Title: I Cant Handle The Thought Of Losing You. (Aemond Targaryen X House Of The Dragon Imagine)

Title: “I can’t handle the thought of losing you.” (Aemond Targaryen x House of the Dragon Imagine)

Summary: Aemond and his beloved twin sister haven’t seen each other for a month and their first encounter after that time apart is on the battlefield at Rook’s Rest. Aemond is furious that his sister has disregarded his warnings to stay away from the war. Despite his anger, he cannot stay mad at her for long and soon enough, they find themselves catching up for the missed time together.

Warnings: Smut | 18+ | Explicit sexual content | Incest | Targcest | Fluff | Angst

First smutty Aemond Targaryen x Twin Sister imagine: “You’re mine and mine only”

Second smutty Aemond Targaryen x Twin Sister imagine: “You’re everything you me.”

Third smutty Aemond Targaryen x Twin Sister imagine: “I want you to be my Queen.”

Fourth smutty Aemond Targaryen x Twin Sister imagine: “I will make them pay with their life for raising their hand over my Queen.

Author’s note: Thank you all for the great support until now. The journey of Aemond and his twin sister is very fun to write and I am glad to see you loving it, as much as I do. ❤️

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I was removing my fight gear, when the door burst open with a loud crash.

Aemond. My twin-brother.

The single eye he had was filled with fury.

“Have you lost your mind?” Aemond yelled, interrupting me.

“Good to see you too!” I sarcastically remarked, while removing my sword belt.

“What in the Seven Hells were you doing on the battlefield!?” He kept.

“Ugh, be quiet. I have a terrible headache.” I winced, massaging my forehead.

“You’re having a headache?” He laughed. “I’m having a headache with you!”

I shot him a bored glare.

“If you came here to just yell at me, then you can leave! I already have enough to deal with!”

I could swear that I saw my brother’s eye twitch by looking at how stiff I was moving.

He walked to the table in the center of my chambers with a clenching jaw and placed his palms on it. I knew him very well and I could see that he was barely holding himself to not explode.

“Do you understand that you have put yourself in an obviously life threatening situation?” He continued with an irritation in his tone and his voice rising. “What if I wasn’t there?”

I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

“Aemond, I am not made out of sugar.”

My twin grunted.

“I can’t believe how reckless you are!”

I slowly started losing my composure.

“And what would you have me to do? Stay here and embroider? I only got shot by an arrow, which didn’t even hurt me and so what?! Big deal! I am not dead!”

“But you could have been killed!” He raised his voice and slammed his fist on the table, making me jump.

It was very rare to witness Aemond’s anger, especially when I was the main reason for it. He was furious. Still, I couldn’t step back.

“I am a Targaryen, Aemond, and we are at war! I can’t just sit here and watch while the others fight. I am not someone to be coddled!”

“This is isn’t about coddling, angel!” He replied with a smile, which unfortunately wasn’t out of a good reason. “This is about YOU, putting yourself in an unnecessary danger! That old bitch and her dragon could have taken you down!”

“But she didn’t!” I said simply, raised my hands.

Aemond’s face darkened with frustration. For a matter of seconds he diminished the distance between us and his imposing figure towered over me. Lost in his anger, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer to him.

“Do you understand…” he began with a trembling voice. “That every time you expose yourself to a risk… despite my warnings… and seeing you being shot, almost taken down… it’s like you are stabbing my heart with a dagger.”

“Aemond, I didn’t think…”

“That’s the fucking problem!” He hissed and tightened his grip on my hand. “You didn’t think! You didn’t think about the consequences and that you have endangered yourself! Do you have any idea what it felt like seeing you out there, injured and vulnerable? Do you think that I can just erase it from my mind?! Or when the scumbags came here to take Jaehaerys and hurt you too? It is not just a random whim of mine to tell you to stay away from Rook’s Rest and that war.”

My brother’s eye was locked with mine, as if trying to force me to understand the depth of his rage.

A lump in my throat started forming.

“I didn’t realize…”

“Realize!?” Aemond interrupted me. His eye was piercing me and cutting me in half. He was so close to me, that I could feel his breath in my face. “Do you realize that every time you decide to do things on your own, it’s not just about you, but it’s about me. About us.”

“Aemond…”

“I feel helpless and terrified, knowing that I can’t always protect you from everythi-“

Without saying anything, I kissed him, shoving my fingers in his hair.

Aemond’s grip started slowly releasing my wrist and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. I was feeling them so tight around me, as if he was afraid to loose me.

My brother deepened the kiss and our tongues were dancing the dance of love.

Desperate and demanding.

All the built-up emotions and unspoken fears were poured out in that kiss.

As we were kissing, our negative feelings transformed into something else. The anger, the fear and the frustration turned into a burning desire that has been building up for over a month. I couldn’t remember if there was another time, when we haven’t been intimate for that long.

First, I was on a political mission for two weeks in the Riverlands… and when I returned, Jaehaerys’ assassination happened. I was so shattered and wasn’t in the mood for anything intimate. Then, Aegon and his council started planning their strategies and Aemond had to fly with Vhagar for another political mission. Before he flew away, he made sure to warn me to not ever think of setting my foot in Rook’s Rest. It could get pretty ugly, he said. Despite the fact that he looked dead serious, I didn’t listen to him.

I couldn’t just stay in King’s Landing, knowing that other people are fighting our battle.

The urge to take action was eating me out and the memory of Jaehaerys’ murder fueled my determination.

What could possibly go wrong, I thought, and rode my dragon, Dagahra, to Rook’s Rest.

When I arrived at Rook’s Rest, the battle was already raging. The smell of smoke and blood was filling the air. Soldiers fought fiercely on the ground. Rhaenys Targaryen on her dragon, Meleys, the Red Queen were flying around and destroying our invasion. I knew this would be no easy fight.

I engaged Rhaenys in chasing me. Dagahra was faster than Meleys and we took their attention for a while.

The Dance of the Dragons has begun. Our dragons twisted and turned. We maneuvered through the sky, each trying to outwit the other.

The smell of fire and blood filled my nostrils.

As I was very near to the ground, I felt an arrow, piercing my armour. Luckily, it barely touched my skin and I only got a slight scratch, yet it distracted me and I struggled to maintain the control over Dagahra.

Seconds after the arrow shot me, I heard a familiar powerful roar.

Vhagar.

Aemond.

My brother came out of nowhere, igniting the archers, who shot me.

He led Vhagar in front of me and covered me.

“Get away from here!” Aemond yelled at me from afar.

“No!” I protested.

Just as I have gained back my focus and preparing for another attack, Dagahra let out a painful roar. She was hurt with one of those giant scorpion arrows.

“Dagahra!” I shouted.

My heart was pounding in my chest and I was thinking that it would pop out.

Before I could react, Aemond's sharp and unyielding voice cut through the chaos.

“Did you hear what I said?! Get away from here!”

I turned to see Aemond and Vhagar swooping down. Vhagar’s immense form shielded us from further assaults.

“Go!” Aemond roared again.

I hesitated, glancing at Dagahra's wound.

I decided to not oppose anymore. I couldn’t risk her life. I turned my dragon and headed to our home. On my way back I saw Aegon on the back of his mount, Sunfyre. They were flying to Rook’s Rest, probably to join the battle I had just left behind. Sunfyre's golden scales glinted in the sunlight and Aegon’s expression was determined. He didn’t seem to notice me as I passed by or perhaps he chose to ignore me.

On the way to King’s Landing, I couldn’t stop thinking about how poorly calculated my action was. I had my dragon hurt and barely helped.

When I finally reached the Red Keep, I landed Dagahra as gently as I could, ensuring she was immediately attended to by the dragonkeepers.

I never left her side until her wound was cleaned up and treated properly. She was going to be okay, but she needed some time to rest and recover. I promised her thousands of sheeps.

As I was assured that she was fine, I finally could go and have some rest.

And then we reached the point, where Aemond got home and stormed furiously in my chamber.

It was very sad, because we hadn’t seen each other for two weeks. Considering the short time, we had spent together before they took Jaehaerys’ head, it felt more like that we hadn’t seen each other for a good month. And this was our first encounter after that month. On the battlefield and then in my room with all the gathered tension and frustration from the passed time, in which we were consumed with the tragic events, caused by that war. And which we have spent away from each other. Jumping straight to the argument.

But now, in this moment, all that tension and stress exploded into the desperate need for one another.

I didn’t even bother where we were. I slightly dragged him down, making me follow me as we sank to the floor on the carpet without breaking the kiss.

My twin settled himself between my legs and I was feeling his hard erection pressing against my genitals.

Our hands moved eagerly in a hurried manner to take off the clothes, that we were wearing.

“I need you.” He whispered desperately.

“I’m here.” I replied inbetween our kiss.

Aemond rose on his knees to remove his tunic and the beautiful sight of his well-sculpted abdomen and biceps made my heart skip a beat.

I sat up, so that I can place kisses on his bare chest and abs.

He helped me remove my shirt and attacked my neck, which sent a shiver down my spine.

My brother gently pushed me and made me lay on my back.

His hands roamed my figure with the same burning desire and lust as the very first time he did it.

I felt his lips trace a path from my neck to my collarbone. Then they continued its way to my stomach and stopped inches away from my private parts.

Next thing I could feel was Aemond’s mouth eating me out. His tongue was moving masterly, teasing me to full extent.

I was soaking wet down there and when he entered in me, it slipped so smooth and nicely, that I arched my back from finally feeling the fullness after the one month break.

We were making love on the floor. Aemond on top of me, supporting himself on his hands, which allowed him to watch me moaning and thrust in me with a precise force and pace.

I arched my back, losing myself in the overwhelming sensation of being so completely connected to my twin-brother.

My breasts were bouncing up and down, following the rhythm of our intense movements.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and allowed him to enter deeper. As a response to that Aemond let out a low moan.

Then, he propped himself on his elbows, diminishing the small gap between our bodies and hungrily kissed my lips.

His thrusts became even harder and I had to bite my lower lip so that no one pops up at our door. My nails dug in the skin of his back and goosebumps erupted.

Aemond kept pacing up, making it impossible for me to be quiet.

My twin’s hands and lips began cherishing my body in every possible way. His lips were kissing me and his hands were caressing and squeezing my skin.

“Aemond…” his name escaped my lips inbetween the moans.

He didn’t say anything. Instead started slamming himself in me with full force.

“Yes, yes, yes…” I was close.

Raw.

Hard.

It was just the two of us and nothing else mattered. There was no battlefield, no war, no noble statuses. Just the two of us. And our endless love.

“Please, please…” I whined in despair.

Aemond was pushing himself harder and harder.

“Keep going.” I cried.

Soon enough my walls were clenching around my brother’s member.

“Oh…” I screamed out of pleasure.

He growled - a sign for his release.

I was enjoying his last strokes in me and pulled him for a deep and passionate kiss.

Our bodies remained entangled for a while. In that time we were still sharing soft kisses and gentle caressing, continuing our wordless savouring of our relationship.

I was left with the feeling that all the tension and weight of the past month have faded away and was replaced by a sense of unity and peace.

“I’m sorry.” I apologised sincerely. “I only wanted to help. And didn’t think that it would worry you that much.”

My twin kissed my forehead.

“I know. And I am sorry too. But I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I just can’t.”

As a response to his apology and my accepting of it, my hand found his and squeezed it.

For a moment we were glaring at each other and cherishing the moments, we have finally had for ourselves after that long month.

“I hate it when we fight.” He said, playing with a lock of my silver hair.

“Yeah, me too.” I replied, placing my head on his chest. “I think that we were just missing each other. “

He sighed, his fingers gently stroking my hair.

“Maybe you’re right. And there is no lie that I was desiring you more than ever.”

I smiled.

“I missed you too.” I kissed him.

After some quiet moments, Aemond’s chuckle broke the silence.

“What?” I looked at him.

“Nothing.” He laughed softly. “You love getting yourself into trouble, when I am not around.”

I joined him laughing.

“Well, someone has to keep things interesting around here.” I nudged him with my elbow.

“One day, you will drive me mad, my love.”

“That’s the plan.” I winked.

“You’re impossible.” He said and pulled me for another kiss. “But I don’t mind you dancing on my nerves with your pretty feet.”

“Is that so?” I purred.

“Yes.” he said, removing a strand of hair from my face. "Because it means you're here with me, safe and sound."

Aemond’s words hit me so deep. He was looking at me not with his eye, but with his heart. And I couldn’t believe that there was such a love, so profound and selfless. I knew that our bond was stronger than any war.

I straddled him and kissed him passionately.

“Then I should learn some new dance steps, so that you don’t get bored.”

His grip tightened around me.

“I could never get bored with you… my Queen.” He said and sat up, attacking my lips with another tender kiss.

Suddenly, he turned me around, catching me off guard and making me lay on my stomach.

Before I could react, he gave me a playful spank.

I gasped, more surprised than hurt.

“Aemond!"

He leaned in close, tickling my ear with his hot breath, causing me to shiver.

"Consider it a reminder to not disregard your brother’s warnings.”

I turned my head to look at him.

“Maybe I like testing your patience." I teased him.

Aemond's eye glistened with a mix of amusement and desire.

“Then I'll have to find new ways to keep you in line." He spanked me again, this time a bit harder.

His hand lingered on my reddened skin and caressed the spot he had just struck.

"Maybe it's time I teach you a lesson… of what happens when you disobey your King.” he whispered.

His other hand slid between my thighs, teasing me until I was writhing beneath him.

“Oh, Aemond…” I moaned, as I followed the rhythm of his fingers in me.

“I think you'll like this lesson.” My brother said and spanked me hard once more.

always been you

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖽!𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖽!𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝗁𝖾'd 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 since you were both just kids. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽, 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄. 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍, 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽. 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽'𝗌 𝖾𝗑-𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍... 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟧,𝟧𝟪𝟢 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌; 𝟥𝟣, 𝟢𝟪𝟥 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗏𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝗑 (𝖿𝖾𝗆! 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀) 𝖻𝗋𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖺𝗅, 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍, 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝗮/𝗻: 𝗁𝖾𝗒, 𝗂 𝗎𝗉𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍/𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝖼, 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗎𝗅𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒'𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽. 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈 𝗂'𝗆 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝗒𝖾.

"Art, have you... have you ever loved someone you couldn't have?" Your voice is so soft, and so quiet. God, let you be talking about him, he pleads mentally.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. "Yes," he whispers. A quiet, breathy reply, his voice raw and gentle. Art holds tighter to your hand, almost refusing to let go as he gently rubs his thumb against your skin. "I'm in love with someone, and I've never been able to have them."

"Why? Why couldn't you?"

"They..." Art's breath hitches, his thumb pausing over your skin before he resumes his soothing circles once more. Every nerve in his body is focused on the way your hand feels in his. The warmth of your skin. The beat thrumming beneath the surface as your heartbeat fills the silence. "They don't love me back."

"You don't, uh... you don't know that," this time, you're looking at him differently. A way that's not how someone looks at someone else who's just a friend. Maybe you've always looked at him like that, but he's been too busy being jealous of Patrick to notice.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. Art is silent, eyes fixated on your expression- those pretty, inviting eyes, as he waits for you with bated breath. He's too scared to speak, too scared that you'll snap him put of his fantasies. Your eyes are searching for something, and he fears they'll find his every insecurity and desire within them.

"I... I think I know who I love. Maybe I did love Patrick as some point, but I- I don't anymore."

Those words are like a punch to the chest. Art's heart is bursting, thumping against his ribcage and filling his ears with the sweet sound of his heartbeat. The room is spinning, he's dizzy from the rush of feelings filling his body. His chest heaves, heart racing faster than it ever has before. He's still holding tight to your hand, fingers gripping your hand, refusing to let go as he turns his gaze to yours.

"It's you, Art. I think it's always been you, somehow."

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢. His mouth falls open slightly, the sharp breath he's been withholding escaping as his breath hitches in his chest. His eyes widen and his face splits into a wide grin, his chest growing tight, bursting and aching with something he can't explain. Art can't help but let out a brief chuckle, his thumb moving against your skin. "And I've been in love with you since I was eleven years old."

"God, I... I've been a fucking idiot. I've been looking everywhere but right in front of me, when the person I love has been right there."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. The way those words roll off your tongue has him grinning, a joyous expression filling his eyes as a candied laugh slips from his lips. He's breathless and dizzy, drunk on the knowledge that this- 𝘺𝘰𝘶 - has been his all along. He can't keep his eyes off you, expression filled with adoration and admiration. He can't speak, but you seem to understand what he's thinking with just a glance.

Art's eyes are gleaming, pupils dilated as he drinks on the sight of your face. He's still holding your hand, his thumb making soft circles against your skin as he gazes at you. His jaw is tight, muscles flexing as his body is overcome with excitement. His breathing is coming heavier and quicker as he tries to pull himself together. He can't help it when he whispers a gentle reply, the words slipping from his tongue before he can even think of stopping them. "Can I kiss you?"

You look at him then, staring into his eyes, with your gorgeous doe eyes that always make him go weak in the knees, and his blood rush. "Yeah. Kiss me."

Art's breath hitches in his lungs, the air suddenly catching in his throat as the realization of your response hits him like a tidal wave. He can't believe what he's feeling in this moment, those gentle whispers of desire and love frantically becoming a roaring fire, consuming any thought of control. Those pretty doe eyes- they're his undoing. Art can't even prevent the gentle moan that slips from his lips as you lean closer, body leaning towards yours as his own words ring back from earlier. "Oh, thank god."

His breath is coming in short pants, body burning hotter as he takes in your features- those soft lips, the flush of your cheeks, the way your brow wrinkles ever so slightly as you approach. He is overwhelmed by the desire to touch you, and all Art wants is to tangle his fingers in your hair and feel your body against his. "Please, please-" 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘦.

You grip him by the hair, lightly, pulling him towards you, kissing him. If it was anyone else, he'd probably punch them. But this is 𝘺𝘰𝘶. The same girl he's been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Art gasps, eyes widening slightly before fluttering shut. His entire body melts, eyes rolling back into his head as he lets out a moan. His hands fall forward, gently holding onto your waist, fingers digging into your hips. His body moves of its own accord, tilting forward slightly to deepen the kiss. Art's breathing stutters, fingers twisting into strands of your hair, pulling you closer.

His mind is blank except for one thing. You. All he can think about is you. Your lips. Your perfume. The way you taste. You touching him.

Art's body is on fire, burning up with the desire to touch anything he can reach of yours. The kiss is sloppy, filled with passion and want, his body flaming over with need. Art can't help the whine that escapes his lips with the feel of you pulling his hair, desperate and needy, gasping for breath despite not wanting to break the kiss. His senses are flooded with 𝘺𝘰𝘶, the taste of your tongue and the feel of you against his body.

You both pull away after a few moments, reluctant to, but you do both need to breathe. Art's lips are kiss-swollen, and his hair's messy, but he couldn't care less. It hits you then that you're both still out in public, but luckily you were in a rather secluded corner, so no one really saw anything (you hope).

Art gasps as he pulls away, staring at you with half lidded eyes and mouth agape. His lips are flushed, swollen and shining with saliva. His hair is disheveled and tangled, the product of your fingers, and his breath is shallow, heart racing. His mind is spinning, unable to comprehend the feelings exploding in his chest. His tongue darts out, wetting his botttom lip further, watching you with wide eyes as a low whimper escapes his bitten red lips.

"As much as I hate to stop, and I really hate stopping, but I do have class, pretty boy."

Pretty boy? Art's been called a lot of things in his life, but that's a new one. Pretty boy. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵.

Art blinks, dazed as his mind struggles to process your words through the rush of adrenaline flowing through his veins. The nickname takes a few seconds to register, and when it does a low groan rumbles in his throat. His eyes roll back slightly, hips canting forward as he shivers, the sound almost sounding like "𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯?" Art's breath is shaky, words coming out in a broken whisper as he nods his head. "Say it again."

Your hand reaches up to comb through his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp. "So, you like being called that, huh?"

A breathy whine escapes his lips, Art's eyes fluttering as your fingers rake through his hair. It sends tingles down his spine, and he finds himself leaning into your touch, unable to hold back the quiet moan in his chest. He's already a mess at the mere mention of the words, and he can't seem to get a grip on himself. "Yes, yes-" 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

"You're all worked up, hmm? I guess I can... skip this class this one time. After all, I... can't leave my pretty boy hanging."

It's like now that you know calling him that makes Art lose his mind, you'll never stop. Art lets out another low whine, body practically deflating at those words. One look into his eyes has his breath catching, pupils blown wide and lips parted in a silent plea. "𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-" his hips jerk forward, body arching towards you as he presses his forehead into your shoulder. His breath comes heavy, chest heaving as he pants against your soft skin. "Don't tease me, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-"

"Your dorm isn't too far from here. We can go there, and... I can take care of you," your fingers glide right above his waistline, and it takes everything in him to keep himself from capturing your mouth again.

Art lets out a strangled gasp, the light touch of your fingers causing his breath to catch as a soft shiver wracks through his frame. The way his body wants to press close to yours is almost too much to control, his entire body straining to keep from arching into the touch. His chest heaves, eyes glazed as his breath comes in hot pants against your skin, mouth nearly watering with want. "𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, god, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦,"

"C'mon, then. Be a good boy and get us to your dorm," you murmur softly, although you're unsure where there newfound confidence has come from.

The quiet moan that slips from his lips is all the confirmation that's needed, his body surging forward as he pushes himself off the seat. His body is shaking, knees trembling beneath him as he pulls away. His eyes are dark, pupils still wide and his gaze hazy as he takes your hand and leads you towards his dorm.

The trek back to his dorm is a blur, his vision tunneling as his mind becomes consumed by you, and only you. His breath heaves and shakes, as his body seems to react to every move you make, shuddering and arching instinctively as his heart pounds against his chest. The sound of blood rushing in his ears is enough to drown out the world around him, the feeling of your skin on his being the only thing keeping him grounded. As soon as Art's closed and locked the door to his dorm room, you're pulling him towards you by his shirt, smashing your lips to his.

Art lets out an involuntary gasp, eyes rolling back as a low moan slips from his lips. His breath catches I'm his throat, body shuddering as he melts into the kiss. He's completely drunk on sensations, his fingers grasping at your hips with bruising force as his body arches, trying desperately to get closer. Art's body seems to have its own mind, hips rocking forward instinctively as he presses his body against yours.

It isn't long before Art's hoisted you up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist as he grinds against you. He's mouthing at your skin, kissing and sucking at your neck as your fingers tangle in his hair.

He's completely intoxicated on the feeling of you, fingers digging into your hips and breath coming in heavy pants as he presses you into the wall. His mouth attacks your neck, teeth lightly scraping along your skin as he sucks along the soft flesh. His body is practically an inferno, burning with need as he presses into you, body shaking with every movement. "𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦," he moans, the sound muffled by your throat as he presses closer. You have half a mind to tease him a little bit, make him beg for it. But the other part of you is just as desperate as he is.

You reach down, slipping your hand into his pants. You wrap your hand around his rock hard cock, touching him right where he needs it. Art's hips stutter, and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, desperate and needy.

𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭.

Art's entire body jerks in response, fingers tightening their grip on your hips as he throws his head back with a groan. His hips cant forward, pressing up into your hand with a low moan. His breath is hot and shuddering, eyes closed as he gasps for air. He's dizzy, wasted on you, and utterly lost in need. "Oh god, don't- don't stop-"

"Yeah? That it? That right where you need me?" You're talking breathily into his ear, and you're just as needy for him as he is for you.

His breath catches in his throat, moans escaping as he nods his head desperately. The way your voice sounds in his ear has his mind spinning, his hips bucking forward as he buries his face into your shoulder. "Y- you're driving me insane. I'm yours- 𝘪'𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴," he gasps out, panting against your neck, his entire body shuddering beneath your touch.

"You're so, so pretty like this, Art... you're doing so good, baby..."

Those words nearly send him spiralling, his body practically vibrating with need as a wrecked moan tears from his lips. He pants, shuddering as he lets out a broken whimper when you call him baby. "Oh, god, 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯- please, i'm good for you, i'm doing good-"

"You wanna take me to bed and we can get those clothes off? I can take good care of you..."

His breath is coming in short, shuddering pants, body shaking with need and desire as he lets out a strangled gasp. He’s nodding before the words are even fully out, hands tightening on your hips before releasing to grab your hand. His fingers link with yours, grip almost bruising as he drags you towards the bedroom. “Please,” he moans, breathless and desperate and completely gone for you.

When you reach the bed, Art turns to you, pushing you down, the movement just a bit rougher than usual. His knees knock against the mattress as he leans forward, bracing one arm against the bed as his body presses against yours, caging you in with his frame. His breathing is heavy, pupils blown wide and he's panting, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘺, as he gazes down at you. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Anything. Anything for you."

This catches you off guard a bit. You only really want one thing, and it's him. To be his. "Make me yours, Art. That's what I want," your pupils are blown just as wide as his, and your hands are already tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Art's breath catches in his chest, pupils dilating more at your words, the sound ripping a deep grown from his chest as his eyes flutter shut.

"𝘎𝘰𝘥," he hisses out, body shivering as your nails graze across his skin. "Mine, I'm yours; all yours."

He doesn't hesitate as he pushes his shirt up and off, tossing it to the side and letting it fall to the floor in a rumpled mess. He's quick to tug your shirt off, his mouth immediately latching onto the skin of your neck again.

It's only a few moments before Art's left in nothing but his boxers, and you're in nothing but your undergarments. You're straddling him, your teeth gently tugging on his bottom lip as your hips roll into his.

Art's breath is coming in heavy, panting like a dog, his body shaking as he gasps into the kiss. One hand comes up to tangle in your hair, fingers wrapping in your locks as he whines against your mouth. His body arches, head thrown back as he moans and gasps for air, trying desperately to keep up. His hips jerk forward, hard length pressing against your center as he groans, "Jesus Christ-"

He's leaking so much pre-cum, there's a wet spot starting to form in his boxers. Not that you're fairing any better, when his clothed cock nudges a certain spot, you gasp, grabbing his hands.

You want his hands on you so bad, that you mindlessly grab his larger hands, and place them right over your clothed breasts. "Take it off. You can- you can see them-"

Art's breath hitches, the whine that comes from his throat more animal than anything as he eagerly pushes himself up on his free arm. He sits up, fingers trembling as he clumsily reached behind you, unhooking your bra and pulling away as the straps slip down your shoulders. The feeling of your bare skin against his has his body burning, almost drooling as he leans down and presses his lips to your chest.

His tongue flicks out, teeth grazing against your skin as he presses open mouth kisses to your chest. One hand moves up to cup your breast, thumb and index finger gently teasing at the hardened bud. "Tell me what you need-" he moans out, the words muffled against your skin as he sucks a deep mark into the space where your neck meets your shoulder.

"Please- need you, Art. 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦-" you're moaning softly, and he knows you need him just as much as he needs you.

His breath catches at your words, body shuddering as a wanton groan slips past his lips. He's nodding, breathing heavy as he gasps out, "Yes- yes, anything, God, 𝘺𝘦𝘴-" his hips press up, rocking against yours as his body aches for you. He presses his forehead into your shoulder, panting, eyes squeezing shut and body arching into you, "need you, need to fill you up-"

He's whimpering against your skin, one arm wrapping around your hips to pull you closer, the other hand reaching down to slip between your legs. His fingers brush against the wet fabric of your underwear, gasping out as he lifts his forehead, and his hips rock harder against you. "𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵..."

You're completely soaked, and your chest heaves up and down as you look at him. Your lips are kiss-swollen, your hair is mussed, and you're clinging to him like a lifeline as his fingers graze your core.

Art's eyes are blown wide, pupils dark and mouth agape as he stares at you, almost like he wants to devour you whole (and in a way, he does). He takes in the way you stare back, flushed and panting and completely wrecked already. A low whine slips past his lips as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, fingers gently tugging at the fabric of your underwear, "please, God, I need, 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘐-"

You nod frantically, "yes- please, take them off-" he doesn't hesitate to obey, fingers slipping under the waistband to drag the fabric down your thighs. Then his mouth is on you, lips pressing against your shoulder, mouth trailing down between your breasts, and lower still across your stomach before his hot breath is ghosting over your glistening cunt.

He looks up with blown wide, darkened eyes, "God, you're so beautiful," he murmurs, voice breathless and shaking as he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. His fingers brush over your folds, touch tender and slow as he moans out, "do you want my tongue?"

"Yeah, yeah- 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-"

He looks up at you through hooded eyes, breath catching as he watches you. 𝘎𝘰𝘥, the way you're looking at him has his knees turning to goddamn jelly. Art's breath catches on a moan as he shifts, knees pushing your thighs open as he positions himself between them- and then he's dropping his head and pressing his tongue against you.

"Nngh- oh, fuck!" He's good. Like, really good at this. Shit, the way he's eating you out right now, it's like all he does is eat pussy for a living.

"God, Art-" You're moaning out his name and words of praise, needy and uninhibited. Your hands pulls on his hair, and he moans into your cunt. Maybe he likes having his hair pulled.

A low groan rumbles from his chest, reverberating through his body and your core as his eyes roll back. He's moaning- 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 against you, tongue and lips moving desperately as he does his best to take you apart. It's overwhelming, the taste of you, the feeling of you- and it's perfect.

"Oh, fuck, please- please don't stop, 𝘪'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘮-" he groans at your words, fingers digging into your hips as he works you faster, tongue swirling and lips sucking as he moans desperately against you. "Come on, I've got you- come apart for me, give me everything-"

"𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬- Art, fuck-" your hand tugs at his hair again, your hips grinding against his face. You can't help but moan loudly, almost pornographically, gasping his name like it's the only word you know as your orgasm washes over you. "You're so good- so good-"

Art's cock jumps, the feeling of you tugging his hair sending tingles down his spine. God, he loves it. His body aches, his own need making him whine against your cunt as he works you through your orgasm. It's the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen, watching you come all over his tongue and listening to you say 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 in that voice. "God- such a good girl, so pretty."

He slowly pulls away, fingers skimming over your thighs as he presses a gentle kiss to your knee. He's shaking, practically drooling as he looks down at you now, eyes darkened and full of need. His body's flushed, his lips swollen, slick with saliva and your release. "𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵- 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥-" his voice is bordering on a whine, shaking and thick with arousal and his body arches towards you with insatiable need.

"You have me."

It's all he needs to hear, almost whimpering at your words, hands grabbing your hips and pulling you closer. "I need- I need- please,"

"You need- to be inside me, pretty boy. I know that's what you need-" his breath hitches at the nickname, as he gasps out a breathy moan. 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺. You make him feel all fluttery. A sharp intake of breath betrays how much he likes that name, whining.

"Uh- do you- do you have a condom?"

Art nods frantically, mind dizzy from need and desire as he fumbles for the drawer in his bedside table, pulling out a condom. His body is shaking, fingers trembling as he tears the wrapped and rolls the condom on, breathless and panting and completely and utterly wrecked.

He settles between your legs again, his cock just barely nudging at your entrance. He looks up at you, asking the silent question of consent. When you nod, it doesn't take long.

Your hands come up to grip his shoulders as he pushes into you, nails clawing at his back. You press your face into the crook of his neck, as you gasp. "S' 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘪𝘨, so good, fuck-"

Oh, God. You're so warm, and tight, and perfect, clenching around his cock. Art's breath catches as he bottoms out, his head thrown back as his mouth drops open on a whimper. It's everything. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵, the soft, warm grip of your body and the praise that falls from your lips- it has him moaning, gasping, and falling apart. "Fuck, you're so- so fuckin' tight- feels so good-"

His body jerks forward, hips snapping as your nails scratch down his back. The sensation makes his body arch, a high-pitched moan crawling up his throat as his hands grip your hips tighter. He knows he isn't going to last very long at all.

He's panting against you as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, whining against you as he tries to keep a steady pace, his hips snapping erratically as he moans into your skin. It's hot, so hot as he whines, "baby, baby-"

You're so goddamn vocal, and he loves it, you moaning out his name, praising him so much, calling him, "good boy- fuck, so beautiful-"

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺, 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺, God, it's driving him 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦, the way you say it, the way you moan out his name like it's the only thing on your mind. Art's hips jerk forward, moans muffled against your neck as your words send a bolt of heat down his spine. He's desperate, body shaking and his moans raising in pitch. "Baby- baby, I- I need-"

His pace is becoming frantic, hips thrusting into your gummy walls at a brutal pace, as he moans and whines, head dropping to press his cheek against your shoulder, mouth panting against your skin. You're pretty sure you can feel him drooling onto your skin.

He's so close, the feeling of you and the sound of your voice pulling him closer and closer to the edge, "i'm- i'm- i'm gonna come-"

You nod so fast he swears you could've broken your neck, arms wrapped tightly around him as he fucks you at an almost punishing pace. "Me too- 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬-"

Your words have him moaning, trembling as he whines against your skin. Art's right on the cusp, breath stuttering as he chases his release, his hips slamming against yours as he gasps out, "𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵- 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵-"

Luckily for him, you've been on the edge for a while now, trying to stave it off in favor of making this last. Your head's fuzzy with your impending orgasm, and to hear him say he wants you to come first is more than enough to convince you to let go.

You pull him into a kiss, and as his cock pounds into that perfect spot a few more times, you're fucking gone, moaning into his mouth.

He moans with equal enthusiasm, body trembling at the feeling of you coming around him, squeezing him so tight, like a vice, milking the fucking cum right out of him. His fingers dig into the sheets, moaning, almost crying as he's completely lost in you.

You're still clenching around him, so warm and wet, so goddamn perfect, and he's so close, so close, just a bit more. He's gasping, whimpering, almost begging as he whines out a plea against your lips. "Please- I need- i'm-" a low groan slips past his lips as his body arches, hips pistoning into you at what's basically an animalistic pace now, and his thighs are trembling with the onslaught of his income orgasm.

"Please- 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢- 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦-" you slightly grind against him, tugging on his hair with one hand, and the other reaches for his nipple, twisting it between your fingers, and he's gone.

Art's body tenses, toes curling and mouth dropping open on a low, wrecked moan as he's sent over the edge. His hips jerk against yours, shuddering as he releases into the condom with a needy whine, fingers digging deep into the sheets as he shakes. His moans and breathless praises slip past his lips as he rides it out, burying his face in your shoulder and panting against your skin. "Jesus Christ, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺..."

Your fingers tiredly reach out to brush the sweat-soaked golden locks out of his face, gently combing through his hair. His face is pressed against your shoulder, and he's started giving you clumsy, open-mouthed kisses.

He's boneless in your arms, limbs heavy and body still tensed with the aftershocks of his orgasm. His breathing is staggered, and his eyes are half lidded, but the kisses he presses to your skin are so soft it makes something in both of your chests flutter. The way you run your fingers through his hair has him purring, body slotting itself against yours as his mind drifts.

You murmur soft words to him, "you were so good, baby... so good, I love you." Art's mind refocuses slightly at that, his mind hazy and his heart still pounding. 𝘚𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺, oh, God, he's floating, floating as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, whining weakly against you. "Love you, love you so much, good, s' so good-"

And he looks up at you with those big, baby blue eyes, you can't help but smile softly, and you cup his face in hand, your thumb gently stroking the lines underneath his eyes.

Art is practically putty in your hands, his whole body melting into mush as you run gentle fingers over his cheek. His breath catches and his body trembles, the love in your touch pulling him in and making his heart unfurl. He's completely and utterly ruined, completely enamored and hopelessly in love. His eyes are still hazy and and his breath is still shaky, but a small, sleepy smile breaks onto his lips as he gazes up at you.

And even though he wants to fight it, to hold it together he can't. Not anymore- not with the gentle touch of your fingers and the warmth of your body and the love in your eyes. His expression crumples, face dropping as suddenly tears are spilling down his cheeks and he's letting out the softest whimper. He feels so lucky, so unbelievably lucky that you actually love him back. His chest is overflowing with love for you, pouring out of him in streams, and it's so overwhelming, so much that he can't fight it and he's left trembling and weeping softly.

You sit up slightly, worried that something's wrong. Your thumbs gently wipe away the tears under his eyes, as you scan his face with a concerned expression. "Hey, hey, what's wrong, sweetheart?"

It's only in this moment that Art realizes how vulnerable he is right now, so open, so emotional, so 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵, and his breath catches on a whimper. He's completely bare right now, no longer the confident top ranked tennis player or the easy going, carefree guy who tries not to let things get under his skin. Right now, he's just a boy in love, heart so full of love got you it's leaking out of his eyes. "Nothing. I- I'm fine, I'm fine, I..."

He takes a breath, the lump in his throat thick and heavy as another tear escapes and trickles down his cheek. A beat passes before Art finally speaks up- finally verbalizes the overwhelming feelings he’s experiencing. “It’s just that- I've never felt like for anyone. I feel so lucky. I love you so much. I- sorry- I’m sorry-" he feels so 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥, so emotional, but he feels so vulnerable in this moment. So overwhelmed by his love for you.

You chide him softly, sensing his embarrassment. "Don't be sorry," you coo, leaning forward. "Never be sorry for love, baby." You press a soft kiss to his nose, using your thumbs to wipe away his tears again.

Art shivers as you kiss his nose, his breath catching at the soft touch and the gentle way you wipe his tears, your voice so loving- 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮. He gives you a watery smile in return, his fingers reaching out to gently ruck a strand of hair behind your ear. His heart feels so full, so close to bursting as he whispers out, "I love you, baby.."

"Love you too," you whisper softly, gazing at him. Art's breath hitches again at the words, something fluttering in his chest, like a thousand butterflies had suddenly come to life inside of him. He's floating, floating, when your gaze bores into him, so full of love that he can't even describe it, that he couldn't even look away if he tried.

𝘉𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺, those words from earlier had been tumbling around in his head, repeating over and over again like a broken record and as your gaze met his, he decided to ask what's probably a stupid question. "Am I really pretty, baby?"

"You are insanely fuckin' pretty, Art."

His face grows warm at your words, cheeks flushing pink under gaze and he feels butterflies fluttering in his chest again- a warm buzzing sensation all through his veins as a shy, pleased smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah?" He whispers softly, tilting his head and biting down on his lip, just needing that bit of reassurance to settle his nerves. "You really think I'm pretty?"

You hum softly, and sweetly. "Yeah, I do. Promise."

His cheeks flush a darker red at those words, eyes widening as a happy, giddy smile forms on his face. The warmth in his heart spreads across his entire chest as he beams, shy giggling slipping past his lips as he ducks his head and covers his face with his hand. "Christ, you're gonna make me blush...!" He's feeling so 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮, so incredibly flustered under your gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

Art giggles quietly against his hands, heart pounding as he feels impossibly shy. 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺, that's him. He's the pretty boy, the boy that you love and call pretty, God, he's so incredibly flustered. He mumbles out from behind his hands, still covering his face. "You're going to kill me, don't you know that?"

You giggle softly, and he swears it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, like you came from heaven. "Would that really be such a horrible way to go, baby?"

"If it was by your hands, he mumbles, peeking out from behind his hands to shoot you a charming, lopsided smile. "Then no, that would be the best way to go." He's completely infatuated with you, completely enamored and hopelessly in love. "God, you drive me crazy.

Show Me Your World - (Edge of Desire Special Chapter)

summary | Glimpses of your ever blossoming marriage with Aemond, through the eyes of people around you.

pairing | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

tags | teeth rotting fluff! ooc aemond, mentions of oral (f), ooc criston lol, alicole tease idc sue me, third pov (?), pure marital bliss

song rec | My Kind of Woman - Mac Demarco

wordcount | 3.8k

note | surprise! this is my lil thank you gift for 2k hehe this isn't necessarily a pt 2, but Edge of Desire has received soo much love and i want to try and give even just a little bit back!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

There was no doubt that the marriage of princess Rhaenyra’s only daughter to the king’s second son caused much worry from the court. The strife between the Hightowers and the Targaryens was no secret, festering into a nasty, outward conflict that ended in a boy maimed, and a family divided by sea. Viserys the Peaceful, ever faithful to his name, sought to mend this rift. 

In the moons following their marriage, it was plain to see the princess and the one-eyed prince rarely agreed with each other. A womb bearing no fruit, eyes rarely meeting, and twin frowns often decorating their features. The concerns aptly only grew. But then, something had shifted in the air.

The princess grew to be exuberant, practically glowing as her belly swelled with child. There was rarely a moment the prince was not found by her side, save for when he was training in the Keep’s yard, and even then, his ladywife was sure to be found on the castle’s balcony with a pleased smile on her face. Whispers of concern soon turned into that of courtly gossip, nobles and staff alike most eager to discover the secret in the couple’s newfound bliss. Many strained their neck to catch a glimpse of the two royals at court, keeping a close eye to notice any indication of a display of affection, though none of them ever did. The prince stood as stoic as ever, while you took your place beside him, hands clasped over your growing bump. Save for the communicative looks you exchanged now and then, the signs of a budding romance between the two of you were sparse. 

It was rather odd. Such whispers from the servants would make it seem that the prince had somehow taken on a persona straight from their mother’s tales about love, like a dashing knight head over heels for his princess, but none of them ever caught such a glimpse. All except for one. 

Sera was no significant person among the residents of the Red Keep. She was a servant, tasked with changing linens, emptying chamber pots, and seeing that the more valued inhabitants of the castle were satisfied. Any ounce of value in her low rank only came when she was made handmaiden to the princess. Stepping up to her new position, she would admit that she was quite curious. What she heard about your marriage piqued her interest, even more so when she began to step into the space that separated the royals from the lowborns. 

In your private marital chambers, the whispers began to take form, proving themselves to be true. It became customary for her to hear the rhythmic thump, thump, thump coming from your bedchamber while she set up your morning meals in the solar. High-pitched moans would penetrate through the red brick, bringing about a hot flush in the young woman’s cheeks as she hastened to lay down the cutlery before scurrying off. Sera remained invisible, merely a shadow that passed through your life, invisible hands that aided in your day. She knew her place, especially when prince Aemond was in the room while she assisted the princess. 

Once the copper tub was filled for your bath, she must make her leave in haste with one flick of the prince’s wrist.

When your husband started to approach your seated form upon the vanity as you readied for the day, Sera knew better and would step away so the one-eyed prince may inhabit your space, no matter the intricacy of the braids she was twisting your hair into. Averting her eyes, the servant could only listen to your dreamy sighs as your husband peppered kisses onto every bit of skin his lips could find.

Did it make her work lighter? Perhaps. It helped to serve two royals who wanted little but each other, who were never cruel or harsh with their tongue. It was odd to say such sentiments for what the court knew as the cold, rigid one-eyed prince, but marriage had changed much of him.

He was always handsome, despite the scar and the menacing glint in his good eye. The fearful aura he exuded in his stride made any good woman weak in the knees, coupled with that sleek, soft hair the shade of moonlight, and his lithe, tall form. Prince Aemond was far more fancied by the young maidens that served as the keep’s staff, Sera included. 

It was a particularly beautiful morn when she realized this. The spring breeze brought about a lightness through the castle, while the early morning sun beamed with hope for warmth after winter’s end. Sera made her way through Maegor’s Holdfast, her feet taking a mind of its own as it led her to your chambers. She had been at your service for a few moons at this point, a routine suitably established with time and experience. 

As she was granted entry by the White Cloak at your door, she made quick work to draw every curtain open, before making her way to the bedchamber. You must be awakened soon, and with a light knock, Sera was answered with a sleepy hum that indicated your rise.

However, such disruptions to one’s routine should always be expected. When she turned the doorknob with a soft greeting on her lips, Sera was taken aback by the sight that met her. You were, indeed, freshly awake, eyes half-lidded and hair aptly messed from the sheets, but with the addition of your husband’s kneeling form in between your thighs. His silver hair was loose, draped over his sculpted back as you gripped them in between your fingers. Neither of you seemed to notice the intruder, clearly lost in the dizzy haze of your pleasure as your hips continued to cant against Aemond’s face. It was her stunned gasp that made Sera’s presence known. For the first time, she had gotten too close, had touched the bubble that encased the couple in their marital bliss, and now it had burst. 

Both royals snapped their heads towards the door, but it was prince Aemond that made her heart beat erratically in her chest. He was without his eyepatch, nor his clean updo that kept his mane out of his face, nor a tunic or any clothing for that matter. The dazzling sapphire glinted in the morning sun, drawing her into its tantalizing spell. It was a good thing her eyes stayed there, never drifting downward to the other treasure in between his legs for the scowl on Aemond’s face made his displeasure known.

“Out,” was all he said, sending poor Sera scurrying out of the room. You would apologize to her later in the day, giving her clammy hand a soft squeeze with nothing but gentleness in your face. 

“Whatever happened to you?” Elara had asked her upon her return to the servant’s wing. The younger girl’s brows furrowed in confusion and slight worry at the beet-red flush on Sera’s face. Unlike her acquaintance, Elara’s experience with serving prince Aegon was nothing short of harrowing, and such a reaction on Sera was enough to have her assuming the worst. “Were you harmed?”

“No, no! Hells, I–” Sera stammered. When did she begin to perspire so much? Her nape was damp with flustered sweat from the aftermath of such embarrassment. Detailing the moments of her eventful morning was a struggle, even more so when Elara burst out giggling in her face. Sera slapped her hands over her face, groaning. “The prince wasn’t supposed to be there so late. He would be off to the yard with Ser Cole at this hour!”

The young blonde shook her head in amusement, hands still busy with folding linens. “Gods, the princess is a lucky one, isn’t she? Prince Aemond seems like a total dreamboat compared to his brother.” She leaned closer to Sera, whispering. “Did you see his—?” 

“His what?” she replied, not fully understanding the cryptic tilt of her head and the smirk on her face.

“Well, you know… his High Tower!”

Both girls erupted into a fit of laughter, though old Hilda wasn’t too happy with their slacking off. 

The second time Sera had found herself bestowed another close glimpse of the couple was during the hour of the owl. You were only a few days away from term, and the maester had you isolated for the rites of seclusion prior to your labors. Aemond, in an isolated state of his own, was forbidden to visit you even in daylight for propriety’s sake. Your marital chambers never felt so empty, with your absence ridding it of any life that came with your mere presence.

It was a miserable affair, both for you and your husband. Sera had seen how the separation was affecting her princess. You were lonely, weary from the aches of your belly, and losing your appetite from the desolate state of your chambers. It had her worried, even more so when word of your husband’s anxious state reached her ears. She ought to do something, but she had little power over the order of the maesters, even more so when it was approved by the queen herself. 

Perhaps it was by fate when one night, she… forgot to close the door firmly behind her when she was granted her leave for the evening. It granted the prince entry, after many nights of pacing through the halls for any chance to slip into his wife’s chambers without being detected. She stayed in the shadows of an alcove, counting the minutes until she heard the familiar gait of the one-eyed prince taking the path she had just passed. 

She couldn’t help herself. With featherlight steps, Sera tiptoed back to your door, peeking through the slight crack left ajar. What she saw almost had her thinking it was a repeat of that one morning, but it was something far more intimate.

There he was, the one-eyed prince Aemond, kneeling before your seated form like a devotee. His face was nuzzled into your lap, his arms wrapped around the swollen bump that housed your offspring. Your hands rubbed down his back soothingly, while your cheeks glistened under the dim light of your chambers. Tears of happiness, Sera realized. Like always, your husband peppered kisses all over— your hands, your belly, even on the swell of your bosom that threatened to spill from your garments.

It was nothing debauched, nor depraved, but filled with far more passion than she had ever seen in her young life. She had never seen two souls so profoundly intertwined, deep into the throes of your love in a way that seemed unfathomable in this cruel life. It was no fairytale, but very much real. 

He looked unrecognizable like this, with a face so peaceful and a touch so gentle. His thin lips moved with words inaudible to Sera’s ears, but the way your face glowed brighter than it had been for these past days made the young girl’s chest swell with a yearning for something of her own. She could only pray that her princess would only find happiness in her marriage, and that the gods would grant herself a love that could be half as full as yours.

Prince Aemond was no man of big gestures. He was not one to scream his love from the rooftops, nor wear his heart on his sleeve, but with his forehead pressed into your bump, Sera learned that whispers of a true love were far greater than proclamations of folly.

Criston Cole did not believe in love. It was a fool’s wish. The only time he had gotten close to dabbling into the idea of it had left him broken, honor sullied for a princess who returned little of what he had given. Rhaenyra was a thorn in his past, and her bastards were a blatant reminder of his divulgence into her trap. Hence, his apprehension upon the news of the marriage of the heir’s only daughter to Alicent’s thirdborn. 

What was he to say? To do? Nothing. Criston had overstepped his bounds once and it had ended with his white cloak dirtied and his sanity balanced on the tip of his sword. This match was doomed to fail, he had no doubt of it, but he kept his mouth shut. The Dornishman was quite famed for his good swordsmanship, and his humble beginnings, but especially more so of his handsome looks. Olive skin, luscious dark locks, and wide brown orbs that glimmered like topaz under the southern sun. Those eyes held less composure than the rest of his face. They were a window of his thoughts, and they spoke of the words his tongue held back. Cole’s contempt for Rhaenyra’s blood was ever evident in the sharp gaze he threw your way. You were of your mother’s sin, yet you walked in these halls as if though you were anything but a blaring reminder of it. 

Criston knew of Aemond’s nature. He had spent many hours honing the young prince’s skills with a sword, had taken him and his mother to the Sept for their prayers. Cole had even held him while he writhed in pain when the maester took out the stitches of his slashed eye. The second prince shared his disdain for Rhaenyra and her brood, perhaps even more so than the knight himself. And so, he was well aware that Aemond found no positives in his marriage. 

For a while, the knight believed the younger to share such sentiments, but the stories of your blossoming marriage had filtered through the Keep, inevitably reaching the ears of the White Sword Tower. His response was nothing but a scoff. Criston did not consider himself a believer of such change, but when he began to see it for himself, his views faltered. 

Namedays of the royal family were always celebrated with grandeur and splendor. Helaena’s twins had just turned five, and the court had taken to the Kingswood for the royal hunt. It was a splendid affair, the young babes garnering much attention from the guests. Aegon, surprisingly enough, was enthusiastically present for his children. The elder held much love for his children, and it made for an endearing sight to see. This had lightened the attention on prince Aemond and his ladywife, who were bound to be parents of their own.

The news of your pregnancy had garnered much praise and well wishes from the court, and before you even began to grow round with child, all eyes were constantly on you and Aemond. Though that night, you had been granted reprieve. 

Cole stood beside the queen Alicent as she sat, ever faithfully upholding his duty. It was customary for him to scan the room constantly, keeping himself aware of any potential threat to his queen. There he found prince Aemond and his ladywife, secluded in their own little corner of the royal tent.

You had whispered something into Aemond’s ear with a cherubic smile, before covering your mouth with a ringed hand as giggles spilled from your lips. The knight fought back the urge to roll his dark, chocolate orbs at such a display, knowing the second prince well enough that such behavior did not bode well with him. 

Yet, he found himself mistaken. In the dim amber glow of the royal pavilion, it was easy to overlook the way Aemond’s silver tresses swayed as his head bowed followed by the most peculiar sight. The leather of his doublet moved up and down as his shoulders shook. Criston may have been granted only the sight of the prince’s back, but it was plain enough to see.

He was laughing. 

In all his years serving the Hightowers, the most he had ever seen from Aemond was a smirk, or a dark chuckle when he bested his mentor while they trained. Cole believed his eyes to be deceiving him, but the pleased look on your face and the bubbling laughter that echoed through the night was testament enough that you had the power to loosen the prince’s otherwise rigid grip on his composure. You were stuck to his side, heads huddled together as you whispered about gods know what. It might have been the wine or the warmth exuded by the torches littered about, but your cheeks were flushed like a rose. 

Beyond his conscience, the sight had pulled a smile of his own. Something akin to elation sweltered in the knight’s chest. It pleased him to see the prince so relaxed, free from the tension he always carried. Criston would have you to thank for it. 

Beside him, Alicent was looking at him as though he had grown a second head. Her sworn shield seldom found things that amused him, and even then, it was rather disturbing to her. “What amuses you, good ser?” she asked, taking Criston by surprise. His cheeks quickly dropped to his usual formal state, throat clearing to regain his composure. The queen, ever observant followed where his eyes had flickered to. Across from where she sat, her second son held an arm around his wife’s waist, whispering into each other’s ear while sharing a cup of wine. Wide smiles mirrored each other, their gazes focused on no one else but them. The sight made the queen’s cheeks dimple into a small smile, a warmth in her motherly heart filling her with hope. It had been many years ago when Alicent deemed herself cursed by the gods, given a fate so cruel. It had shaken her faith, even more so when it appeared to have trickled down to her children. Aemond had the worst of it— a dragon egg turned to stone, an eye cruelly taken, and a ghost of a father. She feared for what may become of him, with his wrath and fury that seemed to guide his aspirations. Yet now, as she watched her favored son let his wife take his cheek into her hand so publicly, Alicent prayed that the tides were turning for him. Perhaps you might change his fate. Perhaps he might be spared yet. “He’s been quite happy as of late,” Alicent mentioned, turning to Criston. A look filled with mirth equaled that of the Dornishman before her, who nodded in agreement.

“He has, my queen. It pleases me greatly to see the prince so content. The princess brings out the best in him,” Cole replied. They shared smiles of their own, and the knight felt emboldened by the glee they shared. He shuffled ever so closely to her seat, the warmth exuding from her pale flesh emanating through the cold steel of his armor. As they both watched you take Aemond’s hand to lead him out of the pavilion, Criston willed himself to keep his composure as Alicent ever so subtly leaned against his arm.

Criston was present in much of what happens in the royal family. He was there for every nameday, every birth, and every milestone that Alicent’s children had. Albeit, he was in the background, but he was there. It did not change when they became parents themselves, with Helaena and Aegon having three babes, while Aemond and his ladywife were now about to have a child of their own.

Aemond had been an anxious mess all morning. Your labors had begun just as dawn broke, and pursued well through noon. Queen Alicent made her way to your chambers to check on your well-being as soon as the council dispersed, with Cole naturally in tow. Your husband had to be pushed back by several knights as the grand maester forbade him to enter the birthing chamber, fighting to be by your side. Your wails and cries had him distressed, even more so when he could clearly hear you call for him. It was only when his mother arrived did Aemond settle, uneasily staying in the common room as she was permitted to see you in his stead.  “This is her fight, Aemond. You must let them do their work,” Alicent said, planting a soothing kiss on her son’s cheek before entering the birthing chamber. 

His mother’s presence did little to quench his worries, and the one-eyed prince had settled to lean on the windowsill, fists clenched on the stone as his head bowed. From his place by the door, Cole approached him with quiet steps, settling beside his tense form. “She will be alright,” he said. “The princess is strong. A dragon in her own right.” He was responded by only a grunt from the younger, who kept his good eye closed as he steadied his breathing.

It was quiet between the two, just as it always was with Aemond. The only sound in the room was your outcries of pain that only seemed to grow louder by the minute. With a heavy sigh, Aemond spoke. “What did she thank you for?”

“My prince?” Criston asked, confused.

“My wife. When she first arrived from Dragonstone, I heard her whisper her thanks to you, and her apology for having done so too late. What did she have to thank you for?”

Cole huffed a small chuckle at the memory. It was many, many years ago when you were merely a girl. You used to play with Helaena in the gardens so often, especially during the spring afternoons when the butterflies danced above the bushels of flowers. Alicent would find time to watch over the young princesses, with her sworn shield following their tail through the royal gardens.

One afternoon, both girls had been so enthusiastic with the amount of colorful butterflies that flittered about. Helaena had her eyes set on a pretty blue one, crossing the wooden footbridge over the small pond in the middle of the greenery. 

The pair made haste to follow the girls, but you came running back, with a quivering frown. You had clutched onto Criston’s cloak, refusing to cross over the small, wooden bridge. It was littered with frogs from the pond. The tiny green things gave you a fright, and Criston had to carry you in his arms over to where Helaena played in the grass. Your excitement had quickly been restored once your fear was gone, short legs quickly wriggling out of the knight’s grip to rejoin your aunt.

A decade later, you voiced your regrets over your rudeness and thanked Criston for his help on that day.

“It was for something so little that did not require such importance, but the princess was gracious to remember so,” Cole smiled. Aemond’s lips had lifted into a smile of his own at the thought of you, slim cheeks dimpling. 

“She is full of nothing but kindness,” the prince said fondly, straightening his posture with more ease. “I am rather undeserving of it.” Aemond’s response made Cole frown, the elder knight clasping the prince’s shoulder in a fatherly squeeze. 

“The gods have deemed you most deserving of it, Aemond. You were fated for each other. I have witnessed no other pair to have been more well suited in this lifetime, believe me.” Such words were so foreign to leave Cole’s lips, but they held no lie. A shrill cry had then pierced through the air, and Alicent had opened the door with a wide smile on her face. ‘Tis a girl! was her exclaim, and Aemond had rushed off from Criston’s side to see his wife. 

Pleased, the knight stayed in his place, off to the side as the royals celebrated yet a new beginning in their lives.

Criston may not believe in love, nor has he felt it, but he has seen it. 

It could be quite beautiful, he realized. 

LITTLE BOX FULL OF SURPRISES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

based on this request⭑.ᐟ

-ˋˏsummary: The maimed one-eyed prince marries the most beautiful woman on earth. She is dutiful, beautiful and perfect, but Aemond can't stand when someone, specially his uncle, look with desire at what it is his. ✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Tully!Original Female Character ✧word count: 3.1k ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, p in v sex, dom/sub undertones, face slapping, spitting on the mouth, degradation kink, possesive Aemond, Aemond is WHIPPED by his wife.

Every time his grandsire and his mother spoke of a Lady of great beauty coming to King’s landing, he rolled his eye. 

Even when they present a small portrait, small to fit his palm, he does not seem impressed. Perhaps it is too small, perhaps it is too pretentious. Either the painter exaggerated your features or he couldn’t properly paint a small portrait. But he was curious, after all. Named the most beautiful woman on earth, blessed by the Gods. 

He doesn’t doubt that Lady Tully was beautiful. Perhaps she was truly a beautiful woman, with her long red hair, ‘like fire’ said the letter. But being called The Maiden on Earth seems exaggerated to him.

His grandsire had told them about the implications of his betrothal, about how important it was to have secured the Riverlands, since Grover Tully was an old lord, and will not understand reason. To have his most beloved granddaughter as a princess, was the only way to win his approval, and support. 

Aemond finally meets her on the little garden near the Weirwood tree. They had been serving little cakes, as some lords and ladies talked nearby, not even half of court was here, and he liked the quietness. That made him less self-conscious.

She was near the table, her hand hovering above all the treats she could get, smiling as she watches them with interest. She is expressive, he realises. He hasn’t seen her face, only her back and the day her hand moves and her head is tilted, curious about the southern gastronomy.

 “My lady” Aemond says softly. 

She turns so gracefully, and she is surprised to see him. Her hand still extended, and she quickly moves it to grab her skirts, and do a courtesy to him. She has a sweet smile, and she speaks. 

 “My prince” she says, a bit surprised. “I… I didn’t expect you.”

“I must admit I came a bit earlier than agreed…” he murmurs, looking behind him and then back to her.

The most beautiful maiden on earth fell short to her. She was… something else, in the best way possible. She had that curiosity, that life in her eyes, as she smiles at him, her lips are perfect, and he could see that her maids probably used those Myrish lip taints, for they were a very natural red colour, almost matching with her hair. Her dress was magnificent, wearing the colour of her house, red and blue decorating everything. Even her eyes, blue like the opaque blue rivers in the Riverlands, and her hair, red like flames, matched with her house colours. She wore fish details, her earrings and in her dress pattern. But she was wearing a collar with a seven pointed star in it, and he sighed at her beauty. She was breathtaking.

“Oh, well, so it seems…” she says as she smiles a bit sheepishly, looking at him. “It’s a fine castle, my prince. It does have its own beauty.” 

Aemond has never thought of the red Keep as something beautiful, at all. He always wanted to live in Dragonstone, but his wish was not granted.  But, if she says so, it must be true, and with good reason.

“You think so?” 

She grabs a lemon cake, and eats it carefully as she nods. “Yes! And you also have a Weirwood tree here. When we made our trip here, we passed through Raventree, and their Weirwood was a bit… depressing…” she says, smiling sweetly. “But here it’s very beautiful. More… alive”

As she talks, he watches her closely. Even when his mother, his sickly father and his siblings arrive, when his mother gives him a scolding look for arriving earlier, he sort of watches you in silence, his chest swelling with an air of mystery. 

“You are not what I expected” he admits, quietly between the two of them as their parents talked about the betrothal.

“No?” She asks smiling, licking her finger from the cream of the lemon cakes. “You’ll see I’m a little box full of surprises” 

That’s the beginning.

A ceremony on the Sept, as she stood next to him, reciting vows and the cloak with dragon sigils is on her shoulders, left behind the fish one. Aemond has never looked so smug and proud. The bedding ceremony was… traditional. Having a crowd was awkward for both, surely, but Aemond made it all more comfortable for her, covering her body with his, and not exposing her, at his own expense.

“Just focus on me” He murmurs closely to her face, as she looks at him with wide eyes. He was between her open legs, and he insisted for her to keep her chemise on, while he had no problem in nudity “Your septa and mother could have told you…”

“Not much” She whispers back.

“Not much” he repeats, moving a strand of hair out other face, tenderly watching her face for discomfort. “But I will be gentle, and… we’ll learn together. Yes?”

“Yes. Thank you…, husband” she says, and he feels a prideful pressure on his chest. He was her husband. The most beautiful woman’s husband. 

And she was always thankful for his patience and gentleness towards her, and she stuck to him to all times, even when she was in court, charming everyone around. Her arm was always interlocked with his, and referred to him as ‘her sweet husband’. 

Love came quieter than expected, as they laughed on their bed at nights, having picnics in the gardens or going to the Riverlands in Vhagar together, swimming on Riverrun’s rivers, and just… enjoying each other. It was more than love when they had their first son, a lovely and happy baby, mismatched eyes, with both purple and a deep blue. Aemond adored his son, his little Daerion, and he adored you more.

“Black looks well on you” Aemond comments. 

Daerion’s blabbing was a way to agree with Aemond’s statement as the maid finished putting on her headband, the same tone of her dress. Her orange hair is in braids, two simple ones with some gold details on them, and some dragon earrings that he gifted her. She was gorgeous, and all his. 

“Your wardrobe hasn’t changed” she states looking at him. “Went from velvet black to dark black” 

Aemond walks over to his wife, watching her being just so beautiful like that, sitting, waiting peacefully like a porcelain doll.

“Mhm... As if changing colours would make everything amicable…” Aemond murmurs, taking Daerion in his arms, and he allows him to play with his hair. “Does father know it’s useless? Rhaenyra wearing green won’t change anything, nor will my mother wearing black. HIs voice comes as a grunt as he bounces their baby. 

“It’s foolish when you put it that way” her voice is tender, sweet, and somewhat like velvet. He is still besotted by her, as maidens do with knights. He watches the shape of her breasts on that dress, how the cleavage is so delightful for his eyes and the roundness of her tits that make the fabric around stretch a bit. As if the tailor always got the measurement of her chest wrong on purpose, which he won’t complain about. 

Her bright red hair contrasts with how the black makes her skin look paler, and her eye colour deeper.

“They shouldn’t call you the Maiden herself anymore” Aemond murmurs softly, walking closer to her, still holding Daerion in his arms. “You are like the mother herself. Like the Goddess Syrax of Old Valyria. Beautiful, strong… so alluring…”

“You never seem to run out of compliments” her hands move to grab her rings, and the one he likes the most is the sapphire one, just to symbolise her marriage to him. 

“Never, more so if a goddess like you is my wife. All mine…”

“My prince, my lady.” It’s a Kings guard who interrupts. “Supper is ready, and Queen Alicent asks for you both to arrive earlier…”

“Hm” Aemond says, leaving Daerion in the wet nurse’s arms.

“Thank you, ser Willis” the knight smiles at his wife before walking to wait outside the door.

He rolls his eye as he leans to kiss his son’s forehead, caressing his chubby cheek and he smiles fondly at his sight. The little freckles he has that he inherited from his mother, something that Aemond loved. Yet remembering how unnecessary kind his wife is… annoys him.

Kindness and sweetness only helped to enhance her beauty and popularity, and he also loved that. She was beautiful, perfect in any way, tied to a One-Eyed maimed monster, like him. All he could offer to you, that it was worthy, was the luxuries of the royalty, all the kids you want and his unconditional love. He was at your mercy.

He has one eye, but he is not blind. Any man here on the keep, would pull their breeches down if his wife asked so. They would even cut their own throats for her mere delight, and Aemond would be one of them. 

“Goodbye, my sweet love” the sweet motherly tone makes little Daerion squeal happily, extending his little arms for his mother. She kisses both his hands, later to wave to him as they leave the room, arms interlocked.

Aemond always bites his tongue when his lady wife is kind to men. He hates it, yet he knows she does it for the kindness of her heart, and not any ulterior motives.

He was smitten for her, moving the chair for her to sit, and helping her, her dress not getting stuck anywhere or her headpiece, and only then, he sat on his own seat at peace.

“I heard they might have some goose” she murmurs to him, as the room fills. Her fingers caress his arm, and he hears her every word. “I’d eat it all if I could, you know” she teases.

“Mhm.” Aemond murmurs. Even if he is besotted, his facade is still the same; stoic, cold, distant. Yet to her, his gaze was always loving.

“I would only share it with you” she states proudly, leaning to give him a peck on the lips, before standing up once the King is brought to the room.

As he stands, he doesn’t miss how his uncle watches her. Aemond might not know the man personally, but he knew the look of desire in a man’s face. Much more when they looked at her 

The supper is mostly… tense, and awkward. But Lady Tully is charming to everyone and even toasts as well for Baela and Rhaena in their betrothal, congratulating them and speaking nothing but wonders about her own married life, making Aemond wear the slightest, yet most smug smirk on his face.

“Amazing” she says, with her mouth full as she eats the goose, and Aemond nods, a hand rubbing her back so she doesn’t choke for eating so quickly. “Here, my love” she says, extending the fork with a bit of the goose that she adores so much. 

Aemond eats shamelessly, enjoying the taste as he nods softly, approving, which makes her smile. His hand resting on the back of her chair, as he drank his wine quietly, watching his sister and nephew go to dance together. He is highly unaware of the prying eyes that watch them both.

Helaena and Jacaerys’ giggles and the movement of her dress is enough for lady Tully to watch curiously. Her husband was not one for dances, as he had not a good perception of objects with one eye. She never pressured him, and accepted the fact. 

She always would say how Daerion once he would be tall enough to walk, she’d dance with her son all the songs and dances, and Aemond approved that idea. 

“Lady Tully” It was Daemon Targaryen’s deep voice, and she looks at him a bit surprised, leaving her fork on the table as she covers her mouth, her hand unconsciously fetching wine, which Aemond hands her his. 

“Prince Daemon” her melodic voice is a bit confused, and more so when the uncle of her husband extends his hand. The green fabrics from his suit are deep, yet he still wore dragon details on it, and he looked smug about it.

She turns to watch Aemond, his jaw tensing as he looks at Daemon. And he has to physically stop himself from cutting his uncle’s throat when his wife walks with him to join Helaena and the bastard. Aegon and he share a look, both upset and annoyed, as their wives are so freely dancing with other men. 

Aemond watches her beautiful face, frowning as Daemon talks about something, whispering it closely so no one else hears it. His grip on the edge of his seat is strong; knuckles’ turning white as his jaw is tense, not looking pleased at all. And then, he hears her warm laugh, giggling at what he said, as her whole face brightened up.

Once they serve the pig in front of him and hear the little bastard giggles, it is enough to send him through a fit of rage. 

He literally drags his wife by the arm after everything went downhill, after saying that stupid toast, after the Velaryon’s boys attempt to defend themselves (very badly) and both her husband and her good brother humiliate them.

“Dancing with him” Aemond murmurs, walking to their shared chambers, not minding seeing the servants stop and look at them both. “Accepting it, and giggling to his jokes as he shamelessly flirts with you” 

“It was politeness...” her voice is weak when protesting.

“Did he mocked me for having only one eye?” He asks roughly. “Did he told you how beautiful your are and how full your breasts are?”

She opens her mouth a bit taken aback by his lewds remarks. “I am dutiful to what it’s expected of me. I wouldn't have allowed him to mock you”

“You should…”

“My family’s words are Family. Duty. Honour. And you know I care for that very deeply.” she says as she tries to keep up with his long steps “And I did just what was asked…”

“You are mine” he states, walking inside his chambers as his grip does nothing but become stronger. “My wife and you are… putting yourself in display for my uncle, laughing at his flirting. I know your family words are important for you, but this is… beyond that”

Perhaps it was her confused eyes or her angelic face, but he loosened up his grip yet he kept talking. 

“He wanted you! To have you below him and fuck you like a… wench or… or some kind of…”

“I know” 

Aemond turns drastically, eye twitching at his wife's words.

“You knew?”

“It was being cordial. It was duty. To amend broken ties…”

“I will break and burn and turn into ashes any ties from you to him” he says exasperated, insane with jealousy. His eye is wide, twitching in rage as he cannot believe this. She was his wife. 

Seeing Daemon’s hand grip on her hip, almost groping her, made him insane. Because he knew that Lady Tully, beautiful as the Maiden, a beloved goddess amongst the poor and rich, could do so much better than him. Yet, she still chooses him.

“Get naked” he says simply.

“What?”

“You heard me just right. Get. Naked.” He says again, not wanting a negative. 

Her whine is endearing, as she starts taking off little by little. Her gown, the diminutive buttons at the back, her collar, and her hellish headpiece.

“Let me” he grumbles as he helps her take off the headpiece, tossing it aside more carefully.

She is possibly the most beautiful when she is naked. Round breasts, even fuller thanks to lactating, and her body was tempting enough to anyone. 

“Undress me” he says instead. He took delight when she was the one serving him, in this way. He loved to see her desperation, her eagerness for him. His jerkin is out in no time, and she kneels to undo his breeches.

Because she had an angelic face, but it was only he who knew how obsessed she was with his cock. She could spend hours lying on the bed, sucking his cock as she rested her head on his abdomen as Aemond read. She wouldn’t even suck him off properly, his wife would only suck the tip, give kitten licks, and lazily press some kisses. During hours and hours. 

“I forbid you to speak to any one of them. Ever again” 

Confused eyes turned up to look at him, as the careful hands undid his breeches, almost a bit eagerly. “Forbid?”

“Hm. It’s what I said, is it not?” He says, narrowing his eye as if asking to be defied. 

“But it’s mad” she protests, frowning. “I promised Jace and Baela a tour in the gardens, and it would be impolite if I didn’t spoke-”

“Too bad” his voice cuts the conversation, and he is not leaving it up for conversation. 

“You are being irrational...”

“And you are being a fucking brat” he spats, grabbing her chin as he bites his lower lip. “I’ll show you how irrational I can get”

Her eyes watched him, almost too innocent for her own good. It made him hard; he could feel his cock stirring on his untied breeches. 

“Fucking slut, giving yourself to other men” his tone is harsh, but by the way her knees move, to accommodate the weight as he grips her chin, he knows that she is aroused. So is he.

Lady Tully was beautiful, and a box of surprises with everything, he realised with time. He had everyone trapped under her charms, and kept her secrets very private. And he loved it.

“Whore.”  His hand leaves her chin, only to move it to slap her across the face. 

She gasps, her face turned. It wasn’t harsh, yet the sting was burning on her skin, as she placed a hand on her cheek. To foreign eyes, he just slapped his wife. But he has done it before, to her request. Aemond knew that if his wife was enraged by that, he would have been beaten over and over, because she was kind, but didn’t stand for people dishonouring her. 

Aemond, more gently places his hand back on her chin, pulling it so she can look at him. “You will learn your place” Aemond says, as she looks up at him, with those meek eyes of hers. He loved her eyes. “Open your mouth”

 He leaned down, his mouth opening over hers, so near that she could feel his hot breath. His hand goes to wrap the bright red hair of hers, and his firm grip got her head secured. 

Perhaps Aemond would kiss those perfect lips, yet he pulled back and released a strand of saliva directly into her waiting mouth. Aemond’s fingers tightened the grip in her hair, as his other hand came up to wipe away the excess of spit. 

“There is my good girl” he murmurs, looking at her. “Mhm. I’m going to teach you a lesson” 

Aemond lifts his wife to her feet as if she weighs nothing, his grip on her hair almost dragging her to the bed, forcefully as he heard her little whines. He had a moment or two to decide which position suited best, for then to grab her hips and guide her to be on her hands and knees. He grabs the long red hair once again, angling her head to the side, because Aemond needed to see her face the same way he needed air.

She was soaking wet, and that is a satisfaction for her husband. Aemond accommodated behind her, watching her body as he positioned his cock at her entrance.

 “Such a sweet little cunt” he growls, his eye flashing with lust and desire as he thrusts into her from behind, in one swift motion. 

Her whimpers and pants are loud, as she grips on the sheets as her back is arched. She was desperate to be filled and fucked, not something unusual. The unusual thing was that… nothing happened.

“Aemond” She whines, moving her head to watch him from above her shoulder. She had that desperate, pitiful appearance that he loved.

“Yes, my love?” He asks almost nonchalantly, watching her ass, and how his cock is fully sank inside her 

She can barely think straight as his dick is deep inside her, throbbing in her walls as she just needs him to start fucking her. “Eh… move?”

“I don’t think so” he murmurs, his hand moving to caress her ass to his liking. “You’ll have to fuck yourself on my cock” His wife opens her mouth, confused as her eyebrows frown in hesitation. “Show me how much you need me” he says simply, he was fucking teasing her. “How much you need my cock”

Feeling the thick length of Aemond’s cock inside her, she accommodates on her hands, slowly moving away just to sink down onto his cock again. Her slick walls gripping him tightly as she impales herself on his thick cock. 

“Aemond… Fu-uck, you feel… oh, yes…” She whimpers, and her voice is filled with pleasure as her pussy starts getting pounded as she liked so much. If Lady Tully liked something in life, was probably getting fucked until her mind is mush.  

Her hips start moving on their own accord, as she grips on the sheets, trying to keep a stable posture to move her hips better, as her moans are obscenely loud, trying to get his cock deeper and deeper. Aemond leaves a groan, watching how she sinks down on his cock, and it is an image that would make any man cum in seconds. He truly was the luckiest man ever. 

He feels the fire in his stomach tighten, as her moans grew more and more delighted to the feeling of his cock pounding into her. At first, she had thought of it as promiscuous, and asked the maiden for forgiveness, but gods damn her if it wasn’t the best thing in life to get a good fuck from the love of her life.

“So responsive when getting a cock in your needy pussy” Aemond mutters, as one of his hands raises to spank her ass, the sharp slap only serves for the sounds coming out of her mouth to increase, and he spanks her again, and again, and again, to his own amusement and delight. 

“Please, Aemond…” 

“You just love misbehaving with me, because you know I will put you in your place” he says, moving forward to her body to grip his hair with his right hand, his left goes right next to her hand gripping the sheets to hold his weight. “Because you are a needy whore” he states, gripping her hair as she nods forcefully. 

“Yes” she says, in that whiny tone of hers. He knows her reactions yet every time they aroused him even more. “Yes, please”

The grip on her hair only serves to help him push her back against his cock, his hips now making the effort to start properly pounding into her cunt as she loved; hard, rough and at a deliciously good pace. Her body is practically numb as he starts to use her body for his own pleasure, just as she loved.

Who would have said that the most beautiful woman on earth loved being used by her husband? Definitely not him. She was the most perfect creature, in any way. Smart, funny, pretty, a good wife and mother. And yet she always craved his cock, like the filthiest whores of Flea Bottom. 

“Let those bastards hear you, hm?” He asks, as he leans to speak lowly near her ear. “How it’s your husband who pleases you. Perhaps my uncle will get the notion that you are mine. Only mine. Fucking mine. That fucking dodderer will die by my hand if he ever dares to lay his eyes on you” 

The mere thought infuriates him, making his hips slam into her harder and more feral. Rutting into her cunt in an animalistic pace as he has to clench his jaw in rage. His hand on her hair and the other on her waist, he groans at the feeling of her soaking cunt. 

The sobs he hears as his cock keeps on pounding into her sweet spot, makes him smug enough, and even more aroused. His sweet lady wife, so prone to cry when she had too much pleasure when she got overwhelmed with lust. 

“Please, please…” the round of pleas comes up with her tears, and Aemond moans, shamelessly, as he was so close. “I can’t t-take i-it… anymo-ore” 

“Oh, you will” he says through gritted teeth as he lets go of her hair, only for his other hand to go to her shoulder to help her get his dick deeper. “I will breed you. Cum so deep that my seed takes root, and everyone will know who you belong to.” 

Her nods between sobs, pleas and trembling legs help him pound in feral thrusts into her, feeling her cunt already milking him, inner walls attempting to squeeze his dick inside and never let it go.

“Cum for me, my love” he murmurs, still fucking her deep and nice how she likes it. “My beautiful wife” he murmurs, besotted by her as she cries, her tears rolling down her rosy cheeks with little freckles that he adored. 

The little spasms of her body, her wails and the way her cunt squeezes him, it’s enough to drive him to the edge, holding her body down into his cock as he moans loudly, rolling his eye back in pleasure as he cums hard. She whimpers, whining a bit as his seed just keeps on filling her, his balls tensing up as his grip will probably leave her delicate skin with red marks.

He is caring afterwards, as he cleans her with a towel, or when he places her in bed and covers her, lying by her side each time as she snuggles to him.

“You have to know–” she says softly, her fingers tracing circles on his chest. “You are hot when jealous”

Aemond huffs, grumbling about it a bit as he seems reluctant. It amuses her.

“You always find me hot, I could be… Killing a chicken and you would be leaking”

“Get on my place for a moment, please, just imagine how your muscles would flex” she says dead serious and he rolls his eye amused, as the corners of his lips gives him away.

The fixation on his hair would be a problem if he didn’t love her so much. Aemond allows his lady Tully to braid it as they talk in bed. 

“I didn’t really mean it” he says softly. 

“Hm?” She asks curious, her fingers working on a single small braid on his hair.

“You can talk to them” he says through gritted teeth. “Just-... not too much”

Her little laugh warms his heart. “Very well” she says amused. “For each sentence I say to them, I will suck you”

“I retract myself, talk to them very much, all you like” he says, and it has her giggling. “You know I love you…” he says; as it comes into his view her concentrated face, her tongue coming out of her pink lips as she was focused. He could see the freckles that he so adored, and her pretty eyes. How he loved her.

“You know I love you more…” she says fixing his braid to stick to his hair. Her mouth forms a pleased smile as she sits, as she inspects her work. “Yes. Seems pretty nice”

He could feel the hair strand tight, and he moved his hand to touch his head. “What in the Seven Hells you did to my hair, woman?” 

She looks very pleased as she giggles, her body accommodating against his chest as she shrugs innocently, as he keeps on playfully trying to decipher what his wife did to his hair. 

Sneak Away

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Fem! Sister-wife! Reader

Requested?: No

Summary: There's perks in knowing Maegor's tunnels, and Aegon makes the most of it, by going to you every time the world seemed to turn against him, and tonight, you remind him how good he can be.

Word count: 3.2k

Warning/s: 18+ MINORS DNI!! canon-typical incest and language, smut! piv, unprotected sex, virginity loss, porn w little plot?? help- sub! aegon, dom but virgin! reader (is that a thing or did i make that up), slight angst? hurt/comfort, aegon having a praise kink, possesive aegon, breast play, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, slight breeding kink from aegon, lmk if i missed anything!

Note: mind empty- need aegon- first time writing for him i hope i did okay- i don’t think i was thinking when i was writing this <3 likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are always appreciated!

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

Only few knew the hidden pathways hidden within the Red Keep, Maegor’s tunnels, they call it, some say the secret passages were haunted by every stonemason, woodworker, and laborers who participated in building such intricate pathways- only to be ordered to be slain by Maegor, promising that only those of the blood of the dragon would know where every path led, whether it leads out into the streets, or rather a different room in the Red Keep.

For Aegon, he had grown to use these secret pathways for his own escape and enjoyment possibly out in the streets… or mostly to visit his sister-wife at night in her own chambers when she does not sleep in his chambers, using the tunnels to effortlessly keep away from prying eyes and ears. 

You. You were the twin-sister of Helaena, the princesses ever so adored by the realm and yet barely seen out the Red Keep. You and Helaena, much as twins you were, you two had contrasting personalities.

As Helaena liked to keep to herself with her fascination with critters and such, you were more into the knowledge of the realm, nose always buried within a book or always eagerly attending your lessons with the Septa. 

Until you had come of age along with Helaena, wherein your mother, Alicent Hightower had initially proposed Helaena to be wedded to Aegon, in which you did not agree with, having witnessed Aegon’s recklessness and his debauchery, you cared for your twin too much to imagine her with someone like Aegon. 

And therefore you were the one wedded to your older brother, Aegon. Aegon, however, wasn’t also somehow pleased with the notion, he found you utterly annoying, ‘too smart for your own good’ as he could recall your countless banters with one another. 

However, as your marriage came to be, it almost gave you whiplash on how different Aegon had acted before to now. Yes, he despised your marriage, but soon he also found himself stuck with your company whether you both liked it or not.

One night you had found Aegon stumbling into your chambers drunk, of course, you had braced yourself for what was he about to do to you since he was quite unpredictable, but what he did was far more than what you expected.

Instead, he drunkenly blabbered away at his insecurities, of not being enough, of always doing what was expected of him yet your mother had always found ways to call him all sorts of names to his face, and your father the King never even once tried to make a bond with him, when all he ever wanted was to hear just once that he had done well from your mother and father, now all that seems too far within reach as the King’s health was declining. 

That night, you had suddenly understood why Aegon was the way he was. Since then, Aegon has found no judgment with you. Sometimes it was a surprise to find him sober, at your chambers, seeking comfort in your arms. You, his sweet sister, was like a salve, a remedy for it all. 

Aegon still had trouble showing his true emotions verbally, but he always wanted to show you how much he appreciated you, it was even surprising that he had yet to fill your womb with a child, but he often had bought you gifts and little trinkets that reminded him of you, thinking it would be enough to somehow show that he was trying, for you. 

And in turn, you understood, you always knew what to say that had Aegon melting into your arms. 

And that’s when he finally pressed at the stone wall disguised as any other wall within your chambers, the stone gliding easily behind a tapestry on the wall as he stepped in, candles lighting the way as he huffed a breath, finally able to catch some fresh air after being in the narrow passages. Flicking the tapestry back into place, his feet immediately take him to the foot of your bed where your figure lay underneath the blankets.

Aegon felt something stir within him at the sight of you, locks of platinum hair splayed upon your pillows, eyes closed, chest breathing rhythmically as you lay on your side, a strap of your loose nightdress down on one shoulder, your exposed skin seeming to tease him as he stood there dumbfounded for a few moments. 

However, the remnants of the infuriating day he had ground him back to reality as to why he was here, sneaking into your chambers. Aegon found himself sliding underneath the covers behind you, the warmth of you immediately making him sigh, a comfort he had longed for throughout the day, contrast to the chill that had seeped in his bones. 

Slowly, his arm found its way around the curve of your waist, leaning in as he desperately wanted to just nuzzle against you, hot breath fanning on the back of your neck. “Wife…” He breathed softly, not wanting to startle you. He waited for a response, thumb absentmindedly running circles on your abdomen, he should’ve probably let you sleep- he was content with only laying beside you, but a selfish part deep within him wanted you to wake. 

In your sleep, you had already felt the bed dip from behind, stirring as you felt an arm drape around you, the hot whisper on your skin making you finally rouse, shifting as you felt the hold on you tighten as you turned your head, coming to your senses as you blinked traces of sleep from your eyes. 

Registering the presence, your brows knit. “Aegon?”

It wasn’t uncommon for you that he would often find his way into your chambers when he had his days. “Mhm, it’s me.” He replied, now noticing you were awake, he brought his hand back to rest on your waist from behind. 

“What happened?” You ask, as you always did. “I… couldn’t sleep. Mother was being… difficult again.” He responded hesitantly. “Did I wake you? Would you like me to go?” Typical of Aegon to dismiss himself easily when his mind would berate him for seeking comfort.

Aegon was already making the move to sit up and get off your bed when you sleepily turned and tried to grab at his hand or wrist, only to fall short and manage to grab at his tunics, tugging on it. “Hush, stay.” You mumbled and Aegon swallowed.

“Do not think this foolish.”

Slowly then Aegon allowed himself to fall back onto your bed, creaking in response.

Shifting, you layered a pillow behind your back leaning against the headrest, before grabbing Aegon’s arm and tugging him to lay atop you, something Aegon never did before but you tugging took him by surprise, laying on top of you as you looked down at him, his head moving to lay on your chest.

He was about to whine at the feeling of being coddled when his ear picked up on the sound of your steady heartbeat and it was enough to close his mouth shut, seeming to zone out as you slowly raked your fingers through his scalp, adding to the sensation in which Aegon sighed and screwed his eyes shut. 

“I am not good enough.” He murmured. “Never will be.”

“You are, Aegon.” You counter. Aegon huffed onto your chest, the action sending you flushed as his face was directly on your breasts. “You always have the chance to be good, mother does not see it yet but I know you are doing your best.” You continued, ignoring the way your heart began to pick up its pace as Aegon’s hot breath fanned through your nightdress. 

Oh you prayed to the gods he would not notice.

But Aegon clearly did, the thumping of your heart growing against his ear as he shifts his head, craning to look up at you. Your body felt suddenly hot. “You can be good, you are good… the crown is a heavy burden but it has placed itself upon your head, this is your chance to prove yourself.” 

Your words turn to a weak whisper as Aegon’s eyes trailed from your eyes to your parted lips, your chest starting to rise as he spoke whilst his eyes stayed glued to your lips. “You think so, sweet sister?” He asked, now his eyes flickered back to yours and there was a hint of vulnerability and… hunger to them. 

His body pressing against yours did not help as you could feel yourself start to throb, his gaze igniting something primitive within you. You tried to shift, needing friction between your legs- but it made Aegon groan, his gaze dropping momentarily.

Until you had felt something hard pressing against your leg. You swallowed thickly, the need starting to boil within you. You needed him. 

“Aegon…” You broke the silence and he let out a weak hum in response, he doesn’t seem to be doing anything as you felt like you were being consumed from the inside. 

He was holding back, you could feel it. 

Moving your hand, you tilted his face to meet yours, before you had given and leaned in, kissing him sloppily and inexperienced, it made Aegon’s brain shut as his brows knit, eyes closing as he let out a low groan, hand immediately moving to grasp the back of your head. 

Your hands began to roam around him, wanting to feel all of him but he pulled back for air, which you realized you were also out of breath, mind in a daze. 

Aegon’s gaze raked over you, he had held back for so long and this is the first night he was about to have you. Yet he doesn’t want it to be rushed or perhaps take advantage of you in the heat of the moment, his thoughts running as he stared at you.

“Aegon, please.” You said, your sweet tone sounding like the Seven heavens in his ears. 

You were getting increasingly frustrated, making the bold move to pull and push him down onto the bed, Aegon momentarily blinking in surprise, not expecting such an action to come from his sister-wife, taking the control away from him.

And oddly enough, it sent a thrill running down his veins and straight to his cock. 

He liked it. 

You swung your leg over him, straddling him as you could feel his throbbing cock directly against your damp underclothes, rolling your hips which had sent you both moaning at the feeling, Aegon’s hands landing on your hips to keep you still. 

“You don’t- we don’t..” Aegon tried to talk but the view and feel of you on top of him was making that very difficult as of now. 

“I want to.” The firmness in your tone was a contrast to his, Aegon was near to turning putty in your hands and you haven’t even near touched him yet. 

His nod made you move your hands to slowly lift off your nightdress, the moment it hit the floor, revealing your shape to him, no longer hidden by layers of fabrics, it was enough to make Aegon stare in awe. 

You felt hot under Aegon’s gaze as you moved to shield yourself but his hands caught your wrists, stopping as he sat up, making you shift yet still straddle him, his hardness still apparent and warm against your thigh under his tunics. 

“Fuck you’re..heavenly.” Aegon murmured, his hands still holding your wrists loosely but his eyes now drifted down your face to your tits, nipples perked. 

You took the initiative once more, your turn in grabbing his wrists before guiding them to your breasts, his rough palms slowly cupping them making you whimper, jolting and needing more friction as your body moved without you thinking, guiding his hands to cup and squeeze your breasts.

Aegon’s brain finally caught up with him as his hands moved to his own accord, oh you looked and felt heavenly he felt like he was already about to spill himself just by seeing you like this, taking control of him. 

Your hands then moved to his head, grasping and tugging at his hair, making him moan low as you then pulled him to you, wasting no time as Aegon lathered hot open mouthed kisses against your skin, leaving flames in their wake as you sung sweetly on top of him.

His mouth trailed down your neck to finally your breasts as he suckled and licked at your mounds, taking one in his mouth, sucking lewdly as you looked down at him, eyes meeting yours and you felt yourself overcome by the sight, nodding to urge him to keep going.

With a final suck, he pulled back, mouth letting out a pop sound as you shivered as the night breeze cooled his saliva on your breast. 

Moving to help him shrug him out of his tunics, you traced your hands down his torso, Aegon shuddering. “You’re so good.” Your praise was but a thought voiced, yet to Aegon, it had him melting. You can almost see the gears in his brain stop working as you realized this. 

Of course, as your mother had often degraded him most of his life, your father is present but nearly absent in caring for your siblings.

Just an ounce of praise had Aegon craving it like a man parched in the desert, willing to do anything to quench that thirst- to be able to hear you praise him again. Only you. Fuck anyone else. 

It was only you, his sweet sister-wife who mattered, who had always seen him, who always understood him, nobody would come close to you. He damn well would behead a man if one ever had thought of taking you away from him. 

Thank the Gods you married him. 

Leaning in, you peppered kisses onto his face, murmuring phrases all the way that had him grabbing your hips, feeling your soaked cunt rubbing against his stiff cock, sweet maiden juices leaking onto him but he doesn’t enter you. 

His neck craned to give you more access as you kissed him all over, his hands running up and down your sides, wanting to feel and take his time with you even if every fiber of his being cried to fuck you senselessly. 

No, you were in control of him tonight, or for any night that you wished, rather. 

“See how good you are..?” Your voice whispered into his ear, breath fanning stray locks of his platinum hair. Aegon whimpered. Even though you were a virgin and inexperienced, you were coming to learn the gist of it as you had went on… but there were more chances to explore further in the future.

“P-please.” Aegon whined, never in his life he had seen himself begging, yet you had changed all of that. Pulling back, you raked your fingers through his hair again, his head craning back.

“Look at me, Aegon.” Your tone wasn’t even commanding, it was gentle- however his eyes were quick to find yours again. 

You relished the control you had over him- but this was also him being vulnerable. You gave him a small smile as you spoke. “What do you want?” You asked. Aegon breathed and his mouth parts open, a squeak leaving as you also felt the need burning now deep in your stomach, your cunt throbbing. 

“Speak.” You followed, dragging your folds along his length, making you both shudder and for Aegon to grunt, squeezing your hips to halt you in order to clear his mind. 

“You- please- please let me fuck you, let me be inside you.” Aegon rephrased but it made you burn hotter nonetheless. 

If you were right, your hand reached down between your bodies, your soft hands wrapping around his shaft, your soft hands heavenly compared to the times he had touched himself to the thought of fucking you before, which he would not admit even if dared. 

Pre-cum was already leaking from him as he helped you, his own hand coming to guide himself against your folds, his reddened tip rubbing against your clit momentarily that had you clenching from the sensation. 

As he slowly positioned himself to breach you, his eyes found yours, your hands resting on his shoulders as you took a deep breath as his hands rested back onto your sides, rubbing as you slowly sunk down upon him, his cock sliding within you inch by inch, making you cry out as he bottomed fully. 

Aegon never thought he’d had your cunt clenching around him, sucking him in further making him shudder as he whimpered, nearing to burst if he moved further. 

Moving your hips, you slowly started up a rhythm, Aegon’s eyes screwing shut as you began to ride him, hands guiding you but mostly it was you who moved, his grip on your waist was but a grounding sensation for him. It truly felt like he was about to ascend from how good you felt, and you were all his. 

You felt yourself letting out noises you had not imagined before, the sensations of having Aegon sheathed within you was intoxicating, nails digging against his shoulders as Aegon returned his attention to your breasts once more, heightening your pleasure as you arched your back. 

A knot was forming itself in your belly, your muscles beginning to contract as you chanted Aegon’s name like a prayer. “You feel so good, Aegon!” You cry, whining as your hips seem to chase an edge fast approaching. 

“I’m- fuck– not gonna last long-” Aegon murmured now hotly against your neck, guiding you bouncing up and down his cock. “Please, please…” Aegon begged for your orgasm to hit so he could spill within you. 

And it did, making you gasp as euphoria filled your body, sending you shaking as bouts and waves of pleasure overtook you, clenching around Aegon’s cock as your body continued to tremble atop him.

Aegon soon followed as your peak triggered his own, pulsing within you and releasing his seed within you, having him whimpering and panting. You could feel yourself overcome with warmth as you both had come down from your peaks, bodies covered with light sheen of sweat.

You both had stayed there for a while, Aegon still sheathed within you as you both regained your breathing. Looking down at him, you brushed stray platinum locks that matted to his forehead, moving to peck his forehead and his cheeks, Aegon murmuring in turn as he gazed up at your beauty illuminated by stray candles and the moonlight. 

“Thank you.” Aegon rasped, making you smile down at him as you cupped his face, placing a tender kiss to his lips. 

After fixing and rearranging yourselves, not bothering to throw your clothing back on, only the blankets laid over you both as you laid face to face, your head against his chest, curled against him so peacefully. 

You had soon fallen asleep from exhaustion whilst Aegon had lied awake, thumb running over your side before it moved over to your stomach, no doubt both your labor would bear fruit. 

And when it did, Aegon had sworn it upon himself to be the good loving father he never had upon your child, and to be the good king the realm did not think he would be. All because of you.

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕