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undertheorangetree · 6 months

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The Last of the Dragons

Chapter One- The Consummation

Summary- With the Targaryen dynasty at risk, the last of the family must make unsavory decisions in order to ensure their reign continues.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Angst. Politicking. Consummation of marriage with witnesses. Mentions of death. Trauma. Uncomfortable smut.

Author's Note- This first chapter is not very sexy!! There is (consensual) smut but it is not hot nor is it meant to be. The sexy smut will happen later. With that said, the link to the full chapter is below :)

series masterlist

When the dust settles around the Dance of the Dragons, she is the only member of her family still alive.

Her mother burned by dragonfire, her step father cut down on dragonback. Jace and Luke lay dead at the bottom of the ocean alongside Aegon and Viserys while Joffrey lay scattered across the streets of Flea Bottom. It is a reality she does not like to face and though she still has Baela, Rhaena, and their grandfather, she knows she is the last of her family line. The last of Rhaenyra's blood, the blood of the true heir.

It is that blood that damns her the moment Aegon is found poisoned, laying dead in his litter.

She had been spared alongside Baela and Rhaena, though she knew that was more so Corlys's idea than anyone else's. Aegon had demanded her head the moment he learned that it was she and Silverwing who had been responsible for Daeron's death but Corlys had managed to talk him down to simply keeping her as a hostage. He had argued that by having her bend the knee, it would show her mother's loyalists that he was the true king above all others, that her fealty had the power to stop Cregan Stark's march south and would calm tensions in the Riverlands and Eyrie. Aegon had agreed, though only after Alicent had prompted him to, and she had been spared from the executioner's block. Though as she sits at the small council table, staring at her last living uncle, she wishes Aegon had found the kindness in his black heart to swing the axe.

The Battle Above the God's Eye had left Aemond with another scar, this one having ripped through the flesh of his left shoulder and bicep. She wishes it crippled him further, that Daemon's final act managed to cut his arm from its socket, gouge out his last remaining eye and send him plunging into the depth of the God's Eye but other than a deep new scar, her step father managed little.

"Lord Corlys and I believe that it is important, especially now, to assure the smallfolk that this war is far behind us now. Aegon's death threatens the already fragile stability we have managed to find ourselves on," Alicent explains, though it is not directed at her. They had all been whisked away into the small council chambers less than a handful of hours after Aegon had been found dead and that grief is still present in Alicent. Her eyes are rimmed red- a common trait of hers now- and her voice is hoarse from crying, but she still manages to stay strong before the men gathered. She and Aemond had been ordered to sit in on the small council meeting but neither have been given leave to speak. They sit silently, waiting for the moment that deemed their appearance here necessary as Alicent turns to her grandfather. "Which is why we have come to a kind of agreement."

"We want the Iron Throne to remain in Targaryen hands just as fervently as all others here and with the death of our king so fresh, it is of the utmost importance that we find a suitable heir quickly. One that puts both the Blacks and the Greens at ease and prevents a continuation of the war," Corlys says, fingers pushing at the small ball that rests before him.

When the two of them had the time to discuss a potential heir, she has no idea, but perhaps it is a blessing that they had. With Aegon and all his children dead, there are few options left for the throne. She knows in her heart that she is the legitimate heir, being the only one left who has Rhaenyra's blood running through her veins, but she is a woman. After all that has happened, only a fool would attempt to crown her. The same could be said for Baela and Rhaena, though their claims are not as strong as her own. That left Aemond, a man, but widely hated for all he had done throughout the war.

They are damned regardless of who is chosen, the risk of further rebellion at every turn. She does not pity the remnants of this council for the choice they must make now. The realm rests on the shoulders of the six people left in this room and that is a burden she would not want to carry.

"And you have an idea as to who the most suitable heir would be, my lord?" Lord Larys asks. Though he sits at the table, he is not truly facing it, leaning on the cane in his hands. She turns her head to look at him, his eyes wide with his question, and feels her stomach turn at the mere sight of him, their master of whisperers.

Corlys looks toward Alicent, waiting until she gives the faintest nod of her head before speaking again. "My granddaughter, the princess, is Rhaenyra's last surviving child. Aemond is the last surviving child of King Viserys and acted as Aegon's regent for more than half his reign. The dowager and I propose that we unite house Targaryen once and for all and have the two wed to serve the realm as king and queen, like the Old King and Good Queen Alysanne. Equal in power, so as to bring all this unrest to an end."

Read the rest here :)

Taglist- @ammo23 @bellstwd @kckt88 @aemondsbabygirl @shygardengalaxy @duds31 @at-a-rax-ia @ladymarg0t @queenofshinigamis @drakar-i @cl-0-vr @castellomargot @moonlightfoxx @ladybug0095 @marihoneywk

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flowerandblood · 16 days

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The Fall from the Heavens (21)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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When she woke up in her chamber the sun was already slowly setting behind the walls of the Red Keep. She muttered under her breath in displeasure, twisting in her place, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and looked down, feeling a wave of disappointment and pain once again.

She sighed heavily, putting aside the already cold purse of water that had brought her great relief and allowed her to sleep for a few hours. Although she was distraught and terrified, the thought of her uncle's reaction and behaviour towards her made a warm, pleasant feeling spill over her heart.

She smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if he had just been at the Small Council meeting and would be back soon.

It wasn't long when the door to her chamber opened, and a moment later her husband walked in, pale, staring at her with wide-open eye.

Her heart pounded harder in horror at that look.

"We have received your mother's demands."

The word that she wanted to see her, to speak to her, and the fact that Aegon had agreed to it at the same time filled her with joy and horror.

She missed her and longed to hear her voice again, but she did not know what her mother was planning, what she hoped to hear from her lips.

What if she believed that her daughter had married her uncle just to survive?

That her affection for him was a lie and she would stab him in the back when she got the chance?

Her husband didn't seem pleased either as the affair became more and more complicated and there seemed to be no end to it all, no solution they could reach together.

On the second morning after King sent his response, a raven arrived in the Red Keep with word that her mother had agreed to the arrangements and would indeed be waiting with her husband in the Eyrie on the appointed day to speak to her daughter and her half-brother.

Her husband had no intention of spending a single night in the Eyrie, so he just acceded to his brother's suggestion and decided that the day before the agreed date they would travel to Harrenhal. She was not delighted with this idea, having heard many unflattering opinions about her father's brother.

Word had also reached her that a witch lived behind the walls of this grim fortress.

Still, she understood her husband's caution and anxiety, so she did not defy him, demanding something else in return.

"I will fly with you on Larax."

"No."

"If my mother sees that you did not allow me to fly on my own dragon she will not believe that anything that leaves my mouth was spoken of my own free will. She will see it as an excuse to believe that I still remain to you only a prisoner." She said impatiently; her husband turned his face towards the fire, sitting on one of the chairs at the table, licking his lower lip with his tongue in a nervous gesture, frustrated.

He did not reply.

She approached him slowly and knelt beside him on the cold stone floor, taking his hand in hers, placing a warm, tender kiss on it. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had closed his eyelids, that he was losing the battle with himself.

"Please, husband. Give me this joy."

Though reluctant, her uncle finally gave her his wordless consent, but he remained silent throughout the evening and locked himself in his mind, tense.

It didn't help that she was still bleeding.

Not wishing to cause him any discomfort with an intimacy full of these disgusting fluids, she did not attempt to touch him, and he, apparently fearing that he might cause her pain in this state, also refrained from doing so.

The carriages filled with their belongings had long since left King's Landing when she and her uncle left the walls of the Red Keep.

She could see that he was pale, looking at her with his lips pressed together, unhappy and unsure whether he was making the right decision. He sighed heavily as she touched his cheek with her soft palm.

"I will join you in the sky soon, husband. I promise." She whispered and rose on her tiptoes, placing a moist, warm kiss on his cheek exactly as she had done that day, when he ran after her. Her husband hummed under his breath at her words and moved ahead, while she turned the other way, heading for the Dragon's Pit.

At the behest of her uncle, the servants who had been taking care of their dragons since their childhood led Larax into the main cave – her dragoness squealed loudly in despair at the sight of her, her sounds reminding her of the crying of a child.

She ran to her with tears in her eyes, feeling that the sight was breaking her heart.

She had been locked away for so long, terrified and imprisoned just as she was.

"Shijetra nyke, Larax. Shijetra nyke. Lykiri (Forgive me, Larax. Forgive me. Easy)." She mumbled, reaching out to her – her dragoness tilted her head and let her touch her, pushing against her chest, showing her how much she longed for her closeness.

As she climbed into her saddle again, as she again commanded her to move ahead, to take to the skies, and as the wind and speed blew her hair away, she felt a wonderful surge of adrenaline, freedom and happiness. She soared high into the sky, commanding her to fly in the right direction.

Larax let out a loud cry, terrified, wanting to escape, when suddenly Vhagar flew over her, her mighty wings causing a wave of air to hit them.

"Lykiri, Larax! Gaomagon sagon zūgagon daor! Sōvēs! (Calm down, Larax! Do not be afraid! Fly!)" She commanded, and after a moment she managed to regain control of her, heading after the great beast towards the fortress where her father had died.

Although she knew her husband was terrified at the prospect of letting her ride her own dragon, she noticed out of the corner of her eye his silhouette and his face staring back at her, from a distance she had the impression he was smiling.

She thought with a squeeze in her heart that he must have been dreaming of this moment since they were children.

Him and her, flying side by side on their dragons.

Exactly as it should be.

Thanks to the good weather, their several-hour journey turned out to be less tiresome than she thought it would be; she felt an immense ache in her muscles after a long break from flying as soon as they landed and she dismounted from her saddle anyway.

She had to wait for her husband, who had to land on Vhagar much further away so that no houses were destroyed, therefore she allowed herself to look around, feeling that her heart was pounding like mad.

"My Lady. What a joy." She heard the voice of Larys Strong as he strode towards her through the gates of his fortress, leaning on his staff, followed by several guards and a woman who immediately caught her attention.

Her long, straight black hair, her bare shoulders, her full breasts, her slender figure and her eyes surrounded by her dark lashes, her irises having the colour of fresh, juicy grass.

She lowered her gaze, never having seen such a beautiful and mysterious woman before in her life, finally glancing at Lord Strong, realising she should say something in reply.

She had never trusted him or had a good opinion of him.

She believed he was responsible for her father's death and she didn't want to speak to him.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She mumbled finally, forcing a warm smile, Larys Strong nodded. They all bowed as they spotted her husband approaching from the distance, his black leather coat and hair blown by the wind.

"My Prince."

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters." Her uncle commanded him, his voice as hoarse and shaky as hers from the emotion they had both apparently experienced while flying.

Her uncle and Larys Strong walked through the gate first and she moved to follow them, the woman who stood beside him, whoever she was, strolled a few paces behind her, her pleasant scent reaching her nostrils.

Lavender and cloves.

"We have prepared for you, my Prince, the most magnificent quarters in the entire fortress. I have no use for it anyway; I would get tired climbing all those steps every day. Nearby we have prepared rooms for your wife, I assure you −"

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." Her husband interrupted him, pulling his leather gloves from his hands, stepping inside the room, looking around with frustration and impatience.

Having been with him on a daily routine, accustomed to him conversing with her of his own accord, she had already forgotten how much he resented speaking to strangers for longer than necessary.

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you."

She and her uncle cast quick, concerned glances at each other; her husband hit the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, furious.

She knew the expression on his face, knew he was only dreaming of rest, but they were his guests and he was not in a position to simply refuse him.

Lord Strong looked at her expectantly and her uncle nodded at her, albeit reluctantly, to leave them alone. The woman standing beside her raised her hand and indicated with a gesture where they were to go, so she set off in that direction.

The chamber her father's brother had assigned her was smaller and more modest than that of her husband's, but it had a more pleasant view from the window, straight over the forest and the clearing where her dragoness slept.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath as she pressed her palm against the glass, seeing Larax, forgetting for a moment that she was not alone.

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, My Lady?" She heard a low, melodious, pleasant female voice behind her. She looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked uncertainly. The woman smiled, looking at her calmly.

"Alys, my lady."

An awkward silence fell between them for a moment.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She said after a moment; the woman burst into a hearty, light laugh and shook her head.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She replied softly, her voice gentle and full of understanding, as if she were speaking to a small child. She blinked, shocked by her words, her question leaving her lips before she had time to think what she was saying.

"Did you know my father?"

The woman looked at her for a moment before she nodded.

"Yes, my Lady."

She felt her hand clench into a fist, her heart starting to beat like mad.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, the corner of the woman's mouth lifting in a grin.

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, my Lady."

She left her enigmatic response unanswered, both intrigued and terrified of her at the same time; it seemed to her that the gaze of her luscious green eyes pierced her to the core.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She spoke again with a hint of amusement from which she felt uncomfortable, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her words.

"What do you mean?" She muttered uneasily; the woman's gaze swept over her figure, as if assessing what she saw before her and combining it with her own conclusions in her head.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said in a light, low, slightly dreamy voice, looking somewhere to the side, intertwining her hands in front of her.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she had been able to see such a thing being in their company for just a moment, unable to hide how pleased her words made her.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her heart pounding like mad.

Alys helped her change into one of the gowns that had arrived in Harrenhal in the chests before them, her long, graceful fingers entwining her dark, long hair into an intricate bun of many braids surrounding her head.

She had never had a similar hairstyle before and she liked it very much.

Alys escorted her to the chamber where her husband and Lord Strong had just eaten supper, then bowed and left, leaving them alone. Her husband looked at her intently as she sat beside him at the table with a smile, Larys Strong cast her a look full of curiosity.

"Beautiful hairstyle, my Lady." He said softly, but she felt a sense of discomfort instead of gratitude, which, however, she did not give vent to in any way. She looked at her uncle, for some reason emboldened by the woman's words.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked softly, her uncle throwing her a calm, impassive look.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He merely replied, reaching for his goblet full of wine, taking a loud sip from it, setting it down on the table with a loud clinking of steel.

She felt like a silly little girl and lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her throat as an awkward silence fell around them.

What had crossed her mind to ask such foolishness?

Did he think she asked it out of vanity?

It seemed to her that her uncle regretted the coldness in which he had expressed his opinion, for before she left to prepare for sleep he reminded her that immediately when she had finished she was to appear in his chamber.

She nodded her head at his words and pressed her lips together, only in the corridor letting a few regretful, embarrassed tears run down her face.

How could she take it so personally, expect empty compliments from him when she knew perfectly well that he loathed it?

As she stepped into her chamber she asked one of the servants to summon Alys, wanting her to help her take off her gown and to prepare her hot bath.

She had no intention of going to her husband after hours of travelling on a dragon all sticky from sweat and exertion.

Alys walked into her room with a smile and bowed, approaching her, seeing that she herself had already begun to untie her bodice.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, my Lady?" She asked softly, and she swallowed quietly and sighed, lowering her gaze.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said resignedly, as if she had failed in some way by not meeting his expectations.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, as if she were speaking of something completely obvious and natural. She blinked, feeling that somehow her words comforted her.

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She mumbled uncertainly, meeting her gaze in her reflection in the mirror, from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Yes, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding hard at the thought.

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked at last; the woman involuntarily giggled under her breath, finally releasing her from her gown, which fell lightly to the stone floor, leaving her in her white night gown.

Thankfully, her bleeding had almost stopped.

"Yes." She said with amusement, taking her garment in her hands and placing it gently back in one of the chests, being careful not to crumple it as she meanwhile stepped into the bath and sat in it with a sigh of relief, sinking into the hot water.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled embarrassedly, trailing her fingers along the edge of the tub, not daring to look at her in fear that the woman would mock her.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied with amusement, and she raised her eyes at her, shocked.

Although her husband had sunk his face between her thighs on several occasions just as he had the first night after her return to King's Landing, he had never expected her to reciprocate.

Before she could suggest anything he thrusted his manhood deep between her moist folds anyway.

The truth, however, was that even if she wanted to do it, she didn't know how.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, looking at her uncertainly, a smile on her face that she might have considered warm.

"I see." She murmured, approaching her slowly, startling her completely as she knelt beside her tub, gently grasping her wrist in her hand. "I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, my Lady."

She swallowed hard, feeling butterflies in her stomach and excitement, she licked her lower lip feeling it dry up with emotion.

"…How?"

Alys smiled, leaning towards her hand – she shuddered when her lips gently touched her finger, wondering with a fast beating heart what she was doing.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman showers them with gentle, tender caresses." She cooed as she closed her eyelids, running her full, moist lips up and down her pointing finger, leaving a wet trail of her saliva on it.

She looked at this sight as if enchanted, feeling an involuntary throbbing inside her imagining that she had knelt before her uncle and touched him like this.

She drew in air loudly, feeling a pleasant shiver run down her spine as the woman slipped the tip of her finger gently into her mouth, teasing it with her wet, fleshy tongue; she sighed helplessly feeling her nipples become hard, her walls clenching around nothing.

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She gasped softly between the brushes of her lips and suddenly slipped her whole finger into her mouth, starting to suck it unhurriedly with a quiet click of her saliva.

She didn't even notice when she began to breathe through her mouth, when her thighs clenched involuntarily under the water, seeking any kind of release of the tension that was building up inside her.

There was something so lewd and inappropriate about what she was seeing and feeling that she felt like a moan was about to come out of her throat.

She shuddered as Alys suddenly opened her eyes − a misty darkness in the green of her irises that she had often seen in her husband's gaze, her lips released her finger with a quiet click.

"− you pretty little thing − it's usually him taking care of you, isn't it? − he can't deny himself − I can't blame him −" She whispered, and she felt heat in her lower abdomen, her walls clenching greedily around nothing.

They both flinched as the door to her chamber suddenly opened, Alys stood up quickly and bowed, closing her eyes.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" She heard her husband's warning growl; she turned over her shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes, all red, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking shocked as the woman immediately left her quarters.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He asked furiously standing over the tub as soon as the door closed behind her, fury in his eyes.

She couldn't find any meaningful answer in her head, her mind was completely blank.

Her uncle pressed his lips together in impatience, apparently trying not to explode.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He hissed, and she shook her head, looking at him pleadingly.

"− I − I asked her for help −"

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −"

"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"

"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"

"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She muttered, his jaw clenched in displeasure.

He didn't believe her.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled with an impatience so strong that she knew that if she didn't give him the answer he expected, her uncle was really about to explode and would surely knock her out along with her tub on the floor.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −" She mumbled pleadingly, looking at him with her big eyes.

She saw that at her words his anger began to slowly fade, giving place to a slight intrigue in his gaze.

He hummed low and took a few steps back, as she requested, sitting down on her bed, looking at her watchfully.

She swallowed hard, rising from the tub with a loud splash of water, walking slowly out of the bath. He blinked, surprised when she sat on the floor in front of him, but with her back to him, reaching for the pins woven into her hair.

"− you have to help me, because I won't be able to do it myself until morning −" She muttered in displeasure, all heated up from the hot water her body had just been submerged in, her nightgown all soaked, clinging to her naked skin.

She heard her husband sigh heavily, leaning over her with a loud creak of the bed, sliding the pins out of her hairstyle, making the curls of her hair start to fall over her shoulders.

"− it was her idea too, wasn't it? −" He sneered disapprovingly and she let the air out of her lungs, tired.

"− I really liked the way I looked −" She burbled resentfully; she heard his heavy sigh again, however this time he answered nothing more.

When her hair was finally completely loose she turned to face him, already visibly calmer, his hand involuntarily went to her cheek, his thumb running over her soft skin.

His pupil narrowed as her fingers unfastened the buckles of his tunic and reached into the ties of his breeches, she felt his bulge beneath her palms throbbing hard.

"− what are you doing? −" He muttered uncertainly, coolly, as if terrified of what he had just imagined.

"− I want to kiss you there with my lips − are you repelled by the thought? −" She asked softly, releasing his swollen, half-hard erection, feeling him shudder as she grasped it gently in her hand, guiding it to her face.

"− what? – no − b-but − I − oh −" He gasped as she ran her lips over the pink head of his cock with a rapidly pounding heart; she felt satisfaction when his length twitched aggressively in her embrace.

She knew he wanted to say more as his mouth remained open, but he simply stared at her, breathing loudly, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as she mimicked Alys's cues by running her lips from the root of his manhood to the very tip of it.

She heard him sigh in pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment, his hips involuntarily began to buck, pressing his already fully hard erection closer to her face, searching for any source of friction.

"− this − this is what she showed you? − hm? −" He gasped, as if he was simultaneously thrilled and enraged by this vision.

Not wanting him to think about it too much she used her tongue, running it up to the very top of the head of his cock, feeling the veins under his skin clearly, a low, hoarse groan stuck in his throat, his hand tightening in her hair.

"− fuck − g-gods −" He muttered in a trembling voice, his breathing increasingly shaky and accelerated – she knew he was aroused, and his sounds made her feel that unbearable, intense tickling and pulsing between her thighs again.

She was wet.

In some subconscious instinct, his hand tentatively guided the pink, swollen head of his cock against her lips, and she parted them, letting him slide between them with a loud sigh of pleasure.

"− squeeze − squeeze with your hand what doesn't fit inside − and suck − oh, yes, little one, just like that −" He exhaled delighted tilting his head back as she let him deep into her palate, his tip bumping again and again with the sure thrusts of his hips against the back wall of her throat causing her to gag, tears of exertion pooling in her eyes.

"− if this is too much − hit me twice on the thigh −" He gasped, looking down at her, and she merely nodded, clamping her hand over the base of his hard length, sucking it slowly with a loud click of her saliva.

She reminded herself about her tongue and what Alys was doing with it, so she made use of it, and every time her husband thrust his erection into her its tip teased and licked him; his two hands tightened in her hair with his low groan, quickening his pace.

"− oh − oh, fuck, little one − mghm − gods −" He panted, invading her throat with deep, fast pushes, making use of her mouth as he saw fit, a high-pitched moan erupted from her lungs as she felt him aggressively pulsing between her lips, breathing hard through her nose, trying not to suffocate.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He commanded in a shuddering gasp full of pleasure and relief. She squirmed as his hot, sticky seed spilled down her palate straight into her throat; she swallowed some of it with difficulty and coughed, trying not to choke, a pearly trickle of his spend ran off the corner of her mouth down her chin.

Good gods.

They were both panting loudly and quivering, his face pressed against her hair, on which he still clamped his fingers, not letting her escape.

"− just a moment more − please, just a moment more − so warm −" He mumbled, and she swallowed hard, breathing loudly through her nose with his half soft length deep in her throat. It seemed to her for a moment that he might have fallen asleep in that position, but eventually he took pity on her and slid out of her mouth, allowing her to take a deep breath.

She involuntarily put her arms around his knee, exhausted, hugging her face to his thigh, breathing hard, not believing she had really done it.

Her womanhood pulsed all over, her thighs were all sticky from her moisture.

She sighed in relief when she felt his large hand begin to stroke her hair with a tender, calm gesture, his breathing still erratic and accelerated.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −"

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ichorai · 1 year

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amsterdam ; jacaerys velaryon. (m)

track two of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x arryn!f!reader

synopsis ; prince jacaerys velaryon traveled to the eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. he didn't at all expect to fall in love an arryn while he was there.

words ; 4.7k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), jace is very much infatuated with you (expect lots of praise !!), reader is the only child of jeyne arryn of the vale, mentions of daemon and rhaenyra, in this fic jace is over eighteen when he goes to the eyrie !! cursing, mentions of death, vermax is grumpy bcs he has to sit outside in the cold someone save him

main masterlist.

The Eyrie stood tall and proud on the very top of rocky mountains—so high that white wisps of clouds could be seen far below where the castle was situated. Jacaerys unmounted his dragon, placing a reassuring hand on the large, olive-green scales of his snout.

“Kesan sagon arlī. Umbagon,” he murmured to Vermax, who huffed out a plume of warm smoke and settled back on his haunches, clearly unhappy with the prospect of waiting around in the cold. I will be back. Stay.

Blowing out a nervous exhale, Jace squared his shoulders and turned on his heel, making his way into the white-stone castle.

Blue-cloaked guards stood in his way of the wooden entrance, faces stony and hands resting on the hilts of their swords, at the ready.

“I am Jacaerys Velaryon, son of the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I’ve come to urgently speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn to secure aid for my mother’s cause.” His voice rang clear and true, confident despite his inner turmoil.

The guards glanced at each other, before stepping aside, letting him walk through.

“This way, my Prince,” one of them said, guiding him through winding corridors and eventually, down a long hall. The blue-veined, marble walls shone with polish—so much so that Jacaerys could see his own warped reflection looking back at him.

And at the end of the hall, laid two thrones of weirwood—nothing compared to the hunkering mass that was the iron throne, but still grand nonetheless. Seated on one was the Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, with a head of dark locks like his, and soft features that contrasted starkly with the scowl pulling at her lips.

The lady was facing her side, where she was speaking in hushed whispers to her only daughter—Y/N Arryn, the infamous Jewel of the Eyrie.

Jace could feel his heart stumble upon itself when he laid his eyes on you. Suddenly, your name made sense. Sure, he had heard tales of your regaling beauty and your kind nature, but words alone were not enough to fully encapsulate just how breathtaking you really were.

The sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows bathed you in a warm glow, casting long, sloping shadows over your skin. Draped over your form was a dress of cerulean hue, cascading down your hips as if it were water. Jace considered himself a gentleman—he had to take care not to let his eyes wander to the low-hanging cut of your neckline, where the very beginnings of your cleavage were exposed, and a glinting pearl necklace hung just above your clavicle. Your hair was cut rather short, nearly as short as his, but framed your face just perfectly. Your lips were moving hurriedly as you spoke to your mother, eyes alight with a certain fire, but Jace couldn’t quite catch what you were saying. The stories not only told of your enchanting beauty, but of your strongly overprotective mother, who always turned away any and all suitors for you. And proposals were never short, from what he heard. Jacaerys felt a strange flame of jealousy brew within his stomach.

“Apologies for the interruption, my lady,” announced the guard. “Jacaerys Velaryon, here to speak with you.”

Upon the abrupt announcement, you promptly clamped your mouth shut, looking over to Jace with a scrutinizing, yet curious gaze, meeting the Prince’s own intrigued eyes.

His throat was suddenly dry. It took everything within him to tear his attention away from you, and look towards your mother.

“My lady,” greeted Jacaerys, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back. “I’ve come on behalf of my mother, the Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. She kindly asks you to remember that she is part Arryn herself, as you are half-siblings with the late Queen Aemma, and hopes you will support your cousin’s claim to the throne.”

Recognition sparked within the Lady’s eyes, remembering her half-sister, Aemma. From beside her, you subconsciously straightened yourself as he spoke, lips parting out of interest. This was Prince Jacaerys himself—heir to the throne. Jace gradually shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling your gaze practically burn holes straight through him. You couldn’t help but notice that he was quite the handsome young man, with a head of thick, dark hair, and hard-set, determined eyes. He spoke evenly and calmly, voice soaked with honey and smoked cedar and ocean salt. The Prince looked to be around the same age as you, give or take a few moons. And as Jacaerys had heard much about you, you knew just as much about him—and now that you were seeing him in person… the stories seemed to prove themself true. He didn’t look one bit Targaryen or Valeryon, but rather resembled the bold, physical characteristics of a Strong.

Either way, bastard or not, Jacaerys Velaryon intrigued you.

The argument you’d just had with your mother about traveling to King’s Landing and seeing the world for yourself was still fresh on your mind, and seeing Jace right here in front of you felt like much more than a coincidence.

“Yes,” your mother said, standing up from the throne to step closer to the Prince. “I do remember the rather twisted history of our families. In fact, I seem to recall your great-uncle Daemon was married to Rhea Royce until her… untimely death.”

The Lady of the Eyrie was plainly hinting at the fact that his stepfather murdered his first wife. Jace steeled himself by blowing out a small breath.

“It was truly unfortunate,” said Jace diplomatically.

The woman narrowed her eyes, eerily similar to your expression. “Despite my contempt for your great-uncle, it would be hypocritical of me to say Targaryen men are the root of the problem. Mine own kin have sought to replace me as Ruler of the Vale thrice by now. My cousin, Ser Arnold, oft claims women are too soft to rule. He is currently in one of my sky cells, if you would like to see.”

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. He’d heard little of the sky cells—only that the room bore three walls instead of four, leaving an open gap for anybody to plummet to their grueling death. And knowing how high up the castles were built, there would be no chance for survival. The grounds were sloped and it was not uncommon for prisoners to roll off the edge during their sleep.

“Mother,” you spoke for the first time, making his head snap to you. You watched him sympathetically, an apologetic glint to your eyes, voice smoothly soft but tone firm. “I am sure the Prince has much more important matters to attend to than my bumbling fool of an uncle.”

Jeyne nodded at your words. “Yes… of course. We’ll help you fight your war, Prince Jacaerys. Send word to your mother that we support her cause and will supply her with as many soldiers as she needs—in this world of men, we women must band together.”

Relief flooded through Jace’s veins. Momentarily, he caught your eye and dipped his head in gratitude.

“On one condition,” said the Lady of the Eyrie, holding up a hand. “We will send you support if and only if you swear to protect the Vale from the Greens with dragonriders.”

Irrational hope flared within Jacaerys’ chest—the thought of being able to spend more time in the Vale just to see you a bit more made him rather excited. Though, knowing his mother, he would most likely be stuck by her side as heir to the throne than up North protecting the Vale.

“That can be arranged,” agreed Jacaerys. “We swear to protect the Vale and the people within it.”

“Then our deal is done,” said your mother, before lowering herself slightly, as an act of bending the knee to the Prince. You followed suit, meeting his gaze once again, this time with a subtle, radiant smile cinching the corners of your eyes. The guards flanking the hall were the last to mirror your actions, all bending the knee to the heir of the iron throne.

Jacaerys was making his way out of the hall, surprised when you bid your mother adieu and rushed after the Prince, much to her overprotective dismay, offering to walk with him to his dragon. You waved the guards away, but they still hovered over the pair of you with uncertain expressions.

“It’s just a brief walk,” you reasoned. “I’ll be fine.”

Relenting, the guards backed off and left you alone with the Prince.

“Come along, my Prince, I can show you the way out,” you gently laid your hand on his forearm, tugging him with you further down the hall. The young man could feel his heart slamming against his chest, a thundering pulse in his ears nearly deafening him.

Now that you were so much closer to him—mere inches—Jace could see finer details about you, and impossibly, you somehow became all the more beautiful. The blue fabric of your dress grazed his more coarse tunic.

“There is much I have heard of you, my Prince,” you began, a kind smile illuminating your features. “I must say, I admire your Queen mother greatly.”

“Jace,” he softly said.

You blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Tripping over his words, Jace quickly backtracked, “I, uh, you don’t have to call me your Prince. Jace is just fine.” A bit more hesitantly, he tacked on, “I’m not quite used to the title just yet. It feels strange.”

A part of him was worried you’d be appalled at the impropriety of calling him by a nickname, but you merely grinned, all wide and sweet.

“Alright then, Jace. Have you anywhere urgent to be? The hour is growing late—perhaps you can stay for supper. You cannot possibly run more errands on an empty stomach.”

You leaned closer and he caught a whiff of saccharine fruits and jasmine oil wafting from your hair, a smell that he yearned to drown himself into. It also didn’t slip past his notice that your chest was pressed up against his bicep. Good heavens, Jacaerys needed to get a grip of himself.

Ever the responsible son, Jacaerys knew he had to be on his way to the Three Sisters, a small cluster of islands up North, to gain their support for his mother, as well. But he was ahead of schedule, and he deserved something of a rest after hours on dragonback. After all, he’d packed little else than fruit and bread and dried meat rations—the idea of a warm meal was more than appealing.

Perhaps those were all just excuses. The true reason he wanted to stay was because he wanted to spend more time with you.

“Wouldn’t your mother mind?” he asked, a little apprehensive, not wanting to get in between you and the overprotective Lady of the Eyrie. She already had a distaste for Targaryen men, thanks to his stepfather Daemon, and he wasn’t too keen on being added to the roster.

Expression faltering just a smidge, you shook your head. “No, she’s so very busy running the Vale—warding off her cousins who are fighting for their claim to inherit the Eyrie. It’s a whole lot of political nonsense, if you ask me.”

Hesitantly convinced, Jace allowed himself to smile in hopes of seeing your own once more. “If you insist, my lady. Supper sounds wonderful.”

To his delight, you beamed, and led him to a winding marble staircase, flourished with blue carpets that matched your dress. “Great! The morning hall is right up here—it’s rather quiet around this time, since it’s a bit early for supper.”

“Perfect,” mumbled Jace, the idea of being alone with you setting his cheeks aflame.

Once in the hall, you kindly requested one of the servants to fetch a bowl of lamb stew and some cider for the Prince, gesturing for him to sit on one of the narrow, long tables that stretched nearly the entire length of the room.

You engaged Jace in amicable chatter, which he seldom got to do with anybody that wasn’t his family—everyone either hated him because of his uncanny resemblance to Harwin Strong, or they were intimidated by his status as heir to the throne. It was refreshing, and frankly, made Jacaerys a little envious of those without the burden of responsibility on their shoulders.

The stew arrived not too shortly after, along with a silver chalice full of spiced apple cider that burned his tongue in all the right ways. You sipped on your own cup, nearly choking with laughter when he began recounting a story about his younger brother, Lucerys, nearly falling off his dragon during his first ride. Jace thought you had the most mellifluous laugh, practically music to his ears. He itched to hear the sweet sound over and over again.

“I wish I had siblings sometimes,” you wistfully said, placing your chalice down on the table and resting your face on your palm, propped up by your elbow. “It gets awfully lonely here. My mother, I love her, I do, but she never really lets me go out of the Vale. The only times were when I was a small child, and even then I was accompanied by half a dozen guards.”

Jace hummed sympathetically, spooning more of the peppery stew in his mouth. “So it’s true, then? Your mother constantly rejecting all the suitors and proposals lined up on your doorstep?”

“Yeah,” you fixed him with a warm smile. “Though, I suppose it’s not that much of a loss. Most of the men asking for my hand were more than twice my age and always looked upon me in a… lewd manner. It’s no wonder my mother turned all of them down.”

Without thinking, Jace blurted out, “You deserve to wed someone you love. A man who loves you doubly so.”

You fell silent, regarding him curiously. Maybe Jace didn’t know any better, but you appeared to be flustered. Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, my pr—Jace. Besides, the proposals aren’t really what bother me. It’s the fact that I stand to inherit the Eyrie and I have yet to explore the rest of the world. I’m afraid that once I am Lady of the Vale, I won't have any time for myself.”

“I have a dragon,” said Jace, in a half-joking, half-serious manner. “I can take you flying around Westeros one day, when the war is over.”

“You mean it?” you whispered, a genuine glimmer of excitement laced behind your words. Jace nodded, his heart leaping into his throat with the motion. “That would mean the world to me, it really would.”

The two of you fell into another comfortable silence. You downed the rest of your cider and he mopped up the remaining bits of his stew with a steaming loaf of bread.

“I have yet to find a suitor to my liking,” you said, pursing your lips hesitantly. Jace gestured for you to keep talking, drinking some of the cider to wash down his meal. “And I’ve heard you’re betrothed now, yes?”

At the mention of his betrothal to his cousin Baela, Jacaerys stiffened.

He leaned forward. “Can I be completely honest with you? And you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone.”

You nodded, eyes wide.

“I do not wish to marry Baela,” he whispered, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. Your lips parted, as if you wanted to say something, but you kept quiet, allowing for him to continue. “The romantic love I harbor for her is scant—she is more of my sister than anything. I cannot see myself ever… consummating our marriage.” Heat seeped into his cheeks, and a part of him instantly regretted admitting that to you.

“Perhaps you need not marry her, then,” you responded without a second’s pause, before freezing at your words, as if they had slipped from your mouth out of your own volition. “I’m terribly sorry, my Prince, I shouldn’t have…”

Whatever you were beginning to say died on your tongue when Jace moved his hand across the table to settle gently on top of yours.

The atmosphere between the two of you seemed to shift.

Jace studied your features with a keen eye, noticing the bright glint to your molten irises, the gentle curvature of your nose, the small birthmark on the left side of your jaw. And, not at all discreetly, his gaze fell to your lips, where your teeth were worrying into the supple flesh. His own expression melded into one of raw longing—nearing desperation, even.

And you could see it all on his face, plain and clear. Jacaerys Velaryon was enraptured by you.

It was not at all like how the suitors asked for your hand—they looked upon you like a direwolf would a slab of meat, as if you were merely an object for their carnal desires, as if you were to warm their bed and nothing else.

Jacaerys, however, looked upon you like you had scattered the very stars in the sky with your bare hands. And you had no doubt you mirrored his yearning countenance.

“Come with me,” you whispered, standing up and lacing your fingers with his, tugging him away from the table, and out of the morning hall.

With a dazed look on his face, Jace followed along, allowing you to pull him towards more stairs. Up, up, and further up, the two of you went.

Until he stood in front of a large oaken door, your free hand pushing it open and the other ushering him inside the spacious room. The waning, clementine light of the setting sun shone through the diamond-shaped windows, framed by blue velvet curtains, bathing you in a regal, aureate luminescence as you softly shut the door behind you and leaned against the wood, fixing him with a burning stare. Your lips were parted, and your chest was rising and falling in a tantalizing manner.

The cold realization that he was in your chambers suddenly dawned upon him. Seven hells, this was… beyond improper. Reality slapped Jacaerys out of his lustful stupor, and he struggled to formulate a coherent sentence.

“My lady,” he began, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “This is… we shouldn’t—”

His words dwindled away when you reached behind yourself and began undoing the laces of your dress. Despite his protests, Jace made no move to leave. He could feel his breeches growing uncomfortably tight. It felt like there was not enough air in the room for him to breathe.

“I… I should probably get going, Vermax—my dragon loathes the cold, you see…” he tried once more, to no avail.

The blue material fell from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooled onto the ground in one seamless motion, leaving only a thin pale shift between him and your naked body. He fell deathly silent.

You were the most beautiful person Jacaerys had ever laid his eyes on. No woman, no man, nobody in all of Westeros, could ever compare to the likes of you.

Throwing all caution to the wind, the Prince surged forward in two large strides, sealing the distance between you. One of his hands carefully cradled your face as if you were hewn from porcelain, and the other clutched your waist, thumb grazing over the sides of your ribs, dangerously close to your breasts.

And his lips met yours in a heated frenzy, your noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor.

“Should you wish to stop, just say the word, my lady,” he murmured against you, tugging you away from the door and walking you backwards to the large bed.

Your knees buckled against the mattress and you fell back, eyes darkened with wanton need. Your fingers began hurriedly undoing the buttons at the top of his tunic. “Don’t stop, please,” you breathed out just as he began languidly kissing you once again. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A newfound confidence fueled his movements with your affirmation, and he rid himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him, along with his straining breeches and undergarments. You let your eyes roam over his toned chest, lids half-hooded.

“You’re so beautiful,” you told him, following suit and shirking your thin shift off, leaving you completely nude in front of the Prince, save for the opalescent pearls hanging around your neck.

His breath hitched at your praise. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he muttered hotly against your flushed skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, roaming over the slope of your neck, your shoulders, your chest. “Beautiful,” he said, echoing himself with every kiss. You fisted the sheets beneath you, desperate for him to touch you where it ached the most.

A wave of arousal danced over you when he came face to face with your breasts, his tongue slipping out to drag along one of your pebbled nipples, his hand lifting to tweak the other between his fingers. His lips enveloped one of the pert buds, and he glanced up to see you with your head thrown back, a sigh of pleasure falling from your throat.

“Jacaerys, please…” you moaned, breathing stilted.

Eager to please, Jace pulled away from your breast, trailing wet kisses down your stomach, along your hips, and to the insides of your thighs. His hands held your legs apart, which trembled with anticipation and need.

His cock twitched against the bed upon seeing your slickened cunt, soaked with your essence.

“All this for me?” he hummed, laving his tongue mere inches away from where you needed him most.

“All for you,” you said, a low groan tumbling from your lungs when he finally surged forward and buried his face into your cunt, licking into your warm hole, the crook of his nose pressing repeatedly into your spasming clit.

Embarrassed by your volume, you slapped your hands over your mouth, muffling your breathless whines.

Obviously not pleased with this, Jacaerys looked up at you with a stern look, halting his ministrations. “Let me hear you, my lady. I want to hear you.”

Hands quaking, you let them fall away from your lips, clenching into fists by your sides. Jacaerys smiled at you, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. Then, he lowered himself back down and abruptly attached his lips to your sensitive clit, making your hips jolt upwards with the sudden rush of pleasure.

“Jace!” you wailed, grinding your cunt against his mouth. He hummed in approval, clearly getting off on your own pleasure. Two of his fingers circled your entrance, and he slowly pushed them into you, cracking one of his eyes open to observe your breathless, writhing figure.

He continued his ministrations, fucking you with his fingers and sucking relentlessly on your clit until you seized up beneath him, a litany of pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips.

“That’s it, cum for me. My good girl,” he praised, moaning into your cunt as you did what you were told, grinding against his face as you came down from your high, until you began to flinch away with overstimulation. Jace wished to have you ride his face, use him as the dragon he was, be completely at your mercy… but he was desperate to feel your cunt around him.

Jacaerys made his way back up your body, kissing you once more. You could taste yourself on him, which made you dizzy with delight.

“I need you, Jace,” you mumbled, wrapping your legs over his waist, your hot, soaked pussy pressed against his abdomen. “I need you inside me.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he whispered with one final kiss, ever the gentleman. “Tell me if it’s too much. I wish not to hurt you.”

Lining himself with your still-sensitive entrance, he began to slowly ease his way in, keenly watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t paining you in any way.

“So good,” you mumbled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Feels so good, Jace.”

“Beautiful girl,” the Prince groaned once he bottomed out inside your warmth, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the overwhelming sensation of your sopping cunt fluttering around his cock.

He started off gentle, slowly rocking into you, eyes darting between your blissful features, and your breasts bouncing with every thrust.

You began to move in tandem with him, wanton moans echoing throughout your chambers when he reached down to rub slow circles on your clit.

The slapping of his skin on yours made a flustered expression burrow itself permanently on his face, dusting his skin with faint rouge. You felt so fucking good, nearly too good to be true, and Jacaerys wouldn’t at all be surprised if he woke up and you turned out to be a dream.

Your name tumbled from his lips in rapid repetition as he could feel his orgasm approaching, rhythm faltering when you clenched viciously around him. He met your eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow. “Can you cum for me again, sweet girl?” he murmured, a satisfied growl thundering in the back of his throat.

Shivering, one of your hands raked down his back desperately, on the very precipice of your climax. You came with a shout of his name, stars blotting out your vision, clenching so tightly around him that Jace had a hard time moving, which had him moaning a breathy string of curses.

He showered you with more praises, thrusting into you once, twice, three more times, before his voice tapered off into a groan, hurriedly pulling out of your throbbing cunt to cum all over your stomach, both your chests glistening with sweat.

Panting, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed beside you, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your temple. “My beautiful, sweet girl,” he murmured, making your heart swell with pride and adoration.

You turned to slot your lips just beside his nose bridge, rubbing your thighs together contentedly. “My handsome, gentle Prince,” you responded, voice hoarse and exhaust weighing down your eyelids.

“You did so well for me. You can sleep now, my lady.” he reassured, expression softening as he pushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. “I’ll clean you up.”

You could only tiredly smile at him, allowing your eyes to fully slip shut, chest rising and falling evenly as slumber took over your form. Jace could only watch fondly, pressing one last kiss to your temple, before making his way off the bed.

The next morning rolled by far too soon. The sun glared through your windows, straight into your eyes, and you tried waving it away with a huff of annoyance, to no avail. Finally, you sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand. Once you came to, you noticed that you were neatly tucked into the center of your expansive bed, and you lifted the thick blue blanket to look down, mildly surprised to find any and all stickiness between your thighs and on your stomach was gone.

Did you dream of what transpired last night? Was Prince Jacaerys only but a figment of your hyperactive imagination?

Feeling a bit dejected, you fell back against your feather-stuffed pillows, rolling onto your side. It couldn’t have been a dream, though—it certainly felt real. Heat spidered across your skin at the lewd memories of the night before.

Your suspicion was only confirmed when you caught sight of a small, folded piece of paper on your bedside table. With nimble fingers, you plucked it off the surface and unfurled the sheet, a small smile dancing at the corner of your mouth. You found it endearing that Jacaerys’ handwriting was a nearly illegible, messy scrawl of ink across the parchment.

My dearest lady, As much as it pains me to leave you, I have urgent matters to attend to for my mother. I will be heading North to the Three Sisters in hopes of gaining their favor. I will never forget this night with you, nor will I forget my promise to take you flying across Westeros after the war ends. You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing to have happened to me. I still wonder if I am dreaming, because a beauty such as yours cannot possibly exist. I will come back for you, sweet girl. I swear it by the Seven. Yours, Jace

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esther-dot · 4 months

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They were grown now, childhood behind them. Yet they had been sharing a bed more like children, with the cold at Castle Black leaving them in need of warmth. At least at first.

How I wish you would take me for granted ficlet by @trollslanda

Sometimes her hands would shake- Solely in private, when she broke her quiet surface to gasp for air. Around others she still had a mental block, passively guarding her, bringing out the Stark iron. It made her keep her back straight and eyes steady, put up a solid front. Sometimes it felt like she was rusting from the inside and her brittle bones would never be whole again. --- Set shortly after Sansa has arrived at Castle Black, when she's still learning to feel safe. As it turns out, Jon is really good at that kind of thing.

Remedy ficlet by @wildflower-daydreamer

The night Jon and Sansa reunite at Castle Black.

To break and to mend ficlet @dreams-for-spring

In those moments nothing else matters and they forget what they have lost; in those moments they are more than the sum of their broken parts.

In the quiet of the night 4k by dreams-for-spring

It becomes a habit; each night she unlatches her chamber door, and each night Jon enters just as bashfully as before. Some nights he brings terrible sour wine, and others bitter ale for them to share as they sit around the hearth speaking of everything that has happened–everything except what has passed between him and his black brothers. She knows that is a topic he is not ready to share. Still, she does not find sleep when he leaves, but at least for those brief hours she is not alone, and something small inside of her begins to burn brighter with each night that passes. She tries to ignore the voice that tells her it is hope; hope is a dangerous thing for people like them.

Tous Deux On est Repartis dans le Tourbillon de la Vie 1k by @melimelo-ao3

He couldn’t even begin to picture what she had endured, what she had lived through. Yet, hearing her pleading in the night, he would give anything to know, to be able to understand her, to soothe her. He had only ever wanted to soothe her.

Gifsets: Where Will We Go by c-sand, Brienne Reacts to Jonsa, New Dress by @jonstarks How Could We Know, Sansa Tries Ale, Where Will We Go, Sansa Making Jon's Cloak, I Made This for You by kitnjon

Traveling the North

Five Times They Touch 1k by @justchunkit

She doesn’t touch him for days. Weeks. They travel from keep to stronghold, living in close quarters as they’d never done even as children. She is so close, but an icy veneer has covered the exhausted girl he’d started to know, and they can hardly exchange a good morning without it evolving into an argument.

Some Love Stories Need a Little Help 2k @graceverse

Or how Tormund effectively makes Jon share a tent with Sansa

Unnatural 2k by @amymel86

Once he is close enough, she leaps at him, arms wrapping him up and his nose buried in her copper hair. The shuddering exhale he expels is the most amount of sound he’s made in days but all he can hear is Sansa’s sniffling and the way their two hearts talk to one another in beats of the same song.

Gifsets: Arguing, Eye Contact, Jon Reacting to Sansa by jonstarks Side by Side by @baelerion

Pre Battle of the Bastards

we may only have this night 2k by wearycities

She summoned an image of Jon in her mind. When he saw her, at Castle Black. His eyes, his face. His hands letting go of the railing, like it had burned him. She could not stop thinking about his hands. She had turned the memory over and over in her mind on countless sleepless nights, wondering what it meant. After her argument with Jon the night before the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa returned to his tent.

The Madness of Dead and Broken Things 1k by @estherruth-jonsatrash

The first time, Jon tells himself it’s the last time. Jon gives into his feelings for Sansa the night before the Battle of the Bastards, telling himself he'll die the next day. He isn't prepared for the after of survival.

the night before the fight ficlet by @sailorshadzter

jon & sansa spend a night together before the battle of the bastards. pre parental reveal hookup, read at your own risk. nsfw.

Before the Storm 1k

Snowflakes fell from the grey sky, covering the ground in white even more than it already was. Grey and white, Sansa thought to herself. The Stark colors.

A gaze across a field 1, 2 ficlets by fedonciadale

Sansa's thoughts as she contemplates the possible outcome of the battle.

Gifsets: Arguing, You Don't Have to Be Here, I'll protect You I Promise by jonstarks, Pre and During BotB by baelerion, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by kitnjon, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by c-sand

Post Battle of the Bastards

Bloodstains and Stitches Chapter 1 and 2 by @trollslanda

Two scenes set after Battle of the Bastards: 1. In the courtyard, Jons pov. Post-battle calmdown and fluff I guess but also there's dead bodies and stuff. I dunno. 2. Sansa cleaning his wounds and stitching him up, her pov. A pretty sweet scene where they get a moment to breathe.

A Little Friction ficlet by @justchunkit

“You don’t know anything about me.” “Because you won’t tell me anything!” After the Battle of the Bastards, Jon and Sansa try to get to know each other.

Of Justice and Ghosts 1k by @lurikko

He knows his sister is watching him carefully like they are the only two humans left in the world, as they in a way are, and that makes his every remaining piece crumble.

Ghosts that We Knew 7k @the-prophet-lemonade

In the wake of the Battle of the Bastards, and the proclamation of the North's fealty to the Starks once more, Jon and Sansa see the ghosts of their family all-around. Sometimes, it becomes difficult to separate the past from the present when so many that they love are dead. A series of vignettes based around "nostalgia", and Jon & Sansa compared to Ned & Catelyn and the rest of their family.

they say that we’re out of control and some say we’re sinners 14k

Doesn’t have enough time to reminisce on the past because she’s turned around, and he’s seen her face, and it’s her. Can’t be anyone but her even underneath all that smudged dirt on her pale cheeks. Would know the red of her hair anywhere, he thinks. Doesn’t linger on the why, and instead descends down the steps and towards her. She’s turned her body so she’s facing him now, her eyes tracking his every move, his doing the same. They’re so in sync it’s terrifying, really.

Five Kisses 1k by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

The five kisses that Jon and Sansa have shared.

Undisclosed Desires 4k Nina36

“Why did you stop?” She asked. I was ashamed. He was yours. I was terrified that you saw who I am. He was yours to kill. It was what you needed.

bet you didn't know that i was dangerous 4k by @ladyalice101

“I mean that your brother took a woman to bed, and when he had his way with her, he said your name into her ear over and over again.” // In which Littlefinger tests for Jon's weaknesses, and discovers a secret.

Soiled 5k by @orangeflavoryawp

"'Talk to me, Sansa,' he pleads, voice wavering, and she shuts her eyes to the sound. Like a gale. Like a mountain coming down. This is how it empties from her. 'What do you want me to say?"' she bites out, voice quaking." - Jon and Sansa. The start of their descent.

Dark in Bloom 8k by orangeflavoryawp

"His gravity wavers, the axis of his world tilted to the measure of her lips." - Jon and Sansa. The stain of desire bleeds slowly between them.

Hallowed 5k by orangeflavoryawp

“’Tell me,’ he growls, more demand than he’s ever given her – crown or not – and the feeling is heady in its fervency. Sansa stares him down, mouth a harsh frown. She doesn’t resist his hold, doesn’t ease into it either. ‘He says your affections for me aren’t… brotherly.’” - Jon and Sansa. An encounter with Lord Baelish brings the truth of their desires to light.

but still you stumble, feet give way, outside the world seems a violent place 3k by @parkersedith

When she looks at him, she cannot see anyone other than Jon, especially with him wearing a simple breeches and tunic, divested of all ornaments, even Longclaw. She can only see Jon, not her bastard half-brother, not the King in the North, not the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, not a wildling, but only Jon, the Jon who took Winterfell back with her, the Jon who fought their battle, the Jon who has been there, at her side, ever since she found him again. or; instead of roaming winterfell when she cannot sleep, sansa goes to jon, and to jon's bed. it's not quite as illicit as it sounds, and gives them a chance to finally, truly, talk

In the quiet of the night 4k by @dreams-for-spring

love is more than telling me you want it 2k

When he smiles at her, she feels warmth flooding back into her bones. She’d almost forgotten what it feels like, she’s been cold for so long. Sansa and Jon learn to be something other than ships passing in the night.

Gifsets: Jon Looking at Sansa by jonstarks, Sansa Looking at Jon by baelerion, Forehead Kiss by joanna-lannister, Winter Is Here by kitnjon, Forehead Kiss by c-sand

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - next week -> ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

#jonsa #jonsa fic #s6 aus #missing scenes #show verse #apologies to all the beautiful gifsets and art I couldn't include this time #i forgot there was a limit on links!#dot fic list

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gargoylespodcast · 26 days

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We sit down with Greg Weisman and discuss the second episode of the World Tour, the origins of the name: Queen Florence Island. The decision to reveal that Grandmother and Raven are Children of Oberon. Jennifer educates Greg B with the origins of the Natsilane legend. We also discuss the guest stars: Gregg Rainwater as Natsilane, Lawrence Bayne as Raven, and Amentha Dymally as Grandmother.

In addition to this, while we praise the episode, we also discuss where things could have been improved upon, and the realities of doing your best work with limited time and resources when cranking out fifty-two episodes.

Available on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Amazon Audible, Spotify, and your podcatcher of choice! And join us on Patreon for the Exclusive Video Edition! Follow us on Twitter at: @FromEyrie Visit Jennifer L. Anderson’s online stores at: Angel Wings and Demon Tails Visit Greg Weisman at: Ask Greg Everything you ever wanted to know about Gargoyles at: GargWiki

#gargoyles #greg weisman #disney gargoyles #voices from the eyrie #podcast #podcasts

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nightswatchdisbandmentera · 27 days

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Question for Jon stans: so I think a lot of us expect Jon to leave the watch at some point in his story, whether in Winds or sometime in Dream. I tend to think he’s going to straight up desert the Watch, like going ‘fuck it I’m done here’ much like Bloodraven and Mance, instead of leaving on a technicality (i.e., a ‘he’s dead so he’s technically done his service’ type of thing).

BUT the question is, does he go north or does he go south? I think it’s reasonable to assume either direction works narratively.

We have this:

Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.”

Plus he’s been set up to parallel Bloodraven and Mance both of whom go north, and there’s this quote from AGOT that could be foreshadowing:

Far off to the north, a wolf began to howl. Another voice picked up the call, then another. Ghost cocked his head and listened. “If he doesn’t come back,” Jon Snow promised, “Ghost and I will go find him.” He put his hand on the direwolf’s head.

“I believe you,” Tyrion said, but what he thought was, And who will go find you? He shivered.

(Tyrion III)

There’s also symbolism in him embracing the name “Snow” and living in the snowy north….

But then we these quotes from AGOT as well that’s essentially about him finding the Wall to be stifling and equating freedom with the south:

“Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.”

“Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

(Jon III)

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

(Jon V)

And if Jon is to live his best wildling/crow-deserter life, it’ll be about finding freedom - just like Mance.

Plus there’s the whole thing with him seeing three different trees which could serve as representing his arc in the series, and the final tree faces south…

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

(Jon V, ADWD)

So which one is it?

Also if you think he goes south, where does he end up? 👀

#I’ve always been a jon deserts and goes north truther - but that’s also because I’m a jon will be king of winter truther #not in a ruling sense but more of a mythical combination of wildling king (mance) and god (bloodraven)#but I just saw a really interesting meta about how going south is more thematically resonant soooo 👀#yes this is assuming jon lives at the end which I think he absolutely does #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jon snow

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impossible-rat-babies · 5 months

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I do have a number of fics of eyrie and estinien in my drafts and god so help me if I actually manage to finish one

#sndndjd azia’s tags on her fic got me thinking #how estinien is a brother to eyrie and the complexity of that relationship for the both of them #the long lost bitter anxious love eyrie has for their brother. estinien’s grief and vengeance and later peace at the loss of his family #I’m just!! estinien looking at eyrie and their relationship with the twins and all their other interactions #and how much he thinks they are meant to be a father #im mushy over sidequests too ahhhh #eyrie’s interactions with the two auri children who want to make flower crowns for y’sthola and thancred #their tender smiles and their hands that guide so gently #helping this young arkasoda man pick out silks to wrap his child in once they are born #eyrie and estinien are just. so wonderfully in tune with each other #it’s a friendship they fell into easily in EW #oc: eyrie kisne #sjdjdjdjd funniest thing but like. Estinien voice if I had a nickel for every time I’ve had eyrie’s blood on my armor from picking them up #I would have three nickels

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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Sweet Fruit ~ Jacaerys Velaryon

summary: for fans of Fire&Blood and the rumors that circulated that Lady Jeyne would align with Rheanyra if Prince Jacaerys could please her with his tongue.

word count: 536

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Snow!reader

rating: language, mentions of pleasuring with one’s mouth, not super smutty more teasing, could be tempted to write a smutty p2

EDIT: I am easily convinced here is part 2 🥵

A/N: I’m not a Jace girl personally (Aemond owns me) but I wrote this scenario originally with Sara Snow but wanted to share 🔥

“Your grace,” a voice called, and you suddenly appeared in the training yard, eyes aglow with mischief.

Jacaerys Velaryon’s heart quickened, to his dismay, at the arrival of the beautiful lady.

Though your name was Snow, you were clearly a Stark.

You smiled, knowingly, an apple held carefully in your palm.

“My lady,” Jace said, out of habit. You made a tsking sound.

“Kind of you, your grace, for I am no lady,” you said, still smiling.

“Was there something you wanted?” Jace said, his annoyance getting the better of him.

Jace was a gentleman, and had never had trouble staying true to his word. Baela was his betrothed, and that was all fine and well with him. But for some reason this Northern bastard made his dragon blood run hot.

“There is, your grace,” you said, stalking around him. Jace rolled his eyes.

“Well?” he asked, trying not to let his voice break with desperation.

“My brother told me the strangest thing,” you said, giving Jace a one-over with your eyes.

He felt his cheeks flush as though he were a maiden in a song.

“He told me, that you secured the Eyrie, with a very interesting promise,” you said and Jace groaned.

Lady Jeyne had been infatuated with him when he stopped at his first mission on the way to Winterfell.

“It is not true,” Jace said, feeling the flush creep to his neck. You cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” you teased, enjoying the shade of red Jace was turning.

“Yes,” he said firmly. You nodded, suppressing a smile. The apple you held danced from hand to hand.

“So you did not eat her cunt, as one does a peach?” you asked and Jace’s jaw slacked, mouth falling open in shock.

“N-no,” he said, stunned at your language. You smiled wolfishly.

“Was it a different fruit?” you asked, suddenly turning the apple you held, “an apple perhaps?”

Jace was at a loss for words. You feigned concern.

“You do know how to pleasure a woman, your grace,” you continued and Jace felt his ears burn and his cock twitch to his dismay.

“I know how to do it!” he said, seething. You smiled again, pleased at the rise you were getting out of him.

“So when you ate her, was it like this?” you asked, taking a dramatic bite out of the apple, juices flowing down your chin. You moaned in pleasure.

“Or like this?” you said, mouth full and taking yet another bite.

Jace’s cock ached watching the juice dribble down your chin as you laughed wickedly.

“That is enough!” Jace said and he launched towards you, grabbing the apple from your nimble fingers and tossing it into the snow.

You swallowed what you had bitten, and the both of you stayed close together.

“Aren’t you going to show me?” you asked, so close Jace could feel your breath.

“What?” he asked, the scent of firewood and apples making him delirious with desire.

“We don’t need an apple,” you told him, peering up at him through your lashes.

You barked out a laugh and suddenly pulled away.

“Brother!” you called, as a Cregan Stark entered the training yard, pushing by Jace to greet him.

“Sister, my prince,” Cregan greeted, curiosity written on his face.

#jacaerys velaryon #jace velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys fic #jacaerys x you #jacaerys valaryon x reader #jacaerys smut #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys imagine #hotd jacaerys #Jacaerys x y/n #jace x reader #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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Object of Desire (Epilogue)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, breastfeeding kink, smut, angst, domination, swearing, mention of postpartum depression ]

[ description: After a difficult childbirth and finding out what kind of man her late husband was, Aemond finally finds the strength to truly understand his wife. Their life becomes peaceful and successful until Aegon is seriously injured in battle and he is proclaimed Prince Regent. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

For as long as he could remember, the image of himself with Aegon the Conqueror's crown placed on his head had flashed through his mind. He had never thought of depriving his elder brother of the throne, but they both knew that he was better suited to the role.

However, now, as his King lay in his chamber, with burns that caused him so much pain that they made it impossible for him to move, let alone rule the kingdom, when he was proclaimed Prince Regent, the weight of the steel pressing down on his forehead and temples seemed to overwhelm him.

His wife stood beside him, seated on the Iron Throne − she was showing her allegiance to him by wearing on her neck and fingers the sapphire jewels, necklaces and rings he had given her, her gown as usual in the colours of her lineage, blue.

He knew that she did not desire rich, shiny gifts, and his presents were not intended to satisfy her vanity − never able to express his feelings and thoughts aloud, he preferred to show his respect and affection towards her in this way, and she accepted it with calmness and gratitude.

She paid tribute to him as the last person to stand in front of his throne − she bowed and wanted to kneel, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand, ordering her to stand up.

He did not stop her when she approached him, when her hand grasped his, when she lifted it to her lips and kissed it reverently, closing her eyes.

He swallowed loudly, stroking her smooth skin with his thumb, feeling like just grabbing her around the waist and placing her on his lap, the way he would if they were alone in his chamber.

She moved away from him, looking at him with peace − a certainty, a pride that made him feel a warm contentment, something in her violet eyes that always reassured him.

She was his ally.

Not his grandfather's, his mother's, or his brother's.

His.

The mother of his heir.

His wife.

After the ceremony, a council was gathered, led by him, to determine what to do about the situation in Harrenhal, besieged for some time by Daemon. He did not allow his wife to leave the chamber, pointing with his hand to the seat on his right hand that would normally be occupied by his mother. His sire accepted this with humility, allowing his wife to take the seat next to him, herself sitting down next to Ser Criston.

Silence fell.

"How long do we have to tolerate Daemon flying around the kingdom threatening to take the crown from my brother? He laughs in our faces, occupying a stronghold so close to the Eyrie." He said coolly, his voice deep and defiant, certain. He heard his wife draw in a deep breath upon hearing the name of her ancestral fortress, lowering her gaze to her fingers.

His grandfather grunted loudly, twisting in his seat with a quiet creak of wood, looking at the faces of those gathered with a raised eyebrow.

"In my opinion, Prince Daemon wants to provoke you, Your Grace. It is obvious that his target is King's Landing. In my opinion, Harrenhal is a small price to pay to keep the capital, let him hold this fortress if he so desires."

"Harrenhal is the bridge between the North and the South. Daemon will burn Lord Arryn's army if he chooses to come to our call." He replied impatiently, Criston Cole grunted loudly, eager to make his point.

"There is only one King. Prince Daemon must be reminded of that." He said coldly, looking at him intensely, ready to rally their entire army at one sign of his. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his wife, who was looking at him with a gaze he knew well.

As always, she was letting him decide if he wanted to hear what she had to say.

He nodded at her, allowing her to speak.

"You are the rider of the greatest dragon in the kingdom, my king. You must remain in King's Landing. The Red Keep, unlike the Eyrie, can be conquered. Prince Daemon is just waiting for this. I'm certain that when he hears that you are heading in his direction with his army he will join his wife and they will march here together. Blockade of my uncle's army will still be a lesser loss." She said calmly, looking at her hands, his grandfather nodded, his face expressing surprise and some kind of admiration.

"Your wife speaks with great wisdom, Your Grace, and I agree with her completely." He said, and he looked away, hitting the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, thinking intensely about what she had said.

What if he does indeed move on Harrenhal, and finds only an empty fortress with children, old men and women?

What if Daemon humiliates him, tricks him like a little child hoping he'll swallow his bait, and attacks the Red Keep along with his half-sister knowing he won't make it back in time?

"Forgive me, my Lady, however, idleness is the domain of women, not men." Criston Cole hissed, but fell silent, swallowing hard, his lips pressed together as he met his warning gaze.

"You mistake idleness for wisdom and caution, my Lord. Like many men before you." His wife replied, and he clenched his fingers on the base of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing impatiently.

"Enough." He ordered, a tense silence fell around him, his wife looked away − he could see the vein pulsing fast on her slender, long neck, her cheeks red, betraying her annoyance.

"Mother." He turned to her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as he always did, reckoning with her opinion. He saw her swallow hard, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails in a nervous gesture, her big brown eyes filled with fear, uncertainty and dread.

"I think it's a trap, Aemond. Daemon is clever, he lives to mock others. He's always been this way."

He sighed quietly, feeling that despite his deep desire to lead his army to victory, there was much right in the doubts of his wife, grandfather and mother − when his anger and desire to prove himself began to give way to common sense he recognised that indeed if he left the Red Keep, his half-sister would take the opportunity.

"Let our spies continue to watch him and report his doings to us. We should think about luring him out of there somehow. Is there any news from the Iron Islands?" He asked, Lord Lannister nodded and grunted loudly.

"Yes. They agree to a set sum. They will stand against the Velaryon fleet at our call. However, they demand that their independence from the crown be upheld." He said quickly, nervously, adding the last sentence as if on the fly, clearly afraid of his reaction. He sighed heavily and merely nodded.

Their discussion continued for a few more hours, touching on the army, its supplies and the state of the soldiers' morale, their attitudes, whether an agreement could be reached with Lord Baratheon to remain neutral in exchange for the seat on the Small Council that his grandfather had offered in place of his own, knowing that it was his decision that had caused the betrothal to his daughters to be broken off.

When he had heard all he wished he closed the council by dismissing everyone but his wife.

She looked at him with her characteristic composure, watching as he removed Aegon the Conqueror's crown from his head and placed it with reverence on the top of the stone table in front of him. He gazed at its steel surface thoughtfully, tapping the tip of his finger against it, each time causing it to make a quiet clink.

"All my life I have thought about this moment. But it's not how I imagined it." He said finally, his voice impassive and tired. He heard her sigh quietly with understanding, looking down at his hands.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, hearing only the sounds coming from outside the windows, the loud conversations of guards and servants shouting in the courtyard.

"They'll think I'm a craven." He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling uncertainty and frustration rising in his chest − he sensed that she looked at him, her hand tightening on his, as if she wanted to give him the courage to do the right thing.

"He knows this is what you fear most. He'll laugh and mock that you're afraid to face him, but we both know he'll do it because he hopes it will break you. Don't let him dictate to you the terms of when and where you will face each other. It's humiliating." She said with a certainty from which he felt a squeeze in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb running over her soft skin.

"I'm expecting your child."

He shuddered, looking at her with his lips parted in disbelief, his heart began to pound hard at the thought that just a month after she'd given birth to his son, despite their shared promises, he'd come deep inside her when he'd made love to her, unable to stop himself, her hands clenched tightly on his bare buttocks, her sweet moans begging for his seed.

How could he deny her?

"Forgive me." He whispered in a trembling voice, thinking of the nightmare she'd endured, of how long she'd been unable to recover from it, how close she'd come to leaving this world. He heard her hum under her breath as she smiled softly, shaking her head.

"No. It is a good omen. A sign from the gods that they favour you." She replied, looking at him as if she was the one who wanted to comfort him, his fingers intertwined with hers. "I think this time will be different. I already know what to expect and that I can count on your support, my King."

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a loud, lingering kiss on her smooth skin.

"They have taken pity on me, sending me you as my wife. My Queen." He muttered, drawing her close to him, gripping her waist, seating her comfortably on his lap, leaning against the back of his chair with a quiet sigh, gazing at her familiar, pleasant figure with tenderness.

She smiled warmly at his words, taking his face in her hands, stroking it with her thumbs. He closed his eyes, letting his body loosen, feeling sleepy and tired even though his manhood clearly expressed its pleasure at her closeness, swelling in his breeches.

"I will order a meal to be prepared for you and brought to your chamber. You have hardly eaten or slept for days."

"Mmm." He hummed, satisfied, as always, that she was watching him, that she knew what he needed without asking him unnecessary questions.

While this would surely have caused his frustration with another woman, her initiative didn't bother him; on the contrary, it made his daily life a lot easier, giving him the feeling that he didn't have to think of everything himself.

She was the one who decided what attire he should wear for what occasion, what they would eat for their morning meal, knowing what he liked most. To his satisfaction, she also found herself in the role of mother, establishing a close bond with their son, Jace's attachment to her and how joyfully he reacted to the sight of her made her eager to hold him in her embrace, letting him watch her feed him in the evenings.

His greatest weakness, as he found out, proved to be not the lack of his eye or control over his fiery temper, but the taste of her milk melting across his palate as his son slept peacefully at night with his belly filled with her food.

He clamped his mouth over her swollen, puffy nipples, sucking on them greedily as his fat cock thrust impatiently into her slick interior, teasing with its tip the spot inside her that made her moan shamelessly with pleasure.

"− my King −" She sobbed sweetly with her thighs spread wide, letting him pound into her with deep, fast pushes, purring with pleasure into the skin of her breasts, swallowing loudly her wonderful nectar. His sound vibrated through her entire body making her walls clench against him greedily, squeezing him, his thumb teasing and trailing around her pearl, making her fingers dig helplessly into his naked, sweaty back.

"− this is a meal worthy of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, don't you think? − my wife's sweet, warm milk −" He murmured, running the tip of his nose over her nipple only to move his face to her other breast, repeating the same process, justifying his behaviour by the fact that he knew the excess milk was causing her pain and discomfort, and he couldn't imagine it going to waste.

"− yes − it's all yours − f-fuck −" She muttered, tilting her head back, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders with his low groan as he felt her core begin to pulse around his manhood in orgasm, squeezing his seed out of him.

He didn't have the strength to resist and just filled her with himself, sighing in relief, licking her nipple with the tip of his tongue, as oversensitive as the rest of her body − she whimpered, trying to push him away but he wouldn't let her, busy with sucking her milk until she calmed down.

"− Aemond, please − oh gods −" She mumbled softly, completely absorbed in her fulfilment, panting heavily. He remained deep inside her, leaning on his elbow, not wanting to crush her with his body, remembering in the back of his mind about the baby in her womb.

"− what is it? − my wife is overwhelmed? − impossible −" He sneered with a grin of satisfaction − since it appeared that his attention to her breasts aroused not only him, she was soaking wet for him, her fulfilment approaching quickly and violently, making her body completely vulnerable and limp, as if she herself was shocked by how intense the sensation was.

"− I didn't even notice when you filled me again, my King − I'm inclined to think you're drawing satisfaction from my pleasure −" She cooed with a sweet smile, from which he chuckled under his breath, leaning towards her − her hand pulled him closer as their lips joined in a hot, sticky, soft kiss, her swollen breasts pressed against his chest.

He ran the tip of his nose over hers, looking into her eyes, a violet he adored − the shade of her irises slightly darker than his, warmer, shimmering wonderfully in the moonlight illuminating their bed.

He wanted to confess to her the many things that did not slip through his throat, the affection that filled his heart with heat, yet he remained silent, looking at her with a gaze she knew well. She always reacted the same way, her soft hand stroking his jaw as only two words came out of her mouth, spoken in a whisper.

"I know."

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saturninelove · 11 months

Text

Ghostface’s Obsession pt 2

(NSFW) 18+ Minors DNI:

Someone asked for a part two so: A continuation of Mr. Ghostface. Warnings: Fem reader, Suggestive language, pet names, smut, slight knifeplay. (Words: 2825)

~~~~~~~~~~

None of the other survivors really spoke of the last trial once you all sat back down at the campfire to discuss strategies and weaknesses. Claudette assumed you had once again gone on one of your “crazy chases” with the masked killer, offering praise to you as you had easily come back in one piece. You found yourself almost eager to be placed into the next trial, your fingers drumming along your thigh as the others spoke amongst themselves. Once the flames puffed out that dreadful black fog, you found yourself fidgeting in your seat as butterflies hammered against your chest. You’d never been this excited for anything, especially not one of the entity’s grand schemes. Once the fog had cleared, you found yourself standing amid the empty wasteland better known as the Eyrie of Crows. Mere seconds into the trial, you heard a rushing noise as well as a mutated squelch. Your heart sank a little in your chest, squeezing a little in sadness as you realized it would not be your newfound masked friend.

It had been almost a dozen trials since then and each time that fog lifted, your hope dwindled down more and more. This time as you sat back onto your comfortable spot around the fire, you nestled your chin into the palm of your hand in a slight pout. Your other hand was dragging a stick through the dirt, moving rocks and pebbles aside as you wallowed in your own boredom and longing for something that you knew was insanely wrong. That familiar pit in your stomach grew as the wisps of fog licked at the soles of your shoes, slowly wrapping around both of your legs before enveloping your whole body. In the blink of an eye, the unsightly vision of Badham Preschool filled every bit of your line of sight. You didn’t linger in one place for long, quickly shuffling through the back entrance of the school and making your way down and into the basement where you knew a generator was always waiting patiently for you. You picked the open side that was underneath the stairs and kept your ears trained to the stairs behind you to listen for any footsteps in case it happened to be the famed Michael Meyers or perhaps the elusive Wraith. After a good minute of cranking levers and crossing wires, you realized you hadn’t heard any of your teammates engage in any kind of danger, no screams of pain or distraught. You grew a little more worried as the generator grew louder in volume and you couldn’t hear as clearly as before but you continued to cast backwards glances at the stairwell.

What you hadn’t prepared for was the occupant of all of your wild dreams as of late to come up directly behind you from the hallway opposite of the generator, scaring you enough to jam one of the cogs that was trying so hard to move. Cutting off your surprised gasp, the one and only Ghostface pressed the blade of his knife flat against your cheek as he forced you to look back and into that daunting mask. “Hey dollface.” He smoothed the words out, the grin heard through his voice as he pulled your hips back and flush to his body, pressing his slight bulge up against your rear as you pulled you away from the machinery.

“D-Danny!” You exclaimed, your tone supposed to be surprised and scared but you couldn’t even deny how excited you sounded and the way your heart was racing. Your mind flooded with the way he treated you the first time you two had met and the dreams that had invaded your mind since. The chuckle that resonated from his chest had you blushing, the coolness of the dagger was a nice contrast to the heat of your skin and you found yourself not hating the feeling of it.

“Miss me?” He replied cockily, wrapping his arm around your midriff as he hoisted you over and to the adjacent section of the basement where a convenient mattress sat on the ground. You gave an innocent nod as you pressed your back against the brick wall, your eyes trailing his cloaked figure as you bit your lip shyly. “Didn’t I warn you once already?” He rasped quietly as though he was a tortured man, a groan following as he stepped closer and let his hands wander and grope at your hips and ass, grabbing overflowing handfuls as he leaned over you.

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” You murmured, closing your eyes and tilting your head back to let out a breathy gasp. He took this advantage to slip his mask up enough to show his jaw and cheeks as he snuck his way in and pressed his hot mouth against the skin of your neck, earning a surprised moan from your already parted lips. “Danny?” You asked, the lust already clouding your brain as you opened your eyes to try and look down at his mysterious face.

“Keep those eyes closed, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want to have to gouge out those pretty little things.” He threatened but his words were empty and you could feel the smirk on his lips as he continued to assault your skin, his mouth quickly moving down your chest as he lifted at the hem of your thin tank top, eager to undress you. You tilt your head back again and move your arms to help tug the thin material from your body, revealing your naked torso to his eyes. With a barely stifled groan that rippled along your skin, he bent his head further and tongued at your right nipple, taking the stiff peak between his teeth and rolling it gently just to hear the way you’d cry out. You rested your head against the wall as you released lewd noises, your eyes closed as your hands settled onto his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Atta girl.” He’d praise, the words muffled as he chuckled. He shifted his head to the other side as his mouth unleashed the same painful pleasure onto your neglected breast, one of his hands took the place of his mouth, pinching and pulling lightly on your nipple to match his teeth and tongue. His other hand was impatiently pushing your athletic sweatpants down your hips, groaning in satisfaction when they finally pushed down your thighs.

“Danny, please.” You asked softly, unsure exactly of what you were asking. You were itching to glance down at his face and see what murderous man was hidden behind the mask, but you also knew the secrecy of it all added to how wet you got when you thought of him. Your lack of continuation causes him to chuckle again, the rumble of it only causing more slick to coat the insides of your thighs.

“Use your words, pretty girl.” His voice is so low and raspy and it makes you want to melt into a puddle at his feet. Your knees buckle a little at the thought, to which he catches you without missing a beat and lowers you down until your back is flat onto the mattress and your hair pools out around your head. Your eyes are barely open and you get a glance at the face that had been haunting your dreams for weeks. A sharp jawline, a set of full pink lips, a strangely attractive Adam's apple, and a set of cheeky dimples stared back at you. You were awestruck and as you audibly gulped, his smirk only widened into a full-blown shit eating grin. “Or don’t.” He replied smugly, showing off even his pearly whites. You let out an uncontainable whimper at the thought of those teeth sinking into any and all of your flesh. He took this moment of you being rendered stunned and useless to push his way between your knees, spreading your thighs apart as he gazed down at you lazily, his mask still covering everything from his nose up. You slapped your hand over your mouth to catch the moan as his gloved finger easily slid up and down your soaked slit, gathering a generous amount of your arousal as he coated two fingers, pushing them inside of you without warning.

“Danny!” You cried out, gasping as you bit down onto your palm, eyes wide. His lips curled into a playful smirk as he plowed those two fingers in and out of your wet sex at a dizzying pace, his own tongue running over his bottom lip as he stared down at you. You were melting slowly, coming apart at the seams at the way he was devoting every ounce of his attention to you. You looked up and at the brick wall behind you as you moaned softly, your thighs spreading more as you pushed your hips up into him to take his digits fully. One of your hands moved up to your own breasts as you groped and pinched lightly at your own nipples, biting your lip from the stimulation. You heard some faint rustling and then what sounded like a soft ‘click’.

“Dollface, you camera shy?” He hinted, his voice low and husky as his fingers slowed from their intense pace. You looked up, eyes wide. Just those words made you clench around his fingers tight and that blush found its way back onto your cheeks. He grinned even wider as he snapped another picture, this time you saw the flash. “I want to make a whole collection, sweetheart.” He mused, stooping down and pressing a hot kiss to your lower stomach as he flattened himself mostly off of the mattress and between your thighs, the mask staring up at you as you felt his mouth slip lower, a trail of messy, wet kisses leading him straight to your needy sex. You arched your back and writhed up against him, whimpering softly.

“Please, Danny! I need to feel something, anything.” You begged, your mind so boggled with the lust you’d mustered up over the last several days.

“Anything?” The question came out more like a taunt and your mind flashed images of the knife but before you could respond or express your fears, the sensation of his hot tongue ran along your already drenched lips. You gasped in excitement, arching yourself further and pushing your tits into the air as your thighs wrapped around his head, squeezing tightly in encouragement. You heard the faint click of his disposable camera but you didn’t care, you simply wanted to die on the spot. His tongue lapped at your juices with ease and a sense of finesse, lewd slurping noises filled the air of the room as Danny began the feast he had been dreaming about since their last encounter. He suckled onto your sensitive clit, chuckling against it as he pushed his two fingers back inside of you, curling them up and against that sensitive spot he knew you’d grow weak over. His free hand finally stretched up, setting the cold camera between your breast to free his hand, groping your other tit roughly as his tongue pushed into you, fucking you alongside his fingers. With a shaky hand, you grabbed the camera, jostling it around a bit before aiming it down and between your own legs shyly, only hesitating for a moment before pressing the button and hearing the little ‘click’. Danny’s groan was immediate and it rumbled through you, pulling a moan along with it. His efforts seemed to double as his fingers rubbed against your g-spot eagerly, his other hand moving down to rub his thumb over your clit, his nose bumping against it as well as his tongue explored your depths. Without being able to warn him or pull your body away at all, you felt yourself beginning to convulse, your hips rocking forward and up into his face, sufficiently humping at his mouth and nose as your orgasm pushed through your body. He rode your orgasm out without complaint, only groaning to himself in excitement as he gulped down everything you’d give him, his tongue searching your walls for more. You fell from your orgasmic high slowly, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your breathing tried to even out. “That’ll be my favorite.” He rumbled the words against your inner thigh, pressing a sickeningly sweet bite there. His hand stretched up to grab the camera, that smirk evident on his face as his mouth glistened just barely. The blush on your cheeks was intense and your gaze flicked down to the bulge that was straining his leathers.

“Can I please?” You asked softly, your eyes shifting from the mask to his bulge. His smirk morphed into a grin with wicked intent and for a second, you felt that spark of adrenaline run through your veins, hesitation flashing through your eyes.

“You thought I’d let you leave already?” He taunted, his fingers working deftly at the buckles of his shroud, plucking the leathers away to reveal his hardened, throbbing cock. You felt your saliva pool into your mouth and you swallowed roughly, squeezing your thighs together to try to stop the dull aching between your thighs. His hands settled onto either one of your knees, pushing them apart as he settled between your legs again, this time aligning his cock to the place you needed it the most. He leaned down to you, his face mere centimeters away as his breath fanned over your face. “Beg.” He pushed the word out, teasing your entrance with just the tip, making your eyes roll back impatiently as you pushed your hips up, letting out a satisfied moan when the tip slipped in. With a suppressed moan of his own, he gripped your hip with one hand, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave a bruise, the thought only encouraging another moan as your walls squeezed around the head of his cock. “Dollface.” He threatened, but his own words were weak and he was struggling to control himself.

“Please Danny, I want you to give me your cock, every inch.” You begged, your cheeks flushed and your entire body alive with desire. He didn’t even need to be asked twice, already satisfied with your short and sweet response.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned, his head dipping down to finally close the gap between your mouths, his tongue pushing into your mouth immediately as he took control. His hips sank down into you at the same moment, forcing the entirety of his cock into you with one harsh thrust. You cried out, the sound muffled by his own mouth dominating yours. Your walls squeezed around him and you gripped his shoulders roughly, your nails digging into his skin. The hand that held your hip shifted over just slightly as his middle and ring finger rubbed your clit in harsh, desperate circles. He pulled away from your mouth for just a moment to spit out the words, “Cum on my cock, pretty girl.” With all of the added stimulation, after only a few short thrusts, you found yourself creaming on his thick cock, your lips broke away from his to moan and cry out in pleasure, your walls spasming around his cock wildly as your orgasm traveled through you. You felt him erupt deep inside of you, the first few spurts were deep and you went dumbstruck at the feeling, but he pulled out and made sure to spill some of his load onto your lower stomach and thighs, the smirk on his lips was proof enough of how proud he was of his artwork. As if the entity itself had timed it, the sound of the exit gates filled the air. Your brows furrowed, wondering why this time it had taken so long compared to last time.

Danny pulled his camera out again, smirking playfully as he snapped another picture of you lying spent with his cum on your body. “C’mon dollface.” He mused, his mood had elevated through the roof as he fastened his own leathers, his newest concern was making sure you made it safely out of the trial.He even helped you to find your tank top that he had accidentally thrown out of the room. Once you were properly dressed, he made a show of plucking you up and tossing you over his shoulder again, giving your ass a firm spank and heading up the stairs with you. You swore you saw movement down the hallway as Danny was carrying you up and away but you couldn’t be sure, nor could you tell him to turn around. He set you onto your feet at the opened exit gate, pulling you close as he gave you a kiss that was hot enough to fluster you all over again, giving you a hard spank as he ushered you out of the trial with the promise, “You’re definitely not getting away from me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

#dbd #dbd smut #ghostface smut #ghostface #ghostface x reader #dbd ghostface x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight smut #dannyjohnson x reader #dannyjohnson #danny jed olsen johnson #danny johnson smut #dbd danny johnson #mypost #slasher smut

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melrosing · 3 months

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MBO Robert's Rebellion: Season 2 Episode 1

finally worked out how all the events of the rebellion break down into ten episodes you better believe im so serious about finishing this

anyway we're onto season 2 and rhaegar's about to get silly

SEASON ONE: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7, Episode 8, Episode 9, Episode 10

title for this one: the most i've ever thought about petyr baelish

Open to a woman’s screams. The chaos of the birthing room as Elia gives birth to Aegon with great difficulty. Rhaegar stands watching on, anxious, as the baby emerges silent - it takes several frightening moments before the boy cries out. Elia collapses once she hears him, and there’s a great rush to recover her. Meanwhile, Rhaegar is presented with the child. The maester says he is glad that Elia has been delivered of a son, as he fears she will not be able to bear another. Rhaegar, looking at his son, murmurs that this must be Aegon. But, he says, there must be a third. There cannot be a third, says the maester

Opening creds. if this were an anime we’d have changed the song by now so we’re going from caramelldansen to the lucky star opening

Jaime Lannister training in the yard of the Red Keep with two other members of the Kingsguard, Lewyn Martell and Oswell Whent. The king has kept him at arm’s length since Harrenhal, so Jaime has been able to forget the circumstances of his joining the KG for a bit and enjoy training with these elite knights - he seems to have built some rapport with Lewyn and Oswell already. Lewyn suggests the approaching Barristan Selmy try Jaime; Barristan, who is still dubious of a teenager’s place in the KG, declines and says he has come to convey a message instead - Aerys has requested Jaime’s presence in the throne room. Jaime, surprised, goes alone

Aerys, accompanied by Arthur Dayne, is receiving congratulations from lords and ladies of the court on the birth of his grandson, his Hand Lord Merryweather proposing a great tourney. Aerys dismisses all but Arthur upon Jaime’s arrival, and bids him closer - we get the sense that Aerys has harboured some residual fears about Jaime, but attempts to push those aside now. He has Jaime stop before him at the top of the steps to the throne, and looks at him directly. Quivering, then almost fond, Aerys tells Jaime he has his mother’s face. Then, his voice hardening: ‘but you’re your father’s child, I know.’ Arthur, from the foot of the throne, calls Jaime down ‘with his grace’s permission’, which Aerys allows. Jaime gratefully acquiesces, and follows Arthur to the exit. Arthur tells him to relieve Jonothor Darry in Maegor’s Holdfast, and watches Jaime leave with a hard, searching look

SUDDENLY!!! Big clash of swords. We’re at a melée at the Eyrie. Robert makes short work of various opponents one after the other. Faced suddenly with Ned, he grins apologetically before tossing him comfortably to the side, finally duking it out with Lyn Corbray (yes i remember him) and winning to great ardour

With Ned and Robert afterwards striding back towards the castle. Robert suggests Ned puts his back into it next time, he knows he was letting him win. Ned replies that he doesn’t get as much out of this southern sport as Robert. Nonetheless, he notes that Robert fought with fire today, and Robert replies that he was imagining each of his opponents as Rhaegar Targaryen. His marriage to Lyanna will be brought forward in light of the Prince’s odd behaviour at Harrenhal - whether Rhaegar was drunk or mad as his father, Robert will not share his betrothed. Anyway why don’t they go unwind at a brothel later lol

At camp with Lyanna and Rickard, who are travelling through the Riverlands for Brandon’s wedding - they’re camped near Harrenhal, awaiting his arrival before they travel back to Riverrun with him. Lyanna and Rickard aren’t on the best terms: Rickard has recently pulled forward her marriage to Robert in an attempt to defend her honour following events concerning the Prince last year. Lyanna appeals to Rickard once again to postpone the wedding; Rickard says he believes Lyanna will learn the appeal of marriage when she sees Brandon married to Catelyn. Lyanna bitterly wonders if Catelyn would be so happy if she knew that Brandon had loved before. Rickard, angry to hear his daughter talking of THAT kind of thing cough, says a man can love before, to better know his wife when he meets her. Lyanna asks why it’s a different rule for women? Rickard scolds her, reminds her he’s made her a fine match and that the wedding is being brought forward for her benefit - she’s been the cause of enough trouble already. Lyanna storms off into the woods, Rickard calling her back angrily

At Riverrun with the Tullys - big ole feast. Hoster raises a toast to Catelyn’s engagement to Brandon, as Catelyn smiles shyly at his side. Petyr, on the sidelines, looks ready to combust. The feast turns to a dance: Catelyn takes her first turn with Brandon (he's a very showy dancer, and makes her laugh with big spins and flourishes). Then she dances w Hoster and Brynden, whilst Petyr dances with Lysa, constantly craning his neck to look over at Cat. Eventually Petyr manages to break away from Lysa and ask Cat for a dance. Cat, in high spirits, giggles and jokes with him, and Petyr, already a few drinks down, tries to kiss her. Catelyn pushes him away laughing, and Brandon, having seen it all, jokingly scolds Petyr for trying. That something so serious to him is a joke to the pair of them stings terribly. Petyr skulks away to his room

Rhaegar with Elia. Rhaenys is playing in his lap, but both her parents are distracted. Eventually Elia looks to Rhaegar, and Rhaegar, realising they’re about to talk, asks a maid to take Rhaenys away to play with Viserys. When they're gone, Rhaegar remains silent - but Elia reads his mind. With some strain, she tells him she’s given him all she can now: they may have no love for another (Rhaegar does not jump to quarrel this, and Elia’s heart visibly sinks despite itself) - again, they may have no love for one another, but she still means to do her duty. These children are both of theirs, and they must protect them. Rhaegar nods, but his mind appears to be elsewhere

Brandon is due to part ways with the Tullys for now as he goes to meet Rickard near Harrenhal. Catelyn whispers her thanks in Hoster’s ear for the fine match just as soon as Brandon’s out of earshot - but Petyr overhears. His face twisting, he immediately steps forward to challenge Brandon (who is already mounting his horse) for Catelyn’s hand. Catelyn in utter shock, Hoster Tully looking fairly murderous like 'you do this on the day of my daughter's engagement'. Brandon is first stunned, then amused, then stunned again when he realises Petyr is serious. He tries to put the boy off, saying he’ll meet a lady of his own one day, but the condescension only turns Petyr’s eyes darker - Brandon sees that. Fed up trying with the kid, he says he’ll humour him, if it only helps Petyr come to his senses

Rhaegar deep in the library at the Red Keep with Arthur Dayne. Surrounded by books and scrolls, he mutters, uncomprehending, what Elia has told him - that there will be no more children, no third head of the dragon. Once all his dreams had told him to choose Elia, and he had followed them to her without a care for his own wants or desires. But now his dreams show something different: they show what he fears his heart wants - so how can he trust whether it’s truly the visions he follows, and not his heart? Arthur like idk that sounds rough man

Petyr arrives before Brandon shoddily armed, and Brandon (in full armour) declares that this would be a poor fight indeed. The Tullys watch on, Hoster still raging, Cat and Lysa in a panic. Brandon offers Petyr opportunity to yield, but Petyr strikes his breastplate pathetically with his sword. Brandon offers him the chance to yield again, and still Petyr seeks to provoke him. Finally, Petyr lands a blow that comes a little too close to blood for Brandon’s liking. Finally enraged, he sends Petyr flying with a fist, never drawing his sword. Petyr attempts to rise again, but Brandon stamps down on his chest (Lysa begins shrieking), and Petyr chokes. Catelyn screams, and begs Brandon to leave the boy - she’d never marry him anyhow, but he was dear to her once. Brandon raises his eyebrows, and wipes his foot on the grass. Washing his hands of the business, he kisses Catelyn’s hand before departing, whilst Petyr coughs up blood into the dirt, watching Brandon ride away with pure hatred in his eyes

Ned helps a drunken Robert back up the spiral stairs to his room once again. They pass Jon Arryn’s solar, and he smiles with a touch of conspiracy to suggest their secrets are their own. Ned grimaces - he has no secrets

Don’t ask me where the nearest brothel is to the eyrie i hate to think. I don’t know how they got back with ned half carrying a drunk robert they just did

Petyr lies barely conscious in a dour back room of Riverrun - all that Hoster is willing to afford him now. The door creaks open, and a figure steps through the door, candle in hand. Petyr says: ‘Cat.' The figure answers: ‘It’s me.’ Petyr, eyes barely open behind the bruising, grins a bloody grin. The figure tells him tearfully that Hoster means to send him back to the Fingers as soon as he’s healed, that it’s all monstrously unfair, that Brandon is a brute, that she hates to see Petyr suffer so. Petting his face, the figure says that no-one knows she’s here, so for tonight at least they can do what they like. Petyr grins wider as Lysa leans in to kiss him

In KL: Jaime, patrolling the courtyard, sees green light flashing in the windows of the throne room. He frowns, uncomprehending, and walks carefully towards a side door to investigate. Opening it, he hears muffled screams coming from the throne room beyond the next door, and approaches with great trepidation, one arm outstretched. SUDDENLY!!! Arthur Dayne emerges from the throne room, and we have the faintest glimpse of a bright green light: a terrible scream rings out. Just as quickly, the door is closed again. Arthur studies Jaime a moment, then suggests he goes to bed: his duties are done for the night

Rhaegar having an absolute Willy Wonka’s tunnel of visions. Blood seeping into a fast-running river, dancing green flames, guts spattered across stone floors. And a blue rose again. Rhaegar opens his eyes at once, suddenly resolute

Lyanna, sat alone in the dark woods, turning a dried flower crown about in her hands

#asoiaf #sparknotes robert's rebellion

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ramsayxme · 2 months

Text

Breaking My Bride

The sun rises and your heart sinks, for you know the day has finally come. You pull the woven blanket over your head, begging time to stop in its tracks. Nothing could prepare you for this day. You prayed to the Gods that it would never come, but it's here. Your wedding day.

You didn't sleep at all last night, knowing that you only had hours left until your existence was diminished to one word; 'bride'. No one would care that you enjoyed painting and that you could ride a horse better than any knight you had ever met. No one would care that you enjoyed singing. No one would care. You were betrothed to Ramsay Bolton, the evil and merciless heir to Winterfell.

You shut your eyes as you imagined your bed floating across the frozen sea, taking you... anywhere but here. King's Landing, The Eyrie, Dorne... you didn't care, but Winterfell was the last place you wanted to be right now. You grew up here, but Ramsay didn't. The Boltons took Winterfell from the Starks and everyday has felt even more grey and gloomy than the last. This was your home, but it didn't feel like home anymore.

You heard one of your newly appointed servants knock on your door and gently push the door open, a loud creaking flooding the silence. "My Lady, Lord Bolton has requested I come and prepare you for your wedding." You groaned under the covers. You didn't like having servants, it felt... wrong. You never had servants before and you managed just fine, you weren't sure you needed them now... but Ramsay insisted.

You felt the bed shift slightly as the servant girl sat down on the edge of your mattress. "My Lady." She whispered, her hand softly settling on your shoulder as she slowly jiggled your arm, an attempt to wake you. "I'm awake." You whispered. She stopped. "Sorry. Lord Bolton wants you to be up and getting dressed. He moved the ceremony up a few hours, he just can't wait to wed you..." Her voice trailed off. She was trying to sound excited, but you could sense the underlying tone. Fear. She was worried for you, and rightfully so.

"Why me?" You whispered as you poked your head out from under the covers, locking eyes with the girl. She looked ragged and exhausted, but she had deep and compassionate eyes. She looked at you, her eyesbrows crumpled to meet in the middle, forming a line on her forehead. "I don't know, My Lady." She whispered in return. "You could try running. Surely living in the snow and dying of frostbite would be more favorable than marrying that monster." She reached out and pet your hair. "I can't imagine..." She gave herself the chills just thinking about it.

"I haven't been able to sleep." You confess. "I don't want to marry him. I hate this arrangement between my father and him. I don't love him, and I do NOT respect him." You admit your true feelings out loud to the servant girl, hoping that you could trust her. "I understand..." she began. "But... Ramsay will be very angry with me if I don't help you get dressed. I can't make him angry with me." You held sympathy for her, knowing that Ramsay would unleash the wrath on her if you refused to get ready.

You sighed deeply as you sat up, the covers falling to your hips as you stretched. "Fine." You submitted to the day. There was nothing you could do to stop it.

********************

You were dressed in the finest white dress with the must luxurious white cloak. You saw your reflection in the mirror and gave a small twirl. You felt like a princess until you remembered who you were marrying, then you felt like a prisoner. You sighed as you picked up the hem from the floor and swayed across the floor to get your hair brushed. A few of your servants were in the room and whispering to each other. You couldn't be bothered to care, you were too obsessed in sulking in your own reality.

The same girl from earlier began brushing your hair. She began whispering to you. "My Lady, a few of the other servants and I... we spoke of your feelings about the day, and we want to help you escape. Nobody should be subjected to Ramsay's torture for life. We want to help you get away from Winterfell." You are a bit skeptical but at the same time, hopeful. You need to escape and you know you can't do it on your own. You slowly nod, her hair brush still stroking through your hair.

*******************

You follow the girl through the darker, dimly lit halls. You hold your dress up high around your chest in order to keep it from dragging. You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you keep running through the stone corridors. Were you really going to escape? Was this wedding not going to happen? You felt the flutter of excitement in your chest as you kept up with the servant. "Behind this door, take a left and run until you reach the side gates. Best of luck to you." She breathed. She swung the door open and stepped aside, allowing you to burst through it on your own.

You kept running and took a left, just as she instructed and you reached the outdoors. The gate had to be just around the corner, but you slammed straight into the wall. You took a few steps back and realized it wasn't a wall, it was Ramsay. He stood in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly, lips tight together and eyes wild with anger. His curly dark hair licked under his earlobes and curled over the tips of his ears. His gaze was unwavering, he didn't just stare at you, but he stared into you.

"M- My Lord!" You exclaimed, your brain whirring around your skull trying to come up with an excuse. He took a deep inhale and exhale through his nose. His eyes scanned your face as he stepped closer. He was now nearly pressed up against you, his eyes wildly darting from each of yours. You feared he could read your mind.

Suddenly, a smile cracked across his face. "My Love. Where were you going?" He asked confidently, his voice smooth but threatening. You couldn't lie to yourself, Ramsay did scare the shit out of you. His power and psychotic tendencies were unmatched. You forced a smile and a quick burst of awkward laughter. "I must've been turned around, I was trying to head to-"

You were cut off by Ramsay's cold hand wrapping around your throat as he pushed you backwards against the castle wall. His grip around your throat was firm, but you knew he wasn't trying his hardest; it was just enough to restrict your throat from speaking and breathing normally. You watched as he seethed with anger, his teeth clenched together behind his pursed lips. Your hands instinctively reached up and grabbed his wrist and forearm, a plea for him to release you. You felt a flutter in your belly when you noticed how intensely his eyes were staring into yours.

His grip tightened just slightly. "You wouldn't try anything stupid, would you?" You squeaked as you attempted to answer him, but this just caused his hand to squeeze around your throat tighter. "You're lucky I don't take whats mine right now..." His eyes wandered down your neck, slowly examining your body. You felt that fluttering again as you watched him take you in. You couldn't possibly enjoy this. You ignored the fluttering in your belly and you began fighting back.

With your free hands, you reached up and grabbed fist fulls of Ramsay's hair. Before you could second guess yourself, you yanked on his hair, attempting to pull him away from you. To your surprise, his eyes fluttered and his lips parted slightly as he exhaled a groan. He didn't budge. "Feisty one, aren't you?" He chuckled. His other hand reached to your shoulder and he tugged on your cloak, releasing the soft skin of your shoulder.

Ramsay leaned forward and bit down on your shoulder flesh, causing more squeaks to come from your throat. He growled as he bit down hard, you were sure he was breaking the skin. His teeth released you as he let go of your throat. However, you weren't free. His hands gripped your shoulders as he kept your back pushed against the cold stone wall. "Now, I want you to listen very carefully. Can you do that?" His tone was taunting your intelligence.

You nodded, still ignoring the fluttering in your belly. "You will behave yourself at the wedding. You will say what you are supposed to say, and you will be my bride. Do you understand me?" His eyes widened when you hesitated, he was nearly snarling at you. "Yes..." you whispered. "Good." He praised you, the weight of his anger suddenly lifted. "Now, run along. I'll see you shortly, my love." He turned you around and shoved you back toward the direction that you ran from. You meekly sauntered back inside the castle.

********************

It was time. Ramsay was repeating his vows and you were standing there waiting your turn. The whole population of Winterfell had come to see your wedding. You knew you had no choice but to marry Ramsay. There was no escape. There was no way out. Your brain thoughts around your brain, a desperate attempt to find a way out of this situation.

"Do you take this man?" The Maester's voice broke through your thoughts as you realized Ramsay was staring at you and the Maester was waiting your response. "Oh." You slammed back into reality. "I..." You began, your eyes brushed through the crowd of people. Most were staring at their feet, not really excited to witness this forced marriage. You were about to make a run for it, but then you saw it. One of Ramsay's men was perched on a small tower of Winterfell with an arrow nocked and drawn in your direction. You felt your heart sink. You knew if there was one, there were likely many. You had to do this.

"I...I take this man."

*********************

With the slam of the door and a click of a lock, you were alone with your husband; what a horrifying thing. As Ramsay finished locking the door, you looked around your new bed chambers that you would share with him. The room was massive with multiple fireplaces aglow. The bed was plush and covered with pelts and rich furs. The windows were almost cathedral, allowing the light to drape the stone floor in a warm glow.

"Are you pleased, My Lady?" Ramsay asked, his voice breaking your thoughts. "Um... yes." You whispered. No, you weren't. You would give anything to be on the other side of that locked door. "You're not lying to me, are you?" Ramsay began walking towards you. You shook your head, but you knew he could read your fear. You didn't personally know Ramsay very well, but you had heard many rumors of his behavior. You knew he was a menace, a monster, a real bastard.

Ramsay approached you, his cloak crossing his chest with leather straps. You watched him as he unhooked the straps, allowing his cloak to fall to the floor. You felt your breath hitch in your throat. "Now, you belong to me. Do you know what that means?" He asked in the same demeaning tone. "No." You whisper your answer, refusing to make eye contact with him.

He stepped closer, completely closing the gap between the two of you. His hands slowly pushed your hair behind your ears and he held your face in his hands. His blue eyes pierced your attempts of having a hard exterior, you felt yourself grow soft under his dominant gaze. You had to admit... He was very handsome. If he weren't so evil, perhaps you would even feel blessed by the Gods to have such a handsome husband.

You simply stared at him as his rough hands caressed your soft face. One of his thumbs grazed your lips as he examined you. "Such a pretty girl, all for me." He whispered as he leaned in to kiss you. You weren't sure what compelled you, but you pulled away from the kiss. This was not the response Ramsay wanted, and you knew it immediately.

His eyes widened, his stare almost punishing you. You sunk into submission in his hands, your lips parted to let a whimper escape your mouth. Before you could grovel, Ramsay spun you around and pressed your back against his chest. "That was not the right answer, love." He whispered as you felt a pressure on your shoulder blades. Ramsay ripped open your dress, destroying the delicate stitching and sending small beads flying across the stone floor. "I was going to be gentle with you, seeing how timid you are..." He began. "But, I don't think I want you assuming that I am a gentle lover. No, no, you see... I take what I want, however I want."

You felt a lump in your throat as his rough hands were shoved in the rip of your dress, pulling it open completely. He ripped it down, yanking the stitching completely open until it fell on the floor and left you naked and cowering. You felt your cheeks grow hot as you attempted to cover your vulnerable body from him.

Ramsay snickered as he yanked your arms to your sides by your wrists. His chin nudged its way into the crook of your neck as he exhaled onto the skin on the side of your throat. "You'll quickly learn how this works." He bit down on your shoulder meat, making you cry out in pain. His body lurched forward when you tried to lean away from him, pressing himself against you even harder than before. He grabbed your waist and gripped tightly, maneuvering your body back to its original location. You knew you were about to be his puppet.

Ramsay opened his jaw and let go of your shoulder only to whisper into your ear, "Walk to the bed." You didn't dare disobey his order. You walked to the bed as he watched. "I am a skilled lover, believe it or not." He complimented himself. You didn't want to believe him, but you had a feeling he was right. That fluttering was constantly pulsing through your core and lower belly. The power he used against you was almost... sexy.

You crawled onto the bed and crumbled, turning around to watch him slowly walk closer to the bed, like a predator getting ready to pounce. His eyes were glued to your body, and you watched his hands undo his trousers. He dropped his pants and stepped out of them. You were curious, but too afraid to look away from his face. He still slowly approached you as he lifted his wool shirt over his head and threw it on the stone floor. Your husband stood naked in front of you.

You took in the sight. His body was toned, the outlines of muscles peeking through his otherwise slender frame. His blue veins stood out against his horribly pale skin. Your eyes continued to wander. His lower stomach had a trail of fuzzy hair that led to his erection. You stared as he reached a hand down and grabbed the base of his arousal, showing it off to you. "Your husband's cock." He said in a sing-song voice. "You must love the sight."

He kneeled on the bed and crawled on top of you. You felt very nervous, the anxiety hitting you like a train. This was really going to happen and there was quite literally nothing you could do about it. You felt your heart race and you began to panic. You tried to wriggle away, but Ramsay kept you in place. "No need to panic, shh..." He chuckled as he began kneading at your hips with one hand while the other hand held him slightly above you.

You felt your eyes fill with tears as you realized how weak you were. Ramsay lowered his head. His warm, wet mouth opened and took in one of your soft nipples. You felt as he swirled his tongue gently and gradually added suction until he was suckling on your hard nipple. Your body was reacting to his touch, even if you weren't aware of it. He reached up and rolled your other nipple in between his index finger and thumb, slightly pinching it. You allowed your breathing to slow as you felt tiny waves of electricity radiate from your nipples down to your lower belly.

You exhaled as you lowered your head to the pillows, allowing Ramsay's mouth to coax your into relaxation. He hummed softly as he felt you relax ever so slightly. Without warning, Ramsay bit down on your nipple. Not extremely hard, not enough to draw blood, but it caught you by surprise. You let out a... moan? You weren't sure if it was a moan of pleasure or a yelp of pain. You felt him grin into your breast as he pinched harder with his other hand.

Your body lurched forward, your back arching as it did so. Ramsay growled as his other hand snuck behind the small of your back, pulling you up further. "You like this, don't you?" He groaned before going back to suckling on your sensitive nipple. You mewled, barely making any noise. He slowly lifted his head and looked at you in the eyes. "I asked you if you liked what I was doing." He was clearly demanding a verbal answer. "Y..Yes..." You muttered, your cheeks flushing red immediately.

The way Ramsay looked at you... it made you feel that same fluttering. You couldn't help but feel like he was excited to dive in head first and devour you. You felt like a prize, the way his eyes widened when you squirmed underneath him. Like a sexy game of tug-o-war. He wanted you, and secretly... you liked feeling wanted by a man with this much power...

Ramsay's mouth suddenly crashed into yours, his lips surprisingly soft and supple. You had expected crusty, chapped, and cold... but they were warm... soft... You couldn't help but eagerly kiss him back. Your lips moved together, his tongue slithering into your mouth as he exhaled and squeezed your hip. Oh Gods. The fluttering.

He formed a rhythm with his lips and his hips. He was slowly grinding against you, his skin hot against your thigh. His exhales were controlled, not as jumpy as yours were. He was clearly in complete control of both you and himself. He pulled away from the kiss and you opened your eyes, unsurprisingly finding his own staring deeply into you. Without saying a word, he flipped you over so you were on top of him. You rested your weight on his upper thighs, very aware of his hardness in between your legs. He was grinding his teeth and now had both of his hands gripping the softness on your hips.

"Come here." Ramsay whispered, his voice smooth and low. You weren't sure where he wanted you, so you hesitated. He spun you around. Now facing his feet, you gasped with shock when his hands found your hips and he pulled you down onto his face. His warm tongue immediately began slithering up and down your slit, lapping up the warmth that had formed between your legs. You exhaled a moan as you allowed pleasure to flood your body.

Ramsay kept you pulled down, sitting on his face. You felt a little self conscious, but didn't have a say in the matter. You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on his upper thighs to hold yourself steady. He moved his hands from your hips to your ass and pulled at the plump skin, pushing and pulling as he continued to lick you. You felt weak and shaky. You lowered yourself to your elbows, resting on either side of his thighs. You opened your eyes and realized how close his cock was to your face.

You were floating with pleasure, his tongue working at your core, eating you like he was starving. The slurping sounds would've been enough to make you hide for a week in embarrassment, but you couldn't be bothered by it right now. You couldn't help it, this eager force within you was begging you to make a move on your husband. You cautiously opened your mouth and allowed the warm head of his cock to enter between your lips. Ramsay groaned as you did this, the vibrations echoing between your thighs.

You started swirling your tongue, feeling the smooth skin of his tip against your mouth. You closed your lips, applying slight suction as you allowed a bit more in your mouth. Ramsay began licking you harder, a bit more desperately. His hands reached up to the small of your back, pushing your back into an arch. You groaned as you took more of his cock into your mouth. You felt Ramsay pull away from your cunt for a moment, resting his head on the pillows. "That's right, that feels so good." He moaned.

Ramsay kept his head on the pillows as he brought one of his hands to your core. He slid his index and middle finger up and down on your slit, collecting the saliva and wetness. You were now bobbing up and down slightly, allowing his cock to enter your throat. Ramsay pushed the two fingers into your soaking cunt which allowed a hungry whimper from your lungs. "That feels so good, doesn't it?" He asked. You could feel him watching your cunt, watching his fingers slide in and out. His eyes were likely wide and full of arousal. You melted at the thought.

You continued pleasuring Ramsay with your mouth, you were so focused on it that you didn't even notice when he stopped fingering you. "Face me." He demanded. You pushed your leg over him, and got between his legs, looking up at him. His jaw was tensed, his teeth grinding inside. He reached down and cupped his balls, pushing them forward. "Suck on them." He instructed. You opened your mouth and began swirling your tongue around on them. He gripped his cock and began stroking himself, watching you intensely.

"My beautiful wife." He breathed as he licked his bottom lip, staring at you. You refused to break eye contact as you continued to swirl your tongue. Perhaps Ramsay wasn't as evil to someone that was vulnerable with him. He wasn't overly vicious so far, and actually was somewhat of a generous lover... eating you out and fingering you before he demanded anything from you. Of course, you were wrong.

Ramsay grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked, pulling you away from his erection and pressed your face against his thigh. You yelped in pain and your hands reached up to hold his hand, hoping he would release your hair. "Use your hand on me." He demanded. You didn't immediately obey, and he yanked on your hair once more. He pulled you up so your head lay on his chest. You quickly wrapped your hand around his cock and began stroking him. "Like this, My Lord?" You asked, wanting to be sure you were pleasing him.

"Yes, yes... just like that. You can be quite a good listener, can't you?" He cooed, his hand still wrapped in your hair. You nodded softly as you continued to stroke your husband. You were feeling warmth between your legs once more, your body aching for him. Ramsay reached his arm around your throat and began choking you. You stopped stroking him, perhaps a reflex of the choking. He growled. "I did not say stop!" He barked and tightened his grip around your throat.

You obeyed. You began stroking him again while he choked you, his arm wrapped behind the back of your neck. You were sputtering, struggling to breathe. His grip was tighter than before. You were stroking him feverishly. He was grinding his teeth, his eyes glued to your hand on his hard cock. Suddenly, his grip died. He let go of your throat and yanked you up to his face by your hair. His lips crashed into yours again.

He pulled your hips up and onto his lap. Before you could react, he shoved his cock into you. You screamed into his mouth, his arousal stretching your walls beyond anything before. Pain shot through your core, and you instinctively tried to pull yourself off of him. His grip on your hips was strong, and he forced you down. "Hold still." He grunted as he shoved deeper, his whole length slamming into you. You whined, the pain radiating through your body.

Ramsay didn't care about your pain. He didn't care that you were whimpering and had tears filling your eyes. In fact, he enjoyed it. You felt him twitch inside you as you groaned, attempting to breathe through the stretching feeling. "Ride me." Ramsay demanded. You couldn't. You tried moving up and down and it felt like fire tearing through you. You were a virgin, and Ramsay had to know it at this point. "I said ride me." Ramsay demanded, his eyes turning serious as he stared into your soul.

"I... I can't..." You cried out, your body begging you for a break. Ramsay rolled his eyes and huffed an irritated sigh. He shoved you off of him, a gasp escaping your throat. "Oh, thank you..." You whimpered. "We can go slower and-" Before you could finish your sentence, Ramsay flipped you over and mounted you. You laid on your back as he pulled your ankles to his shoulders. "Slower? No... no, you stupid girl. I told you earlier. I get what I want. I always get what I want. Even if it means I break my bride tonight, I will get what I want." Ramsay's mouth ripped into an evil grin.

He shoved his cock into you once more, this angle wasn't as painful but it was not comfortable. He began pumping in and out of you, his eyes moving up and down with him. He stared at your face, enjoying the pain taking over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your lip. You involuntarily whined each time he pushed into you, his erection seemingly forcing the whimper to bubble up.

Ramsay fucked you happily while you squirmed beneath him. The pain was dulling after a minute and your body was growing used to his size. The wetness between your legs was letting him know that you were starting to enjoy the feeling. He was sliding in and out of you quickly, his rhythm steady and forceful. "I see you're starting to like the feeling, aren't you?" He moaned between breaths. "Yes... Yes... It feels... good." You moaned, realizing that your body was craving this feeling. You wanted more.

"M...M..." You tried begging for more, trying not to think about what you were doing. You couldn't believe that you were begging Ramsay to fuck you harder, maybe you were more of a whore than you thought. "More... More!" You whined. Ramsay stopped and leaned back, his eyes wide. He chuckled, his sharp teeth flashing. "You want more, do you? My wife is such a whore!" He bit down, his teeth barred as he flipped you over. You were on your knees and Ramsay was behind you.

He entered you and began sliding into you hard and fast. You felt the warmth rise in your belly. Ramsay yanked your hair back and choked you with the crook of his elbow once he pulled you up. “I love choking you. I love knowing how much power I have over you. You love it too. I know you do.” He growled. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you felt lightheaded from the lack of air flow. Ramsay let your neck go, falling forward as he began kneading your cheeks and hips. He was yanking your body against him as he thrust forward, his cock slamming into you hard.

He leaned forward, his cock plunging deep inside you, and he bit down on your shoulder as he continued thrusting. You began whimpering his name as you felt the heat rise. You had never felt this warmth in your core before, and each of Ramsays thrusts coaxed it to the surface. He reached around and under your body, his hands finding your breasts. He groped and grabbed at your chest and held you tightly against him. He let go of his bite and his lips touched your ear. “You love getting fucked by me, don’t you? And you’re ashamed of how good it feels.” He pants softly into your ear, sending chills down your spine.

“Yes… I love it…” You whimper, feeling utterly defeated. Ramsay pulls out of you and rolls you over. “Now, I want to watch you completely submit to me.” Your brain feels as if it’s melted. Ramsay pushes himself in you once more. He starts thrusting away. Your gaze hovers from his face to your center. You watch his body meet yours, his member disappearing with each thrust of his hips. You look back up at his face. His eyes are serious, his teeth grit tightly together. He watches you intensely as his hand makes its way down your body.

He gently starts rubbing right above your center which sends a huge wave of sensitivity through your body. You struggle to keep your composure as Ramsay rolls his fingers softly around your bundle of nerves. He fucks you mercilessly, but keeps his fingers gentle against this extremely sensitive area. He finds a rhythm and sticks to it. Your body responds fairly quickly, and you feel a warmth building in your center. Ramsay smirks confidently, you know he can read your facial expressions easily. “Don’t hold back. Good girl.” Ramsay praises you as you start to climb higher in this wave of intensity.

“Ramsay… I…” you start to sputter a few whimpers. Ramsay shushes you and doesn’t break the rhythm. “Let it happen. I want to watch my wife drown in pleasure.” Your eyes are growing harder to keep open but you see Ramsay flash his grin before you close your eyes and allow your build up to erupt. You feel a wave crash over your body as Ramsays gentle fingers seem to start vibrating with electricity. You let out a groan that feels almost guttural, and your back arches against his chest. He keeps fucking you, his cock slamming into your body with passion. You realize Ramsay is coming as well, his seed filling you. He groans and stiffens his body as he pushes into you with need. You can’t help it, you run your fingers up his bare back and into his hair. You feel animalistic as you grip your husband’s curls and allow your body to harbor his orgasm.

After you both catch your breath, Ramsay rolls over and slides out of you. He turns to you and grins. “Get used to that happening, my love.” Unfortunately, you couldn’t get enough. You were already excited for tomorrow night. It only took one time for Ramsay to break you, perhaps you were weaker than you thought.

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