought you did not want to be seen with me, so I only did what I thought was right. I thought that's how you wanted it, to keep it a secret, so I tried too.'

'What?' you could only ask after another long silence.

'I… I thought you didn't want to be seen with me,' Sihtric shrugged, bewildered at the entire situation, just like you.

'What? No. Oh, Sihtric,' you sighed, 'you foolish man- Lord, I mean.'

'I… I don't understand.'

'I thought you wanted to keep us a secret,' you said, 'for I am not a lady of status. I believed I was only good for your pleasure, which I enjoyed myself too, but I… I have feelings for you. Real feelings. I know we can never be, and I enjoyed our nights together, but all these… these lies that are being told about me now, that I am deceiving you and that I am merely a whore who lets every man hump her… I can't bear it anymore. You don't know what it's like to be banished by your friends, by the other maids, because they are jealous and suddenly think less of me and they believe I only want your riches. But I don't. I don't care about any of that, I swear it. I only care about you. I've only ever cared about you, because I… I love you.'

You had said it. There was no reverse to the words you had spoken out loud, and Sihtric seemed clearly surprised and taken aback. He paced around his room for a moment while he compulsively scratched his goatee, and then cleared his throat as he looked at you.

'You love me?'

'I do, Lord.'

Sihtric hummed as he continued to pace around, and he stopped once he stood in front of you.

'Very well,' he said, 'there is only one thing I can do to make these lies stop, and that is to make you my wife.'

'W-what?'

'Will you be my wife?'

You stared at Sihtric while you slowly processed his words.

'Your… wife?'

'My wife,' he suddenly smiled proudly.

'I… y-yes?' you let out a sudden nervous laughter, 'I mean, yes. Yes, of course I want to be your wife!'

You both laughed as relief settled, and Sihtric was quick to grab your face as gently as always, and he kissed your lips eagerly after having been deprived of your taste and touch for days now. You were as needy as he was, and soon you began to rake your fingers through his loose hair, dishevelling it further as you did.

'Now that you'll be my wife,' he murmured in between kisses while he lifted you up in his arms, 'I should make it clear for everyone,' he said while you enveloped your legs around his waist, 'that I hump my wife whenever,' he kicked his bedroom door open and walked over to the large table in the great hall, 'and wherever I want.'

He sat you down on the table, where everyone could see you as the great hall was the heart of his residence, and he pushed your skirt up. His warm hands squeezed your thighs, very aware that several maids were around and had stopped what they were doing after hearing his door slam open. They watched with their mouths agape as their Lord untied his robe and wrapped his hands under your knees to pull you flush against him. You were dazed but fully present and aware of what was happening, and you made no attempt to stop him, as you knew this was his way of silencing the slander that had been made up and spread about you.

You slid your hands up to tangle your fingers into his hair while he kissed you as greedily as he had done that first night. Sihtric swiftly removed your undergarments and lined himself up, his robe barely covering up both your privates, but neither of you cared. A gasp left you both once he sheathed inside you, and the room was dead silent at that moment, apart from the clattering of a cup that one maid dropped as she stared with big eyes at the events that unfolded upon the table she had just prepared for the next morning.

Sihtric rutted against you, having missed you and that way you made him feel while you had pulled away from him, and he was desperate to make up for the precious time that was lost. And so were you. You moaned against his lips as he took with a steady and ravaging pace, proudly claiming you in front of everyone present in the hall. And you enjoyed him entirely, with his lips on your neck, your hands in his hair, and his hands gripping your waist while his cock was buried deep inside you. You couldn't get enough of him, knowing that every pair of eyes on you belonged to those who had polluted your name and reputation, and they were watching from the darkened corridors and corners with maddening jealousy. They watched how Sihtric grunted your name as the table creaked underneath you and the setted plates and cutlery rattled with each hard thrust, while the silver and golden cups fell over and rolled off the table as you came with a loud moan.

'My wife,' Sihtric growled as came inside you, 'tomorrow, I'm making you my wife.'

taglist: @foxyanon @alexagirlie @sihtricsafin @neonhairspray @gemini-mama

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if you want to be added to/deleted from the taglist, message me 🖤

#SCREAMING #you put this out at the end of my lunch #time to run back #omg #sihtric x reader #fic rec

80 notes · View notes

legitalicat · 23 hours

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🫠

Note: another jealous!Sihtric request, thank you, anon! :)

Warnings: 18+! smut/suggestive, jealousy, mention of alcohol.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: Sihtric was your best friend, and you didn't know he was in love with you. So when he got all jealous and territorial, you didn't understand him.

wordcount: 2,4k

Masterlist

'She's with me!'

You: any plans for the weekend?

Sihtric: nope

You: wanna go see a movie?

Sihtric: yep

Sihtric was so easy going and down for anything, you loved it. The short haired Dane had been your best friend for years, since you had met him at Finan's birthday party one day. You thought he was incredibly handsome, but he was in a relationship when you first met, so you never tried anything. But you both just loved how you had many things in common.

A few months after you had met, Sihtric's relationship ended, but you were going on dates with other men every now and then, and as Sihtric never showed you that he had any romantic feelings for you, you just left it at being friends.

But you were both very single as of late, and you often went to see a movie together in the city. After that, he'd drive you home and you'd talk for hours in his car, or on your couch, before he went home himself. And you expected tonight would be just the same.

'Pretty lady,' Sihtric whistled when you opened the door, always being a flirt.

'Shut up,' you snorted and locked the door behind you.

'What are you all dressed up for? I thought we're just seeing a movie?'

'Well, yeah. But I saw this dress as I was clearing out my closet and it had the tag still attached. I had to wear it someday,' you said, 'why? Too much?'

'No,' Sihtric smiled and bit down on his lip when you looked away, 'not at all.'

'Well that sucked,' you laughed as you walked out of the movie theatre, 'nice one, Sihtric.'

'Well I'm sorry,' he laughed as hard as you did, 'I had no idea it would be this bad.'

'It literally said from the creators of Sharknado, and you didn't even consider the fact it might be… you know, just as bad?'

'Hey, I liked Sharknado!'

'Of course you did,' you rolled your eyes, 'I need a drink after this, I swear. Let's go to the pub,' you said.

Sihtric stopped walking and looked at you.

'You serious? You want to grab a drink now?'

'Hmm… why not?' you smiled, 'we never do that actually, why?'

'I don't know,' Sihtric shrugged, 'we just don't?'

Sihtric knew very well why he never had a drink with you in the city. You were simply drop dead gorgeous, and Sihtric was head over heels in love with you. He had been ever since the day he met you, and broke up with his ex because of you, but he never dared to make his move and was content with being your friend. More or less.

Whenever you went to the movies together, Sihtric noticed how many men, and women, eyed you up, and it angered him. He knew you would get a lot of attention if he took you to a pub now, and he also knew he would not handle it well. But now that you said you wanted to get a drink, he would take you for a drink. Anything to spend just another moment longer with you.

'Well, I'm all dressed up anyway,' you laughed, 'so why not? But you're buying because you made me sit through that horrible movie.'

'Fine,' Sihtric huffed with a smile.

And soon enough you stepped into a packed pub. Apparently the World Cup was going on, and England played against Denmark tonight.

'Shit,' you yelled over the loud drunk cheers, 'it's crowded here! And loud!'

'It's crowded and loud everywhere,' Sihtric said as he circled his arm around your waist, and leaned in to make you hear him, 'it's the weekend and they show football everywhere right now. We can go home if you want?' he tried to change your mind.

'No,' you shook your head, 'let's join this madness.'

You laughed and took his hand, dragging him along with you into the crowded pub.

Sihtric was going to have a rough night pretending not to be in love with you.

Sihtric handed you a drink and you noticed how he stood awfully close to you ever since you had entered the pub. Yes, it was crowded, but not that crowded. You weren't complaining though. Sihtric looked good tonight, just like any night really, with his hair recently cut and the sides shaved, showing off that sexy tattoo he had on his neck that ran up to above his ear. He was dressed in a simple shirt, showing off his toned arms, and he wore black jeans with sneakers underneath. And you accidentally matched, as you were dressed in a little black dress, showing off your legs and those new heels you recently bought.

'Do you even like football?' you yelled in his ear as he held you close.

'Not really,' Sihtric shrugged lightly to apologise, to which you smiled.

'Then I'll find someone else to cheer with!' you yelled and stepped away from him, in between the drunk football supporters.

Sihtric watched you carefully from a close distance, and he saw how you got offered one drink after another. His blood simply boiled whenever some guy pulled you in for a hug, or how they wrapped their arms around you as you all cheered when England scored a goal.

And he had enough of it.

Sihtric moved into the crowd, towards you, harshly shoving a few men away with his shoulder as he reached you and ended up standing next to you, his arm around your waist, pulling your side against his chest.

'Hey?' you frowned with a smile, not minding his embrace at all, but it surprised you, 'you okay?'

'Yeah,' Sihtric said as he looked around, seeing if he had to keep any other men away from you, 'you seem to be getting a lot of attention, miss. Just checking if it's not unwanted.'

'I'm fine, Sihtric,' you chuckled and looked up at him, and you noticed that something in his eyes had changed.

His eyes were always soft when he was with you. Kind and friendly, sometimes you even thought you saw a sudden spark in them when he listened to your endless rambling. But now, his mismatched eyes were dark and hard. There was a certain fire in them, and you didn't know what had lit it, or why, and you felt he held you even tighter against his chest when another man offered you a drink.

'If she wants a drink, I'll be the one to buy her,' Sihtric said sternly, not even giving you a moment to answer, and the stranger turned away from you.

'Damn,' you snorted, 'jealous much?' you grinned at the Dane.

Sihtric looked down into your eyes and clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Instead, his eyes trailed down to your lips, and something suddenly changed in the air as he had both arms around your waist now.

You noticed Sihtric leaned in, and without thinking, you did the same. But then a man bumped into you, pushing you away from Sihtric, and he spilled his beer over your bare legs and brand new shoes. Sihtric was quick to step back to you, pulling you against his chest while the man quickly apologised numerous times for drenching you with his drink.

'I am so, so sorry,' the man said, 'please, let me buy you a drink.'

'Oh,' you smiled, a little embarrassed, 'eh, sure-'

'She's with me!' Sihtric cut you off and pulled you with him towards the toilets, through the warm and loud crowd.

'Sihtric, what the hell?' you laughed, almost tripping over your heels because he walked too fast.

Sihtric closed the door to the toilets and grabbed as many paper towels as he could, while giving you a hard stare by looking at you as he looked in the mirror above the sink.

'Hey, what got into you?' you frowned at his sudden behaviour.

Sihtric said nothing, instead he kneeled down and took off one of your heels, cleaning your leg up as best as he could before he cleaned your shoe. And he repeated the same action on your other leg and shoe, until you were beer-free again.

Sihtric helped you back into your heels and you felt your cheeks heat up, as it was almost a Cinderella moment, you thought.

'Sihtric,' you said, 'say something? Why are you so… territorial?'

'Because men are looking at you,' he muttered as he threw the soaked paper towels in a bin, 'without any fucking respect.'

'What?' you scoffed, 'I- I'm sorry, but I really don't understand how that is your problem? Why do you get so worked up over that all of the sudde-'

'Because I want you!' Sihtric hissed and pinned you against the wall.

'W-what?' you breathed, his body pressed against yours as he stared down into your eyes, 'what the fuck are you talking about?'

'I… want… you,' he said slowly, almost threatening with the way he was all up in your face.

'Sihtric… since when are you like this? Or is this what you are usually like when you go out to a pub? No wonder your ex dumped you then, fucking hell,' you scoffed.

'I broke up with her!' Sihtric almost snarled, taking your face in his hands, 'because I couldn't keep my eyes off you,' he said, breathing down your mouth.

You looked at him, speechless, you didn't understand where this was coming from. But at the same time, you couldn't deny your own feelings for him either.

'Since… since when is this...' you stammered, and you felt his hands trail down your body, to your hips. And a pleasant feeling it was when he gave you a tug, pulling your hips firmly against his body.

'It's been this way ever since we first met,' Sihtric whispered and leaned his forehead against yours.

You stared into each other's eyes, until Sihtric simply couldn't keep himself together anymore. He took your hand, pulling you out of the toilets and back into the crowded pub, out the door. . And you didn't ask any questions, you knew what was going to happen and you had been desperate for it. Just like Sihtric.

Without a single word being said, you both got into his car and he drove you home, where you took his hand, dragging him with you towards your front door. And as soon as you had closed the door behind you, Sihtric picked you up in his arms, pushing your back up against the door as his lips finally crashed into yours, and his heated kiss made your head spin with regret that you never confessed your feelings for him earlier.

You kissed until you both ran out of breath, and took him to your bedroom, where Sihtric wasted no time in ripping off your clothes and you did the same to him. He picked you up again and threw you on your bed, and he was fast to climb on top of you. You kissed him eagerly, pulling his hair and biting his lips, which turned Sihtric into a wild beast. He growled and grabbed your wrists, sat back on his heels and pulled you up to him. You only communicated through soft moans, deep breaths and loud groans, which only intensified when you finally guided his hard length inside you. And you fucked, hard.

Both in love while also being hurt, and angry; both upset at yourself for hiding your feelings. For having to suffer through seeing each other with other people, while all you really wanted was to be together. And you both felt you had wasted years of your life, which you now had to make up for.

Sihtric flipped you over on your back and threw your legs over his shoulder as he thrusted into you, hard and fast, holding your thighs in a bruising grip. He simply had to fuck you relentlessly now. He'd make love to you later, when you had both calmed down after everything. Sihtric just needed you to know what he was capable of, that he could handle you, that he could please you. And he simply wanted to finally hear you scream his name as well.

You moaned loud at the new position he took you in, your back arched as Sihtric kept up his pace. His teeth bared and his eyes fixated on you, enjoying the way he had you now and how you seemed to love it all the same.

'Fucking cum for me, love,' Sihtric growled out of breath as he neared his own climax.

You couldn't bring out anything that made sense, and just before you felt the overwhelming, pleasant feeling you had longed for all these years, Sihtric pulled you back up to him. And you straddled his lap, just in time to feel him finish inside you with a deep, heavy moan as his fingers tangled in your hair and his lips rested against yours. You fucked him through his high as you reached your own, and you both fell back on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms, completely out of breath. And sore.

You laid there, all sweaty and cuddled up for minutes, until you both came down from your high and your heartbeats slowed back a normal pace.

'Fuck,' you sighed, and looked up at Sihtric, who was still more or less panting, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his tongue stuck out slightly between his parted lips.

He looked down at you, exhausted, but a half smile appeared on his face along with the sound of a chuckle.

'Yeah,' he breathed, 'that sure was a fuck.'

And you both laughed, until you knew the situation had to be addressed, and you had to gather the courage to bring it up.

'Where do we go from here?' you asked after a while.

Sihtric hummed, sleepily, while he traced his rough fingertips over your bare back as you rested your chin upon his chest.

'I just want to be with you,' he whispered, 'for you to be mine. I can't stand it anymore, seeing you with someone else. And if… if you don't want to be with me, then that's okay. I can't force you, but... then I can't keep seeing you,' he sighed, 'I can't keep pretending that I'm not in love with you, that it doesn't hurt me that you're not mine. That you're not my girl. I can't be just friends anymore, I'm… I'm sorry-'

'I don't want to be just friends anymore either,' you whispered as your fingertips drew meaningless figures on his neck, 'we've been pretending for far too long already.'

'Then be mine,' Sihtric said as he slowly sat up, cupping your cheeks, 'be mine only,' he smiled sweetly and nuzzled your nose before he kissed your lips, gently this time, 'just say it, my love. You know I'm yours already.'

'And I am yours, Sihtric,' you smiled, looking up into his mismatched eyes. And you saw that spark again, which you had seen so many times before, but you only understood it now; the fire inside him only burned for you.

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#fic rec #reblog #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson #one chance #pls

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legitalicat · 23 hours

Text

THE CURSE OF CURIOSITY.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader

"While your brother searches the library of the Dragonkeeper Elder for something new to read, you come in contact with some unlabeled fluid. You both learn that it's something meant to aid in the breeding of dragons, however, it also has a unique effect on humans. But lucky for you, your twin is there to help you through the ordeal."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dub con, sex pollen (rather fluid lol), p in v, breeding kink

WORDS: 4 K

NOTES: Hope you enjoy me having literally zero grasp on English. 🤭

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“It’s far too late for us to be here,” you huff, almost annoyed, as you watch Aemond graze his fingers along the spines of the several books kept in the currently deserted chambers of the Dragonkeeper Elder. “What are we looking for here anyways?”

The room is barely lit by anything else than just a handful of candles. Your twin holds a lantern of some sort in one hand, using it to make out the writings that are carved on the books backs.

When there doesn’t immediately come an answer from him, you start to slowly walk around the room, inspecting its decor. “I have exhausted the castle’s libraries, and hope to take something of their collection for my own,” he murmurs, carefully selecting two books.

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. Although you’re just a few moments younger than him, sharing the same attributes with your long, silver hair and lilac eyes, you have a much gentler nature than he does, one that doesn’t lend itself to the same mischief you had pursued together as children anymore.

“And you couldn’t have just taken Floris with you? You ought to wed, and doing something together would do no harm to your future union. One sparsely sees you two around court,” you note, slightly annoyed your brother chose to wake you instead of his betrothed.

Knowing all too well that just the mention of the betrothal is going to set him off, you choose to play with fire. If your brother wants your company, he’ll have to put up with your teasing. And just like expected, the notion of being forced into a marriage he doesn’t want to be in irritates him, audible in the sigh he releases. His resentment of the situation has become worse over time as he feels more and more suffocated by the ordeal.

“The girl is as dull as stones. Besides,” he replies with a shrug, “she knows nothing about our family’s history, much less about dragons.” The topic of dragons is something your twin is very passionate about, and you know that the fact that his wife-to-be cares so little about his passion infuriates him. It might be one of the main reasons for his dislike of her. “I have no desire to have Floris at my side any more than she does me.”

His annoyance is palpable, but you don’t feel bad about making it worse. For all the hours he has spent teasing, taunting and annoying you while you grew up together, he gets it back twice and three times over. And although he hasn’t spoken it out loud, you know you’re one of the few people he trusts blindly to be himself around.

“That aside, it would be foolish to read with Floris,” he continues, your silence coaxing him to speak more, “as all she does is gossip with her friends and prattle on about pointless nonsense. You of all people know best how I feel about this match.”

“Floris isn’t so bad, you know,” you defend with a low voice. “And you’ve barely tried to get to know her. Surely you can find at least one thing to like about her. If you did, you might just see she’s not as terrible as you’ve decided.” If you both have to spend your days withering away in marriages sealed by your father and mother, you at least could find a little solace knowing your twin wasn’t as miserable in his.

Aemond sighs in frustration. “You sound just like mother,” he comments dryly, finally moving to look at you from over his shoulder. “Can you really say that you like her? She is dull and naive. I am certain I couldn’t find anything to like about her even if I had all night. There is nothing for me to like about her. Nothing at all.”

Finding yourself at somewhat of a loss of words at this, you open and close your mouth without any words leaving it. Part of you wants to disagree with your twin, as Floris hasn’t been entirely unpleasant to spend time with at court, which makes Aemond’s dislike for her appear entirely without reason to you. On the other hand, you’ve known your brother long and well enough to know when he is resolute about something.

“Just promise me that you won’t be a terrible husband to her. Even if you don’t like her, don’t make your lifes awful,” you finally blurt out.

As you allow your gaze to trail through the chambers once more, you spot some small vessels standing lined up on the desk in the far corner with books and scrolls littered around them. You don’t wait for Aemond to reply as you make your way over, determined to inspect the small containers. The liquid inside of them resembles milk of the poppy, although it’s slightly more permeable to light when you hold it to one of the candles.

You hardly think about the dangers coming with it when you open the lid to inhale a whiff of the fluid. Not smelling entirely unpleasant, it still has you scrunching your nose as a slight burning grows prominent in your nose and throat.

Placing the vessel back down rather quickly, it stands too close to the edge of the desk. You’re not quick enough as it falls to the ground with a clatter, the vessel shattering into pieces and the pale liquid spreading across the floor.

“By the Seven,” you mumble, sinking to the ground to collect some of the larger shards.

The sound of breaking glass and your sighing is enough to catch your brother's attention again. Where he has read the spines of the books before, he makes his way over to the source of the commodation now. “You shouldn’t have dropped that,” he comments dryly, which prompts you to shoot him a heated glare. “Oh, you don’t say, mh?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Reaching for another shard, you pull your hand back with a hiss when it cuts your finger. “Ouch!” you exclaim and rise to your feet, soon enough spotting the crimson oozing out of the cut.

Despite his annoyance at your clumsiness, Aemond’s good eye is drawn to the cut you have given yourself. It’s no deep wound, but even the hint of your blood makes something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach. “What were you doing with that?” he inquires, as he takes your hand to inspect your finger, nodding towards the vessels still standing on the desk.

You watch him twist and turn your hand to have the perfect look of the wound, the stinging pain suddenly not too bad with his warm skin on yours. “I… I just wanted to see what they keep here. It is unusual for anyone other than the maesters to store unmarked liquids,” you reply, hissing as Aemond pinches the cut finger a tad too tightly. “I shall see Maester Mellos. Mayhaps this needs stitching.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Aemond fetches the books he has chosen from the collection, holding them under his arm as he brings the other to you to place a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the Dragonpit.

On your request, the cut on your finger is stitched by Maester Mellos, although he has voiced that it wasn’t quite necessary. But something tells you the opposite, especially when you catch him staring at your face and checking your temperature more than once. “Is everything alright, maester?” you ask him with a soft voice, a yawn following.

Aemond towers over the both of you, carefully watching each move of the needle in the elder’s hands, just waiting for him to make a wrong move that’s meant to hurt you – he’s familiar with being stitched up after all.

The maester seems to be out of his mind, and only reacts as he hears you say his name. “Maester Mellos?”

His eyes are wide, but he nods quickly. “Yes… yes, princess. The wound should be able to heal calmly now.”

He is quick to pack his utensils up again, and even faster to leave your chambers at once. And while Aemond hurries after the old man, trying to catch up on him outside of your chambers, you don’t wait for any of them to return again with sleep coming over you.

The crackling of the fireplace is the only thing audible when you stir awake, a sheen of sweat covering your skin, making your nightgown cling to it uncomfortably. Your body feels as though it’s on fire when you squirm from one side to the other, not finding back to sleep. A tingling spreads in your loins, and each time your thighs squeeze together, it surges up your spine.

“Gods be good,” you whine, utterly bewildered with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through your veins.

Aemond not so silently rises from one of the chairs close to the fireplace, and comes closer to the bed, though, careful not to startle or frighten you as you regain your bearings. He has hoped you’d sleep through the entire ordeal and wake up as if nothing has happened, but that hope slowly dissipates with each passing moment.

“How are you feeling?” your twin asks, concern in his voice. Suddenly, hearing his voice allures you, and doesn’t diminish the burning at the apex of your legs.

As you clench your thighs together again, it releases some of the tension your body holds, and makes you whine in despair. “Aemond…” you pant, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”

The thin sheets covering your body do little to conceal what is happening beneath, and your brother just assumes it’s your way of trying to suppress your bodily urges ignited by the pale liquid you came in contact with before.

“I…” his usual confidence and boldness completely deserts him at the state you’re in, and he can barely find the words to tell you what he’s been told by Maester Mellos.

As he watches you writhe and writhe about on the bed, he’s unsure of how much longer he can just stand there and do nothing. But his concern and love for you cause him to make the decision to act, approaching you and reaching out to grasp your hands.

At the contact, the feeling of his warm hands fully engulfing yours, it’s like something overcomes your mind and body, luring you in to move, staring up at him with wide eyes as you sit on your haunches. “Dohaeragon nyke… kostilus,” you whimper, strands of your silver hair clinging to the damp sides of your face. “Ziry ōdrikagon.. sīr bāne. Nyke sepār – dohaeragon nyke, lēkia.” Yet you don’t quite know what exactly you’re begging for. Help me… please. It hurts… so hot. I just – help me, brother.

In the dim light of the candles, you spot his eye widening as you shift and squirm, looking up at him in such a vulnerable state with your innocent eyes, pleading for him to help you through your ordeal although you have no idea of what’s wrong with you right now. He can’t help but notice how your hair clings to your skin, seeming as if you’ve just bathed, and that your movements seem to contribute to its dampness.

“Mellos has told me what the fluid is that the Elder keeps in his chambers,” he states, trying to stay calm and not let your state affect him too much.

But with his proximity, all effort of you to process what he’s saying is fruitless. You pull on his hands, as if you want to encourage him to join you in bed, and when he doesn’t budge, you rise on your knees, and start to fidget with the buttons of his coat – solely driven by your urges. “And that is?” you mumble, not really listening.

His cheeks run hot when you start to undo the buttons, and his hands capture yours once again to put a stop to it, making you pout. With furrowed brows, his grip finally has you looking up at him. “It’s something used to aid in breeding the dragons,” Aemond states. “He told me it’s also used to increase their stamina and to make them more…” he trails off, his body slowly growing tense as the implication of what he’s going to say settles into his mind. “... receptive to breeding.”

“Mh–Mh,” you hum almost nonchalantly, and watch completely mesmerized as your fingers graze along his, the warmth and softness of his skin only intensifying the tingling in your loins. Aemond is hesitant, unsure whether or not what you’re doing is entirely due to the potion’s effect, or if there is genuinely some desire for him on your part.

You lick your lips and free your hands from Aemond’s to shrug the opened coat off his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic is pinched between your fingers as you tug on it once again to beg for him to join you. With him taking his sweet time, you find yourself clenching your thighs every now and then to soothe the aching burning at the apex of them.

“He also informed me that ‘tis necessary for someone to… help you through it,” he murmurs quietly, his voice almost sounding shaky as he speaks, “... for it will burn you from the inside out if not.”

Even though you’re fully acting on your body's desires, you do notice the way his widened eye trails down to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before it returns to yours.

You don’t give a verbal response to his words, and instead, your only reactions are subtle ones. Nodding your head slowly, as if you’ve understood what he is implying, your hands squeeze his tunic further into his chest. He can practically see your body tensing with each movement of your fingers, almost as if you’re trying to hold back.

With your eyes firmly locked with his now, you slowly trail your hands beneath his tunic, pushing it up to remove that as well from his body to get further access to him – if it wasn’t for him not raising his arms.

Exhaling a deep breath, you sit back on your haunches. His reluctance does little to quell the fire raging within you, no, it only fuels to make you even more desperate. The lacey hem of your nightgown rides up your thighs as you spread them, and fully exposes your undergarments the moment you bring your hand between your legs. A breathy whimper falls past your lips as your fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt, and then something akin to mischief flickers in your lilac eyes.

“And… will you help me, brother? Or shall I ask Jacaerys for help instead? We ought to wed in a moon's turn after all,” your voice is honeyed as you speak, dripping with feigned innocence. “But you don’t want that, do you? That’s why you’ve stayed.”

You spot the exact moment his breath hitches in his throat. He suddenly feels a wave of heat overcoming him, your words triggering something in him that is more than just the usual desire to protect his younger sister, something primal. You sound and look so vulnerable asking for his help, secretly begging for him and him only.

Intertwining your fingers with his, the intensity of your grip increasing as your senses become more heightened, your twin finally moves as you pull him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as you watch him come closer, and when he is close enough, you reach and pull him down onto you in a quick motion. You don’t waste a second more and lock your lips with his, your hand slowly traveling down his back. But before you can grab his tunic and pull it over his head, Aemond pushes you back to lie flatly on the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. His eye burns with hunger as he gazes down at you, visible even in the dim light, and it makes you yearn for more.

“Well, if I chose to leave you here to your own devices, would you crawl to your betrothed for help? I do not think so,” he says, his voice taking over a mocking tone. “No, in fact, I’m certain you would come to my chambers instead.”

When he doesn’t touch you, you try to wrap your legs around his body to grind yourself against him, but Aemond is quick to catch your hip with one hand, keeping your body still as it's pinned to the mattress.

“Sir, dohaeragon nyke,” you beg, voice shaky enough it comes close to a whimper. But when you notice that speaking in the tongue of your ancestors is not having any effect on him at all, you choose to coax him to tend to you in the Common Tongue. “Touch me, Aemond. Help me… please.” Now, help me.

Aemond is silent for a moment, visibly dragging his eye over your squirming frame. One hand still holds your wrists above your head, while the other slowly but surely releases your hip. “I shall take care of you,” he reassures you. “But you will have to let me, do you understand?”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and slowly nod your head, only for you to pounce on him the moment your wrists are released. The tunic is gone as soon as your body collides with his, causing a strained gasp to leave your twin’s lips. While just the thoughts of his warm skin on yours have incite your mind already, seeing his bare chest sets your body alight.

His demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and he has never treated you as roughly as he does when he pushes you off of him. It leaves you dumbfounded for a moment, more so when he moves between your parted legs, towering over you.

“Look how dull this fluid has made you,” he mocks, the condescending tone of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. Aemond notices that you’re not shying away from him, no, you keen at that. “Just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I help you,” he warns, “no one else, let alone that bastard of a nephew, is ever allowed to touch you again, do you understand?”

It might be the liquid-induced state, or the despair to have him do anything to you already, but you’re far too eager to nod at his words.

Aemond’s hand wanders below the hem of your nightgown to heartily fist your undergarments and peel them off of you. He can already feel that the linen is soaked with your arousal, but still can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he sees your now exposed cunt glistening in the light of the candles.

“Now, we do not want you to suffer any longer, hm?” he asks.

And you nod once again. “Gods, yes, please. I need you, Aemond.”

You don’t have to beg him any longer. He undoes the laces in the front of his breeches and pulls out his throbbing cock, painfully hard and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s slightly curved and thick, and if you have to guess, you’d say that you need both hands to pleasure him, and even then there’d still be a bit of him that would be left abandoned.

Aemond wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance, pushing into you as you both moan in unison. You don’t expect him to set up a merciless pace almost immediately upon fully bottoming out, but you’re not disappointed either.

While you’ve been able to talk before, he’s quickly reduced you to a whimpering and whining mess, relishing in the delicious burning of accommodating his sheer size.

“Does it help?” your twin asks through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay. But you’ve been fucked into a stupor by him already, not even able to keep your eyes open. “Mh-mh,” you hum.

Putting some of his weight onto you, Aemond’s hand finds your throat like the most treasured necklace you only take off to sleep, taking up the entirety of your neck and leaving no room for you to shift even the slightest.

It was subtle at first, but the merciless pace slowly changes into something more determined, his hips rolling with each thrust as if he wants to make sure the tip of his cock really brushes your sweet spot every time. He’s seemingly spurred on by the way you’ve lost all inhibitions, not that the fluid allowed you to have any in the first place, and the wanton moans that spill past your lips.

One of your hands grabs his wrist, keeping his hand around your throat, while the other finds solace on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his alabaster skin, and you’re sure that crescent shaped marks will bloom there not long after, staking your claim on him.

“But you need more,” Aemond grunts, and you can’t do more than whimper a pathetic string of yesses. “The only thing that will truly help you is for me to fill you up with my seed, to breed you.”

Your head tips back in plain bliss, and you’re not sparing one thought to the possible repercussions of him putting a child in you. If anything, there is something buried deeply inside of you that has waited for this moment. You have waited for this moment. You grew up thinking you’d marry your twin one day, only for the rising tensions inside of the family to force you to marry your nephew instead as the final straw to mend the chasm.

Aemond’s stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the way your body reacts to him and his words – not when a renewed wave of your arousal drips from your cunt at the mere thought of you carrying his child. It’s running thin, ready to burst at any given moment, hence he brings a deft finger to your pearl, rubbing it with frantic movements that should bring you to peak just in time with him.

The pressure brought to your pearl has your body squirming, not anticipating it and the shiver of pleasure that comes with it. You arch your back and moan, yet a tight squeeze of your throat is enough to bring your attention back to him.

“Do you want that?” he pants, dark blown eyes fixed with yours. “Want me to put a babe in you?” It might be his way to ask for your reassurance, and while your body’s reaction should be enough with your walls clenching around him so tightly, he stills wants to hear your voice.

Your cheeks grow hot as his words finally seem to settle in your hazed mind, a whiny ‘yes’ slipping past your lips. “Fill me up, Aemond… please. I want it,” you all but beg, your voice croaked with him squeezing your throat.

The confession flips a switch inside of you that allows you to let go, your body shattering beneath Aemond with a pathetic whine. He relishes in the way your walls flutter and spasm all over him, utterly mesmerized as relief etches itself into your features.

With a groan, the first wanton sound of pleasure you’ve heard of him, Aemond spends himself inside of you. He connects your lips in a heated kiss that has you swallowing down each grunt and groan he unleashes. Working you both through the blissful highs, his hips only stop once he’s sure he’s fucked his seed as deep as possible, determined to put a child in you.

Aemond topples over into the vacant space next to you, his breeches soaked with your arousal and his chest heaving with his breaths.

The sudden loss of friction makes you whine at first, but is quickly overshadowed by the feeling of relief. “Thank you,” you whisper through heavy breaths, turning your head to look at him.

“I won’t leave now,” he says softly, although there is a linger of mischief in his voice. “I would be remiss not to aid my sister in her hour of utmost desperation… so, I shall stay the night just to make sure you really get through it.”

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #reblog #fic reblog #fic rec

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