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clovesnz · 1 year

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Just a self-indulgent little drabble. I do not write much at all so apologies for any sub-par pros/pacing/grammar/etc. CW snot

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She placed her hands on either side of her face. “Hey, look at me, you’re gonna be alright, I’m here to take care of you, and I don’t mind the mess”

Y gave a small nod, but her face was already preoccupied with the sneeze twisting its way into her features. Her mouth dropped open and her tongue poked out just a little in concentration. Her nostrils flared, then twitched, then flared again, and her head slowly tilted upwards. Her breaths grew sporadic and desperate, and X couldn’t help but tighten her grip, receiving every hitch and whimper in the cradle of her hands as though each were its own small gift just for her. Y's eyes were half closed, all watery and red and twitching agonizingly with the rest of her face.

She let out a whine, and shifted desperately on the bed, scrunching up her whole face and causing a hot itchy tear to run down her cheek. X swiped the tear away with her thumb. “Oh my darling,” she murmured, and traced one gentle finger along Y's eyebrow, smoothing it as it quivered with the rest of her face. As she reached the end, Y's breath shuddered inwards, and she grabbed X's shoulder with one hand, holding herself steady. “Oh” she squeaked, before another shuddering breath took her over.

“Hheeehhh…”

It was bigger this time, and she grabbed onto X's other shoulder. She did it like she had to, like she was holding on for her life as her body overtook her. X grabbed her around the waist, high enough to feel her chest expanding and contracting with each ragged breath.

“Hheeh-Uh! Uhhhhh-“

X reached one hand to cradle her cheek, and then leaned in to kiss her cheek as she continued to let out whimpering, hitching breaths. She felt the next “ahhh-H-ehhH” buzz against her lips, and the sound was so sweet that she brought her lips down to the little dip between Y’s collarbone, and ran a line of indulgent kisses up the delicate strain of Y’s neck, all splayed out as she looked up, and vibrating deliciously with sounds of desperation. The kisses made Y gasp harder, and then a coo of pleasure escaped between hitches.

“Hmmmmm - H! h-h-h-h-“

Those last breaths sounded so close that X felt her stomach plunge in a wave of anticipation that almost made her gasp herself. But instead she pressed her face into the side of Y’s neck, and brought her hand back to her waist, and held her tight, tight, tight. “I’ve got you sweetie,” she murmured, “you can let it out, let them all out.”

Y whimpered and squirmed underneath X, hands tightening on X’s shoulders. “Eeeh X I n-H!-nnn n n need to snEH! Sss EH!” “I know sweetie," she cooed, "you can, I promise. Sneeze as much as you need to”

And with that last bit of encouragement, Y’s body finally gave in.

“Heh...hhhhyyyyyeETCHIEWW!!”

She jolted forward, pressing against X with the force of the outburst. A wave of pleasure washed over X as she felt it all - the contraction of Y’s stomach, the force with which she was thrust forward, the involuntary, sharp breath she took in immediately afterwards as she geared up for another one. “There we go,” she whispered, trying not to sound as out of breath as she felt.

“Hehhhh-HEH-ETTXChIEWW!”

This time X could hear the mess escaping Y’s nose, and when she pulled away to look, a glistening string of snot stretched out between them. “-h-Oh! S-shit,” Y made to wipe at the mess, but X took her hand gently, and the string broke and slinked onto X’s shirt. Y gave a little whimper of concern, but X squeezed her hand, “hey, hey, no guilt, remember? You know how much I don’t mind." Y smiled shyly at that, and nodded, and let X carefully wipe the remaining mess from her upper lip with her fingers. When the point of X's nail grazed the opening of her nose, her nostrils flared suddenly, and her head jolted back just a little. “Hah..haH!” X swiped at it one more time, and then held her hand under Y's mouth, just in time to catch the mess that streamed from her as she released another desperate sneeze.

“EEEEETGXttchOooo!!”

X squeezed Y’s hand again and whispered, “therree you go sweetie. See, I’ve got you,” and before Y could could finish nodding at the assurance, she froze, eyes closed once again, and then jolted forward, a violent string of sneezes escaping her in desperate succession.

“heH-heETCCHEEEW!! Eghxxxt! EXchiew! ngsh! tshhh-tshhht-ch-cHIEEW!!”

The last few were so rapid it almost sounded like one sneeze with multiple parts. But each one still sent it’s own stream of snot pouring into X’s hand. The poor thing, she thought. No wonder she was so nervous about sneezing in front of people, if it was this much of a production every time she did it. Seemingly thinking about the same thing, Y glanced down at X’s hand and snuffled “so..so much s-s-sno-t” “yeah my darling, there is,” X murmured, and kissed the point of Y’s adorable, twitchy nose before wiping her hand carefully on the side of her own shirt. The kiss triggered another string of sneezes, and this time X pulled Y against her chest, letting her sneeze into her shirt.

“HhhEEETCHEW! ETTCHO! HEPt’shew..hiitchiew! IgxTsh! Heh-IgxTsh! IgxxTsh! Tsh! Tsh!“

X felt the wetness running down her chest and onto her aching breasts, her whole front drenched with the contents of Y’s nose. She ran a hand through Y’s hair, and to the flipping of her stomach, it prompted Y to look up it her, eyes fighting to stay open despite the tickle. She didn’t break eye contact as she hitched, nose flaring, eyes streaming. X couldn’t help it - she reached around to Y’s ass and pulled her closer, and Y slid herself up onto her lap, thighs gripping her side. Their faces were level now, and Y was still fighting to keep her eyes on X. But with every twitch of her nose they fluttered a little more, until finally she could no longer do it.

“h-hhhhhh-h-h-h” her chest heaved, breasts straining against her shirt with each ragged breath. “huh..huH…hhhhAH!! AHhYEtshu ETTTCHEEEW!!”

The spray hit X’s face with force, and again she couldn’t help it, and squirmed a little underneath Y's twitching thighs. But Y was just getting started.

The sweet thing just kept sneezing, and X kept taking it, marveling each time her nose erupted so magnificently onto her. By the end X felt like an absolute puddle beneath Y - somewhat literally, In fact, with the amount of spittle and snot she had been covered in. When she was done, Y collapsed into X, head resting on her shoulder, still panting and sniffling. X rubbed her back, soothingly, and murmured “You did so good sweetie, getting ‘em all out. That was a lot.”

"I liked that I was with you while it happened," Y responded, and nuzzled her nose, still dripping with snot, into the side of X's neck.

"yeah" X breathed, tingles of pleasure radiating from where Y's nose grazed her skin,

"so did I."

#snzblr #snz kink #sneeze kink #snzfic #snzario #sneeze scenario #snz things #snzfucker #snz #clove’s musings #if you read this before feb 12 there were some typos at the beginning lmao apparently x and y are too similar looking for me to write with

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movietonight · 2 years

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I love the mental image of people seeing the gang and just quickly peeling more cloves of garlic. just to be sure.

#Dracula Daily #Dracula #Macks Musings #Mihai we need more garlic!#Isn't two cloves enough?#Mihai have you seen our guests especially the young lady #I am going to add more garlic into the ciorbă. Maybe into the țuică just to be safe #Garlic infused țuică?#Well they won't know the difference just tell them it's a regional variation if they ask

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drvcxrys · 4 months

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(¸.• ♛ → "so tell me..." she began saying, now the girl looking at the woman. "do i know you? you do look oddly familiar." she couldn't help but comment because that's what she thinks, she feels familiar in a way but she wasn't sure why is that.

@papcrrings (effie)

#Muse; Clove Kentwell

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hvbris · 7 months

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𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒

Cassandra, Mina, Effie, Lucretia, Lucy Gray, Clove

tagging: @omniishambles @uselessdevice @governmentofficial @multipleoccupancy @countlessrealities @collidingxworlds @dcmur3 @theresastargirl @lovepurposed @advnterccs @regretmedicineandsmokes @gillxd @ambitchouss @ladiesandwitches and YOU! do it and tag me

#this was very fun to do #dash games #cassandra (are we delving into mysteries we weren't meant to know?)#mina (i'm not afraid of the boogieman; i look at him like he's a friend)#lucy gray (the show's not over until the mockingjay sings)#effie (let's go show them what real beauty looks like)#clove (vincere aut mori)#lucretia (you bite the feeding hand and it will crush you where you stand)#(musing)

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ircnwrought · 4 months

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I’m almost done with bg3 act 3 and all i can say is i want all the threads

#(( i can throw muses in no problem #my witches? yeah they’re wizards or warlocks now #maybe Harmonia is one of the few gods trying to help #clove would be a fighter; Nat would be a rogue; etc ))#❛ give my love to all who remember me ❜ ▬ ( ooc. )#❛ hearteyes ❜ ▬ ( wanted. )

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wasntfaira · 4 months

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there is nothing i find funnier than waking up to see what replies i did or what characters i added after taking my ambien.

#i was just looking at my muse list and saw 'clove' with no other details at all.#like ok bitch #𝒐𝒐𝒄. have a little hope

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cquity · 4 days

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#musings | clove kentwell #edit | clove kentwell

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peace-and-light-poetry · 8 days

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Where'd the sun go?

It was sunny, initially Sunny with blue and puffs of white

At the moment, it's gray With muted hues The sun had vanished

She took it that she won't be in town long

No, she'd be finishing her business And then she'd go home

Certainly, the forecast was wrong

#reality subtext #written on the fly #free-verse #short poem #musings #idle poem #revised #notebook poem #forgot to post #written 3/27/2024 #ohio weather #seasonal clove

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rosefeirie · 7 months

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☼☾ ( sen mitsuji. he/him. cis-man. ) The courts of veritas welcome CLOVE TAKAYASHI! It’s been said that the 953 year old VAMPIRE is known to be OBSERVANT and COLLECTED but he’s also POSSESSIVE and SECRETIVE. CLOVE can be found LOUNGING ON A COUCH IN ELYSIUM WITH A MAN TO HIS LEFT AND A WOMEN TO HIS RIGHT. If you visit their home in SANGUIS POINT, it may remind you of THICK GREEN VELVET, SPOOLS OF SPIDERSILK, DEEP WOODEN GRAINS AND THE SMELL OF MAPLE MIXED WITH METAL. They may be your best friend or your greatest enemy. ☾☼

TW: MENTIONS OF MURDER + BLOOD

BASICS:

FULL NAME: CLOVE TAKAYASHI

NICKNAME(S): ASSHOLE + PRICK + MONSTER

ETHNICITY: JAPANESE

NATIONALITY: ENGLISH

BIRTHDAY: NOVEMBER 19th

AGE: 35 [ 953 ]

SPECIES: VAMPIRE [ SIRE ]

BELONGS TO: SANGUIST POINT 📍

EDUCATION: HE WENT TO UNIVERSITY AT ONE POINT BUT IT HAD LESS TO DO WITH THE EDUCATION AND MORE TO DO WITH THE STUDENTS IN UNIFORMS.

OCCUPATION: BEING STUPID FILTHY RICH

WRITTEN AESTHETICS: HE’S THE HAND AT YOUR THIGH, THE TEETH AT YOUR THROAT, THE MOON BRIGHT AND LOOMING LIKE A KNIFE, HE’S THE FINE LINE BETWEEN PAIN AND DELIGHT.

FAMILY TREE:

MOTHER: YOSHITO TAKAYASHI [ HUMAN ]

FATHER: UNKNOWN [ HUMAN ]

SIRE: [ REDACTED ]

APPEARANCE:

Clove has black hair he normally keeps cut short, he's six feet tall and right handed. He's slim and toned like a ballet dancer. He has a shark's smile, cheekbones you can slice your fingers on, a jaw you would like to line kisses down. He has brown eyes that look lighter in the dead of night, the kind that lull you into a false sense of security before the world goes black. He's dangerous, he looks it, and it makes you want him all the more.

His most distinguishing feature is his smile, careful to not fall into it.

SUPERNATRUAL ABILITIES:

Clove has the ability to communicate telepathically better than most vampires, he's especially great at it with those he has sired. He can speak to them from quite a great distance. He has the ability for compulsion but he finds he rarely ever needs to use it, normally he's able to convince people to give him what he wants with his natural charms. He learned to fly four hundred years ago, and is still able to do so although it's not his favorite mode of transportation. He much prefers his green Mercedes-Benz.

Clove knew the vampire who sired him long before he was turned. He thought they were friends, maybe something more, but that changed when he got bitten. His friend master took him in, taught him how to feed and how to use his abilities to the full extent of his power. It was long and arduous journey due to Clove fighting his sire at every turn. He turned down every advance, every olive branch, every last apology whispered into his mind. He would not give him what he wanted; a companion for all of eternity. Instead Clove took what he learned and killed the man who created him. He'd heard stories that if you killed the vampire who turned you, you'd die along with them. Unfortunately that was not the case for Clove. He was forced to continue on, and in the end, he became just like the vampire who turned him.

He's not really interested in magical items per say, but he does have a fondness for faerie blood. He believes it tastes sweeter than human blood, less like wine and more like Skrewball whiskey. It's rare when a faerie is willing to part with their blood, so when they do, Clove savors it.

Clove isn't fearful of any supernatural creatures due to his age but he does have a strong distaste for wolves. He thinks they smell like wet dog and nothing is more unappealing to him than that. Also their bite is technically deadly for his kind.

As for people he would die for, well that's easy enough, no one. Clove fights for no one other than himself, and yes, he is definitely a fighter.

PERSONALITY:

Clove is charming, seductive, convincing and also incredibly dangerous. He can talk circles around anyone, convince you his ideas were yours all along, with the smile to match. He's beautiful, he knows it well and uses it to his advantage every chance he gets. He likes to pry into other people's lives but keeps his own under lock and key. He's secretive, dishonest, possessive but god he makes it look good. You have no reason to garner his favor but you will want it.

He's also incredibly and utterly terrified of being left alone. For so long he refused to sire his own vampires, the thought alone made him sick to his stomach but you know what they say. Time enlarges all wounds. He grew tired of falling in love only to watch them grow old and die. He was tired of grieving. He was tired of being lonely. If he had to live he would not do it alone.

So when he met Tiernan and fell in love with the little prince, he took him for his own. Damn the consequences. When Tiernan ran away, he tried again and again and again. Each companion a failure. Each heartbreak buried with more violence and grief. He withdrew into himself, and allowed a monster to move into his head instead.

Now he spends most days reading, drowning his sorrows with blood, sleeping with a plethora of men and women, and bothering those he has sired. He also has a nasty habit of interfering in other's lives just for the hell of it. It's like his own version of playing chess.

FAMILY:

Clove knows nothing of his father, or if he has other siblings because of him. His mother never gave him details, not even a photo to go off of. As for his mother herself, he had quite a large fondness for her. He unfortunately had to watch her grow old and die while he remained the same. He knew turning her wasn't an option at the time, and also understood it was more a curse than a blessing to be immortal.

The Q's + A's:

Clove was born in Rye, England. His mother's parents had immigrated from Japan due to war and famine. Rye wasn't any better but it was all he knew back then. Once turned, Clove traveled the world, stealing hearts and people's money wherever he went. Eventually he became rather wealthy, the issue became the humans with their guns and wary gazes. So Clove moved to Veritas, the isle of the supernatural. He didn't mind the island or the people who lived there but nonetheless he grew lonely. His mind wandered back to Tiernan, his little prince. Without much forethought he beckoned the man to the isle, beckoned him home where he belonged.

Clove enjoys the variety of blood types the island provides.

Humans are only feared when they come in large groups, otherwise they're rather harmless.

Clove funny enough, loves to read smut. He finds it amusing how many words humans have come up with to describe their sexual organs. He's also fond of trashy TV and A24 films. A man of the arts one could say.

CONNECTIONS:

Clove keeps a tight inner circle. If he doesn't find you interesting or indulge his vices he's not likely to keep you around. The only people that seem to have some sort of sway over his affections are those he sired.

TIERNAN Ó CLÉIRIGH! [ SIRED/EX-LOVER ]

BIRDIE [ SIRED/EX-LOVER ]

EMRYS ABBOT [ SIRED/EX-LOVER ]

pinterest. spotify.

#vih.intro #[ clove takayashi; biography ]#[ muses--; ]

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vasilissadragomir · 5 months

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one of the most heart-wrenching things about thg universe is that you feel the loss of who each character would be outside the circumstances of their birth almost as acutely as you feel the loss of the characters themselves.

sure, we know what lucy gray and her family would be doing in a different world; she’d be dancing and singing and making music which defines a cultural identity. but what about the others? would haymitch have been a hilarious, loving father with a family had he not been forced to survive 47 other children’s brutal deaths? would finnick have been a charismatic and beloved actor, bringing joy to immeasurable people on his own terms? would beetee and wiress have worked together to develop technology to make it easier to connect loved ones far and wide? what would reaper and annie have given to the world, or thresh, or rue, or even coral or cato or glimmer or clove?

if katniss wasn’t half-starving and forced to spend each day hunting to feed her family, would archery be her true passion? or if she’d been a well-sustained little girl with access to art supplies, would she have spent her time sketching captivating dresses? she picks up ropes and making fish hooks quickly—could her dexterity have lent itself to knitting, sewing, or crocheting with vibrant yarns and fabrics? there’s so much evidence that katniss finds clothing inspiring and empowering, even when she dismisses it as frivolous. she likes being pretty, she just hates the circumstances under which she’s made to look pretty. cinna shows her that beauty has its own power, and there are several moments in her interactions with cinna and his designs that make me wonder who she’d be if she had space for art and creativity in her life.

conversely, peeta has had art in his life since he was a small child, but for him, art has always been entangled with his trauma. he could bake and decorate well because he learned from his mother, a mother who beat him his whole life. but his talent grows, not only as a survival tool in the first games, but when he paints rue on the floor of the training center before the second games. his art becomes not only a symbol of his trauma, but a means of resistance and solidarity. in a world where peeta’s intrinsic kindness and loving heart had been nurtured and welcomed rather than abused, could he have been a painter, helping people find collective meaning in the simple realities of life?

could katniss and peeta have still found each other in another world, a world without the horrors they were raised with, and bonded over their love of art? could they have been each other’s muses?

maybe they find their way to share art, after the events of mockingjay, as part of their process of healing and falling in love with each other. when they’re finally safe and have been for a long time, maybe katniss fashions peeta an easel for him to paint in their living room. after months of watching him gaze out the window and paint the changing leaves, katniss takes to knitting on a rocking chair in the other corner of the living room to steady her restless hands. they work silently as the days go by, quietly exchanging the things they’ve made to give each other the reassurance and love neither could ever fully convey with words.

and maybe one day, when they learn there’s a baby on the way due in midwinter, katniss takes a page from peeta’s sketchpad and starts to plan a series of sweaters and hats and socks she can knit for the baby. and peeta goes to the little nursery upstairs and starts working on a mural, so the baby will have something beautiful to look at every day. they work together to design the perfect baby blanket for their child, to ensure they will always be wrapped in a layer of protection and love by their parents.

but even if they find creativity and beauty in their lives after the end of mockingjay, the art they make will simply never be what that art could have been had they not faced what they faced. art comes from suffering, yes, but the human condition has so much suffering as is, and we’d never know what kind of art they’d make if they hadn’t experienced trauma of a distinctly sadistic and inhuman nature. but maybe their children, raised in a better world with love and protection and safety and joy and creativity and expression, will be the ones to create the art peeta and katniss never could.

#thg #the hunger games #hunger games #katniss #peeta #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #cinna #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #thg analysis #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #finnick odair #annie cresta #catching fire #mockingjay

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clovesnz · 1 year

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“Aw, is your little nose bothering you?”

but their nose is actually gorgeously big, you just like belittling them 🤭

#…and they like being belittled 👀#snz #snzario #snzblr #clove’s musings

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arcielee · 3 months

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Ābrazȳrys

Summary: Aemond goes to see if the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead. Paring: dark!Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader Word Count: 1900+ Warnings: MDNI, dark[ish]!Aemond, Reader AFAB, noncon elements, ghostly voyeurism? rough sex, p in v unprotected, creampie, breeding kink when you squint. Author’s Note: So, this is not for the poll I just had, but something that came from rambling with my muses [thank you lovelies]. This is dedicated to @namelesslosers whose recent piece already had my mind thrumming with dark!Aemond ever since I read your story. Thank you, Mari, this is mostly your fault. 😆 Not beta read, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. Also, Sȳz ābrazȳrys is Valyrian for good wife.

An accord was struck between the Warden of the North and King Viserys; you were then packed to be sent away to the capital, to wed his second son, Prince Aemond. Your purpose, you learned, was to placate the growing rift within the house of the dragon, but you soon realized it was not something that could be easily mended.

Aemond was complexity carved from marble, both beautiful and statuesque as the blood of Old Valyria was rumored to be. You saw his ire was not unfounded when the crowned princess had returned to flaunt her sins at her side, their tousled dark hair as bold as the crimson curve that cut through the left side of your husband’s face.

You felt the shift, saw the hatred now etched onto his sharp features at the sight of them. “Bastards,” he had murmured loud enough for you to hear. His tone was dark, his hold on your hand stopping the blood from reaching your fingertips.

The tension brought with their arrival was palpable, weaving through the Red Keep and pouring into the Small Hall where dinner was held, as per the king’s request. The pleasantries seemed forced and it ended with a scathing toast, an outburst, and when you tried to follow after Aemond, he had been quick to dismiss you.

You often struggled to find your place in King’s Landing. Aemond was courteous, but cold; both diligent and disinterested in the same breath. He treated you as his duty and it left your heart aching for more. It could not be sated with his family: Aegon was too lost in his cups, as was Helaena but with her dreams, and you had never met the youngest prince, as he was tucked away at Oldtown.

This left you to shadow the queen, which was how you now found yourself quietly at her side, your gaze accompanying her own–her brown eyes were wide and wet and fearful all at the same time. Her handmaiden had brought you to her quarters to hear it firsthand: the king was dead. Now you watched as the Silent Sister finished the wrappings on the body.

There was an attempt to mask the smell of death with the tapers lit, with the cloves and fresh herbs crushed for a smoldering incense that curled upwards into the air, but the lifelessness remained, prominent still. You could only assume it was something so intricately knitted with the late king, a man who had lingered so long on the precipice that life had long rotted away before he had taken his final breath.

Alicent waited until they left before she took the crown and placed it on top of the body. You watched her shudder with a choked grief, her hands pressing onto the altar to hold herself upright until she could regain her queenly composure. She then excused herself without a word, leaving you alone with the dead.

The body in front of you was not your family, but only your king. Your own unshed tears were from the fear you felt, from the loss that would come with the inevitable civil war; you saw flashes of red from the blood to be spilled, black from the ash that would rain over the kingdoms.

“He is even smaller in death.”

You knew the voice, so low but it still wrenched the air from your lungs. You looked up to see your husband poised in the doorway. “It is something that comes for us all, it is inescapable,” Aemond finished, his eye now trained to you.

It seemed a murmured thought and you were uncertain if he would continue it, uncertain if the words spoken were even meant for your ears to begin with. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry from the smoke. “My husband,” your voice cracked with compassion, “I am so sorry–”

“I am not.”

It cuts through you, halting your tongue. You watched him carefully, warily, as his lips curled upwards. “For too long I have watched him slowly wither beneath the crown handed to him by a council,” and he looked back to the altar, a bitterness brewing. “He hid behind some want for a faux peace, but only because he lacked the conviction and the spine to speak the truth.”

His tone clipped, his smile now cruel and cutting into his cheeks as he stepped towards you with his slow, distinct gate. You remained rooted, unwilling to wilt under the weight of the harsh truth that could now be spoken out loud and without repercussions.

You tried again: “Are you certain of this? Of her misdeeds–?”

This time your voice caught once he was close enough for his fingers to trail along the side of your face, coming to cup your cheek and hold your gaze. His palm was callused from his sword, but gentle to touch, igniting a warmth that pooled towards your core. Your eyes flickered over his smile that remained, your breath knotting in your throat as you realized how tall he now stood, as if a weight had been removed from him.

“Ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his hold now moving to curl behind at the base of your neck and pull you closer to him. Your hands touched his chest, falling into him and his heat, his sandalwood and smoke, the amber scent that belonged so intimately to Aemond.

You burned from his direct attention, something you had pitifully sought after since you arrived, and it was now being handed alongside the corpse of the king.

And it felt so wrong.

His finger curled under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “Perhaps if I put a babe in your belly, you can see how strong the blood of dragon truly is.”

And yet–

“Aemond,” you gasped as his other hand moved to clasp around your elbow, pulling you closer until his mouth captured your own.

The room swam in smoke; you felt drunk from the warmth of his lips and with the way his hands roamed your backside, pulling you flushed against his chest. You could feel the swell of his cock pressing against the seams, a heat that permeated through and spread to ignite your nerve endings.

You sighed sweetly with how you fit against his chest and Aemond deepened the kiss with a desperation that you matched against your own volition. Your arms lifted to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself closer still, and Aemond let out a low groan, a vibration that trilled and tightened in your core.

“Aemond, we should leave…”

His passion would not be abated and instead his mouth claimed yours again. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist to lift you and pull you away from the dead with staggering steps back towards the enclave of bay windows the sun streaked through. His large hands tore through your layers to touch the soft divot between your thighs, until the pads of his fingers pressed to the wet patch that was growing; he hummed.

You broke away and his mouth then latched to the curve of your neck, biting you, marking you, his passion reborn from the tips of his teeth. You cried out from the mixture of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you with how it responded, with how it craved for more.

You tried again: “Aemond, we mustn’t–”

His hand caught your jaw with a hold that dimpled into your cheeks. “You must know by now that the walls are thick, as my ancestors designed them to be,” his eye looked over your kiss-swollen lips and the blood that was staining your features. “Also, the dead also cannot hear us.”

Aemond then surged against you; you could not fight back, you would not fight back. Instead, your hands balled into his tunic to balance yourself, to return the kiss until all the air left your lungs. You felt his smile against your mouth, his arms returning to snake around your waist and guide until you fell down to the rug that covered the floor; a delicious contrast of the warmth he emitted to the cold of the cobblestone beneath you.

He rucked your skirts up around your waist, his hand moving to pull away the small clothes intimately wrapped around before he slotted himself between your thighs. You felt his length grind against your bare cunt and you gasped, only for the sound to be swallowed with another heated kiss that seared the blood now coursing through your veins.

Aemond paused to look down at you. His hair spilled silver in the sunlight and he watched your corset push against your cleavage, the desperate rise and fall to catch your breath. His one arm propped himself up while the other tugged away at the strings laced at his crotch; your fingers slipped into his loosened waistband, pulling it down until his cock was freed. His fingers then wrapped around his base, flushed crimson with his passion, and you nearly cried as he rubbed his swollen head along your folds, silken with your arousal.

His arms caged you and he pushed into you, filling you with his slow thrusts to fit, until he was fully sheathed within your cunt. Your lips parted wordlessly as your pleasure began to kindle with the slow roll of his hips, something that spread towards the ends and returned to build within your core.

You mewled as his paced quickened, the wet sounds of bare skin suctioning as he fucked you into the rug, bruising your backside against the stone with each snap of his hips; you lifted to cant your own, welcoming the bruising pace. You were breathless, your walls fluttering with the first waves of pleasure coiling tightly at the base of your spine.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped, his breath hot against the curve of your neck.

You hand moved between with a fumbling touch to your pearl, swollen and wet and wanting. The pressure was enough to elicit another cry from you, the tears pearling earlier now spilling. Aemond saw this with the black that possessed his eye and his head dipped to lick your tears; his murmured, “Sȳz ābrazȳrys,” scorching against your skin.

It burst forth with flashes of white, a euphoria brimming on too much as his pace continued, until he was spilling and pulsing within your velvet walls. His weight then rested against you, his head turning to place a sweet kiss to your neck before he pulled away to stand, reaching to bring you back onto unsteady feet.

You swayed a moment and he grabbed you, waiting until you met with his stare. Your eyes were wet as they rolled from him and took in your surroundings; you let out a shaky exhale when you saw the body that had been prepared.

Aemond let go to tuck himself away and then stepped to block your view. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline; your lashes were clumped together from your tears shed, wet against your cheeks when you closed your eyes, savoring the softness of his lips.

“We will win,” his confidence now laced his low tone. He repeated: “Do not worry, we will win.”

And then he left you alone with the dead, with nothing but the remnant pulsing sensation of the pleasure he took, his pearly spend now spilling down between the insides of your legs.

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#hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #female!reader #dark!aemond targaryen #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x female!reader

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