#first the wolf now the prince
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#kawalaba#palia#reth#palia reth#idek anymore#someone needs to step in and save me from myself#make me stop#majiri prince#first the wolf now the prince#i.....seriously someone send help
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Fairy tale nerds of Tumblr I need your help.
I've been trying to find a fairy tale for AGES, this has been almost a decades long quest. I first read it in a Highlights magazine around the mid 2000s, when the theme was "Fairy Tales from around the World." Now I don't know if this is actually an older fairy tale or just one that was made up for the magazine masquerading as a story from somewhere else. I've done my own research and have come up zilch.
So, this story was about a prince that was cursed to be a wolf until he was able to bite a bride the night of her wedding. Well, it just so happens that such a woman is riding through the forest with her new beau, a very uncouth man that calls her his "little chicken." Long story short, a pack of wolves waylay their carriage, the wolf prince bites the lady, becomes human again, and they fall in love and marry.
And what happened to her original husband?
Well naturally he gets turned into a chicken and they eat him at their wedding feast.
Classic.
if anyone knows the title of this fairy tale or where it may have originated, please let me know! I'd love to see if I can read it again.
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The Dragon and his Wolf
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Stark!reader
Warnings: Daemon and his pure Valyrian blood obsession, he is a bit of an ass in the beginning, becomes obsessed after, sassy Stark reader, smut
Summary: Daemon always prided himself with the knowledge of having pure Valyrian blood. The wish of his grandmother changes his views drastically.
Daemon always prided himself with the knowledge of having pure Valyrian blood. He always proclaimed his wife would be the same. A woman of pure Valyrian descendants. Until his grandsire, King Jaehaerys betrothed him to a savage. A woman of the North. A wolf. A Stark.
It was the wish of his late grandmother, Queen Alysenne, for one of her grandchildren to be bonded with her beloved North.
He was taken aback. Screaming to not marry her. Claiming he would rather cut off his cock then marry a savage wolf of the North. King Jaehaerys looked at his grandson with anger flowing through him. “You will as I say. Or you will be offered to Castle Black.” His voice boomed through the throne room. Begrudgingly he bowed to his grandsire and king’s demand. Daemon seethed quietly swearing every Valyrian curse word he knew under his breath.
Prince Baelon, Daemon’s father, took his son’s shoulder and escorted him out to the courtyard. He led him to the training grounds and threw him a wooden sword. “Come on. Let’s spar. I haven’t seen you hold a sword in a long time.” He grinned at his younger son.
Daemon scoffed at the training sword. He hadn’t held a training sword in his hands since he was nine years old. Now ten years later he had Dark Sister, his family’s ancestral sword. “These swords are shit, father.” Baelon laughed. “You can’t be so picky when you are on the battlefield surrounded by enemies and you lose your sword. You have to take the nearest sword,” He swung at his son with another training sword. Daemon blocked immediately. “Or you will be dead.”
Baelon smiled proudly as Daemon blocked his blow. “I am proud of you. I hope you know that.” Daemon grinned at his father’s soft words. “I know father.”
Meanwhile in Winterfell resided Daemon’s bride. A quiet, timid thing. Her father wanted to shield her from anything he could but an order from the King was an order. Starks were known to never break an oath.
So she was packed and shipped off to King’s Landing a fortnight after the letter of the king arrived. A carriage ride so long the young Lady Stark wished she could have flown with a dragon.
The first meeting with Prince Daemon was unpleasant, to say the least. He made no attempts to converse as both of them strolled through the gardens. He didn’t even so much as look at the young lady.
Hurt and anger bubbled up inside her chest. Emotions she rarely brought forward. The young Stark stopped in her tracks and turned to her betrothed. “Have I done anything to upset you, Prince Daemon? Given you a reason to be cross with me?” Anger was sparkling in her icy eyes as Daemon looked at her.
He raised an eyebrow but went on. Not answering his betrothed questions. She looked away from him. Her anger brewed quietly as she walked on. The awkward situation going on for hours.
His behaviour towards his betrothed went on even until their wedding. He ignored her, dismissed her, and never listened, to or answered her questions. The young lady felt smaller than she ever had. Which Daemon saw and liked. He wanted to break the savage, young wolf. He heard about the proud Starks of the North. He wanted to break her; show the Starks they gave him the weakest wolf of the pack.
But she knew better. And slowly she turned the tables on her betrothed. Every time Daemon called upon her, she would decline. Saying she wasn’t feeling well or she needed to prepare for the wedding. Sometimes even giving some lazy excuses like attending an afternoon tea with the ladies of the court.
Most of the time she lied so she wouldn’t have to face her betrothed. It was a repeating occurrence she would sit in the library in an armchair in a far corner of the impressive room. What she didn’t know was this corner was Daemon’s.
Daemon became frustrated shortly after the third rejection. He couldn’t play with her feelings today. Which frustrated him to no end. Not even the whore in front of him gave him the kick he needed. His mind drifted off to her. He imagined the young Stark being held down by the neck while he drove inside of her.
The woman’s moans became hers. The woman’s begging became hers. Her skin and hair turned into his betrothed’s. Daemon reached his peak faster than ever before. He pulled out, releasing his seed on the woman’s back. As he looked at the woman, he imagined how she would look with his seed on her back. Or how the sight of his spend leaking out of her cunny would look like. He wondered how fertile northern women were to other Westerosi women.
His mind whirled around until it came to a shrieking halt. The she-wolf had entered his mind and made residence there. Tormenting him every waking hour. She began to even plague his dreams. Sometimes he would only dream about her in different scenarios. Like when she smiled softly, a soft blush on your cheeks as she tried to converse with him.
And some nights, he dreamed about their impending wedding night. How she looked up at him, pupils blown mouth open as she softly moaned his name. How she would gasp when he drove into her. How she would cling to him for support. How her back would arch or how she would look on top of him. Riding him.
He woke up after those dreams fairly hard and aching. Yearning to be touched, but not by anyone except his she-wolf.
Lady Stark sat in the library reading when she felt a presence standing in the room. She looked up and saw a bewildered Daemon with a book nearly falling out of his hand. “Something wrong, Prince Daemon?” She softly whispered. Daemon couldn’t answer her right away. He looked at the book and read the title. History of old Valyria. He didn’t know his future lady wife had an interest in history. But then he remembered he didn’t know her at all.
“A history book. Are you interested in a time before us?” He sounded meek which made the corners of her lips quirk. But the young lady didn’t want to be as mean as him. So she indulged in the conversation. “Yes, very much. I find it fascinating to learn from what our ancestors did so we would end up here where we are. Maybe even learn from their mistakes.”
Daemon’s eyes widen. She was young, one and six to be precise. But wiser than some Septons would ever be. More mature than him with his ten and eight. His father often said he was still a boy learning. And his father was right, he was still a boy learning. Learning about his future spouse.
He now saw how immature and juvenile his actions were until now. Drinking until the early morning and blacking out. Indulging in carnal acts with prostitutes. He was once proud of being called Prince of Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince. But now he wasn’t so sure anymore. He wanted her to be proud of him. He needs the approval of her. In the last few weeks, he became obsessed with his Lady Stark.
“May I sit with you? Mayhaps show you more books on the subject of old Valyria?” She smiled softly making his heart flutter. Seeing he would change. Princess Aemma was right. Daemon could change when a mirror was held in front of him.
The wedding was granted. Nearly every house in Westeros attended. But Daemon ignored them all. He had only eyes for her. His bride, his wolf. He never told her about his nickname for her. Only said it in his head or the safety of his room as he pleasured himself to the image of his wolf.
He was embarrassed by how many times he had to leave their meetings to relieve himself and his aching cock. Only a soft touch from his bride could set him ablaze with desire. He felt slightly embarrassed. Something he wouldn’t like to admit, especially not to the object of his desires and fantasies.
The ceremony was too long for Daemon’s taste. He could have gone only with the cloaking ceremony and the exchange of vows and be done with it but this wedding was also for show. His betrothed looked so otherworldly as she stood in front of him. He could only gaze into her beautiful eyes. He wished he could drown in them.
Before the High Septon was finished declaring them man and wife in front of the attending people and the gods, Daemon already sealed their lips together. It seemed like an innocent kiss, but Daemon’s hunger was laced into it. She could feel it.
At the feast she danced, laughed, drank, and ate with her new husband. They had grown closer over the last weeks. Forming a bond similar to a friendship but not quite. Sharing their love for history and myths as they sat in the library for hours.
Daemon’s eyes never left his wife’s form. He was engrossed by her completely. He never left her side and always had a hand on her body. She liked the attention from him. For once she knew he appreciated her.
The feast was slowly winding to an end. But for Daemon the night only began. He led her to their marital chambers with a firm hand, eager to get his wife alone. To see her out of her dress. Claim her body, claim her as his.
As the door closed, Daemon stood behind her, pulling her to his front. “I have waited for so long to get you alone.” Shivers ran down the young woman’s spine as his smooth voice flew in her ear. Daemon’s hands ran up from her stomach, over her rips and under her boobs.
Her breath hitched. “So responsive, zoklītsos.” Little wolf. His hand wandered further up. He cupped Her breasts softly, squeezing them a bit. She let out a soft moan. Daemon smirked. “Tell me, zoklītsos, are you ready to play with fire?” Her breath came out in shallow breaths. A whine escaped her lips.
His free hand reached for his dagger on his side. He unsheathed it, cutting open the laces of her dress in one swift motion. She gasped loudly as the dress loosened on her body and fell to the floor in a heap. Daemon’s grin widened.
Her arms tried to cover her chest as the fabrics on her body were ripped from her. But Daemon already covered them with his warm, large hands. “Don’t you dare cover yourself?” He whispered hotly into her ear. Biting the shell of her ear. “I want to see it in all its glory.” He mouthed at her neck, biting down harshly. Leaving his mark on her skin.
A small whimper escaped Her lips. Shivers ran up and down her spine. “Iksan vaoreznuni, valzȳrys.” I am sorry, husband. She whispered into his neck. Her lips ghosted over his jaw as she tried to compose herself. “Valyrīha? ao ȳdra daor jorrāelagon naejot seduce nyke dombo.” Valyrian? You don't need to seduce me anymore. He huskily whispered against her temple.
One hand slipped from her breast and trailed down between her legs. He ghosted his fingers over the patch of hair before he softly cupped her mount. “I have imagined this, she-wolf. How you looked. How you sound. All those little whimpers.” He mouthed at her jaw. “But most of the time I imagined your little cunny. All wet and tripping for me. Ready for me to plough you.”
A shuddering breath escaped her lips. “I hope I won’t disappoint you.” Daemon chuckled. “You will not. You will never disappoint, ābrazȳrys.” Wife.
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#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen x you#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targeryan#daemon targaryen#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon prince#prince daemon targaryen
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Not the same anon but your fav jealous and possessive Derek fics? I’m talking toxic possessive, Stiles always in sight and scented and being touched cuz Derek just CANNOT STOP 💞💞💞😌👆🏼🙂↕️
Hi, hello, here you go 🔥💖 (p.s. we need more obsessed borderline toxic Derek pleek)
As it Should Be by KuroKitty (HaleYes)
Stiles comes home from his 18th birthday party at the bowling alley to find a surprise waiting for him in his room.
Or, the one where Derek has no chill.
Assume I'm just An Asshole by mannersmakethmine
the pack always finding Stiles and Derek in coupley situations and assuming they're fake dating because there's a new threat in town, and Stiles and Derek because the shits that they are just go along with it.
Deflowered by astrugglingstoic
In which there is a prince, a knight, sequential sword fights, and an anecdote about pressed flower petals.
Feral Formalities by Aleandri
"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table.
Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food.
Right in front of another Alpha.
Who he was on a date with.
To discuss being heat partners…."
In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!
five times derek is protective of stiles and one time it's the other way around
Yeah, okay, so maybe Derek was a tad too protective of Stiles. So what? Sue him for worrying about his best friend, whom he totally does not have a raging crush on.
Okay, so maybe he does.
Shut up.
Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)
Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.
Might be a Predator by churkey
Derek's mom once told him they were predators. It never occurred to him to ask, 'If werewolves are predators, what do we hunt?'.
Oblivious Misadventures, and Other Such Tales by Little Spoon (JaydenNara)
Going to college was exciting and new, a chance for new friends and a fresh start, and the best part was, there was a supernatural fraternity on campus, meaning Scott finally had the freedom to be himself.
Then he met the resident human who came with a stalker alpha. What was the point of a supernatural fraternity if he still had to pretend to be human. And seriously, did Stiles ever fall asleep somewhere normal?
of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous
“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”
Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”
Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.
Oh my (let me look at those eyes) by Gorgeousgreymatter
A few months ago, he might’ve been able to solve this with some force—a little man-handling, a snarl, a glimpse of teeth. But he looks at Stiles’s broken face, knows he’s seen too much horror and blood and evil, the whole Big Bad Wolf routine is just going to fall flat. Because Derek looks at Stiles and he doesn’t carry himself like a teenager anymore. He carries himself like a soldier.
The Alpha and his Spark by sandyde03
Stiles is pregnant. Derek is perpetually horny and possessive. Stiles is confused. Not by Derek sexing him up. He loves that. It’s the fact that ever since he started to show that he was with pup everyone has been avoiding his eyes.
The Boy Is Mine, You Bonkers! by frownypup
It turns out that the words ‘a painfully smart and brave unclaimed human who is stupidly unutilized in Beacon Hill’s pack’ became the hottest gossip in werewolf underground. Yes, what the hell. Stiles’ existence has changed from a plankton to a rising sun.
Derek Hale has something he needs to say about it.
Three Little Words by Chloepioneer
“Oh god,” he whines, slapping a hand over his mouth to quell the vomit that boils the back of his throat. “Derek, is that the mailman?”
or Derek has a bad habit of killing people that take an interest in Stiles. Stiles might like it a little bit.
won't you torture someone else's sleep by redeyedwrath
I love you, Derek thinks, but he doesn’t say it, just watches Stiles throw his head back in laughter that isn’t for him and never will be. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Stiles will hear him.
you are an obsession (i am your possession) by EvanesDust
Once Derek catches that tantalizing scent, he can’t stay away.
Stiles.
Derek’s completely enthralled by him. Obsessed.
But all he can do is stand in the shadows, watching and waiting. Until he can make Stiles his, that is.
And when that happens, Derek will never let him go.
Pack nights are not for getting laid by igotdamn
Stiles goes out clubbing, Derek doesn't like that very much.
Obsession by Rae666
Derek gets hit by a witch's curse and is confined to his loft as his uncle searches for a cure and Isaac stands guard. But as the curse grows worse and Derek's obsession with a certain pale skinned person becomes increasingly intense, how long can the team keep Derek and Stiles apart, especially when Stiles decides to take matters into his own hands?
Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg
#sterek#sterek fic#sterek fanfic#sterek fic rec#sterek ao3#sterek fanfiction#teen wolf fanfiction#stiles stilinski#derek hale#hedwig221b replies#stiles x derek#eternal sterek
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Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse - WIP
DEMO: available here
After the deaths of your four oldest siblings, taken from you by war, your older sibling, Nour, once fifth in line for the Solar Imperial throne, is now the heir.
This day never should have happened.
As recompense for the ravages your kingdom’s war has inflicted upon the Lunar kingdom of Celestyl, and as assurance it will not happen again, your sibling is to be sent to Celestyl to marry the Lunar King’s heir. An arranged marriage, meant to unite the kingdoms. Or, at least that’s how everyone prefers to phrase it. But you all recognize this for what it really is: a guise. Your sibling will be a political hostage.
And—Theia, grant you guidance—you have had a premonition this is not the worst to come. Should your sibling go to Celestyl, they will not survive.
So you will take their place.
Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse is a dark fantasy interactive fictional story where you play as the sixth child in the proud and grandiose Solar Imperial Dynasty and leave your homeland for a foreign country, where you will take your sibling’s place in an arranged marriage to the heir to the Lunar Kingdom. But something sinister simmers on the horizon—you have felt it in your premonitions; apprehension crawls beneath your skin, foreboding pricks at the back of your neck, dread sinks low and heavy in your stomach. Theia is warning you—of what, you know not, but you have seen the way the Lunar King looks at you. His stare, the dagger, and you, the sacrificial lamb on the altar.
Beware the wolf, little lamb.
Content Warnings: "Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse" contains many upsetting themes, such as arranged marriage, child abuse, child neglect, death, murder, violence, gore, sexually suggestive scenes, optional sexual content, suicidal ideations, and more. "Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse" is intended for mature audiences 18+. Viewer discretion is advised.
Customize your MC's name, gender, pronouns, appearance, personality, and sexuality. Play as straight, gay, lesbian, bi, poly, or asexual. MC intro post here.
Shape your personality through your choices and see how it affects dialogue with other characters.
Navigate through the difficulties of court life in a foreign country.
Develop your magic—powers bestowed upon you through your divine bloodline.
Romance one or more of five romantic options, including your betrothed, the Lunar heir; your charming and overly flirtatious retainer; your acolyte, a priestess in training; a kind yet darkly mysterious Celestylian noble; or a peculiar and chaotic mage.
Develop deep and lasting friendships or make enemies.
Uncover a sinister plot that threatens everything you hold dear—and decide what you will risk to protect it.
Nour al’Teia, your older sibling. (Gender dependent on MC’s.) Non-RO Once fifth in line for the Solar Imperial throne, Nour was perfectly content to play a supportive role to Parim, first in line, and the rest of their siblings. Now first in line for the throne, Nour is doing their best to step into a role they were never prepared to fill. Despite their best attempts to reassure you, you can tell this weighs more heavily on them than they let on.
Luca Lupine, your childhood friend. (Gender Selectable. She/her. He/him.) Non-RO Your childhood friend who, at the age of 13, perished in a fire, consumed so completely you were left with not even a body to mourn. Ever since then, whether as a manifestation of your guilt and grief, through some connection beyond the planes of life and death, or through some other means unbeknownst to you, they appear in your dreams, aiding you in parsing through visions and prophecies.
Kieran Zeleskas, the Lunar Heir. (Gender Selectable. She/her. He/him.) RO The Crown Prince/ss of Celestyl. Though not of noble birth, events put into motion by their father have elevated them to this position, one they seem to have adapted to rather well by all appearances. Stoic and aloof, they seem less than pleased about this arrangement between the two of you. You’re inclined to agree.
Alektis de Celestys, the lone princess. (She/her.) Non-RO The adoptive sister to Kieran. The slaughter of her family during the coup that brought Kieran’s father to power has rendered her irascible and hostile to most everyone. Though she mostly keeps to herself, with only her retainer, Nihm, for company, you often find her tumultuous glare trained on you, a complex look on her face you can’t quite decipher.
Nihm de Circené, the guardian. (They/them.) RO Devoted retainer to Alektis and last surviving member of House Circené. Kind and sociable, Nihm is well-regarded in both noble and commoner social circles alike. However, their warm and affable disposition cannot completely hide the apprehension in their gait, nor the trembling in their hands. Still, they do their best to welcome you in a place where everyone seems dead-set on hating you.
Aurynn Anouar, the retainer. (He/him.) RO Seeming to have appeared from out of nowhere, Aurynn rescued you from a dire situation during your first battle experience, and afterwards was appointed your retainer and has served you as such ever since. Charismatic, laidback, and flirtatious to a fault, Aurynn tends to either charm or annoy everyone he meets. Despite his insistence that he is an open book, sometimes you can’t help but feel the opposite; indeed, everything about him seems shrouded in secrecy.
Samira Nahdiri, the priestess. (She/her.) RO Certain events left her family deeply shamed and nearly destitute until her exceptional accomplishments as a healer elevated her to the renowned position as your acolyte, drawing upon the power of your blood to learn healing magic in her pursuit to become a priestess. Strong, loyal, and compassionate, she is devoted to caring for her family above all else, and she counts you among them.
Lilith/Lucien de Arcanis, the mage. (Gender Selectable. She/they. He/they.) RO The adopted heir to House Arcanis, a line of powerful and highly skilled mages. Wild-eyed with a wolfish grin, their peculiar and eccentric mannerisms tend to unsettle their peers, leaving them rather isolated in social circles—a circumstance which doesn’t seem to bother them one way or the other. For better or worse, it appears they’ve taken a rather intense interest in you.
Poly Routes (subject to change): Kieran/Aurynn, Samira/Aurynn, Lilith/Lucien/Aurynn, Kieran/Lilith/Lucien, Kieran/Samira, Samira/Lilith/Lucien.
#interactive fiction#twine wip#twine if#twine game#twine interactive fiction#twine story#if wip#fantasy#dark fantasy#interactive game#interactive story#wip if#upcoming if#romance#status: wip#if: intro#stygian sun: total eclipse#stygian sun total eclipse#sste#sste: kieran#sste: aurynn#sste: samira#sste: nour#sste: alektis#sste: nihm#sste: lilith#sste: lucien#interact if#sste: mc#18+
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The King of Qarth I
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Qartheen f!reader (use of third perspective)
Warnings: angst, dubcon (but not really), handjob, fingering, p in v, hints at sexual trauma, self indulgent use of sorcery
Word count: 11k (i know...i'm sorry...)
Author’s note: The foreign words you’ll find are stolen from Greek. Second and final part coming in two weeks. English is not my first language.
taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @succnfuccubus @zaldritzosrose @kckt88 @venmondiese @miraclealignertlsp369 @ilikechocolatemilkh @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs
He had taken each one of them. Dragons, power, the Crown. Snatched them from whatever divine plan the Gods had concocted, for others, never for him, and perhaps this was their punishment.
Death would’ve been a far too kind blessing, he would come to realise in one of those endless days spent wandering, roaming to find some meal, a softer clod to lie on, an identity.
Prince, Protector of the Realm, Rider of Vhagar, Blood of Old Valyria.
They were nothing more than shrouds. Once stripped of them, what was left was merely a man.
And a son. That’s what his mother saw when they threw him on the ground of the Throne Room.
Crawling on her knees like some commoner, she begged and sobbed until her voice became raw and her throat hoarse, chanting obsessively the same plea over and over like a mad woman.
"Please...have mercy in the name of the Mother… my only son...” she had bent so much as to graze the toe of Corlys Velaryon's boots with her face. “you took them all...you took them all...”
Whether she was talking to the Sea Snake, Rhaenyra, the Gods or fate, Aemond didn’t know. He didn’t know the woman kneeling before him, if he ever truly knew her. You cannot know ghosts, only walk through them.
He could not look at her. He turned his head and watched over that crowd of traitors looking down on him, as if they themselves had not looted, slaughtered, and burned more innocent than guilty.
Trained puppets they were, obeying like green little soldiers to Cregan Stark, a northern savage who had taken upon himself the right and duty to do justice. Corlys Velaryon knew it well, having spent days and nights in the dungeons as an accomplice in the poisoning of Aegon the Elder. And there they were, taking over the reins of a kingdom shattered and embittered by war.
But with the promise of Alysanne Blackwood’s hand in marriage, the Wolf had been tamed. He had stopped howling about trials and executions. Now, caution moved and bogged down their decisions. But one thing was clear as a law written in stone: there had to be peace, no matter the cost. Hence, a marriage had been arranged, between two children who, for no reason, had been taught to see the other as the enemy, whose eyes had seen too much death; orphaned and thrown like marbles into a game that brought neither smiles nor laughter to their sepulchral mouths.
She was looking at him, Jaehaera, and in her empty eyes Aemond could see Helaena climbing up the windowsill and letting herself fall.
“What happened to Vhagar?” The Sea Snake asked “Kinslayer! What about your dragon?”
"Dead.” He lied, although he didn’t know for how long that lie would remain so. That rope in his heart had loosened, weakened, but it still held. She must have crawled off to some remote place, perhaps beyond the Neck, to recover from the injuries to her neck and right wing.
Then the Sea Snake had turned his back, consulting with his council of leeches. Exile. He heard them say. Essos. And then that word he hadn’t heard for a long time. Dragonless. A kinder word for useless. Powerless.
“Let him go, Corlys. He’s always been a spoiled brat. He won’t survive for long in those savage lands.” Someone said outside the cell they threw him in, shackled with chains on wrists and ankles like some rabid dog.
He won’t survive for long.
How he wished they were right. How he wished to look into the beady eyes of the Stranger.
Alicent would curse him, perhaps she would slap him as she used to slap Aegon for being so blasphemous, not to the Gods, but to her. Aemond was no father, and no matter how much he could try, he’d never understood the fierce, unforgiving grip motherhood had on a woman.
When he saw her for the last time before being thrown on a ship to Braavos, he realized it was the only tether that kept her alive. Him and Jaehaera.
“Just a little longer, please…just a little…” she pleaded to his jailers. With the arranged marriage, cruelties had softened, and concessions became more frequent. The Dowager Queen was granted to see her son for the last time.
“Mother!” he screamed as they dragged him away “Keep your fucking hands off me!”
He needed to speak to her. He needed her to tell him she was lying.
“Mother, there’s a woman…”
“The Strong witch? Aemond, she’s…They captured our last allies from the Reach and…they said they found a woman in the woods but…she was in pain…and bleeding….”
The Gods’ punishment flowed through the long-cowled robe of the Stranger. And he took them all.
Aegon, Helaena, Daeron. Alys and the baby.
Alicent could not bear to see the last piece of her flesh and bones being cloaked by the cold shroud of the Stranger. And so, she crawled and begged to preserve his existence.
But that, that was no existence.
It was a limbo, a hanging life for the damned. And he was one, wasn't he? He killed kin, he killed innocent men, women and children, coming from above like a heaven banished God unleashing his wrath on the world. And even gods pay for their sins.
Only he would gladly have stuck his head in a noose or waited for the hangman's blade, a death worthy of a soldier, rather than wandering like a derelict, rootless and restless, with that rope pulling and fraying day after day. Or Weeks? Moons? He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d set foot in that limbo.
He seemed to be living in a slumber, a Milk of the Poppy hallucination. And yet, the ground was real beneath his exhausted feet, as was the heat, and at some point, the hunger.
The leeches had tried to appear civil and compassionate, lying to his mother’s face about the gold they would give him, to sustain himself once reached the East. But naturally, they didn’t keep their word. If he died of starvation, he was sure they would have lit a candle to each God in the Grand Sept. They probably prayed for that to happen.
Or maybe not. Maybe there was no greater gratification and source of amusement to know that the haughty Prince Aemond was tasting the everyday humiliation of having to steal in order not to starve, of not having clean clothes, feather pillows to lie on, the disgrace of not being able to give orders to anyone, but rather having to suffer them.
He stayed in Bravoos for a short time. It was too dangerous, too close to Westeros and too wary if anyone ever caught the color of his hair under the cloak’s hood. He remembered his history books quite well. It was the only one among the Free Cities that did not yield to the Valyrian empire; indeed, it was founded by a group of rebellious slaves fled from the tyranny of the Dragon Lords.
Volantis, on the contrary, worshipped the Old Empire. But in equal measure, they worshipped slavery. The city swarmed with mercenaries and slavers, peddling men and women like meat for slaughter, ready at every corner to steal children from the streets. And in Volantis Aemond understood that if he did not want to end up in some butcher’s hands, he had to be what he had always been: a soldier. For he realized that everywhere in the world, the most valuable currency was not gold, nor castles and titles, but blood.
This man for new fresh clothes, that woman for few gold coins and a mattress to rest his back, not to sleep. Sleep eluded him, as well as remorse. Unless his body shut his mind out of exhaustion, he lied there for hours on end, with blood drying on his hands, listening to all the ghosts floating around him, and trying to find a grip—something to hold on to. Duty had been the blacksmith who forged him and the altar to which he devoted himself. Duty to his family, his brother, the crown, the throne, even Alys, yes. For all her riddles and stumps of prophecy, he wanted her. He wanted that son.
But here, he had no high purpose to serve but himself. Stripped of all honors and many more curses, he fell into a daylong stupor, made of blood, humiliations and silent cries for revenge.
Until one day, the rope went taut.
Vhagar burned away the stupor. She had found him. For the second time, she had been his salvation. And on her back, he found a fragment of who he was, but who he was supposed to be remained a distant thing, clouded in smoke.
He flew south, over the ruins of Old Valyria, and then east, crossing all of Vaes Dothrak to the Red Waste, and by the time he realized he should've veered north or south, it was too late.
He was in the middle of the widest and driest desert on the eastern continent.
The Garden of Bones, as they called it, and with good reason. For in those few times that Aemond decided to land to allow Vhagar to rest, all his eye could see were sand, devilgrass and bones. But he didn’t care about the thirst, the dry and cracked lips, the white tow his hair had become.
Vhagar was his only concern. She was starving. She could not fly too high in the skies. And so, along with all the misery and humiliation, came the dread. For if Vhagar died, the last rope, the last tether, which had perhaps kept him alive up to that point, and perhaps kept her alive, would break.
But then, just as it happens in some book of adventures, or simply in dreams, a mirage, a true oasis in the middle of the desert, surrounded by the highest walls ever built in the history of men, guarding the greatest city that ever was and will be: Qarth.
“Hmm” she ponders, pursing her lips. “I’m not sure about this one. What do you think, Nyla?”
The young maid stops her morning chore and blushes. “I think it would match your skin wonderfully, your Highness.”
She hears giggling behind her shoulders, where two of her most trusted maids are braiding her hair after oiling them with mirrh and cinnamon. “You hear that, Nyla? They’re questioning your candor.”
“I am not, your Highness.” says Dora, one of the giggling girls. “But if you were looking for a less partial opinion, let’s say a more objective one...you should have asked me or Mysha.”
“Well, as it happens, I was looking precisely for a partial opinion. Look at her. She’s changing my chamber pot and still, she thinks that shade of purple would suit me wonderfully. Oh Nyla, I think you will soon become my favorite.”
“Is that a yes then, your Highness?” the merchant wastes no time to ask, standing in the center of the room with silk drapes of several colors resting along his arm.
“Yes, Jorio. Two yards of that purple silk.”
The merchant nods swiftly, too swiftly she notices. The man is acting awkwardly since the moment he stepped into her private rooms. Usually, he’s a big talker, a true born seller. He could make believe one could heal from Greyscale if they just wrap themselves in the soft embrace of his silks. But not today. He seems in a hurry. The exhibition of his goods too quick and excited. And then the sweat, lumped in a wet sheen around his bald head.
“Anything else, your Highness?”
Her forehead creases, acknowledging a thought, new but not quite, as if it has always been there. “Perhaps something green?” she ventures.
“Green?” inquires Misha “That’s a first.”
She shakes her head in a dismissing way. “Must be my father’s sorcery.”
The shadows, kóri, they speak to you.
“What do you have in green, Jorio?”
The merchant fumbles with his silks, a turmoil moves his hands clumsily until a few drapes of fabric flutter on the ground. He stoops to pick them up, only to drop the others still clinging onto his shoulder in a chaotic rainbow of colors on the white marble floor.
“Jorio, what is the matter with you today?”
“I—Nothing, your Highness, my apologies...”
“You know if you have problems with your trades, the Salt King and I would be more than happy to help you.”
“It’s not that—no. Must be all the fuss in town.”
“Pirates again?”
“Uhm—no, it’s the…beast outside the walls.”
“The beast? What beast?”
The man swallows, visibly. “A dragon, your Highness. A huge dragon, higher than the city walls.”
“But…that is not possible...” Misha tries.
“I’m telling what I saw with my own eyes. The Thirteen gathered outside the walls. I saw the Spice King along my way here. He said they were about to parley with the Milk man, see through his reasons.”
"Milk Men don’t ride dragons.” she corrects, standing from the soft cushions piled and spread on the ground. “This man’s hair…what color are they?”
“White as midday sun.”
"Your Highness! Come..."
The Salt Queen joins Dora on one of the brightly sunlit balconies overlooking the Route of Trade. There is indeed a great bustle in the town, a motionless bustle however, gazing with open mouths and bewildered eyes at the small procession moving up the street. The City Guard is leading, with their shields and spears to protect The Thirteen, rulers of the most important trading city in the world. They are all dressed in bright colours and precious jewels embroidered in their silk tunics, hanging from their necks, wrists and fingers.
If she narrows her eyes, The Salt Queen can swear she can see the gold ring her husband wears on his nose. What catches her eye though, is not gold or any other bright color, but black, and then white.
There is a man walking down the street with the thirteen, a tall man with plain dark clothes and a mantle of silver hair, white as midday sun.
“Wife, may I introduce you to our noble guest?”
A woman comes forward to greet him when Aemond enters a lavish hall with several windows adorned with colorful drapes of silk. He is sure he has never seen so much marble in his life, feeling even more inappropriate given the state of his clothes and his whole demeanor, shamefully far from the clean, soldierly appearance that left mouth agape.
“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, from Westeros.” The Salt King declares as the woman stops just before him. He stands tall and imposing, no matter the misery of his shabby clothes, the state of his disheveled hair falling in silver tangles down his back. He is still a Targaryen, his chin is high and proud.
“More like from the Old Valyria.” She says raising an eyebrow, and sizing him up and down. “He seems to have just emerged from the Doom, miraculously unscathed.”
The Prince does nothing but seethe his teeth behind his dry lips, a distant shame in his eye that quickly turns into a focused and unblinking rage.
“Welcome to Qarth, my Prince. I’d trust your journey was uneventful but…I can see the Red Waste takes its toll, even on Valyrian beauty.”
Aemond takes a good, long look at her, inevitably lingering on her chest, dressed as the common Qartheen fashion dictates: one breast exposed. But a lot more of her is exposed. Her shoulders, her arms and legs, a glimpse of her hips, all crossed by swirling bundles of lilac silk.
If any married woman in Westeros dressed like that in the open, he’s sure any husband would lock her up. At least he would.
“You must excuse my wife, Prince Aemond, or rather, get used to her habit of speaking her mind.”
“Come now, Xavos. Surely Westerosi women can voice their thoughts?” she moves, walking past Aemond and her husband to reach a small table inlaid with gold to pour some greenish beverage into a cup. “I had a maid once, she was from…Rich Garden?”
“High Garden.” He sternly corrects her.
“Ah, yes. A delightful creature, always smelled so good.” She says distractedly “Anyway, she fled from your lands because she liked girls and not boys and she didn’t want to devote her life to being a brood mare sucking a flaccid cock until her hair had gone white.”
Her maids snicker somewhere past Aemond shoulders, stiffening his posture at the liberties those commoners are granted. “I should hope you Westerners listen to your women more than you do your horses.”
Aemond watches as she takes a sip and laces his hands behind, slightly tilting his head for a moment. “Where I come from, women do not possess such a sharp tongue. Furthermore, and fortunately, most of them have manners. They know how to address a Prince of the Realm.”
She turns to leave the cup on the same table and glances at Nyla. “Oh, he bites.”
“This is not Westeros, dragon prince.” She says turning to face him with a righteous smile “I don’t need to ask your permission to speak. The Salt King is my husband, that is why you will hear my maids and everyone else address me as Your Highness. So, you may lower that chin and stop waiting for me to bow down to you because technically my rank is higher than yours. You might say the only one meant to bow in this room were you.”
The silence that follows is so stark that the air the Prince quickly exhales through his nose sounds like thunder, alerting the Salt King. "Come now, wife. Don't wake the beast.” he says lightly, stiffening a smile “And I mean it quite literally. You should see the size of Prince Aemond’s dragon.”
“I heard.” she acknowledges “Jorio said he’s higher than the city walls.”
“She. And twice, than your city walls.” The Prince corrects her again, just as sternly. “She’s the largest dragon alive in the known world.” His chin remains high and haughty, simply because he can. Because she knows he could raze the entire city to the ground just by snapping his fingers. So, she looks down and says “Since you will be our guest, it is my duty as matron of this house to make you feel welcomed. If you would be so kind to follow me, your Grace.” She forces her tone to be as much as corteous, but then she smiles “Is my tongue acceptably sharp to your liking now?”
“Where are you taking me?” he asks as he follows the Salt Queen along one of the corridors, made of the finest marble with high arches of white stone and gold glittering under the midday sun.
“Down and down, to throw you in the dungeons.”
Aemond stalls for a moment and she does the same. “I was joking.”
He gives her that stern, distrustful look she starts to think he has etched on his features since his first wail and huffs. “God, have you lost your humor in the Red Waste?”
She resumes her walking, and Aemond follows, glancing around as they pass through many people, some of them are dressed like maids and servants, some others with long tunics of silk and jewels embroidered in the fabric. They speak to one another, he notices, as equals. But they stop altogether upon seeing a living Valyrian walk among them.
“God?” he asks “Which one?”
“Whichever you want. R'hollor, the Many Faced…I’m not picky. It helps me sleep better at night to know I didn’t dump all my sins on one God only.”
He is sure from his education and his mother’s faith that religion doesn’t work that way, but he has more pressing matters at heart. “Will you meet my requests?”
“About your dragon?” she asks stopping before a large wooden door closed. “Can’t she hunt on her own?”
“In the Red Waste? In these barren lands? Perhaps you should put your pretty head outside the city walls and see with your own eyes how big she is.”
The woman smirks, seizing him up and down and furrows her brows. “You seem very keen on emphasizing how big your dragon is. I should hope it’s not a compensating factor for the lack of something else.”
She pushes the door open, not bothering to wait for Aemond who just stands there for a moment, a little dumbfounded by the salt of which the Queen's tongue seems to be made. His bewilderment is only destined to worsen as he crosses the threshold and looks around.
Right in the middle of the palace, amidst all that marble and white stone, stands a wild courtyard, wild and beautiful in its unspoiled nature. Climbing plants and fruit trees grow undisturbed around a large square pool, decorated with mosaics of a thousand colors, harboring the most crystal-clear water he has ever seen; small clouds of steam rise from the surface, pinching his nostrils with the unmistakable smell of sulfur.
There are people bathing together and, obviously, much to his dismay, naked.
“Do you not take baths in Westeros?” the Salt Queen asks, faking true curiosity at the puzzlement she can read on his face, slowly turning into repugnance as he looks at her with a cutting answer.
“We have decency, in Westeros.”
She does not bother to disguise the long sigh blowing through her lips and then she turns to clap her hands vigorously, three times.
“My friends, apologies for the interruption!” she announces as everyone in the pool and outside turns to look at her “I must ask you to leave the pool for the time being. Our…prude guest demands a little bit of privacy.”
She can feel the Prince glaring but ignores him altogether to stop one of the servants.
“Priya, fetch some oils. And some silks, fitting for a prince.” She turns her head to look at him from head to toe, as if valuing a new drape of silk or a new sculpture to put in the Hall of Trade, but then she creases her forehead, as she often does when knowing. “Blue perhaps? To match the sapphire.”
The constant scowl seems to leave his features and she hears his question before he utters a single word.
“My father is a warlock. Magic runs thick in his blood, he says, as well as in the blood of his blood. Sometimes I sense things, bits of knowledge, and sometimes they happen to be right. But you don’t need to be afra—”
“I’m not afraid of sorcery.” He cuts her, his tone flat, his features stoic as ever and she looks at him, curiously, perhaps wondering what lies behind all that stone.
“Very well. Sapphire blue for Prince Aemond.” his name slips into his ears in a strange, liquorous way; vowels are more open in this part of the world.
When they’re left alone, she signals towards the pool. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
He hesitates for a moment, but it is not as if he has never undressed in front of one of his old servants. And frankly, he is too eager to get those filthy clothes off to be bothered by a foreign woman watching.
He throws everything on the ground without too much care, and she watches without too much shame, because that's not how things go there. Bodies, both male and female, they are not something to hide, but something to be displayed and worshipped.
Her eyes linger on scars, old and new, on a lithe body that once belonged to a prince and a soldier, now marked by misery, dirt and hunger.
“Everything.” she says at one point, when he’s left with only his battered cotton pants on.
Aemond thinks he heard wrong. But she only blinks, keeping her face blank.
“Is this the common way to welcome guests here?” he scorns.
“Actually, it is. At least after the incident with the scorpion.” she doesn’t bother to wait for a question or an eyebrow rising. “My husband’s great grandfather hosted a merchant from Yunkai once. He came here with gifts of all sorts among which was a poisonous scorpion, hidden in his clothes. The old Salt King died but so did the merchant. Fell face down in his chamber pot while taking a piss. Quite ironic, don’t you think? You have to be careful when handling such vicious creatures.”
He only looks at her, and she's the one to raise an eyebrow. “I could turn away if you like.”
Aemond sighs loudly, moving his cutting jaw at the umpteenth humiliation and then lowers his pants. She stares into his eye and surely, surely he thinks, she wouldn’t dare to wander down.
But a moment later her eyes sink past his snatched waist, and she smirks.
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
“What for?”
“Questioning your…natural gifts.”
Aemond blinks, running on the verge between scowling, raising his eyebrows and huffing a laugh. Certainly, it never happened to him to talk so bluntly about his cock with any highborn lady barely met, let alone a supposed queen.
“I’ll leave you to your bath, dragon prince. The Salt King and I have much to discuss.”
“Such as?” he deadpans, not really interested while he dives into the clean water.
“Well, a Targaryen Prince is not an everyday occurrence.” She says following his every move, the way water glides on his skin, silver hair floating on the surface like moonblooms. “We’ll make sure to have a feast worthy of your noble taste this evening.”
“And then talk behind my back about what to do with me?”
“Undoubtedly. And I will tell him the truth.”
“Hmm.” He hums, settling on one of the underwater steps of the pool, resting his shoulders against the rim. His mood instantly improves, so he pins her with his eye and looks her up and down. “Do you believe to know my reasons? You’re quite sure of yourself…your Highness. Unless your father’s sorcery allows you to read minds, I dare say even rather pretentious.”
“I don’t need sorcery to know that you, in the first place, do not know what you’re doing here.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
She sees that chin tilting, lifting with a hint of challenge. And she takes it. She has the truth, and indeed, she doesn’t need sorcery.
“Because Qarth is still standing.”
She gets no answer, just that diffident stern look to which she darts the faintest of smirks and then leaves the pool, under his watchful eye that stays on the door for a moment longer, before he lets his head sink underwater.
The Salt Queen gives instructions for the most sumptuous room to be given to Prince Aemond. She sees to it that he is provided with several silk suits and that food is served to him immediately when he has finished bathing. She has observed his body with pleased eyes, so scrupulously she knows the Prince has not had a decent meal in weeks.
“Did he settle?” Xavos asks when she enters his private room.
“In time, I’m sure he will. Valyrians have an impressive disposition to make their own what does not belong to them, do they not?”
She hears him murmur something in return from where he stands, on the balcony threshold that overlooks the city and its massive port. The Queen sits on a soft armchair and starts to twirl her hair around one finger, curling her mouth into a thoughtful pout. “I was thinking goose for dinner. Or salt beef? We should save goats and pigs for the beast. Apparently, poor thing is starving.”
In the silence that follows, she turns to her husband. “Xavos?”
The Salt King turns with one shoulder and a half-bitter smile. “We have a living threat who could burn us all to the crisp walking within our palace and our city, and you speak to me of geese and pigs?”
“It’s useless to cry over spilled milk. You let him in. You let greed lure you all like a piper with a flute. I’m wondering, on which tune did he make you dance?”
He walks to her with slow feet and looks at her after a long sigh. “Dragon eggs.”
“I should’ve known.”
“Cyril began talking of an opportunity of a lifetime. Of the Greatest City that ever was and will be becoming even greater. Think about it. With dragons…Qarth might become the center of the whole world. A newborn Valyria. If we play our hand right—”
“Quit the fancy words. What exactly are you asking of me, Xavos?”
She knows he is asking for something. She has known him for more than ten years, and he has asked, has demanded, a lot of her. She knows that when his voice drops a note, he wants something, as if whispered, it becomes less degrading.
He trails his index finger on her chin and lifts it. “To make him dance to your tune.”
“You overestimate me, husband. I cannot reason with a tiger when my head is in its mouth. Besides, he might be easy on the eye, but he’s as agreeable as a plant of spikes.”
She speaks smoothly—not a flinch or a blink at her husband's hand sinking between her lilac’s folds, and then between her inner ones. “Since when you are so reluctant about who’s allowed in your bed?”
“Don’t confuse me with yourself.” she says lifting her chin to look at him, unbothered by the circling his finger draws on her dry bundle. “I fuck who I want for pleasure, rarely out of boredom, but never to prove a point.”
Abruptly, he slips his finger deep inside, hurting her. “I should have taken your tongue as well.”
“And still…” she forces a smile over the painful grimace twisting her mouth “it would not have given you what you so desperately seek in every hole.”
His unwanted touch leaves her and he straightens, pacing lazily behind her seat. “He’s young. He’s had a rough time. Surely, he must’ve missed the intimate company of a woman.”
“For that kind of company, there are pleasure houses.”
“Don’t play dumb, now. You saw how proud he is. How do you think he will take it if we send a whore to his rooms?” Xavos grips the back of the chair and leans down slowly, speaking to her ear. “Listen to me. Cyril is right. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We must make him feel…important…coddled, even.”
“Even if you shackle his feet with gold, you cannot turn a dragon into a lamb, Xavos.”
The Salt King sighs impatiently, and his tone drops just as earlier. “Do as I say.”
Young Nyla interrupts her masters as she enters the room, and the Queen turns her head. “Nyla, what is it?”
“We have escorted Prince Aemond to his rooms, your Highness.”
“Good.” Xavos says, and then looks at his wife with a pointed stare. “Make sure he has everything he needs.”
The Salt Queen barges in and halts on the door, bewildered upon seeing her trusted friend Mysha on the verge of tears, staring at the ground as if she’s waiting for an execution.
“My deepest apologies, my Prince, I meant no disrespect.”
“What happened?”
“Uh—Prince Aemond asked for some herbs, your Highness. An ointment, for his eye.”
“Aye. I did ask for that, not for you to fucking touch me.”
The Prince is snarling, his eye wide and menacing like a hound on the brink of defense yet hunting for flesh. His face is clean now, the Queen notices, shaven; his hair is damp and pulled back, leaving his chiseled features, that infuriating chin, and high, prominent cheekbones in plain sight. Stupid as it may sound, she can't help but think of one of those marble sculptures she likes to buy from art dealers.
“You may go, Mysha. I will assist the Prince.”
“I don’t need assistance.” He hisses with threatening calm. “Leave.”
He caved in the pool, but he will not suffer another humiliation in front of these foreigners. At least not with something so delicate and private as his eye. But of course, he realizes with annoyance, this woman will not falter at any of his empty orders.
“Are you dismissing me in my own Palace?”
He looks down, sighing and fuming, and she beckons Misha to leave the room.
“You must understand, servants here are treated differently. They’re granted more liberties.”
“I see. As the ones you so generously grant to slaves.” he mutters, and starts to fidget with a tray offering ginger roots, turmeric powder, and eucalyptus leaves.
“Oh, spare me. Of all people, you Valyrians are the least entitled to give a lecture on morals.” she counters, watching his long, tapered fingers hover without touching anything. Clearly, he was used to servants doing it for him.
“May I?” she offers, but doesn’t wait for his permission to make room next to him. “There are no slaves in this palace.” she tells him "How can you expect loyalty from someone you bought with something as cheap as gold?”
“Cheap as the golden ring your husband has stuck in his nose? He looks like a fucking boar.” he says as his eye trails on her profile.
“My husband is an imbecile. This city did not become the greatest that ever was and will be with gold. Trade is our currency. We call it antallagí. Exchange.”
“A true-born merchant’s wife.”
“Or a boar’s one?”
He huffs, and she turns, feigning shock at the faintest of smirks curling his lips. “So you’re not made of stone after all.”
She studies him for a few moments—more than is deemed proper for a married woman, in Westeros at least—but she can't help it. She wonders how it is possible that exile and moons of misery have not bent this man; what drives that rigid posture, whether it is too strict an education or it is all a lie, masking an effort to keep control, to impose it on others but perhaps more on himself.
“Ointment is ready, your Grace. It may burn a little, ginger is a godsend, but it’s tricky. I could help—”
“I need no help. Leave.”
The stone is in place once more. But she won’t have it.
She raises her eyebrows, biding all the time in the world.
Aemond chews thorns as he looks at her, swallows them, and tastes them again, piercing his tongue. “Please.”
“That must’ve cost you a lot. But it isn’t so hard, is it?”
His lips flatten in a thin line, and she smiles. “You are a second son, are you not? That’s the reason for that stubborn chin. You must stomp your feet to make anything yours.”
“Careful, woman. I’ve taken tongues for far less.”
“Why? Did you not see eye to eye with them?”
He moves like lightning, invading her space until he is a breath away from her face, and his mouth breathes fire. “Listen to me. I care not who the fuck you are or which title you make your slaves call you. I am not here to allow you to make a fool of me, Queen or no Queen. Mock me once more, and I’ll carve the word please on your vicious mouth.”
He waits for the fire to catch on, even though flames do not seem to touch her; she's unwavering and solid as marble.
“Get out.”
“I don’t—” she chokes on her words, on his hand seizing her jaw; cold fingers, leaving embers on her skin.
“I said, get out.”
That evening, the already lavish palace of the Salt King was polished and decked out duly to honor the foreign guest. The walls, lit by braziers of fire, stood like a beacon amidst a sea of marble and white stone roofs. The Hall of Trade was a treasury, crammed so full of gold that it looked like a pirate's dream. Pillows were piled on the floor, long tables held food of all kinds. A huge bowl of wine welcomed the guests, who were given a goblet they had to dip into the large bowl and drink, otherwise they would not be allowed inside. It was tradition, a sort of good omen.
It pinched Aemond's nostrils when he brought the cup to his mouth and, thankfully, drank it in small sips. Despite his prudence, by the second he felt his tongue on fire from how spiced it was. By comparison, Arbor Gold was wastewater.
He wears the sapphire blue silk tunic, with a silk belt cinching his narrow waist, but his hair is different. Mysha learned the lesson she asked, and when he gave his consent, she got to work and braided his silver hair. Most of them are loose, falling down his back in a curtain of white. Others are laced in one, two, three braids, softly meeting at the back of his head.
If he thought the Salt Queen’s hospitality was somewhat a little too forward and a lot more intrusive, he had to reconsider when he found himself cornered as soon as his silver head caught the eye of every guest. Men and women, old and young, flocked to him with eyes full of wonder, as if the Salt King had captured some wild and rare creature and called all his friends to make them look.
But they didn’t just look. They talked openly and freely, voicing thoughts that, in Westeros, would have stayed inside one’s head.
“Look at his hair! They seem like moon rays!”
“And the skin! Whiter than milk!”
“What happened to his eye?”
“If only my wife were here…she always wanted to see a Valyrian!”
He had just gotten there, and his teeth were baring.
“My friends, please! Let our noble guest breathe!” the Salt King chuckles as he comes forward among the bewildered audience, looking like the loot of some theft, for all the gold and diamonds and emeralds sewn on his orange silk tunic. “Come, my Prince. The first taste is yours.”
Aemond catches a movement on his right and there she is, the Salt Queen, in a crimson red sparkling like a bloodied dew given the little, tiny red stones woven in her silks. Her hair coils into an intricate bun crisscrossed by a paper-thin gold chain that crowns her forehead with small, rough rubies, like grains of salt.
For a moment, he’s so enthralled by her figure, and her eyes, even more piercing because of kohl, that he fails to notice the clay plate she’s holding, filled with fruits. Some he has never seen, except in books, but he has no time to take a guess.
“Your first taste, my Prince.” she chimes. “Sweet or tart?”
His gaze falls back to the plate, but not before stopping, again, for a blink, on that absurd fashion of one bare breast. “Tart.” He says tightly.
She smiles, as if she knew, and puts the plate down. Aemond watches her bejeweled fingers pluck off a grape and turn, her hand in midair but not quite outstretched toward him. He nothing but give her a pointed look, one that translates only into a stern and irrevocable I can eat by myself.
“My Prince. My wife means no offense.” the Salt King explains “In Qarth, it is deemed a great honor, given and taken, and an excellent omen for the guest's stay, if said guest is fed by the matron of the house.”
His throat bobs and the Salt Queen can’t quite decipher if the dragon prince is more humiliated or angered by the prospect of being fed by a woman like a baby who just teethed. At last, he sighs and leans in, but her hand withdraws a little, leaving him with his mouth slightly open, stretched forth like a beggar waiting for charity. It is not Aemond who bites the grape, but her who finally, after another straight stare into his eye, lets it drop into his mouth.
The crowd erupts in a cheerful clapping, as does The Salt King who goes to stand just between his wife and the Dragon Prince, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder “You see, Prince Aemond, this is one of the extraordinary gifts of Qartheen women. They know exactly how to hold...and when to let go.”
Aemond does not bother to look at him, he is too absorbed, annoyed and deep down, without him knowing it yet, enticed by the tranquil smile that curls her mouth and at the same time curls his pride, mocks it, strips it bare and outright laughs at it, goading everyone else to do so.
Behold, the pink dread!
“Without further ado, let the feast begin!” The Salt King announces joyfully and in the same moment, a delicate and sweet melody fills the room, while Aemond chews what’s left of that grape, tasting his own bile.
An hour later, Aemond is fuming. Fuming because ruling the most important and influential city in Essos, he should’ve known the Thirteen were aware of everything that went on and was currently going on in the West. Perhaps even more than he knew. Did they know something about his mother?
He banished that thought from his mind just as he trained himself to do in all this damned existence.
They knew about the Dance, they knew about Aegon the Usurper, they knew of Rhaenyra the Cruel, the Storming of the Dragon Pit. They knew the kingdom was dreadfully impoverished and in the hands of a young boy.
But they spoke about it as if they were discussing the weather. Qartheens cared nothing about what was going on outside their impenetrable walls; whether it was a new king on a throne far away or a war that had killed thousands and thousands, it was all tittle-tattle to kill time between one cup of wine and the next. He was asked about this battle or the previous one without thinking that he had lived through that war; he made it, he carried it and perhaps he still carried it within him.
He was fuming for this, he was fuming for how women, and even men, gawk at him, for their bizarre custom of hosting a feast without a decent place to sit and eat like normal people do. He was fuming because no matter how much he tried to ignore it, a spool of crimson would always catch his eye.
Grabbing one more cup of wine, he decides to take a breath outside, standing on one of the marbled balconies of the Palace. Air does good to extinguish his fires, but it does not clear up his mind. Perhaps he should blame the wine, perhaps his head is still smoky.
Because you, in the first place, do not know what you're doing here.
As much as he loathed to admit it, the Salt Queen was right. He tricked himself into thinking the main reason for his coming here was Vhagar. She was weak, due to the wing's injuries as well as the old ones, and most of all, she was hungry. But with the promise of goats and pigs, came the clarity and the knowledge that he had no reason, no plan. He only knew he had leverage—a dreadful leverage made of talons and fire on these merchants and their city. But what to do with it?
He hears voices somewhere near, and once more, crimson pollutes his sight. The Salt Queen and her husband are talking behind a tall white pillar. He can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but she catches his stare almost immediately. The talking ceases, and Aemond knows they were talking about him, of course they were.
Xavos comes out of his hiding place with a placid and benevolent expression, walking right past him without a word. But she stays, and she looks, and then she walks to him.
“That will go to your head.” She warns as he empties the cup “I didn’t see you touch any food.”
The spiced wine burns his throat, makes his tongue sour and impatient. “Is your husband aware of your excessive concern about your guests? Or is it a thoughtfulness he has ordered you to reserve only for me?”
“I’m just being considerate since you’re a foreigner and not well acquainted with Qartheen tastes.”
“How exactly am I supposed to eat? Standing?”
She huffs a laugh and shakes her head trimmed with gold and red as she gives him a bemused, though genuine, look. “Good God, how spoiled you are? I thought misery made men humble, but clearly not men of House Targaryen.”
His jaw moves annoyingly, and he leaves the empty cup on the marble, but he doesn’t let go, holding it by the edges in a white-knuckle grip. She notices it as she leans against the marble, with her back to the city, and gives him a long, inquisitive look. “After all the misery you suffered, I thought you would’ve liked the attention…perhaps you do…perhaps…you want more.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” he asks boringly, and just as sourly, staring at the city.
“I must say, I’ve hosted so many people, from so many different parts of the world, and yet…I’ve never found myself before a face so full of contradictions.”
His eye pins her. “Need I remind you how you left my room earlier?”
“With your hand around my neck, because you couldn’t take a joke.”
“I don’t like being mocked. And I don’t like being played like a pawn. So, unless this is another one of your absurd customs, tell your husband to stop parading you around me like a whore. It looks bad when you insist on others calling you queen.”
“We all play parts, dragon prince. Sometimes, they blend. But in the end…it takes little to know the real you.”
Aemond chokes on his breath as her hand slips between them like water, cupping his crotch with a grip of steel, and fire, burning from her fingertips through the fabric. She holds it like a weapon, and his defense is low. She sees his throat bobbing down once, and twice, rejection curls his mouth, but not strongly enough to shove her hand away, to not start to harden against the flames of her fingers, brushing all his length until she cups it once more.
“Whore or queen?” she whispers, brushing his parted lips “Someone in there doesn’t seem to care.”
His grip on the cup loosens, a tremor runs down his spine, and he dawdles in the sensation, one felt before, elicited by other hands, and yet new. It’s been so long. The surge to touch, to clutch, to taste, drains his head of blood. But she eludes him, tilting her head to the right and then to the left to avoid the vise of his lips; her grip loosens, running the back of her fingers against his cock in a feathery brush, touching without touching.
He grinds his teeth to choke a whimper, but then she’s cupping again; she feels him go completely hard for her, and the knowledge washes over her like tongues of fire prickling down her back and between her thighs. The soft, slippery silk allows her to unleash her lunges more fiercely, to easily close her hand around his cock, and that same silk helps her to glide her hand deliciously up and down.
He's breathing hard, almost panting, brushing the tip of his nose against hers; her eyes are open, basking in the sight, the little twitches of his mouth as bends to pleasure, the breathing turning heavier and heavier, his hand that starts to flex. She imagines how those slender fingers would feel between her folds, how easily they would slip inside, and why, why is he not touching her?
“Do it…” she breathes. “Do you want me to say please? I would…there’s no shame in begging, dragon prince….it only makes you free…”
“Your Highness, my apologies.” Nyla calls her Queen suddenly, and she stops her wicked ministrations, abruptly bringing Aemond back to his senses.
“The Salt King sent me after you.” The young maid says, apparently unfazed by what she clearly witnessed. “We’re playing kottabos.”
"Ah, yes, of course.” she tries to regain some control, although she was panting on the sole anticipation, and goes back inside.
Aemond stalls, taking a long sigh in the fresh air to try to stop the blood from boiling. And he follows.
Kottabos, he discovers, is quite a tricky game. The rules are simple: one has to throw the last drops of wine inside their cup to hit a white plate balanced atop a bronze pole. It requires a bit of dexterity, because the player must put the index finger through the handle of the drinking cup and throw the drops while sprawled on pillows, laying on their elbows.
The Salt Queen, it seems, is quite adept at this game. It takes her only two tries to hit the plate and she’s rising from the pillows, bowing her head to thank the cheerful audience. Aemond's eye bends as the crimson veils bend with her every movement; he slips between them and lets them wrap around him, even though he should not, even though he reproaches himself for letting the blood, the wine, the flesh, that has been starved of other flesh for too long, win.
“My closest friends know I’m very fond of sweets and cakes but…on such a special occasion, I choose a special reward.” She announces when the crowd has quieted down, and before she even turns around, he feels her gaze on him as if she had two more eyes on the back of her head. “A sweeter reward…or perhaps tarter.”
She moves towards him, and every step she takes barefoot on the marble is an unmasking. With every step she takes, it seems to him that she is touching him, as she did just before, and more; he feels like her fingers are slipping under the silk, setting fire to his skin.
She stops in front of him and yet, he still sees her moving, feels her moving like a sea creature and her thousand tentacles of crimson silk.
Maybe he should put the wine down.
Wine is not for you, brother mine, your mind’s too heavy. It’ll soak like a sponge and you'll fall into your own vomit.
What she does not put down is her aim, moving her hands diligently as she grabs his face and draws him close to kiss him on the lips, and tilt her head back to look at him, so close she’s breathing his breath. “This…is your first taste.”
“Good! The Queen has chosen her reward. Let us play another round, shall we?”
Again, Aemond does not bother to look at the Salt King, he looks at her and the faint twitch between her lips at her husband's words.
“Come.” She says taking his hand, and he doesn’t know what drives him to follow her, whether his mind is too soaked, or his flesh is crying out to be fed.
What is certain is that now her bare feet tread the marble of his rooms and he is closing the door.
“I hope you don’t mind if we do it here. I don’t take men into my rooms.”
“Why?”
“I’m jealous of my things.”
“Liar.”
“What?”
“So used to play parts and yet, you look down before lying. Disappointing.”
“I’m surprised you were able to look at anything above my cleavage.”
This time, he lowers his gaze, but not to lie. He knows he has looked, many times, and the excuse of not being used to such a custom starts to creak. She walks up to him and looks at him with that knowing smile that makes him want to clamp his hand on her mouth and wipe it off her face, and maybe stick his fingers inside.
“Are you a virgin, my Prince? Did you have a wife in the West? Children?”
He swallows, and her eyes fall on his throat.
“Is that guilt you just swallowed? Or sorrow?”
“Why don’t you listen to your father’s sorcery while keeping your hole shut?”
“I told you, I am no witch. Qarth is the center of the world. Do you think we don’t know what happens in the East, West, North and South?” she angles her head and whispers in his ear “We know everything… Kinslayer, Terror of the Trident.”
She speaks his war titles in that liquorose way, opening the vowels as if she is casting a spell, but he hears the mockery. It is the same that loosened the tongue at the Strong bastards, the same one perpetuated by Alys. But Alys' mockery was different. She spoke in riddles, visions and flames. This woman speaks in truths.
“Do you regret it?” she whispers, and her tentacles thread their way through the silk “All those innocents you have burned…all the ones you have lost.” lazily, she pulls at the laces of the blue tunic and he stiffens, flaring his nostrils. “See? I don’t need sorcery. The more you stiffen, the more cracks reveal.” She straightens her head to look at him with eyes darker than tar, wandering over his face and he feels branded. “I can see them around you…ghosts…why don’t you set them free?”
“What is your fucking game?” he wants to seethe, but she’s so close to him it comes out as nothing but a hiss.
She smiles again and this time the victory is full. "The game is over, your grace. I won, and you're my reward. I will admit I never had such a pretty one...care to show me that sapphire or are you still keen on playing the prude bashful prince?”
Aemond has no qualms about touching her, grabbing her face with nails digging into her cheeks as he pulls her close, turning her chin to spit anger and all his tumbled restraints into her ear “Perhaps I should shove my cock into your mouth to make you shut it, hmm? Is that what you want? What your husband wants? That I fuck you like a whore?”
She stiffens, thrashing in his hold that she may not have expected, and manages to turn her head just enough to look at him, scoffing. “Is this the only way you know to use your hands?”
A taunt, another one. It turns his eye pitch black and he leans closer to her lips, almost baring his teeth, almost as if he wants to bite the words—the mockery, the victory—off her mouth. But once more, she eludes him, tilting back and so, any reason burns and dies into his head.
“D’you want to play games, don’t you? Let’s play, then.”
Still gripping her cheeks, he roughly pushes her into the room, letting her go for only one fleeting instant of freedom, just long enough to grab her shoulders and force her to turn around. A gasp escapes her lips, but the next moment she’s bending on the table, he’s forcing her to. A thrill spills into her blood, making her insides clench with anticipation, and dread.
He traps her, planting his feet between hers to stop her from closing her legs. She tries to pull herself up with her back, but he scowls, pushing her head down to keep it firmly glued to the table. She whines as his long fingers pull at her hair, tearing the gold and red chain off, and she can hear him fumbling with the silks, the other hand hiking her crimson gowns up.
“My Prince, please—”
“Begging already?” snarling, he spits into his palm and gives a few quick tugs to his cock, hard and aching “I wonder who’s coming from. The whore or the Queen. Either way, you’ll get your reward, your Highness.”
“Wait—” she whimpers as she feels the head of his cock teasing against her folds, something coils in her belly, and something else, something cold, grips her heart. “Not like th—”
She chokes on her tongue as he slips inside her, easily but painfully, all the way in. Hissing, his hold on her hair tightens, a coarse exhale coming out of his parted lips as he adjusts to her walls, hot and wet, but tense. She’s tensing all over.
“Why are you fighting me?” he pulls her up by the hair, leaning his face close to hers “You wanted this, did you not? You have been teasing and mocking me since I set foot in here.”
“I—”
“No. I’ve had enough of your talks and taunts. Here’s what’s going to happen, whore queen. You will keep quiet and take it. And if I want to fuck you again later, I will. You are not in charge here—not you, not your husband, not all the fucking Thirteen. So don’t fucking push me, unless you want to die with fire skinning you alive.”
Without too much grace, he forces her back on the table and starts a relentless pace, fisting the crimson fabric and pulling to keep her low back flushed to his crotch. His pants mix with flesh slapping harder and faster as he tries to pour on her, and into her, the grief and rage, the misery and fire he’s made of. She writhes beneath him, arching and crumpling against the wooden with violent gasps; she feels like burning but inside, she’s torn in two.
She clamps her hand on the wood to grab onto something, just like that evening. She feels her, and his, arousal coating her thighs, just as blood did that evening.
The little girl wants to run, but the Salt Queen doesn’t want him to stop.
She’s sinking in her mind, but burning in every corner of her body and soul.
She can only moan, her mouth agape and dry, leaking saliva on the surface as her head bounces at each wild rut, hitting that inner spot over and over.
“Look at you, hmm?” he taunts her with purpose, perhaps vengeance “Fucked so good she lost her wits.”
Look at you, little whore. Bet you like it, eh?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she finds a raw voice hidden somewhere. “Harder—”
“What?” he slurs with a heavy-lidded eye, the braids are almost loose, dangling on his face at each thrust.
“Harder—” she pleads with her eyes still shut.
“Greedy wanton thing—” hips start to snap brutally, in a hurtful way, just as she wants, even if it’s hard to even breathe. Pleasure overwhelms her, drives her up towards the peak. But she finds she cannot climb; her mind is holding her down.
He grunts with each snap and curses in some foreign language she’s not aware of, and she doesn’t care; she’s too focused on letting herself burn. But it’s like sitting in front of a fire and barely feeling the flames.
And then his hips jolt faster, once, twice, and he halts, gripping her hips firmly, coming inside her with a long, satiated groan.
Completely spent, he slumps on top of her, resting his head on her shoulder blades to catch his breath. However, she is quick to slip from the scorching alcove, to slide out the door with her mind drowned but her heart pounding out of her chest.
"Your Highness!" Dora wakes from her slumber, and reaches for her Queen.
"Nothing, Dora." she says in a voice still hoarse, almost scratching. "Draw me a bath, please. And fetch mint and wormwood." Moon tea.
She starts to undo her silks and feels a distant smell of smoke sticking to her skin. Like one who has bathed in fire.
The morning after brings no clarity, because truthfully, Aemond does not need clarity. Everything is drastically simple. He is no coward. However his mind was less clear than usual, he could never blame wine for how he behaved a few hours earlier. And why would he?
Whether she was acting on her husband’s orders or not, she wanted him. And he wanted her. He could concede that he'd acted in a harsher way than usual, that he’d let rage and grief guide his purpose. It was not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it all worked in his favor. A demonstration, a shift in whatever power game the Salt King and the other merchant Kings thought to play out. He only made it clear that he was not some precious pet to be coddled and ridiculed.
She had teased and mocked him at any occurrence. He’d only showed her the price of playing with fire.
His blue silks are fresh and clean when he sits down to have breakfast with Xavos; his long silver hair is tied up in a single low braid that starts from the center of his head and gathers lazily down his shoulder.
He has yet to get used to this strange Qartheen custom of sitting on pillows to eat; at least, however, he regains his appetite when he is served dishes once familiar to him, and less exotic.
"I took the liberty of having you prepare a breakfast akin to your old habits.” Xavos says chewing bread with olives “Ham, cheese, venison. And we have fresh fish every day. Blessed be the trades."
The Prince is sincerely grateful, though he would be a lot more grateful if the Salt King were able to shut his mouth when the sun is not even high in the sky. He goes on and on about the supposed trades, and then about the salt he so proudly sells to every corner of the world. He is just about to go on another monologue about the Thirteen and their hopeful wish to receive the Dragon Prince in their Palaces when he stops, frowning at the young maid clearing the place set next to the king. “What are you doing?”
“Apologies, Your Highness, but the Queen will not attend breakfast. She feels indisposed this morning.”
Immediately, Aemond glances up at her and she’s brave enough to hold it for a bunch of seconds before looking down and making her way to the door.
“Maid?”
She halts upon hearing the Prince and turns around.
“Tell your Queen I was promised something. She said she would see to it personally. And I expect her to keep her word.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Wait.” he stops her again, his tone almost bored, and slips a hand into the folds of his blue silks, pulling out a gold and red chain. “Take this. She left it in my room last night.”
He throws the jewel on the table and resumes his knife and fork, not bothering to look at anyone, certainly not at the Salt King who is indeed looking at him, looking as pleased as ever, like the cat that caught the mouse.
The Salt Queen did not in fact forget her word. She promised him she would see to Vhagar’s condition, ordering to save goats and pigs to feed the beast, put them on carts and send someone with the Prince to reach the desert, where the dragon was resting.
However, she should've probably assumed that such an apparently simple task would've turned out to be a lot harder to carry out.
She’s just about to finish her late breakfast with Mysha and Dora, when Nyla breaks into the parlor with quick feet.
“Your Highness—uhm—Prince Aemond is at the door, he asks to be received.”
“What is it now? He doesn’t like how the sun rises here?”
Mysha and Dora giggle, but the Queen stays serious and turns to Nyla. “Tell the Prince he will have to wait. I am sure that even in Westeros, barging in during meals stands for bad manners.”
Nyla leaves, but it’s with even quicker feet that she returns to her Queen in barely a minute.
“My Queen, Prince Aemond is quite adamant on being received immediately. He…also says that…keeping guests at the door is a synonym of bad manners in Westeros, as he is sure, anywhere else in the world.”
Tapping her fingers on the table, it takes her a minute to sigh loudly and stand up, throwing the kerchief on the table.
“My Prince.” She greets him as she stops at the door.
In his usual soldierly stance, he looks past her for a moment before locking her blank gaze. “Still adamant on not letting me in?”
“You were not that drunk last night. I believe you heard me just fine when I told you I don’t take men into my rooms.”
“Hmm. But you did take me, and quite eagerly, if memory serves me right. Are we not past such formalities?”
“Gloating like some common man is not very royal of you, your Grace—"
“Tis’ not gloating. And I might say, not very royal of you either to beg me to fuck you harder, your Highness.”
“You’re right. Fucked me so good I didn’t come.”
The proud mischievous smile that kept stretching his mouth vanishes in a blink, and she has to sigh to stifle her own. “What is it, my Prince?”
“You gave me your word.”
“Indeed. And I kept it. What is your complaint now?”
“Your slaves refuse to escort me in the desert.”
“Well, I can’t blame them. Can’t you feed your dragon on your own? Or are you too humiliated by the prospect of carrying a cart of dead pigs?”
From the way he is staring at her, and having already tickled his pride when the sun is not yet high in the sky, she knows he will not yield on this matter.
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
“My Queen, it is not safe.”
“Do not worry, Dora. I’ll take the Sorrowful Men.”
Aemond almost laughs to himself as he stands on the left edge of an enclosed inner courtyard of the palace, resembling the training yards of Westeros. There are men intent on training with spears and swords, dressed in strange uniforms made of blue drapes and a strange golden mask on their faces. The carving makes the mask weeping, with a single tear embossed on the gold.
Aemond has no idea how they can see, as there seem to be no holes in those eyes of gold. But his gaze returns at once to the Salt Queen, talking to one of those men, with a large turban on his head. Some kind of commander, he assumes.
He bows to her and then six of these mysterious men march forward and surround the woman.
The Prince glances at each one of them, standing tall and proud as ever with his hands laced behind, seeming unperturbed by these safety measures. In fact, he says “Truly there’s no need to trouble these men, your Highness. What do you expect me to do? Feed you to Vhagar as soon as we are in the desert?”
“These men are not a safety measure for me, but for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. To prevent you from having certain…Targaryen ideas.”
“Six armed men against the largest living dragon seems like a somewhat unequal battle.”
Narrowing her eyes, she watches as the same placid arrogance bathes his features, but she thinks now it’s the right time to wipe it off, and she knows exactly how to do it. “Sorrows bring sorrows.”
All at once, the Sorrowful men move, drawing their spears with impressive speed and aiming the sharp points at the prince. His whole demeanor changes, becomes menacing, she notices, but he does not flinch. She walks among the weeping men avoiding the spears until she stands in front of the prince and snatches the mask off his face, to wear it herself.
“Listen to me. These men live to serve me. They were slaves once, bought with something far more valuable than gold: freedom. And they chose to stay by my side. If I told them to take the only eye you have left, right now, they would do it. If I told them to cut your cock and bring it to me right now, they would do it. A shame, I will grant you that. So, you’re right, you may be in charge here…but if you push me…you will be dead before you have the chance to say Dracarys.”
Whatever cutting remark the prince has in mind, he does not have time to say it, as he is suddenly distracted by a strange sound, a whistle, like the cry of a bird.
Aemond turns his head and the Queen does the same, recognizing that sound at once. The Sorrowful Men lower their spears and a man steps forward, dressed in a strange purple robe. Aemond stares at him warily, wondering why, in the name of the Seven, this man’s lips are blue, like a corpse.
“Father…” the Salt Queen greets him, taking Aemond by surprise, but sounding a little surprised herself to see the blue-lipped man.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer to his daughter, because he can’t. He starts to move his hands in strange signs, circles and lines. And Aemond is grateful for his strict education, for he knows what that man is doing. Sign language. He is either mute, or tongueless.
Unfortunately, he cannot understand what he’s saying, but his daughter can.
“Kóri. Will you not introduce me to your noble guest?”
The Salt Queen sighs, casting a brief look at the Prince, and then she introduces him. “Father, this is Prince Aemond, of House Targaryen.”
The blue-lipped man looks at him with wide eyes, charmed to the point of looking unsettling. And then he bends into a long bow. Not even when Aemond sat on the Iron Throne, someone had bowed so low before him.
He tilts his chin down to greet him, and sees the warlock’s hands moving. “On behalf of the Warlocks of Qarth” the Salt Queen translates “I welcome you, your Grace. It is a great privilege to see a descendant of Old Valyria in the flesh. Your blood is as ancient as our beloved great city.”
Aemond cannot stop his eyebrow from raising, nor his tongue. “It seems at least one member of your family knows good manners.”
“You must excuse us, father, we have to go.” she hastens to say, but as soon as she takes one step, her father grabs her arm.
“Don’t run from me, kori. You have been knowing, yes? More than usual.” and then his hands rise and fall once more. “Trees wail. Leaves are bleeding. The doom, kori. The doom is near.”
PART 2
thank you so so much for reading!! 💕 💕
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Unspoken Words
Characters: All NRC students x reader (seperately)
Fandom: Twisted Wonderland
Genre: hurt/comfort
Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you!
HEARTSLABYUL
Riddle Rosehearts seems like perfection; like the very image of what one should strive for. Anyone who knows him can admire his hard work and diligence, because that is the extent to what they can see. But you see his delight at the simplest of things; things that he never got to experience in childhood. Riddle holds you dear to him because you encourage his rare moments of whimsy, and love them wholly- just as he loves you.
Trey Clover is always being told that he should aim higher, because the talent he holds would be squandered should he go down the path of the simple village baker. He smiles and politely tells them that he’ll consider it- but really, he’s tired of the input he never wanted in the first place. It’s all the more reason to appreciate the way you trust in his dreams. Trey knows what he wants, and you won’t push him for anything more.
Cater Diamond has two different sides, like the faces on a card. Sometimes he’s the party-loving Cay-kun, and other times he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep the day away. Being Cay-kun is exhausting. It’s not entirely him but he can’t seem to bring himself to show the real Cater to anyone but you, because you understand that the mask is necessary sometimes. It’s okay if he’s not ready to show the world his face yet. You’ll be waiting for him when he is.
Bluntly honest is the best way to describe Ace Trappola. If someone asked, he’d call himself a realist. He’s not here to mess around or play the hero. And sometimes that can hurt people’s feelings and push them away. But being truthful and being mean are two different things, and he knows he can always trust you to tell him when he oversteps. Ace may fumble from time to time, so he’s glad you’re always there to help him back up.
Deuce Spade was reluctant to begin dating you at first. He wasn’t proud of who he was in middle school, nor is he proud of who he is at the moment. He thought that he was unworthy of you, that he needed more time to grow. When he first figured out that you weren’t the most perfect person either, it didn’t turn him away. In fact, it relieved him. Deuce loves that you can be imperfect together- and that you’re willing to grow alongside him even more.
SAVANACLAW
Leona Kingscholar is used to being the spare; the disposable one. Even though he’s the second prince of the Sunset Savannah, even though he was born into a life of privilege, he knows what it’s like to have to fight for yourself and your place in the world. When he met you, he could hardly believe that for once, a fight wasn’t necessary. It took a while for him to trust, but now Leona knows that he will always be your first choice, as you will be his.
From the outside, Ruggie Bucchi’s obsession over food is a bit excessive. Does one really need to defend every scrap with his life? He’s tired of others laughing at the way he packs snacks in his bag and sneaks crumbs off the tabletop. It’s telling that you hand him extras when you don’t have to, that you make sure he always has more than he needs. It shows that you value the things he values, so that he can do the same in return to you.
Jack Howl is a lone wolf, just like his name. He’s always relied on his own strength to get by. Owing a debt is like putting his life in someone else’s hands, so accepting favors is something that he’ll never do. When he first realizes he loves you, it’s hard to accept that another person now holds a part of his heart. But give him some time and he’ll begin to appreciate having someone to share the burden with. It’s refreshing to have company without debt or guilt.
OCTAVINELLE
They say those who have suffered the most have the most empathy. Azul Ashengrotto thinks there must be something wrong with him, then. After all the ridicule he’s endured, all he wants is to watch his tormentors cry as well. So why does his heart beat so fast then, when he sees how kind you are to others? There’s so little logic to it- but the heart wants what it wants.
Jade Leech gives only as much as he takes. In his mismatched eyes, it’s only reasonable that a transaction is balanced on both sides. So it’s a surprise to him when you don’t demand everything to be split, fifty-fifty. It’s with you that he learns the connection between trust and equals. Not having to count out every exchange leaves Jade more time to love you with all his heart.
Floyd Leech is notorious for his mercurial behavior. It’s a laughing matter for some students, and the target of frustration for many others when he fails to show the same enthusiasm he had before. If he’s already in a bad mood, then why are they making it worse by nagging him? You’re his retreat in times like that, because you take his emotions seriously, no matter how ridiculous they seem in the moment.
SCARABIA
Kalim Al-Asim knows he can be dense. As the heir to a merchant empire, he’s got some level of self-awareness in him, even if he doesn’t always know how to use it. He can tell when he’s said the wrong thing to you. The wringing of hands, the twisting of brows make him so nervous, but he can’t do anything but laugh it off lest he say something to make it worse. So he appreciates it when you patiently explain to him how you feel, even when you’re not in the mood to. Sometimes he just needs help to understand.
There’s no doubt that Jamil Viper has… questionable methods of obtaining his means to an end. With the precision and patience of a snake, he can use any means necessary to strike. But when you’re around he finds himself thinking more of what’s right than just what he wants. You are his conscience, in the best and worst of times; and he can’t help but love you for it.
POMEFIORE
Vil Schoenheit’s entire life has been publicized since the day he stepped into the spotlight. While he takes pride in his looks and envies anyone who can shine brighter than him, he finds that when he is with you, he can be whatever he wants to be with no eyes on him. No cameras, no rehearsals, no pressure, just two hearts beating side by side.
Rook Hunt has a lot to say, and so little time to say it. He is always on the move, always examining something else to find the beauty in it. And though it’s hard to be patient, he loves you for always listening when he talks, even when he rambles for hours about the smallest things. To sit still for that long is a feat in itself.
The frustrations of Epel Felmier are evident when others treat him as lesser simply because of the way he looks. He’s still learning how to use his charm in other ways, but it’s hard to unlearn so many old habits. Punishments from Vil don’t help either. So when the work gets too harsh, you make him forget about being weak or strong- and when you’re in front of him, all he wants to be is yours.
IGNIHYDE
Idia Shroud is used to watching the world go by without him. Sometimes he feels like an outside observer, or even a roadblock for others to climb over on their way to greatness. But with you, he never feels like an inconvenience. He feels wanted and needed- something he hasn’t felt for a long, long time.
DIASOMNIA
Malleus Draconia is lonely. It’s plain and simple as that. He wants the company of others, outside of those assigned to guard him and bow to his every whim. So Malleus covets the fact that you are simply here, by his side of your own volition. For the first time in his life, Malleus thinks that he might be content.
Lilia Vanrouge has lived through centuries. As a human, you cannot even begin to fathom bridging the gap in time. There is just so much that he has seen that he can’t share with you. So please, just let him hold you while he has the chance. Let him cherish the way you live in the moment. Together, you can forget the coming of the future.
Sebek Zigvolt is constantly under pressure. Not from others, but from himself- but either way, the stress gets to him. He would never admit it, but the stolen moments you spend together make him happier than he’s ever been. His shoulders ease, and his scowl disappears for a time. Just don’t point it out, or they’ll be back again full force- accompanied by a blush.
It’s not that Silver doesn’t care about what people are saying- he really, really does. But when he falls asleep so easily, some people come to think that he’s bored out of his mind. He was anxious that you’d think the same, but to his surprise, you understand his struggles. He’s trying his best to be more attentive to you, and you welcome his efforts with open arms.
Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst#riddle rosehearts x reader#trey clover x reader#cater diamond x reader#ace trappola x reader#deuce spade x reader#leona kingscholar#ruggie bucchi x reader#jack howl x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#kalim al asim x reader#jamil viper x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#rook hunt x reader#epel felmier x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader#sebek zigvolt x reader#silver x reader
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MC: *in the middle of arguing with the 3rd-years* No. I'm not taking any of you in Devildom.
Cater: But why, bestie~? We want to meet hot demons too! <3
MC: ...
MC: Are you serious right now?
Trey: That is not the point, actually. What we want to suggest is to have an exchange program between Devildom and Twisted Wonderland.
Rook: Oui! It's for the sake of learning!
MC: ...
MC: I can't deny that you have some point there; however, I need to consult Dia first.
Lilia: The Devildom prince will probably agree.
MC: That will take a considerable amount of paperwork. *sigh* You guys really enjoy putting a lot of work on my plate, don't you?
MC: Anyway, if it gets approved, I will only be choosing at least two to three students.
???: If I may make a suggestion, would it be possible to choose the most beautiful individuals among them?
MC: Eh? *turns to look who it is*
Queen Rose: *smiles warmly* Hello, MC.
Epel: Dame event?
MC: Yes. It's an annual event held for Queen Rose. *smiles* Everyone will dress as ladies and is expected to move and act with grace to a high degree.
Epel: ...
Epel: Oh. Okay. I'm not participating in this one.
Vil: You can't, Epel.
Epel: Why not?!
MC: Before Queen Rose came to me, she had already spotted you and made a specific request to see you at the event.
Epel: !!!
Epel: But... I don't want to...
Vil: Everyone in Pomefiore will be joining.
Rook: *chuckles* I can't wait to witness everyone dressed as elegant dames.
Epel: T-Though can we ensure the safety of students that will join?!
MC: It will happen here in NRC.
Epel: Oh, yeah? Then how about the others? Is it only Pomefiore?!
MC: Savanaclaw also signed up for the event. Same with Heartslabyul and Diasomnia.
Epel: ...
Vil: Just give up now, Epel.
MC: If you don't really want to dress up as a girl, then being elegant will suffice.
Epel: ...
Epel: Really?
MC: Yes.
Epel: ...
Epel: Hehe! Thank you, MC!
Professor Crewel: Pup, have you also become a dame in this event?
MC: Yes, Professor Crewel. I think twice.
Professor Crewel: Oh? And how was the experience?
MC: ...
MC: It wasn't good.
Professor Trein: Why? What happened?
MC: I almost caused a stampede.
Professor Crewel and Professor Trein: ...
Professor Crewel: Oh now, child. I want to see you as a dame.
MC: Uh, no. But Solomon is free.
Solomon: *who's with them reading fashion magazines*
Solomon: Why me?
MC: You're more beautiful, Sol.
Solomon: Eh... But I didn't cause a stampede. *chuckles*
MC: *frowns a little*
Lucifer: Queen Rose, The White Wolf of The Frost Flowers...
Diavolo: What is it, Lucifer?
Lucifer: Are you not wondering about it, Diavolo?
Diavolo: Well, I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me.
Barbatos: There is nothing to be concerned about this.
Lucifer: What do you mean, Barbatos?
Barbatos: I have returned to Devildom to see how things are going.
Barbatos: And certain news arrived to my ears.
Diavolo: What news?
Barbatos: That MC has achieved what Solomon has.
Lucifer: ...
Diavolo: ...
Lucifer: Are you saying-
Barbatos: Yes. *smiles* Thirteen confirmed it herself.
#twisted wonderland#obey me mc#twst mc#obey me lucifer#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me queen rose#twst cater#twst vil#twst trey#twst rook#twst malleus#twst epel#obey me solomon#twst trein#twst crewel#twst x obey me
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Can you do a werewolf x bunny female, I think that would be so cute, like this big scary looking werewolf with a innocent bunny girl, adorable! Sfw or nsfw I think it would be super cute
I had this idea rolling around in my head for a while, but it works so well with a werewolf and a bunny I couldn't resist ^_^
General Plot: You are the nanny for a wolf king and he wants to try some of your development techniques.
Wolf King x bunny female reader
Word Count: 2k
💕 SFW MASTERPOST 💕
W: sfw yandere monster fluff, hunting and chasing, cute werewolf pup
“Rawr! I’m the big, bad wolf!” Joel growled, baring his little fangs at his terrified prize.
“Put that mouse down, prince Joel,” you chided, following the precocious little wolf pup through the garden.
“No! I’m a vicious predator! I don’t have to listen to herbivores!” he snarled at you, shaking the mouse in his little fist.
You sighed. His tutor had taught him all about predators and herbivores that morning, so he was an expert or so he thought.
“Yes, carnivores are very important, your majesty, but your father put me in charge of you and he is the biggest predator around,” you pointed out, “do I have to tell him you wouldn’t listen to your nanny?”
He stiffened at the mention of his father and dropped the mouse, who scampered away.
“I don’t need a nanny!” he pouted at you.
You put your hands on your hips and pouted back.
“Fine! Then I’ll just go play hunter with some other little wolf pup who appreciates me!” you said, turning to walk away.
A tug at your skirt told you that you’d won.
“You don’t have another pup do you?” he asked from behind you.
You turned and looked down at him.
“There are lots of wolf pups in the village who would love a nanny willing to play with them,” you said.
He wrapped his arms around your leg and squeezed his eyes shut.
“No! You’re mine (Y/N)!” he shouted, “I’m the prince and I won’t allow it!”
“Calm down prince Joel,” you said, scratching him between his ears, “I’m not going anywhere right now, but you have to be good so we can play!”
He nodded, excited.
“Okay!” he said, “you go hide and I’ll hunt you!”
You glanced around the royal garden to make sure the guards were all at their stations before you agreed to let him out of your sight for a moment.
“Okay,” you said, “count to twenty! I’m just a bunny, you have to give me a fair chance!”
He nodded eagerly while he covered his eyes.
You scurried to the small patch of trees at the far side of the garden and ducked behind some branches. He would find you quickly, he had a very good nose, but he never seemed to get tired of chasing after you.
You were so busy peeking around the branches to watch for Joel, you didn’t notice the shadow looming over you. Your hearing as a bunny was very good, but you didn’t hear the branch snap until it was too late. Gasping, you tried to fight as a heavy hand wrapped around your mouth. Immediately you looked around frantically for Joel. This was likely an assassination attempt. It made sense to take out the nanny first.
“(Y/N), why are you hiding from my son?” a low rumbling voice growled in your ear.
You squealed on instinct in the presence of a predator, your heart pounding in your chest. His hand loosened on your lips.
“We’re playing a game, your majesty,” you said, swallowing heavily and gasping for breath, “h-he’s hunting me.”
Upsetting the king meant certain death. Herbivores weren’t regarded very highly, you were considered disposable servants at best. His heavy breath brushed your long ear, making it twitch.
“You wish to be…hunted?” he asked, husky voice husky and full of gravel.
You blinked, your cheeks flooding with color.
“It’s just a game, your majesty, for children. Joel likes it and it is good for his skill development,” you explained quietly, aware of the heat of his body at your back. One hand was clutching your waist, the claws of his fingers digging into the cotton fabric of your dress, while the bands of muscle in his arm held you close.
“You will let me hunt you…tonight. Meet me here at 9,” he rumbled in your ear and then he was gone.
You collapsed into the grass, a cold sweat on your chest.
“Gotcha!” Joel shouted, pouncing on you and you screamed louder than you’d ever screamed in your life.
—-
You trembled as you approached the garden a few minutes before nine. Surely you were walking to your death. If you’d been more creative you’d have fled, but you didn’t have any ideas for what to do for money, food, or even passage out of the capital. So you faced your end bravely, hoping it would be quick.
Before you’d put prince Joel to bed, you’d given him an extra long hug in case you didn’t come back. You hoped he would remember you fondly when he became king and maybe he would be kinder to the herbivores than his father.
The garden was dark, with only the torches of the castle flickering at the far edges and as you walked deeper and deeper the sounds of the building got further and further away. The beating of your heart in your chest filled the silence.
“Y-your majesty?” you murmured to the quiet garden, but there was no reply.
Padding over to the trees where you’d been before, you looked around, wondering if he was going to be late. He was the king, after all, he never had to be on time. You hoped against all hope that he’d forgotten entirely.
You howled as a hot breath in your ear growled, “RUN!”
As a bunny you were very fast and you instinctively took off immediately, heading for the farthest side of the garden that touched the forest. Perhaps if you could make it there, you would survive. Your powerful legs sent you launching over planters and darting around a fountain, but it was no use.
You could hear the scrape of the king’s claws on the concrete as he scrambled over a statue after you. If this went on for much longer you’d die of a heart attack before he got a chance to rip you to pieces.
Just beyond the palace wall you caught sight of a hole, your frantic mind instinctively favoring a place to hide over a tiring chase. Diving towards the gap, you wiggled your body through it panicking as thick hands latched onto your ankles. You squealed and kicked, but he was much too strong now that he’d gotten you. Your nails collected dirt as he dragged you back towards him.
He flipped you over, straddling you with his big body and your eyes widened, wondering if the last thing you would see would be the moonlight sparkling off of his silver fur. His eyes, deep black, were shadowed in darkness and the most you could see of his face were his massive, sharp teeth dripping saliva. This was it. You were going to die.
“Caught you,” he said, panting clouds in the cool night air and grinning.
Your heart beat faster than you thought it could and the world went black.
—
“Papa, is (Y/N) dead?” you heard Joel ask and you felt something warm shift beside you. A little claw tapped your nose.
“I’ve already told you seven times! She’s not dead. She’s sleeping. Get away from there!” the King’s deep voice grumbled.
Your eyes popped open and without thinking you scurried as far away from it as possible, crouching in a ball at the far corner of the bed you were in. Your eyes flying around the room, you realized you were in the King’s bedroom, in his bed.
“(Y/N)!” Joel beamed and his tiny furry body collided with yours knocking you over.
With wide eyes you looked up at him.
“Daddy said you were being naughty and playing in the garden at night and that’s why you fell asleep! You said I’m not allowed to play in the garden at night! Do I get to punish you? You get no pudding for a week, you have to give it all to me…no a month!”
Thankful and surprised to be alive, you threw your arms around your little charge and squeezed him to your chest, tears tumbling down your cheeks.
“Come on (Y/N)!” Joel pouted, pushing you off of him, “if you're gonna be a crybaby about it I’ll make it half a week, okay?”
You heard the King sigh.
“Can you please go fetch (Y/N) some juice from the kitchen and the doctor, Joel? Take your guardian knight…” he said.
You blinked at him. He wasn’t dressed as he usually was in shining gold armor that only made him look larger, instead, there was no shirt on his firm chest and he was just wearing some loose pants. You’d never seen him informally, even as often as you were in the personal rooms of the royal family, and your cheeks pinkened.
He came and sank into the bed next to you and you scooted so far away you slipped off of the edge of the bed with a squeal.
“Oh for goddess’ sake, (Y/N)!” he grumbled, pulling you up from the floor with his big hands and plopping you in his lap.
He gave you a bit of a gentle look and brushed a damp lock of hair out of your eyes.
“I don’t think this hunting game is good for your health, love,” he said, running the back of his knuckle over your cheek, “you looked like death had come for you and then you passed out!”
Your eyes got wide and your mouth dropped open.
“Game!?” you gasped, “I thought you were going to eat me?!”
He laughed out loud.
“Eat you?” he asked, “why would I eat you?”
He pouted, stroking your ear with his padded fingers.
“Do you really think I’m a mindless monster?”
You hurriedly shook your head, not meaning to offend him. He’d spared your life once, he might not do it again.
“No your majesty,” you stammered, “you simply startled me that’s all. I didn’t realize we were playing a game.”
He snorted.
“Well that’s what I told you,” he pointed out.
You gave him a wan smile and nodded. That was not exactly true, but you weren't going to argue with him. You were sure he thought he'd been clear as a magnifying lens. His fingers were still playing with your ear, stroking the length and gently tugging it this way and that.
“That you did, your majesty,” you said, trying to slow your heartbeat, racing like a wild horse.
“I don’t like to see you frightened, (Y/N),” the king murmured softly.
His hot breath brushed your head, stirring the threads of your hair. You fit quite neatly just below his chin, much smaller in his lap.
“It pleases me how sweetly you and my son get on,” he said, his big hand curling around your waist and drawing you close to him, “I have to teach him to be regent, I can’t always coddle him…but you give him the gentleness I can’t. It’s quite a comfort to me.”
“You’re very kind, your majesty,” you said.
He tipped your face up to his.
“I’m not. I’m not kind at all,” he said, smiling, “I’m very, very selfish. When I want something I take it.”
“I’m sorry?” you stammered, confused where this was going.
“I want you in Joel’s life more permanently. His mother was a monster. I don’t want to see that develop in him. I think you’d make a much better mother.”
“I-I don’t think I understand, your majesty,” you whispered, searching his dark eyes. They were black and endless, difficult to read.
“I’m making you my wife,” he said plainly.
“But I’m a herbivore,” you gasped, “I mean…is this a joke, your majesty?”
He snorted.
“Half the kingdom are herbivores, don’t you think they’d adore a sweet, pretty bunny queen?”
You were sure they would, but this all seemed very strange.
“I guess so…” you said.
His eyes twinkled.
“Don’t think of declining,” he warned, flashing his fangs, “no is not an answer I’ll accept. You’re mine (Y/N) and I’ll do what I have to to keep you.”
Your eyes got big and you nodded slowly.
“Oh…Okay…” you said.
“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” Joel cheered, splashing juice everywhere as he came barrelling into the room.
The King gave him a fatherly growl and he froze.
“What did we talk about earlier?” he asked.
Joel brightened as if he were remembering something he could accomplish correctly.
“Momma!” he cried, hurrying over to you with the cup of juice.
You scooped it out of his hand before he tried climbing up on the bed with it.
“Do you feel better, momma?” he asked, putting his arms around you and his cheek against your shoulder.
“Um…yes…” you murmured, clutching the cup, pinched between the adoring arms of your new wolf family, “yes, I guess I do...”
#monster x girl#monster boyfriend#monster romance#monster x reader#werewolf#wolf#yandere male#yandere#male yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x female reader#werewolf x reader#fantasy fluff
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March Fic Rec
back to back recs cuz I wasn't paying attention to the weeks fly by😅
Obsession by Rae666 - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2,399, sterek)
Derek gets hit by a witch's curse and is confined to his loft as his uncle searches for a cure and Isaac stands guard. But as the curse grows worse and Derek's obsession with a certain pale skinned person becomes increasingly intense, how long can the team keep Derek and Stiles apart, especially when Stiles decides to take matters into his own hands?
The Wolf by rororowyourboat - (Rating: G, Words: 3,901, sterek)
Stiles and Derek haven't seen each other in years, but after talking on the phone nonstop for months now, Derek is finally moving back to Beacon Hills. The day he's supposed to arrive, he stops responding to Stiles' texts, and then a blue-eyed wolf shows up on his porch steps. Obviously something has happened to Derek, and Stiles needs to help him out... right?
Tease by katrint - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,852, sterek)
Stiles is used to Derek being all growly, claiming and rough when he gets jealous, but when something that usually would make Derek all the above happens, and Derek shows no interest in Stiles whatsoever, Stiles starts to worry.
Ulterior Motives by useyrwordsderek - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11,082, sterek)
In which Stiles is warm for Derek’s form, Derek is repressed, and Erica is awesome. (Lydia is also awesome, but that goes without saying.)
Author’s notes: Set after Season 2; mild spoilers for all of S1 and S2. Previously posted to LJ. My first Teen Wolf fic! Be gentle!
It feels like a perfect night (for breakfast at midnight) by princecharmingwinks - (Rating: G, Words: 1,068, sterek)
Stiles is floating on cloud nine. He is absolutely living his best life. It's a Saturday night, he's out with his friends and he's dancing like it's his birthday. Because it is! (Or it will be in 20 minutes, once midnight ticks around). And what better way to celebrate the respectful age of 22 than a night out?
The Hale Beast by secretfanboy - (Rating: Mature, Words: 17,707, sterek)
Stiles would rather be at home playing X-Box than attending the ceremony inaugurating the Wolf nation's sovereignty over the Argent kingdom, but he's the Sheriff's son so those are the breaks. What he doesn't expect is the feral werewolf Prince Derek AKA The Beast to take an interest in him.
He was alone with the Beast. His heart started pounding its way up into his throat. A burst of static came from his cell phone.
"Scott! Oh my god! He's here! The Hale Beast is here with me and I'm alone and no one is here to witness when he kills me...to death!"
Treasure by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 71,231, sterek)
“I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.
The Mending That You Need by torakowalski - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,861, sterek)
“He’s not my boyfriend, Stiles. He’s a man from a club. I couldn’t call him, if I wanted to.”
Even Forbidden Fruits Get Picked by flitterflutterfly - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 18,658, sterek)
When Stiles’ best friend gets himself bitten by a rogue werewolf, Stiles convinces him to seek aide from the local pack. Stiles tags along, ready to help Scott despite the knowledge that he likely wouldn’t be welcome. After all, Doms rarely ever approved of Stiles and he thought the Hales would be no exception. So he was surprised to find that not only had the rogue seemed to develop some kind of creepy fascination with him, the young alpha wolf, Derek, seemed to want him as well.
Transformation by sffan - (Rating: T, Words: 1,885, sterek)
“Dude. You turned into a wolf. What the hell? When did that start being a thing?”
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How I Think The Obey Me Boys Would React to The Rumours™️
Summary: Rumours have been floating around the Devildom. Rumours about a certain Angel and Sorcerer...how will the demon brothers react?
Word Count: haha great question
Content Warnings: probably just swearing tbh
Disclamer: This will probably not make a lot of sense unless you've read this fic here for context, but ykw life doesnt make sense you do you <3
[dateables & co version]
post dividers by @cafekitsune their post dividers r really cool check them out! (also sorry for the tag!!)
You had left the Sorcerers' Society feeling quite flustered, but also extremely pleased with yourself. Take that Solomon. You grin. In all the excitement of the following days, you'd forgotten about the rumour you had accidentally spread around the Devildom. Perhaps you shouldn't've pretended to be Archangel Michael to gain entry....
💙💙LUCIFER💙💙
When Lucifer heard the news from Beel, he was in the student council room, he turnt his D.D.D off and just placed his head in his hands.
Was this some elaborate scheme by Solomon to gain a pact with him?
Lucifer wasn't sure he even wanted to know.
Sighing; he pulled on his coat and traversed to Purgatory Hall where Michael was staying.
"Michael." The Avatar of Pride stood leaning against the kitchen counter, everyone else in Purgatory Hall was at RAD, so the Angel and Demon were alone.
"Oh Jesus Christ!" The Angel in question brings a hand to his heart in mock dramatics, "Warn a guy next time Lucikins!"
"..."
The Silence was palpable.
"...Lucikins?" Lucifer gritted out, his eye twitching. "Michael. This is not the time for your games. I am the Avatar of Pride and a Prince of Hell, show me some respect."
Michael merely raised an arched eyebrow, a shit-eating grin on his face as he quickly closed the distance between them, pulling the Avatar of Pride into an ironclad headlock, bringing his other arm over with a clenched fist and messing up Lucifer's hair. "I'm sure you are Lucikins, but you're still my adorable little brother."
Lucifer pushes his hands out in an attempt to get away, but even he had to admit, Michael had always been stronger than him. "Michael." The younger protests, "I swear to Lord Diavolo if you do not let me go, I will-"
Michael interrupts him, pausing his brotherly tormenting to wipe a tear from his ruby red eyes. "-Ahh! You must've missed me so much, poor Wittle Wucifer! Always so heavy on the teenage angst!"
Lucifer growled in a way too similar to Satan when he first fell. Like father, like son. "I don't have teenage angst. Now unhand me you bastard!"
"Oh please! The amount of times I caught you in the Celestial Realm listening to My Chemical Romance and Panic at the Disco on repeat speaks for itself! And the eyeliner! Just because the others were too young to remember doesn't mean I was baby brother! Don't think I don't remember the wolf-cut!"
Lucifer's eye twitches so hard he worries for his socket. He cab't even refute it. "You are two minutes older than me! And besides! I came here to talk about the rumours of you dating Solomon!"
"The What."
Michael immediately ceases all noogie-ing, his grip loose enough for Lucifer to slip through his arm. He scowls, smoothing the wrinkles from his suit and beginning to fix his hair.
He moves a safe distance away from his older (estranged) brother.
"The rumours of you showing up during a Sorcerers' Society meeting and making out with Solomon on his lap. Ring a bell?"
Michael, for the love of him, just looks confused. "But I've never even-" He blinks slowly a few times. "I am going to kill MC."
Lucifer, even with the ego bruising he had just endured, laughs, partly out of sheer relief, he doesn't want to imagine what a Solomon Michael duo could be capable of. But of course it was you. It always was.
💛💛MAMMON💛💛
HUH???!!!
This poor man's confusion is so strong.
He doesn't want to think about Michael's lovelife. Or Solomon's for that matter.
He immediately rushes to tell you.
"Oi! MC!" Mammon shoves his way into your room like he was auditioning for the walking dead, as per usual, he wasn't aware of the marvellous invention of knocking yet. You quickly closed you laptop lid, and placed the device down beside you on the bed, lest he saw the Archangel Michael/King Solomon 100k, Slowburn, Angst with a Happy Ending you were writing on HellO3.
“Hi Mams!”
Mammon scurries onto your bed like the floor is lava, resting his chin on your thigh and looking up at you with his usual puppy eyes. “Yer not gonna believe this MC.” He says seriously.
"What's up?" You tilt your head, bringing a one of your hands to ruffle your First Man's hair, he leans into the touch happily before jumping up and acting like he wasn't.
"Well, 'pparently Michael's after starting te date Solomon. Can ye believe it?" Mammon makes a face. "Michael...wi' Solomon...I don' wanna believe it...just...its mingin'..."
You laugh nervously, "I don't think Michael's dating Solomon, Mams....someone must've uhh..." You hold in a laugh. "It's probably just a succubi or someone looking for chaos."
Mammon nods seriously, laying his head back on your lap. "Yer prolly righ' MC."
You pet his hair again, "Wanna watch a movie or something, Mams?"
"Pffft- Of course ya would wanna watch a movie wi' the Great Mammon...alrigh' huma-...Angel...I'll allow it...!" He says with his usual bravado, it was almost convincing, if he hadn't nuzzled further into your hand, and he wasn't looking at you like you were the one reason his pulse was still going.
🧡🧡LEVIATHAN🧡🧡
He finds out after the first chapter to a certain Archangel Michael/King Solomon fanfic was published. Yes he is subscribed to your HellO3 account, and yes! he has emails turnt on.
What kind of person would he be if he didn't read his Henry's fanfics?!
He throws his phone across the room.
When he finally wills himself to get up and retrieve it, he takes a screenshot and starts texting you frantically.
You're lazing about on your bed dong nothing, you'd just posted the first chapter of THE FORBIDDEN FRUITS: A GAY ROMANCE STORY THAT TRANSCENDS REALMS five minutes previous when your DDD began vibrating at such a speed you almost made a very unfunny sex joke.
You pick up your DDD and sure enough, its Levi, heh; so he is subscribed to your HellO3 account!
Leviachan <3: MC WHAT IS THIS NDVNRO DID YOU WRIT E FNAFICTION AOBOUT MCIAHEL AND SOLOMOMN
You grinned.
You: Fnaf fiction? Good idea for an AU!
Leviachan <3: VFIBNODNORNGVNO MC IM LOOKING ON FORUMS WDYM THERES A RUMOU R ABORUT SOLOMON AND MICHAEL DATING
You: In my defense, it was Solomon's fault.
There's no response for 10 minutes, until your DDD pings again.
Leviachan <3: Why is the fanfic good
Leviachan <3: I MEAN OFC ITD BE GOOD, YOU WROTE IT BUT
Leviachan <3: ITS SO
Leviachan <3: THE CHARACTERS ARE SO COMPELLING AND THE PLOT IS SO GOOD RJRGNVDON
Leviachan <3: AND THE TENSION??!!
You grinned, you could always count on your Lord of Shadows to hype up your degenerate fanfics.
You: thanks <3 satan's helping me write it, wanna help?
Leviachan <3: I don't think I could write as good as you guys, im just a stinky smelly worthless otaku :(
You: nuhuh. >:(
Leviachan <3: But if you wanted... I could maybe beta-read???
You: OFC YOU CAN LEVI TANK YOU <33333
Leviachan <3: Haha tank LMAO ROFL
You: I can never mispell anything around anyone in this house
You kicked your feet like a catholic school girl holding hands with a boy for the first time in her life, knowing Levi probably was too.
💚💚SATAN💚💚
This man has a web of connections.
He found out almost as soon as the rumour started.
Like Mammon, he immediately finds you to tell you
Unlike Mammon, he actually knocks
granted he knocks for a second before just opening your door so he could've just not knocked and it would've had the same affect.
"Hello MC"
"Mornin' Satie...What time's it?" You rub your eyes tiredly, having just woken up from a nap, you sit up and blink at him slowly with sleepy eyes.
Satan can't stop himself from cooing, he movies towards your bed and ruffles your hair like you're a cat, you lean into the touch. "Sorry for waking you, dear..."
You yawn. "You're fine Satie...what'd you need?"
"Have you heard the rumours that Michael and Solomon are secret lovers-"
Suddenly you're wide awake.
"Oh no. Oh no no no."
Satan raises a brow, "What's wrong, MC?"
You grin sheepishly, "I maybe might've accidentally not on purpose started that rumour?..."
Satan laughs in your face.
Handsome bastard.
"It's not funny!"
"It is a little funny..."
You gasp, eyes lighting up mischievously, "We should write a fanfic!"
Satan tilts his head, "And why would we do that?"
"Because the world deserves a Slowburn Michael x Solomon fic?"
"Nope."
"Pleaseee Satan! I'll pay you!"
"Nope."
"It'll annoy Luci?"
"Tempting..."
"I'll give you a kiss?"
"I'm in. Let's write the best Michael x Solomon the Devildom's ever seen."
You shake Satan's hand.
Maybe you should've been reincarnated as a demon.
🩷🩷ASMODEUS 🩷🩷
Finds out through one of his gossip circles relatively fast.
He wants to get more details so he can tell you later! <3
By far one of the more supportive brothers
So he finds Solomon, who knows maybe he could give some advice!
Michael was strange, but he was always nice to Asmo growing up in the celestial realm, he might as well make sure one of his best friends is treating his former brother right <3
"Hiya Sol!~" Asmo smiles excitedly, pulling the sorcerer in for a hug, pouting when he pulled away again. "I cant believe you never told me! Ugh~...you must've been scared I wouldn't accept you!~ Poor thing...~"
Solomon blinks slowly, his usual shit-eating grin replaced with pure confusion, lost in his own rant, Asmo doesn't notice.
"Well! You have my blessing!~"
"For what?"
"For your relationship with Michael, silly!~" Asmo giggles, Solomon takes a deep breath.
"For my what."
A pause pauses all sound for a moment, only for a moment, before like all other moments, they begin the cycle of movemnt again.
Solomon nods rather calmly, "Maybe I shouldn't have turnt MC into a sheep....or maybe I should do it again as payback...." He says to himself
Asmo sighs, so it was just a rumour then....
He does still post a link to your fanfic on his Devilgram story, because he's so supportive! <3
No one tell Michael, or Lucifer pretty please
❤️❤️BEELZEBUB❤️❤️ & 💜💜BELPHEGOR💜💜
Being a member of the Anti-Lucifer League, Satan told Belphie who told Beel after taking a nap.
Beel, being the absolute legend that he is didn't really have any opinions on it. As long as they're happy :)
Belphie sits in on the fanfic plot planning sessions you and Satan host, with Beel sometimes joining and giving surprisingly interesting plot twists.
Belphie cackles when Beel tells Lucifer of the rumours, shortly before the first chapter of Forbidden Fruits is published.
Satan and You stand by the whiteboard in the attic, various spider diagrams and bullet points are written messily upon it, only this time, it's not a plan to 'prank' Lucifer.
(Are they really pranks if they never succeed?)
The sound of munching can be heard as Beel works away happily on a bag of crisps, offering everyone some as you work.
"What if we made Solomon run after Michael in the rain." Belphie drawls out lazily, not even looking up from where he lies beside Beel.
You stare at Belphie, "What is with you and the people chasing after people in the rain trope?"
Belphie sticks his tongue out at you in response.
Beel shakes his head. "That wouldn't be accurate. Michael hates getting his hair wet."
Belphie smiles, "Good point Beel."
Satan makes a sound of contemplation. "What if...we had Michael chase Solomon in the rain instead? The fact he hates getting his hair wet could show just how much he loves Solomon..."
You laugh, imagining the scene in your head. "But why is Michael chasing Solomon?"
Belphie smirks, "Because Michael said something bad about humans during a fight, Solomon got upset and ran like a maiden."
Beel stops munching on his snacks, looking down approvingly at his twin. "That's really smart Belphie."
"Thanks Beel." Belphie grins.
"Yeah Belph, your angstiness is really paying off." You tease.
"Oh shut up MC." He glares at you, but there's no real weight behind it.
"Theyre right you know." Satan smirks. "I heard you blasting Paramore and MCR earlier."
"Its good music!"Belphie says definsively. "Besides, it keeps me awake. Goodnight." He mutters, laying his head on his twins lap before closing his eyes.
Five minutes of silence later, Beel opens his mouth, "He does wear eyeliner a lot when he's in our room y'know?"
"Beel!"
You and Satan laugh, Beel just smiles happily at everyone getting along. Belphie devises a plan to make you dream pigeons are going to take over the world tonight as payback.
im on a Lucifer being bullied by Michael spree rn 🧍♂️ also you can't convince me that Satan and Belphie aren't soso similar to Lucifer bc at the end of the day they're all just angsty emo teens <3
#obey me imagines#obey me shall we date#obey me x reader#obey me headcanons#omswd#obey me mammon#obey me mc#obey me lucifer#obey me leviathan#obey me michael#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me belphie#obey me mammon x reader#obey me scenarios#obey me hcs#obey me shenanigans#obey me solomon x michael#im so glad that was not a tag
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600 Followers Celebration
Y’all!! This is wild. I realized the other day that I started writing my first fic in my notes app on my phone on 4/11/23. I posted the first chapter of that fic in July last year! I am so grateful for each and every one of you. I get so emotional every time someone reads one of my fics. Thank you for being here and being amazing. And I’m so glad you all like fandom bingo (which is still open)!! 🧡🧡🧡
I wanted to do something fun to celebrate. There are two parts -- vote and ask! I'll tag every post for this celebration with #bte600.
💗 VOTE: vote on the poll under the cut!!
A week or so ago I did an ask game where people sent me made up fic titles and I told you what I would write for them. Well, I got a little carried away and came up with some ideas I'm actually pretty excited about. So now I want you to vote on which one I should actually write next! The poll will be open for a week.
update: the fic is up! and then they kiss
🧡 ASK: Send me any of the emojis below – send me as many as you’d like! But please send one at a time.
❣️shout out
Spread the love around and tell me about a fic, author, fan art, or artist on here that you love!
📜fic rec
Give me a fandom and a direction and I’ll give you a fic rec. I’ve got more than 9000 bookmarks on ao3 lol bet I can find something! let me know preferences about ships, ratings, content, etc.
(fandoms I’ve read a lot in over the years: all the Pedro boys, Inception (Arthur/Eames), Captive Prince, LOTR/Hobbit, MCU, X-Men, 00Q, Star Trek (various ships), Mass Effect, The Raven Cycle (pynch), Teen Wolf (lol), Stranger Things, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Check Please!, The Witcher, The Sandman, Sherlock, Stargate Atlantis, RWRB, Merlin, ATLA… and more?)
❓question
Send me any question, FMK, ask about a headcanon, ask about one of my fics, how I write, ask for commentary on a scene or line, whatever you’d like – I’ll answer it!
Remember, 💗 vote on the poll under the cut!!
Let's vote! Which one of these ideas should I work on next? (see more about each at the link) I had to cut one so I cut one of the Frankie ones that was very similar to something I just wrote.
🧡🧡🧡 thanks for being here!
tagging some mutuals for funzies:
@katareyoudrilling @beardedjoel @maggiemayhemnj @goodwithcheese @djarins-cyare
@jupiter-soups @undercoverpena @tightjeansjavi @morallyinept @trulybetty
@gasolinerainbowpuddles @huffle-punk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @jay-zzle @sheepdogchick3
@joelsgreys @davnittbraes @ghotifishreads @iknowisoundcrazy @jobean12-blog
@punkette1026 @macfrog @skittlesfics @morning-star-joy @futuraa-free
@sempersirens @theywhowriteandknowthings @pr0ximamidnight @janaispunk @toxicanonymity
@chronically-ghosted @beefrobeefcal @ladamedusoif @ilovepedro @javierpena-inatacvest
@kiwisbell @iamasaddie @mrsmando @corazondebeskar @minimeiser
@mermaidgirl30 @kedsandtubesocks @covetyou @nedgooel @wildemaven
@secretelephanttattoo @theclairvoyage @sawymredfox @julesonrecord
...
#followers celebration#i love y'all#joel miller x reader#frankie morales x reader#marcus pike x reader#javier peña x reader#din djarin x reader#marcus moreno x reader#dieter bravo x reader#ask me anything#bte600
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little wolf.
Cregan's little sister is the only one who can change his mind, which is why Aemond decides to use his charms and convince her to support the Green using some peculiar methods.
MASTERLIST
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader
Tags/TW: smut (p in v, loss of virginity, f!oral sex, praise, breeding, kinda innocent!kink), teasing, a bit of mean!aemond, slight dubcon, cregan being an overprotective brother, cursing. if something is missing let me know!!
Author's Note: mimor @tvrgvryen sent me this request a few days ago and I had to do it bc i loved it so much. So here it is!
Word Count: 4.9k
Aemond has always been a good observer. He has always noticed the small details, the reason why people acted as they did, the way people treated others. That's why it wasn't hard for him to realize how important you were for your beloved brother Cregan.
The day he first stepped into Winterfell after Vhagar gracefully landed on the snow, he saw how brave Cregan was for stepping between you and the enormous beast. However, that mere gesture exposed the big affection he had for you; his only sister, and with that, Aemond knew what was Lord Stark's greatest weakness… you.
He went to the North with a mission, a task to fulfill, and he was not a man that was known to give up on things. Aemond was resilient, determined. He would not accept a negative answer from the Warden of the North, and even though he knew about the oath and how Starks are famously known for being loyal to their words; he was eager to find his way to gain the North's support.
And his opportunity came up with you; the sweet, kind Lady Stark. Beloved by all, you were also known as the Heart of Winterfell, for it was said that even the small folk held dear for you. Everything that Aemond heard about you were nothing but good words, showing how much people appreciated you, which only impulsed Aemond's bad intentions.
It is true, a Stark never forgets an oath, but the North gathers when the wolf howls… and even though your brother was the visible face of your House, everyone knew that it was you the one that had true power over the masses; your gentleness made you the Queen of the North, and that information was enough for Aemond to start his devious schemes.
It all started at the training yard. The snow had fallen earlier in the morning, covering the ground with a thick layer of snow. He was staring at you as you struggled with a bow and arrow, not being able to hit the bullseye. This would only make you groan with impatience, despair even. Aemond pressed his lips and looked down at his shoes, trying to show himself amused by you wrestling.
"You're too tense, my lady," he said as he slowly walked towards you.
His black fur coat covering his slim shape, his white hair perfectly still despite the crazy wind, his hands at the back of his body. He looked so effortlessly elegant, it almost made you blush.
"My prince," you greeted him, bowing swiftly, "I'm sorry you have to watch this terrible attempt."
"I didn't know women were allowed to train here in the North," he spoke, politely as he stretched his arm to touch the fine wood of the bow you were holding.
"We're not," you replied, "but my brother insists I should be prepared to defend myself, so he forces me to train either way."
"Mhm…" he nodded, "your brother is a clever man. A beauty like yours is the target of many deprived men, he's doing well by letting you learn how to protect yourself."
"But he barely has time to teach me," you complained, placing your arms in position to shoot again, "now he's in a meeting with the Mormonts, and I am here," you let the arrow go, but it didn't even hit the target. "...failing miserably."
Aemond chuckled, and you inevitably blushed at the low sound that came out of him. You stared at him from your peripheral view, analyzing his undeniable beauty and flirtatious smirk which made your heart beat a little too fast.
"You're too tense," he repeated, as he shifted his position until he was behind you.
His hands went to your shoulders, and he squeezed them softly giving you a soft and short massage that made you close your eyes. Soon, one of his hands reached yours, the one that was holding the bow's grip. He wrapped it around yours, and you immediately felt his warmth on your cold skin. It made you gasp silently.
"You see, I'm not so good at using a bow, I think my weapon of choice is the sword," he whispered, getting closer to your ear, his breath smacking against your shivering skin, "but I know things… and I can teach you if you please, my lady."
His nose rubbed against your hair, and your delicious smell almost made him groan. Soon, the prince helped you to fix your position as your breathing was getting heavier and an unknown feeling was installed in your lower belly. You feel the heat even though it was freezing cold, you felt his body pressing against yours leaving a sensation of distress, as if your body was begging you for something.
You feared of someone seeing you; the position was quite compromising, and you were certain your reputation would be stained if someone witnessed such a scandalous scene. It felt too intimate for you, perhaps not so proper for a maiden like you. You would have tried to push him away, but there was something within him that did not allow you to do so; it was as if he had bewitched you with his charms, and you were under a spell from which you were not able to wake up.
"It's simple, my lady," he explained, "you must relax, you must let go," his voice so deep and low against your ear, "come on, no one's watching, you're under no pressure…"
His touch, so delicate and gentle, mixed with his words, which you quickly misinterpreted; 'no one's watching', it sounded more like an invitation rather than words of comfort. You couldn't help but to sigh, a gesture that brought a slight smirk upon Aemond's face.
"Let yourself go, Lady Stark," his voice turned more breathy, rapier. "That's it, so good… now, eyes on the target, don't take your eyes off of it, okay?"
You simply nodded, wildly blushing at his praise. There was a subtle shiver that went to your trembling hands, you cleared your throat trying to play it down.
"Take deep breaths, don't close your eyes," his hands left yours, now going to your abdomen, his nose brushing against your ear as he kept whispering, "good, good girl."
Your teeth captured your lower lip as you held back a whimper. Squirming in your place, you felt weak on the knees as his hands left a squeeze on your hips.
"Now… shoot."
You listened, and your hand let go of the string. Your eyes widened with surprise as the arrow hit close to the bullseye, which was certainly not perfect, but it was an improvement. A smile appeared in your face as you tilted your head to appreciate your achievement, and soon a giggle escaped you.
"Oh, Gods…" you sighed, "I did it."
"You did it," Aemond said, "you did so well."
His words made your face turn to face him, and his lips were just a few inches away from yours. Your breath hitched, as your heart pounded with so much strength that you thought he would be able to hear it… even feel it. His hand traveled upwards your body until it reached the nape of your neck.
For a moment you thought he would kiss you, that his soft-looking lips would dare to touch yours. But suddenly, he pulled away. Few seconds later, footsteps were heard dragging the snow beneath their feet, and soon you found out the reason behind his abrupt reaction.
"Sister!" you heard. The deep and roaring voice of your brother woke you up from your trance, and you turned around to face him.
You saw a frown upon his face as his eyes narrowed. For a moment you thought he saw how close you were with Aemond, but soon his own words proved you wrong.
"Septa has been waiting for you for an hour!" he scolded you, "why are you still here?"
It took you a while to speak, you knew your voice would come out weak and thin if you dared to utter a word in that moment, which not only would make Cregan be suspicious of what happened, but also would embarrass you in front of the charming prince.
Luckily for you, Aemond decided to step in.
"I was helping her train, my lord, I'm sorry for the disruption I might have caused," you looked down at the steps Aemond had left in the snow, right beside yours.
You were quick and subtle once you purposely stepped on them to erase them. Aemond noticed and he couldn't help but smirk.
"Well, stop your training and go," he demanded, "you might continue tomorrow."
You had no choice but to obey. One last glance was given to Aemond as you bowed to him, saying goodbye. Cregan followed your frame as you entered the castle, and then he turned to look at the prince. Aemond was no fool, he knew Cregan was not ignorant of his intention… he was a man after all, he could see through his facade with no big effort.
However, he did not say anything about it. He just nodded, and then he left leaving Aemond standing alone with the burning desire running down his body.
At first, he planned on just seducing you… but now? Now he will have you. He needed to have you.
That same day, quite late at night, you were found in your chambers, laying on your belly on top of the fur carpet right in front of the warmth of the fireplace. A book was between your hands as your eyes followed the traces of the poetic words that were written in it. The sound of the fire crackling and burning the wood was the only thing you were able to hear until three soft knocks interrupted the quiet calmness of the night.
You barely looked up as you muttered a soft 'come in', turning the page to continue with your reading. The door was opened in a subtle movement that you barely noticed, and soon you heard steps getting close to you.
It wasn't until you were able to see the shoes of that person that you decided to look up, only to find Aemond's grin staring back at you. You immediately sat up, crossing your legs and trying to cover your breasts with the book; the fabric of your nightgown was thin, and you knew that your skin could usually be seen through it if he dared to squint to take a look.
Your body hasn't forgotten about his touch and closeness, and in a certain way it was actually craving for more of that. But you knew it was not proper, you've heard whispers around the castle claiming that he was actually betrothed to one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, meaning he already belonged to someone else.
And yet, you couldn't help but to feel the eagerness to touch him.
"My Prince," you said, the shock of seeing him there, sitting on the carpet right beside you was shown in your voice, "what- what are you doing here?"
"I found myself alone and bored in my chambers, so I decided to wander around the castle and the path brought me here… to you," he smiled kindly as he said those last two words. Words that made your heart beat faster and your cheeks turn red, "were you reading?" He asked, pointing at the book that was covering your pebbled nipples.
"Uh… yes," you nodded, shyly, "it's a book about poetry."
"Poetry?" He asked, raising his eyebrows, "Mind if I have a look, little wolf?"
You couldn't help but to wildly blush with the pet name, feeling butterflies inside your belly as you pulled the book out of your chest and left it in his hands. Aemond's eyes inevitably went to see your soft breasts covered by a thin white layer of silky fabric, breathing deep and harsh as he felt his cock twitch inside his pants once he managed to see your nipples through it.
He remained calm, even when the only thing he wanted was to rip that gown out of your body and take you right there. Instead, he just sighed as his fingers elegantly turned the pages, reading some extract of the love poems in the book.
"I see you're a romantic person, my Lady," he commented, without taking his eyes off of the pages, "do you consider yourself a fan of the genre?"
"It's something that I enjoy reading, yes," you nodded.
"I had the impression," he confessed, closing the book and leaving it aside, "have you ever been in love?"
You shook your head, "I don't- I don't think so."
"Mhm…" he sighed, "that’s odd, you're a gorgeous lady, one might have thought you had a lot of suitors waiting for you."
"You're too kind," you said, looking retrained for a few seconds.
"I'm just stating the facts, little wolf," he spoke softly, "It seems like your brother likes to scare them away."
"Them?" You asked confused.
"Your suitors," he clarified, "that's the only reasonable explanation of why you are not married yet."
"He just wants the best for me," you defended him.
"And what would that be?"
"A husband who not only sees me as a womb with legs, but also as something precious, something worthy of love and care," your dreamy voice made Aemond smirk, the naiveness in you amused him in so many ways.
"You're asking for too much in a society like this, don't you think?"
You shrugged, "a girl can only dream."
The prince nodded, "and a man can only fulfill those dreams, am I right?" You remained silent, avoiding his heavy and penetrative stare at all cost, "have you ever been this close to a man before?"
"No…"
"I could tell," he chuckled, a sound that buzzed into your ears and made your mind go fuzzy, "you were quite nervous when I helped you with your bow this morning."
"I don't feel very comfortable with the proximity of men…" you confessed.
"Of all men, or just of me?"
That's when you realized where this was going, and the panic quickly installed in your gut as you swallowed hard. It took you some time, but you finally noticed his true intentions. You knew you had to stop him before things went further.
"My prince, I'm not quite sure what you mean by those words," you started to stand up, tumbling in your knees, "but it's late and it wouldn't be proper for you to be seen in my chambers, so please-"
Your words were interrupted by the sudden action of Aemond, who pulled you closer until you stranded him, your legs at each side of his body as he forced you to sit on his lap, his hands pressed in your hips firmly, not allowing you to escape from his strong grip.
"I think you know what I mean, my lady…" he whispered, leaning closer to your ear only to mutter with his seductive and raspy voice, "I think you can feel it."
Your breath hitched in your throat at the same time you tried to speak, "I- I don't know…"
"Tell me what you felt when I touched you this morning," he commanded, his hands lowering to your thighs, starting to lift the thin fabric of your gown, "was it similar to what you're feeling right now?"
"I… I don't-"
"I sensed your nervousness when I said how good of a girl you are," he chuckled, starting to breathe in your neck, smelling your sweet scent, "does that arouse you, little wolf? Being praised?"
"Prince Aemond, this is not proper, please-" you tried to pull away, but his grip pushed you down once again. Now you were able to feel his hard-on pressing right down your core, which sent you a sensation that caused chills down your spine.
"That's not what I'm asking you," he spoke sternly, massaging your thighs, squeezing them every now and then, "Mhm… my sweet little wolf, you're shaking. Are you nervous now? You don't have to be, I won't hurt you."
"I told you I do not enjoy this," you breathed out, feeling his hands reaching your hips underneath your gown.
"So you're telling me that if I dare to touch between your legs… I would not find your cunt drenching for me?"
His words made you squirm, the blush running to your cheeks as his thumb started to caress your mons pubis. Your body tensed as you widened your eyes, feeling his finger pressing down.
“I- I don’t- my Prince, please stop-” a small moan interrupted your words as he found your clit between your folds. His thumb rubbing it slowly as you closed your eyes; embarrassed that he was touching such a private part of your body.
“Have you ever been kissed, my lady?” He asked, trying to hold back a groan as he felt your slick coating his digit, “Has someone been lucky enough to be the first to claim your beautiful lips?”
You shook your head, Aemond hummed with delight.
“Then I guess I’ll be the first…”
You barely were able to process his words when he pressed his soft lips against yours. Slow movements that were easy for you to follow without much struggle as you held back whimpers of pleasure, for his thumb was still torturing your pearl in a slow and gentle manner.
Your hand fell on his chest, not with the intention of pushing him away. You grasp his thin blouse, catching the fabric between your trembling hands as you felt the tip of his tongue starting to tease your lips. Hesitantly, your lips parted just a few inches, enough to give him space for him to claim your mouth; swirling his tongue against yours as you tried to keep up with his slow and tempting actions.
He was able to taste your inexperience, the way you would doubt your movements before actually doing them was enough proof for him to know that you were not lying; he was the first man to kiss, which now made him more eager to also become the first man to fuck you.
A gasp escaped your swollen lips when, in a sudden movement, he laid your body in the soft carpet, spreading your legs and placing himself between them. Your nightgown was wrinkled around your hips, exposing your glistening folds to him as he kept playing with your now sensitive clit. Soft mewls were heard as he stopped kissing you in order to taste your skin. You felt the wet caresses of his lips in your neck, your jaw, your collarbones, all while your hands were grasping the fur of the carpet beneath you.
His fingers were soon covered in your juices, your hips trying to move against them in an attempt to feel more, but he pulled them away and you widened your eyes once you saw him licking them and humming after he felt your sweet taste against his tongue. Your breath was caught in your throat as you heard him groan.
"My lady, you taste as sweet as you are," he spoke slowly, you blinked a couple times still feeling your mind fuzzy, "do you want a taste?"
You gulped, not entirely sure of what to reply. The words were unable to come out, so all you could was nod.
A careless smile appeared on his face as he left a soft kiss on your cheek, before you realized your legs were on his shoulders and his face buried in your drenching cunt as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure his tongue was providing you.
His slurping was heard, echoing in the room as you tried to push his head away from your pussy, breathing fast and unsteady as he devoured you. You felt his tongue teasing your needy hole as his nose rubbed against your clit, making you moan a bit too loudly. His hands were grabbing your hips tightly, just to make sure you don't escape from him; his fingertips burying in your soft skin as your body writhe under his skilful mouth.
You could feel your own slick slipping down your thigh along with his spit. It was messy, far from being as slow and calm as the kiss he gave you before. He was eager to make you cum; licking, sucking, and fucking your cunt until you were nothing but a moaning mess.
It was over before you even noticed it. With a loud gasp, your eyes rolling and your thighs pressing at each side of Aemond's head, you reached your first orgasm, which finished with you gulping and hiccuping with pleasure. You heard him moaning against your soaking folds, collecting all your slick to then lean over your body.
He took a look at your face, your lips quivering as your cheeks were burning and tinted with a furious red. His fingers reached your chin, and made you open your mouth, which you did without hesitation. His spit fell in your tongue before your glistening eyes closed as you whimpered. You were able to taste yourself in it, the sweetness of your release coating your tongue.
"Swallow it," he commanded, and you quickly obeyed him, "good girl…" he let out a chuckle, and you couldn’t help but to feel an unknown heat running down your body. "See? I told you you were sweet, doesn't it taste good?"
You nodded, sighing.
"So good, so delicious…" he leaned to kiss you again as his hands pulled down your gown, freeing your breasts, "I swear it, my lady, I will not rest until your cunt is mine forever."
His big hands left a soft squeeze on your tits before they went to his pants, untying the lace and pulling them down. His leaking cock was now on your sight, hard and reddish. You barely noticed he took off his shirt as you were too hypnotized seeing that specific part of his body. Aemond immediately noticed your curious eyes, and he teasingly grabbed his cock in his hand only to stroke it a few times before letting it on top of your clit.
"Do you want it, my lady?" He whispered, starting to rub himself on you.
You whined, looking down at the obscene scene of his cock parting your puffy lips.
"Do you want my cock to make you feel good?" He groaned, feeling your slick coating his shaft, "I will give it to you if you ask me… Tell me what you want."
You gulped, trying to pronounce pleas.
"Aemond… I- I want…"
"Tell me, my beautiful lady," he muttered, "tell me what you desire."
"I want you… please… it's hurting, I-"
The head of his cock reached your hole and he slowly started to sink in you. Your eyes widened as a soft cry escaped your throat. Your legs closed as you brought them against your chest, and Aemond groaned in disapproval.
"Come on, darling… keep your legs open for me," he cooed, "I want to see your pretty pussy taking my cock."
He held the back of your knees, keeping your legs folded but spread. His cock was buried in your tight cunt as tears of pain started to fall down your cheeks. A loud cry was heard, louder than all of the others, and Aemond was quick to put his hand on top of your mouth.
"Sh, sh…" he whispered, "It's okay, it'll pass. Just relax, my lady, it will feel so good."
He spreaded you open with one push, your back arched as you struggled to take him. He stayed still for a few seconds before his own lust decided that he could not wait any longer. Your walls were squeezing him deliciously as he started to pound against you, groaning and moaning as the pleasure was taking the best of him.
Grasping on the fur beneath you, you started to sob. Aemond saw the signs of pain in your face and he quickly leaned over you in order to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. The feeling that brought you was indescribable, and soon the pain became bearable as his thrusts remained slow but became harder.
Aemond would choke his moans against your tit as his tongue skilfully swirling around it, licking and sucking as he kept fucking you, each thrust going deeper and deeper.
"Fuck…" he sighed, "your pussy is so fucking tight. Made by the Gods just for me."
His words made you drool as the warmth of the fireplace was starting to affect you, making you sweat. His hand left your mouth, now going to play with your swollen and needy clit.
"This little cunt belongs to me now, doesn't it?" he purred against your ear.
"A-Aemond..."
He hummed, "how sweet you sound when you moan my name like that."
"P-please…"
"What is it, my lady?" he teased you, "do you want to cum? Do you want to make a mess on my cock?"
"Y-yes…" you managed to say, choking with your words as he thrusted harder, "Oh, Gods! Yes…"
"That's it, sweet girl…" he praised you, "taking me so well, so good. I'm gonna fill you up, leave you leaking with my cum. Is that what you want?"
"G-Gods… yes, p-please!" you whined.
"Then I guess I have no other choice but to give you what you want…"
A soft chuckle left him as his thrusts became faster. His hips smacking against yours as he gripped your arsecheeks to gain stability. The sound of your slick drenching around his cock echoed in the room as you started to cry out, sobbing with pleasure and begging for more.
Aemond looked at your cunt, and a soft and subtle whine was heard as he saw the way his cock disappeared between your folds. Your pleas would only make him desperate, eager to reach his climax and seeing your abused hole leaking his pearly seed. The image alone was enough to make his cock twitch inside you.
"Fuck, so good… so fucking good," he lifted your hips, pounding restlessly against you as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes as his breathing turned unsteady, "such a perfect pussy, squeezing me so fucking good."
You clenched around him, and that was what sent him over the edge, spilling his big loads of cum inside of you at the same time that your release exploded. Your cries were heard even in the hallway, as the intensity of your orgasm took over your shaky body. The feeling of him stuffing you with his seed sent you a shiver down your spine that made you twitch your hips.
Aemond leaned over you to kiss you, pounding lazily as he was coming down from his orgasm. You receive the sloppy kiss as your eyes were closing by themselves, too worn out to keep them open.
But then, Aemond decided to speak.
"Look at you, sweet girl…" he said with an odd tone that you haven't heard from him until now, "what would your big brother say if he saw you now, huh? Filled with my seed, a mess under my touch."
Your breathing stopped for a second and only then you realized what you did. You opened your eyes only to find a smirk on his face, and your heart dropped.
"You probably will be swollen with my bastard in a few months… then what would the people think of you? The Heart of the North carrying the Prince's bastard child…"
"N-no…" you muttered, starting to softly push his chest.
"Mhm, yes…" he scoffed, "unless I take you as my bride, of course."
A shaky breath came out of your nose as tears of despair fell down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivered as your gleaming eyes looked at his.
"W-would you… would you take me as your wife?"
Aemond smirked, starting to pull out of you. He hummed delighted with the view as he saw the pearly drops leaking out of you. He sighed, putting his pants on and fixing his clothes.
"If your brother decides to join his forces with ours, I will take you as my bride and no one will know this happened before our marriage…" he said, standing up and looking down at you. "But, if he decides to join my sister's army…"
He doesn't even need to finish the sentence for you to know the consequences of that. The panic ran down your body as you sat in the carp carpet, covering your nudity with your nightgown and crying.
"How- how am I supposed to-?"
"Cregan Stark will do anything his little sister commands," he interrupts you, taking a few steps towards you to gently grab your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him, "so you better choose the right option, my lady."
He left a caress in your cheek with a smug smile on his face. He abandoned your chambers, letting you there feeling helpless and a bit scared.
It wasn't a big surprise for him when a few days later Lord Stark gave him the good news… and Aemond fulfilled his words, marrying you a month after the North joined the war and helped King Aegon II win the final battle against Rhaenyra.
What was a surprise, was the birth of your first child, a month earlier than what the Maesters expected.
#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#hotd aemond#aemond the kinslayer#hotd x reader#hotd au#hotd x y/n#hotd smut#hotd x you#house stark#house targaryen#house of the dragon#fanfic#hotd
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omg qween goddess supreme hedwig221b can you please, pretty please rec me some regency and/or historical sterek 🥹
hoping you have a good day/night (idk your timezone lol)
Hi, love! You know me so well... historical aus, my beloved 💜
When All the Pieces Fit by NARKOTIKA
"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes.
Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent.
"I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.
Elskende by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)
Stiles is an omega concubine, kept sequestered away in the city of Beacon Hills, waiting for his lord Gerard Argent when the Wulver take the city and the alpha takes the omega.
Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)
Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.
A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous
He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend.
In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better.
~*~
Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.
Meant to be One by sunhazeheart
His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it.
It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack.
Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears.
Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.
The Wolf Lord by mikkimouse
"You never know," Lydia said. "Perhaps the Wolf Lord will ask you to dance tonight."
Stiles scoffed. "Oh, yes, of course he will. And then he'll transform into a giant black wolf and whisk me away to his estate to live happily ever after." He rolled his eyes at the thought. "Actually, I rather hope he does ask me to dance. I can tell him how ridiculous these masquerades are."
To Whom The Wolf King Bows by MadcapRomantic
Stiles Stilinski meets The Wolf King, the very boogeyman he'd spent his younger years terrified of; yet the man is little, if anything, like the tales he's heard. But, Stiles has spent the last ten years of his life as a slave, under the harsh whip of the cruel King Gerard Argent, and trusting Derek - trusting anyone - is beyond difficult.
Where the Shadow Ends by Green
Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.
The Hills Call
Five years ago, Prince Derek of the Hale Empire had fallen for the son of a Baron, Genim of Stilinski. His mother had not approved, and after some time imprisoned Genim escaped to the Dukedom of the Shore, where he was taken in by Duke Christopher and Lady Allison. Now, Prince Derek is on his deathbed from a poisoning and it is up to Genim, now called Stiles, to nurse him back to health. Wary of the Hale Empire, Stiles returns with their young son to see if he can heal Derek of his illness and escape the threats he still feels from the Empress herself.
The Light in the Woods by DiscontentedWinter
To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles.
I encourage you heavily to go through the works of Dexterous_Sinistrous and DarkAthena (seraphim_grace), these two are my crushes and I am in awe of their work, it's so good. I could genuinely sit here and list dozens of their fics - I already did list some of my most beloved fics of theirs...
Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | possessive Derek | baby/mpreg
#sterek#sterek fic#stiles x derek#sterek fanfic#eternal sterek#stiles stilinski#derek hale#derek x stiles#sterek fanfiction#sterek fic rec#i also didn't check how many of these are abo#probably a lot lol#idc i love it#genuinely like i went through my saved historical fics#and the majority was dexterous and DarkAthena
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Beomgyu fanfic recomendation | Tumbrl ao3
moonstone (why didn't you tell me) - choi beomgyu
|11,4k @healingpage casamento de best
After a painful betrayal by her fiance and a backstab with her close friend, Y/n is heartbroken. When her best friend, Beomgyu, discovers her called-off wedding, he brings her to the land of Japan, believing that over the course of the four day trip, he can convince her to come home happy, or to at least move on from the guy. But his plan goes south when Y/n finds a note on his phone, about his actual feelings on her previous relationship.
i can't swim, idiot ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ choi beomgyu | 11,7k @beom-pyu bests fingem ser casados
choi beomgyu x fem!reader , tags: best friends to lovers au , beomgyu is annoying(ly cute) , fake dating? nah... fake married? bingo! , reader is so fed up with beomgyu how is he still alive , fluff , black cat x golden retriever dynamic ??? , hinted bisexual!beomgyu happy pride month , hinted pining , nsfw , some cliche moments bc who doesn't love a good cliche
the only exception | beomgyu x reader | 12k @byeomtori
love at first sight au, summer love thingy, lots of reference to paramore's the only exception and txt's our summer, pda
white dress | 3,8k @fairyyeo
Beomgyu encontra s/n e a chama pra sair depois do seu turno, motoqueiro
➵ sk8ter boi -> c.b | 4.5k @gyusrose
you never thought in a million years to be attracted to a boy like beomgyu. His baggy clothes, scrappy shoes, long hair just wasn’t a click with your elegant dresses, tight skirts, ballet dancer- self , but somehow he managed to steal your attention.
ditto / cbg | 3.5k @huenation
the day arrives where beomgyu, your angel, is leaving you, you realize you have nothing left to lose
FESTIVAL | 7.7k (I can't @ the author, but she is in the comments)
you thought this year's festival was going to be a bummer like last year's, until you found yourself stuck spending the three whole days of it with that pretty guitarist boy that caught your eye.
「 Camera Shy 」 | 14.4k @koqabear
“You’ve always tried to live an honest and responsible life; never spending money on anything ridiculous, scoffing at the things other people would be so willing to drop their paycheck on. But when life gets hard, you’re bound to give into your guilty pleasures, right?”
Hey Emo Boy! | 9.4k @koqabear
He worked at the Spencer’s store in the mall— you worked at the Claire’s store right in front. What can you say? Match made in heaven.
You Are My Queen Now | 194k @wildernessuntothemselves
Growing up as a child of a minor lord, you had it instilled in you since a young age that you needed to find yourself a rich and affluent husband that would not only provide a comfortable life for you, but would also help further your family’s position in the court. So it was of the utmost importance that you remain a virgin in order to land such a coveted husband.
The problem lies when the man you secretly love, Prince Beomgyu, suddenly and unabashedly propositions you.
Rare and Pure (cbg) | 21.5k @elix8r
“But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.“
- Patrick Rothfuss
Choi Yeonjun was the love of your life, the one you were unequivocally sure the Moon Goddess had chosen for you. His younger brother, Beomgyu, on the other hand, didn't even register on your radar as mate material. But fate, as it often does, had other plans. One night was all it took for your entire life to flip around as you found yourself accidentally mated to your childhood friend. Now, you're left grappling with the emotional wreckage of it all as you are not only struggling to feel the unbreakable connection that mates are supposed to share with Beomgyu, but you're also dealing with the harsh reality that your dreams of forever with Yeonjun will never come to fruition. It's a bitter pill to swallow, and it's forcing you to reevaluate your very sense of self. Your wolf clearly had some serious explaining to do.
idle town | c.bg + the city that never sleeps | c.bg
| 40k @petrichor-han
it’s always been beomgyu and (y/n), (y/n) and beomgyu. the two of them against the world... well, against the mean old cashier at the local grocery store anyways. (y/n) has always dreamed of leaving her small town and travelling the world, but beomgyu has always been more than comfortable in the only home he’s ever known. when (y/n) gets the option to finally live her dream and live in a big city hours away from their hometown, beomgyu has to choose between loving her and letting go.
brand new, full throttle! | 5.2k @hwangyu
beomgyu finds out you're the perfect way to get under his stepfathers skin.
모기 / MOGI — [c.bg]. | 14k @hannie-dul-set
in which all of your life, you and beomgyu have been stuck together like glue whether you liked it or not. and as much as you want to change that, life seems to have different plans.
Series
「 PRETTY PRINCESS 」
part IX ─ 'do you trust me?' @beomiracles
taking a wrong turn in the 4th dimension Beomgyu finds himself two centuries behind his own with no way back, though meeting a pretty princess like you, does not seem so wrong.
to know him is to love him, and i do | 9,8k @niningtori
you love beomgyu more than anything. you just wish he loved you, too. or you finally break up with beomgyu and move on, but as for him? maybe he's starting to realize too little too late.
#SoundCloud#Spotify#beomgyu#bamgyuuuu#txt beomgyu#beomie#baby bear#txt#beomgyu au#beomgyu fanfic#beomgyu fic
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not so little | t. shouto
✮ tags ; gn!reader, minor age-gap (4 years), sfw
✮ wc ; 1.3k
✮ a/n ; this is not the most original idea ever so sorry but i wanted to write my take on it
"Seriously," Touya leans on the door frame of Natsuo's room, self-satisfied smile on his face "You're crushing on...Shouto? Our Shou-chan?"
You cover your face with despair at your predicament. You can't believe you're actually telling either of them. It wasn't like you were planning too. In what universe would you even think to do that deliberately?
But Natsuo is frighteningly good at grilling you about things when you refuse to tell him. Ever since he found out about your crush, he made it his lifes mission to harass you about it. You were careful, damn it. You didn't even actually tell him, he used to his annoying deductive reasoning to figure it out. You tell Natsuo everything.
He knows about every weird medical problem you've ever had, every partner you've ever dated, and every weird fit of crying you've ever cried in your life. He's your confidant. Your best friend. So he knows there's only two sorts of crushes you couldn't tell him about.
If it was on an ex or if it was on one of his siblings. His first guess was Touya - but he figure you wouldn't be this embarrassed about that since you often wolf whistle at him when you're in the house.
Then he guessed Fuyumi, because you're still embarrassed by how pretty she is. When you said it wasn't her - he was briefly stumped before settling in a shocked silence.
"...Are you crushing on Shouto? Seriously?"
Your embarrassment told him he was right, and now you're sitting in his room and hoping the world will swallow you because you're crushing on your best friends little brother of all things.
In your defense, it wasn't always like this. You didn't see much of the youngest Todoroki at all growing up. He was in his dorms for most of highschool and Natsuo spent most of his early adulthood ducking his parents house entirely. You only met him properly when he turned twenty. They're only living together now for Touya.
You kind of wish they weren't - since it'd save you the trouble of being embarrassed twice. You've been seeing Shouto a lot recently, since you've been coming over to hang out with Natsuo.
Shouto is not the 16 year old boy you always made. He's 22 and he's got tall and lean muscle. He's polite but sweet and strangely - much funnier than you could've ever predicted. He's genuinely very kind but most of all - he's been very direct on telling you that he likes you.
You don't think anyones ever pursued you like this in your life. Both of your last relationships ended amicably but neither of them had been this...direct with you ever. Shouto is very direct, actually. Direct in telling you which honorifics to use, and telling you how nice you look, and saying he misses you often. You've been dismissive. Even you're not so desperate as to openly pursue your friends little brother.
But again, he's not so little anymore. He's taller than you now, and he's got lean muscle. He always smells great. He is incredibly pretty in the fairy prince kind of way. This is by far the worst crush you've ever had to endure in your entire life. You've tried to forget.
But just last week he walked you home after patrols, speaking casually and kindly and good god - what is with the broad-shoulders? When did that even happen?
You want to die. You want to disappear into a black hole. You want to scream and cry. Why you're crushing on a boy 4 years younger than you? Why is Todoroki Shouto of all people make your heart flutter?
"Seriously... I mean I knew he was flirting with you pretty brazenly but," Natsuo looks like he's holding back a grimace. If you weren't holding back tears, you'd hit him "...Shouto? Like...really?"
"Didn't know our little angel was such a casanova. Crazy world we live in."
"Neither of you are helping." You say exasperated. Natsuo leans back on his palms, sighing a little. "Do you think I wanted this?"
"It's not the end of the world," Natsuo offers thoughtfully. You give him a meaningful glare from the corner of his bed but he doesn't budge "I mean..I guess if I got to pick who he dated, you're not at the very bottom of the list."
You kick his side. "That's so backhanded."
"He doesn't want to admit you two are a good match," Touya says thoughtfully, unwrapping candy from his pocket. A habit he picked up trying to quit smoking "He'll be lonely if you date Shouto."
"Shut up, Touya."
You ignore both of them for a minute trying to get your bearings.
"You think we're a good match...?"
Touya laughs hard "Is that all you heard? Poor Natsu, already being abandoned."
Natsuo shoots Touya a glare.
"Touyaaaa," You drag, reaching over to tug on the bottom of his shirt "Elaborate."
"And feed your delusions?" He says, clicking his teeth "Fine. Only because it's funny."
Natsuo hmphs, and you look at him apologetically. You two will have to talk about it later. Touya rolls the candy in his mouth, pulling his shirt up to scratch at his abdomen.
"Dunno. You're like... probably one of the only people who's not gonna treat him weird cause he's a good little hero. That brat... it's probably best for him to date someone normal and civilian-esque. Not like being a hero is the most important thing in the world to him."
You flush a little. This is really, really bad. Natsuo gives you a disapproving look. You look back at him a little softer.
"I won't date him if he's off limits." You offer. Touya coos at you both.
"Well aren't you darling."
Natsuo groans, laying flat on the floor.
"Ugh. It's not like I can just say no. It's enough of a miracle that Shouto is showing interest in anyone. And if he misses out on true love, even if it's," He gives you a sideways glance and shakes his head "Even if it's with you then I can't actually stop it."
"I'll reject him if you tell me too."
"What kind of older brother do you take me for?"
"Yeah, what kind of older brother do you take him for?" Touya mocks, laughing to himself "Aren't you just a saint, Natsu?"
"Touya, I'm gonna throw you out of my room."
"Ooh, someone's mad."
Before Natsuo as a chance to come back, the sound of the door opening from the living room downstairs floats up. Shouto calls out. You feel your heart almost fall out of your ass. Touya, delighted, is the first to reply.
"Shou-chan, we're upstairs."
You make a gesture of violence towards Touya who replies by pretending to jerk off then giving you the middle finger. You don't have time to collect yourself before Shouto is upstairs. He's back from patrols and he's a little sweaty. You feel heat creep-up up your neck.
"Touya-nii, do you still—oh," Shouto smiles soft as he realizes "It's you. I didn't realize you were here."
"I came in after class."
"Alone? You should've asked me to walk home with you."
You flush. Touyas' snickering is not helping you at all.
"Isn't that out of your way?"
"It's fine. I do stuff like that a lot," You're almost disappointed until he tacks on "But it's you so it's alright."
You look up at him wide-eyed. He gives you the ghost of a smile. God you're screwed. Before you can reply, Natsuo clears his throat.
"Go wash up. You stink." He chides. Shouto immediately goes back to being a little brother, nodding his head.
"Okay. Then," He looks at you directly. You're so screwed "I'll be right back."
You wait until Shouto is finally down the hall, listening for the bathroom door to thump shut before falling back into Natsuo's bed. Touya breaks out into a fit of laughter as Natsuo sulks in the corner.
But all of it feels like white noise when you compare it to the sound of your heartbeat, thudding hard in your chest.
#todoroki x reader#bnha x reader#todoroki fluff#bnha fluff#writing tag#this idea im sure has been done a million times but i just wanted to write my own version im sorrryfdjd
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