I READ THIS ALL IN ONE SITTING I AM LIVING THIS WAS PERFECTION MY RELIGIOUS KINK IS THRIVINGGGGGG

I READ THIS ALL IN ONE SITTING I AM ✨️LIVING✨️ THIS WAS 💯PERFECTION💯🤌🏻 MY RELIGIOUS KINK IS THRIVINGGGGGG💦💦💦❤️‍🔥

The Gate of Salvation Masterlist

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: soft sex content, masturbation, fingering, sexual tension, smut, angst, anxiety, manipulation, doubts related to faith, religious guilt, chauvinism, more warnings inside each chapter ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Masterlist graphic by amazing @aegonx. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Headers for the Series Aemond NSFW Alphabet

Holy FUCK. Queen shit. You're amazing. This was so fuckin well written, seriously. I know something awful must've happened to that boy to make him the way he is, and you wrote out those reasonings so well I consider it canon now

The Hand That Feeds

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader (physical attributes such as large breasts and alternative appearance described) Warnings: DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT. Mentions of child neglect, prostitution, substance abuse, death, murder. Dark and obsessive behaviour, attempted sexual assault, sub/dom dynamics, male masturbation, smut. Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: Ettore is used to having to take women by force - it's how he ended up on death row, and now a suicide mission in outer space. However, when a fellow crew member catches his eye and becomes the object of his twisted fantasies, he soon learns that the touch of a woman feels more satisfying when he's made to work for it. Based on this request.

Author's note: For @orcaunionleader. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Ettore screws his eyes shut. Strapped into the seat of the spaceship as it hurtles upwards, plunged suddenly into darkness when the lights fail, he feels trapped. It must have been twenty years, at least, since he has felt so vulnerable.

His earliest memory is sobbing as he is shut in the cupboard, the pitch blackness terrifying and too much to bear, but the sight of what he sees when he bursts out is so much worse.

The man on top of his mother, the noises they’re making, he feels strange, a combination of wanting to watch but also a churning in his tummy that makes him feel unwell. He retreats back into the dark, closing the door and hugs his knees to his chest until it all goes quiet again. 

Ettore soon learns it is better to enter a room head first - if he is able to see exactly what is happening then he knows quickly whether it’s safe to come out, or whether he needs to retreat. Not placing his entire body in the way reduces the likelihood of being grabbed, hit, shouted at.

There’s a different man each time, and every time they leave there’s always money on the bedside table of the small studio flat, and his mother is asleep. It’s then that he crawls into bed beside her, cuddling into her warmth, tracing his fingers over the marks that litter her inner elbow creases.

He doesn’t recall his mother ever having hugged him, when she is still like this is the only time he is able to get close to her, and he wraps his arms around her until the rumbling in his stomach gets too much to bear. He is always hungry.

His bare feet crunch against spilled Rice Krispies on the dirty kitchenette floor. Sometimes there is bread to eat, if he picks around the mold, sometimes there isn’t. He sees through the window that there is a place across the road that his mother goes to every few days. She always comes back with glass bottles that clink against each other in the plastic bag, but sometimes there is bread, and less often there are Rice Krispies. He likes those, though he often spills them.

The hunger pangs in his stomach grow so bad he begins to cry. His mother no longer feels warm when he cuddles against her. He is not sure when she last woke up, why she won’t wake up now. Maybe she is just really tired.

He can see the place where she goes to get food from the window, it is not very far, perhaps she’ll wake up by the time he gets back, and so he wanders out of the flat, not closing the door behind him, and walks across the road.

Ettore’s eyes light up the moment he sees the familiar blue box of Rice Krispies, clutching it tightly in both hands. It’s only then that he looks up into the horrified face of the woman standing over him, unable to comprehend why she’s looking at him like that, as she takes in the sight of the malnourished, barefoot child before her, wearing only a t-shirt and a dirty nappy.

There are a flurry of adults around him after that, and he’s taken to live somewhere else. He never sees his mother again. He hears the phrase “non verbal” used a lot, and learns that someone of his age should be able to speak. He doesn’t know how to, and so slowly he is taught how to communicate with words.

Even when Ettore has mastered the power of speech, he prefers not to use it. He finds watching people is far better than talking to them. Most people tend to talk a lot even when they have nothing to say. He prefers the quiet.

There are lots of other children his age at the facility he’s placed in, but slowly they leave, one by one, when adults come to look around. He never leaves though, he supposes it has something to do with the way he has overheard the staff describe his eyes as “haunted” and how strange it is that he has no interest in playing. Grown ups don’t want to share their homes with children that aren’t happy. Ettore doesn’t feel he has much at all to be happy about, when he curls his lips into a smile it feels strange against his face.

As Ettore grows older, he learns of what actually happened to him. His mother had been a heroin addict, she had prostituted herself to fund her habit, and he had been a victim of her extreme neglect. She had died of an overdose and he had laid beside her body for days, until his own hunger had gotten the better of him and he’d wandered into the local corner shop in search of food. He feels nothing upon finding this out, if anything he yearns for the simpler time of huddling against the warmth of his mother as she’d slept off her fix. No one will touch him now, he craves physical contact but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

He’s placed into a foster home when he’s a teenager, though it is a placement that’s short lived. The woman has a daughter, she’s a similar age to Ettore and he longs for her touch. He knows all too well from the way that she squirms under the intensity of his gaze and leaves the room whenever they are alone together that the feeling is not reciprocated.

To Ettore it does not matter. He always waited until his mother was asleep before cuddling her, he reasons that he can simply do the same here. And he does just that; waiting until night falls and the house is quiet, he sneaks into her room, laying down upon the bed beside her.

He breathes in deeply, a delicate floral scent filling his nostrils as he runs the tip of his nose over the softness of her hair. His fingertips creep beneath her pyjama top, and he exhales a shaky breath at how silky smooth her skin feels to touch.

It’s then that she wakes up and lets out a loud scream, he topples from the bed, startled by her outburst and her mother rushes into the room. That is Ettore’s first and only foster care placement, another term is now used to describe him; “maladaptive”.

But he takes away a valuable lesson from the situation - if he wishes to touch a woman then he needs to ensure she stays asleep.

He watches couples with resentment, knowing that no woman will ever kiss or caress him with any semblance of love, not willingly anyway. Women don’t want men that are haunted and maladaptive, but that’s fine with Ettore. If it’s not freely given then he knows precisely how to take it.

Ettore preys upon those that are fumbling with their keys in the lock as they try to return home, women under the influence who spend just a little too long on their phones while trying to get a cab, and the ones that walk hurriedly towards their cars in empty, darkened parking garages.

He moves slowly, carefully, his body only moving in sync with where his head is looking once he’s certain of the target he’s selected. He is unhurried in his movements, and so he goes utterly undetected until it’s too late.

It starts as simply knocking them out and then using their bodies however he sees fit, but it  rapidly escalates when he accidentally kills one of them, it happens twice more before he’s finally apprehended.

He doesn’t try to fight it, pleads guilty in court and is sent to prison. Even with good behaviour, his sentence is such that he’ll be elderly before he’s ever free. But any opportunity for eventual freedom is snuffed out when he gets into a scuffle with another prisoner.

Threats of solitary confinement hang heavily over him as he’s dragged away, and something inside of him snaps. He won’t go back to being locked away in the dark, he can’t. So he lashes out, and as he’s stomping upon the guard’s head he is reminded of the crunching of Rice Krispies beneath his feet from when he was a child.

The death penalty doesn’t exist within the United Kingdom’s judicial system, but he knows he’s being served a death sentence when he is given the news that he has been assigned to board a spaceship with other prisoners on a mission to extract alternative energy from a black hole. There is no coming back from that, he’s not foolish enough to believe otherwise, yet he readily accepts it. There is no other alternative for him, truthfully, there never has been.

When the lights eventually flicker back on and they are alerted they can unfasten their seatbelts, Ettore finally opens his eyes, looking at the prisoners that are seated around him. He’s surprised and intrigued to find there are women as well as men on board. He hasn’t encountered a woman since being sent to prison.

The scrubs they are given to wear are baggy and conceal much of their bodies, so to his disappointment he is unable to admire the feminine curves of the women on board - except one. She is shorter than he is, the remnants of a long since faded colour adorns the ends of her hair. Both her arms are full sleeved with tattoos. He wants to tear away her uniform and see what other artwork decorates her flesh. If he were a normal person, he’d strike up a conversation and ask, but Ettore is not one for words, so he simply stares, watching her every movement as a silent storm builds inside of him.

Though she is slenderly built, he can clearly see the way the baggy top half of her clothing curves over the ample swell of her breasts. His eyes linger there whenever he passes her in the corridor, picturing what it would be like to run his hands over them and squeeze their softness.

It’s these thoughts that are the cause of his every visit to The Box, the ship’s masturbatory aid. It’s used gratuitously by all crew mates, as sexual conduct between prisoners is prohibited on board, so he spills over his knuckles every chance he gets, imagining it’s inside of her. Would she claw at his shoulders and slap at him to get away, or simply lay still and take it?

Occasionally he deposits a sample into a plastic cup, taken away by Dibs, a supposed doctor on board who seems to be the main authority figure. She never fully explains what is to be done with his specimens, but once he has taken the reward he’s provided afterwards - usually a sedative - he cannot find it in himself to care.

He has heard whispers that she is conducting fertility experiments on the ship, attempting to artificially inseminate the female inmates. If that’s the case, he is thankful that his involvement is far less invasive than theirs must be, but ultimately it’s not his problem. He keeps to himself, ever watchful of those around him.

At least there is structure and routine; he goes to sleep and wakes up at the same time each day, participates in mandatory exercise regimes, eats regular meals and is assigned maintenance work duty.

Getting to know his own schedule means becoming familiar with other people’s, and that includes her’s. There is a sense of both excitement and comfort in knowing exactly where she is and exactly what she’s doing at all times.

The first time he encounters her coming out of the Box, he’s struck by how beautiful she is, pupils dilated, skin glowing with a light sheen of perspiration, her lips slightly parted as she attempts to calm her breathing. The heady aroma of her arousal lingers faintly as he goes in after her and he has never come harder in his life than he does on that day. He makes a point to go in after her every day after that.

If she were any other woman and these were any other circumstances, he’d have forced himself upon her by now, but they are in a confined space together and there’s no way for him to act upon his urges without there being almost immediate consequences for it. Every day it feels as though a coil inside of him is wound tighter, and every day he is left wondering if that will be the day when it finally snaps and he brings everything crashing down for both of them.

Despite his internalised conflict, she seems utterly unperplexed by him, which is confusing for Ettore. He is used to women regarding him with unease and disgust, so for her to be completely unphased by his presence is disarming. She is a criminal too though, he reasons, and for her to have been served what is effectively a death sentence she must have done something terrible. The thought makes her all the more alluring to him.

He is on cleaning duty today, tasked with scrubbing down the shower tiles. He enters the showers slowly, deliberately, unable to hear water running, so assumes that there’s no one in there.

But then he spots her, her hair wet and sticking to her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts just about visible. She hasn’t seen him, yet. His eyes roam slowly over the greyscale body art that adorns her arms and thighs, wondering if there's more hidden beneath the towel that clings to her svelte figure. 

Absent-mindedly his fingers move over the triangular motif that's tattooed on his right forearm; though the scar is no longer visible he still feels the indentations of teeth. If he closes his eyes he still remembers the way that girl had fought, biting into his flesh as he'd wrapped his arm around her throat. He can never recall their faces, but he remembers the marks they left upon him - each one now covered by the same tattoo - a target so that he never forgets - a slash of a broken bottle against his bicep, acrylic nails gouging into his neck. They're never quite strong enough, though they fight to the end. He wonders if her ink serves the purpose of covering or reminding, what sinister deeds have led her down a path of such finality. He intends to find out.

Her head snaps up to look at him and he sucks in a harsh breath as she makes eye contact with him. She doesn’t scream or shy away, simply returns his unblinking stare and his fingers flex at his sides, mouth running dry as he considers whether he’ll need to silence her or not.

“Like what you see?” She whispers, letting the towel fall slowly away.

Ettore remains unblinking, though he feels shaken to his core on the inside. He drinks in the sight of her bare flesh, her full rounded breasts, the dip of her waist, her curvaceous hips, feeling his cock twitch in his scrubs.

What the fuck is she playing at?

“Fuckin’ cock tease,” he spits out, before turning and walking away to the Box.

He reaches his peak embarrassingly quickly, brow furrowed and jaw slack as sweat rolls down his temples.

Once the feeling of euphoria has worn off it is replaced by anger and confusion. Had she been trying to get him into trouble? Did she actually want him? Was she making a mockery of him?

His mood darkens at the thought and as his mind races after lights out that night, unable to find sleep. He slips out of his bunk and walks slowly, silently, along the corridor towards her cell.

He can see the outline of her body beneath the covers, and is suddenly unsure of what he came here to do. Torn between wanting to lunge for her, grab her by the throat and make her pay for her earlier indiscretion, or simply slip beneath the covers beside her and allow his hands to roam freely, he stands and does nothing, watching her.

“Come inside, if you want,” she calls out quietly to him in the darkness, making him startle, “bunkmates are all sleeping.”

Ettore hesitates, remaining rooted to the spot, unable to believe that a woman is actually inviting him into her space, that she wants to be near him.

“You gonna pussy out again like you did earlier?” She questions playfully.

He feels embarrassment flush his cheeks and allows it to propel him forward, over the threshold, into her space. He won’t let a woman get the better of him.

She shuffles back against the wall, lifting the blanket and patting the space beside her.

He hasn’t laid beside a woman since the night he was kicked out of his foster placement for getting into bed with the host’s teenage daughter, the only other times before that were when he huddled beside his passed out mother.

Ettore swallows thickly, not wanting to show weakness and quickly slips in beside her.

She smells of the ship’s standard issue soap, yet somehow on her flesh it has an utterly different scent, it’s sweet and intoxicating and has him longing to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He inhales deeply, feeling himself grow hard from her proximity and the warmth of her soft skin against his bare torso.

Apparently she feels it too, as she eagerly snakes a hand between them, palming at him through his shorts. 

A woman has never touched him like that before, not willingly. Usually he’s the one in control. It feels too much, too fast, bile rises in his throat and he jerks away from her, stalking silently back to his own cell, shame blooming hot and heavy in his chest as he feels tears burn beneath his eyelids.

What the fuck was that?

For the first time in Ettore’s life a woman had wanted to touch him, and he’d freaked out and run away. Does she not realise what he could do to her, what he’s capable of? He is supposed to inspire fear, not lust.

He wants to storm back to her cell and smash her head against the wall. She’s made him feel weak, inferior, yet despite that he can’t shake the feeling of her hand between his legs.

Unable to help himself, he waits for her as she exits the Box the next day, the telltale signs of her having just climaxed etched all over her features as she steps out. Her expression hardens when she sees him, rolling her eyes and side stepping him, until he grabs her wrist, stopping her from going anywhere.

“Let go of me, Ettore,” she says threateningly.

“How d’you know my name?” He asks, pulling her close so he can stare down into her eyes.

She smirks. “You’re not the only one that can skulk around the ship finding things out. Dibs left your file out the last time she had me up on the table, so I snooped. I know your name, your blood type, your sperm count–”

“Do you know what I’m serving time for?” He narrows his eyes as he asks this.

“No, I figure if we’re gonna explore whatever this is,” she gestures between them, “it’s better we don’t know that about each other.”

Ettore scoffs, quirking his lips as he eyes her carefully. “And what is this?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. Clearly you’re not comfortable letting me touch you…yet. So how about you touch me instead?”

He keeps a neutral expression, despite the surprise he feels once again that a woman would willingly let him touch her. “How would that work?”

“You’re about to use the Box, right? Take me in. Touch me while you touch yourself.”

Her words send an aching pulse straight to his balls and he nods, walking into the Box, not checking to see if she’s following. He knows she will be.

“Take it off, take it all off,” he orders quietly, gesturing to her clothes.

She pulls off her top and slips off her bottoms and his gaze rakes appreciatively over her form, only this time his hand slides into his trousers as he does so, his hand wrapping around his steadily hardening length.

Her lips are parted, eyes wide as she stares up at him, her breathing almost matching the intensity of his. Tentatively he leans down, inhaling her scent. The sweetness fills his nostrils and something inside of him snaps.

Pulling his erection free, he moves his fist over it in quick, aggressive strokes, biting at her pulsepoint, before moving his lips downwards towards her tits, pressing his face into their soft warmth, mouthing at them without restraint.

True to her word, she doesn’t touch him, keeping her hands balled into tight fists at her sides, though he can tell she is desperate to reach for him, her breaths erratic as she arches into his touch.

His stomach muscles contract, pressure building at the base of his spine as droplets of pre-cum help to guide his rapid, successive jerks of his cock.

Reaching between her legs, he groans at feeling how wet she is, a combination of her previous orgasm and how aroused she is from what’s currently happening between them.

He buries his face in her chest, sinking two fingers inside of her. There is no scratching, no slapping, no disassociating. She is soft and pliant against him, willing, and as often as he has fantasised about taking her by force, this feels better than anything he has ever experienced previously, better than anything he could have imagined.

As the pressure reaches its apex and he finally climaxes with a groan and a shudder, releasing white hot ropes of his seed across her lower belly, she reaches up with shaky, tentative hands to gently run her fingers through his hair.

“Good boy,” she coos, “did so well for me.”

He sighs, leaning over her, resting his head against the wall behind her. Next time he wants to sink inside of her, to feel what it’s like to be touched, wanted, needed. Because as haunted and maladapted as he is, as he opens his eyes and stares into hers he sees that she is too. Her darkness plays well with his, and in a cold and sterile environment Ettore has finally found the warmth he’s always craved.

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE IT

"Niflheim" - Orpheus!Osferth x Eurydice!Reader

a/n: request from @ultraintrovertedgryffindor for orpheus!osferth combined with a request from @connorsui for osferth x childhood friend/princess reader ❤️

Summary: Osferth and you are childhood sweethearts, torn away from each other by circumstance. But this time, Osferth takes fate into his own hands.

Word Count: 5,205

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, character death, mentions of severe illness, p in v sex, fingering, breeding kink

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the The Last Kingdom characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

You and Osferth were never meant to meet. He is the bastard son of a king, his father’s secret shame, sent away to become a monk in Mercia. You, on the other hand, are a princess, the daughter of King Æthelwulf and younger sister of Prince Æthelred. The monastery’s gardens border those of the castle’s, however, and one day Osferth hears the sweetest voice, singing a little tune. Six years old at the time, he follows the voice, curious as to what he will find.

“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly, lavender’s blue. You must love me, dilly dilly, for I love you.”

Osferth approaches you hesitantly, blue eyes wide with wonder as he listens to you sing, captivated by your voice and presence. You hear a twig snap and jump up, grabbing the wooden sword by your side, waving it in front of you. You seem to be around his age, he thinks,  an inch or two shorter than him at most. He is slightly frightened by the sudden movement of your sword, your demand to know who’s there, but he realizes by the little crown on your head that you are the princess. He bows quickly, giving you a shy smile.

You frown at the strange boy, crossing your arms expectantly, “Why are you doing that? And why are you wearing those robes?”

He clears his throat nervously before speaking, “My name is Osferth. I… This is the uniform of my order of monks.”

Osferth feels rather self-conscious as you eye him up and down before you shake your head and declare, “You’re a little boy. You can’t be a monk. They’re all old and fat.’

He is surprised by your words but quickly explains, “Oh, well I am only a monk in name. Really, I work for the older monks. Carrying heavy things, preparing things.”

“Oh,” you say, eyes going wide in recognition, “I suppose I am only a princess in name. My brother gets to do all the fun things.”

Osferth chuckles slightly at your response, taking a seat beside you on the bench when you pat the spot next to you, “What kind of fun things do you want to do that you are not allowed?”

“I want to ride my horse and fight Danes,” you state boldly, without any hesitation.

Osferth looks at you intently, impressed by your spirit, “You sound like a warrior! Have you ridden a horse already?”

“No,” you frown sadly, the sight making his chest ache for some reason not quite yet known to him, “They say I am too small. Have you, Osferth?”

He nods proudly, puffing out his chest in an effort to impress you, “Yes, I have indeed, Princess. It is an incredible feeling, sitting up there.”

“Wow,” you breathe, gazing at him starry-eyed, Osferth’s cheeks flushing at the way you look at him, “That is amazing! A warrior monk!”

He shakes his head, grinning and scratching the back of his neck, “I suppose being a little brave is necessary to defend God’s kingdom.”

You nod before asking him, “How old are you?”

“I am nearly seven,” he tells you happily, eyeing the doll and wooden sword you clutch to your chest, “How old are you?”

“I am six and a half,” you say proudly, “My brother is the prince of Mercia and one day he will be king,” you pause before adding, knitting your brows together, “But not today, because Papa is still alive.”

Osferth stares at you in awe. Your life is so different to his. You are so much more important than him, one of the most important people in the country, and you are not even seven years old. He smiles at the doll you hold to your chest, pointing toward it.

“And what is your doll’s name, my lady? Is she a princess as well?”

You shake your head vehemently, “Absolutely not! She is a knight!”

Osferth smirks slightly before laughing, “I apologize. I did not mean to assume. Can I ask her name? If she is a knight, surely she must have an impressive name.”

“Her name is Lagertha,” you inform him, hugging the doll tightly.

He smiles at you, finding you entirely fascinating, “And your sword? Who is that for?”

“Me! Who else would it be for?”

Osferth laughs again under his breath, “But who are you going to fight, Lady?”

“Everyone!”

He stares at you with amused surprise, “Everyone, you say? That is a lot of work. What if someone manages to take your sword away from you? What will you do then?”

“Then I’ll use my hands!”

Osferth grins as you ball your hands into fists, punching the air. You are a very determined and brave girl, with great confidence in yourself. He watches as you calm yourself and sit down, telling him your name.

“I do not have many friends,” you say sadly, looking up at him with your sweet, innocent eyes.

His heart breaks for you, how lonely you must be, just as he is, “I am sorry, Princess. Would you like me to be your friend?”

He is taken by surprise when you throw your arms around him and embrace him, tackling him to the ground in your enthusiasm, “You are my best friend now, alright?”

Osferth hugs you back just as tightly and nods, “You are my best friend too, Princess.”

The two of you grow up together, growing closer and closer as the years go by. When you are both twelve years old, on an afternoon like any other, you go to have your lunch with Osferth in the gardens. You turn to him, a curious expression on your face.

“Osferth? Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you, nodding, “Of course. Anything.”

You glance around, making sure you two are completely alone before whispering, “Is King Alfred your father? Æthelred told me as much but I wanted to know the truth from you.”

Osferth is caught off guard by your question, expression turning somber as he nods, “He is. I am a bastard. He sent me here to be in the care of the monks.”

He’s surprised at the angered expression on your face, “Why will he not care for you? Fathers are meant to care for their children! What a horrid man!”

He stares at you intensely, expression remaining morose. You are right. A parent is meant to care for their child. He feels angry at the thought that his father does not accept him, that he shows no interest in his existence.

“He did not want an illegitimate child. He told my mother that I was the Devil’s spawn and the result of their weakness.”

You scoff, “That makes him the Devil then. What an idiot.”

Osferth bursts into laughter at your words, “You are right. As always, Princess. How can I argue with the smartest lady in England?”

“You cannot. You are the farthest thing from a Devil spawn,” you say, eating your lunch, “And King Alfred is stupid. I heard he shits blood.”

Osferth chokes on his water, wiping his mouth before bursting into laughter again, “Who told you that? That may count as treason, Princess!”

“Æthelred told me,” you say smugly, “He knows everything about everyone. And it cannot be treason if it is true.” Osferth smiles gently as you continue to eat, listening as you chatter away, “Anyway, I think you would make a better prince than Edward ever would. He is rather annoying. Æthelred says I will have to marry him one day. I would rather become a nun.”

Osferth snickers, “You can come and live with me at the monastery. I will be your personal monk and take care of you. But,” he grins, “I do not think you really want to be a nun. You are too bold for that. You will be an Empress.”

You smile brightly, “If I am an Empress, I will marry you and you will be the Emperor. We will ride our horses into battle together.”

Osferth’s ears go red at the thought of marrying you. He has never thought of marriage or anything of the sort, being a monk, but you are so pretty and your body is so warm next to his that he cannot help but think it would be wonderful to marry you. 

And he notices for the first time how your eyes seem to sparkle in the afternoon sun.

By the time the two of you are sixteen, Osferth is fully aware of the depth of his feelings for you. He watches as you run over to him, looking beautiful as ever, eyes dancing with excitement as you yell his name.

“Osferth, you will never believe who I met!”

He leans against the wall and looks at you with interest, “Who?”

“Lord Uhtred,” you whisper, “He is back!”

Osferth’s eyes go wide with surprise, “You did? Where is he? Where did you meet him? It must have been very exciting!”

“He came to the castle to give my brother and Æthelflæd his congratulations on their wedding. Oh, Osferth, you should have seen him, he is just as impressive as everyone says!” You pause before wrinkling your nose, “He is a bit old though.”

Osferth grins at your comment, “Well, he is indeed a bit older than us, but that means he is more experienced in battle.”

You hum, acknowledging his words before continuing to ramble, “I met his men too. An Irishman named Finan and a Dane named Sihtric. They were both quite handsome, especially the Dane.” Osferth bites back the jealousy gnawing away at him as you continue speaking, “Oh, but it was awful, Osferth, Sihtric barely even looked at me! He just stared at the floor. I even plaited my hair!”

Osferth laughs slightly at how serious you seem, “Perhaps he thought you were too pretty and could not look you in the eyes because he felt so shy.”

“Does that mean you think I’m ugly? You always look me in the eyes,” you retort sassily.

He smiles at you warmly, “Of course I do not think you are ugly. I like looking at you. And your lovely plaited hair.”

You giggle as he moves closer, doing a little twirl to show off your hairstyle, “Do you like it? Æthelflæd weaved some flowers into it,” you pause before grumbling, “Not that Sihtric cared.”

“You look beautiful,” Osferth mumbles, almost shyly, “Perhaps this Sihtric did not know enough about flower weaving to notice your hair. He is probably thinking about how to win a battle or things like that.”

“I quite prefer men like you who notice my hair,” you grouse, “A lady’s hair is very important to her.”

Osferth nods, biting back a smile as he asks, “Would you like to know something you have that I very much like about you, Princess?” You nod eagerly, and he clears his throat, face going red as he speaks, “I like your smile very much. Your eyes seem to shine when you smile and your voice becomes even more lovely.” He pauses, lowering his voice, “Would you smile for me? Would you make your Emperor happy?”

You laugh at him, completely delighted, “I cannot believe you still remember that! Emperor and Empress. We were only children.”

Osferth’s heart warms at seeing your beautiful smile and he laughs in return, “It was a long time ago, yes, but I cherish that memory.” He takes your hand in his, your soft skin brushing against his, gazing into each other’s eyes as he whispers, “You have been my best friend for years, and yet, I find myself craving more.”

You bite your lip, barely able to hold back your giddy smile at his words before you ask, “Do you want to kiss me, my sweet Emperor?”

Osferth feels his breath quicken but responds with a nod, his breath catching in his throat, “I would like that very much, my beautiful Empress.”

He waits with bated breath as you stand on your toes, gently pressing your lips to his in the sweetest, most chaste of kisses. His heart beats like a drum in his chest as he kisses you back, hands cupping your face tenderly. You only pull apart when you hear one of your ladies in waiting calling you back in for supper. You give Osferth a kiss on the cheek before sprinting back to the castle.

A few days later, you are taken entirely by surprise when Osferth tells you that he is leaving with Lord Uhtred, intent on accompanying him on his adventures.

“W-what?” you ask, voice quivering ever so slightly.

He nods, averting his gaze, “Yes… There is no place for me anywhere, Princess. If I do this, I will have a chance to make a name for myself. To be more than the king’s bastard son. I need to change my destiny. To see what life is like outside of these monastery walls.”

You stare at him before nodding slowly, “Well, goodbye then,” you say, pulling away from him and crossing your arms.

Osferth’s expression grows sad as he rests a hand on your shoulder, worried that you are upset with him, “Goodbye? Is that all you have to say to me? I have been your best friend all this time and you do not even look sad that I am leaving…” His voice cracks slightly as he questions, “Do you not care about me? The way you refuse to look at me makes me feel guilty, as if I have done something wrong.”

“I do not mean to make you feel guilty Osferth,” you say, turning away and turning your nose up, “Do as you like. When you return, you shall likely find me a married woman.”

Osferth is surprised at how quickly the mood between the two of you has changed. His stare is intense and he pauses before speaking.

“A married woman?” Osferth questions, both confused and jealous, “Please tell me… To whom will you be married, Princess?”

“Prince Edward, your half-brother,” you inform him primly, “The king and my brother both desire the match. And since you will not even be here, I have no reason to resist their wishes any longer.”

Osferth watches as you stride off, frozen in place for a moment before he takes off running after you. You are supposed to be his Empress, not his brother’s wife!

“I cannot believe you would marry Prince Edward! He does not deserve you! He is not worthy of your smile, your laugh, your love. You cannot marry him!” Osferth declares passionately.

You frown, “You ought to leave. I am sure Lord Uhtred is waiting for you.”

Your words sting and he swallows back the tears that threaten to spill, “I do not want Edward to get your beautiful smile. It is mine. You are my Empress…”

“Just go, Osferth,” you say, looking at him sadly, “Go on your adventures and leave me in peace. Do not write to me and do not expect to find me waiting for you.”

He watches you run back into the castle, covering your face and letting out a heartbreaking sob. Osferth sinks to his knees, feeling completely heartbroken and utterly lost.

Several years later, when you and Osferth are both grown, twenty years of age, he returns to you. He left a pretty girl behind, but now he finds you a grown woman, more beautiful than any creature he has ever seen in his life, more beautiful than he remembered you in his dreams. You greet him, Uhtred, Sihtric, and Finan with a kind smile.

“My lords.”

He feels his cheeks flush as he admires you, seeing that you are standing beside his half-brother as his betrothed, a sharp pang in his chest at the sight. He stares at you intently, breath catching in his throat when you speak to him.

“You are much taller than I remember, Osferth.”

His eyes light up at your smile and it is difficult to keep his composure. He has to remind himself he cannot talk to you the way he used to, that you are a lady betrothed now. He must be respectful.

“Thank you, Princess.”

You excuse yourself from the room, giving Osferth a meaningful look, communicating without words that you wish for him to follow you. He does so without hesitation, finding himself in the gardens where you two met all those years ago. He admires the sight of you on that bench, where he first spoke to you, moving to sit beside you.

“This place will always be special to me.”

“To me as well,” you smile at him.

Osferth inhales sharply before cutting to the chase and asking, “Are you really marrying my brother?”

You sigh before replying, “I am supposed to.”

Osferth swallows thickly, “You… Why?”

“I am a princess. He is a prince,” you say quietly, averting your gaze, “It has all been arranged. A way to further strengthen the ties between the kingdoms.”

Osferth shakes his head angrily, “You should be able to marry the man you choose. Not one who was chosen for you by your arseling brother. Surely you can refuse?”

You look at him, your lashes fluttering as you speak, “In an ideal world… I would be yours.”

“And in this cruel reality?” Osferth whispers, desperation in his eyes as he pulls you into his arms, “Will you run away with me?”

Your eyes go wide in surprise, “W-what?”

“Run away with me,” he says, shocked at his own words before realizing this could be his last chance, “Leave this castle, the court. Be with me. Be free.”

It is a crazy idea. He knows this. But you have never once seemed satisfied with this life, with your decisions being made for you.

“But what of your plans to become a monk?”

“I do not want to be a monk. It was chosen for me. What I choose is you. I will always choose you,” Osferth says, confidence growing, “I would take you to Coccham. We would marry. We would have children. Everything we ever wanted. My Empress, I…” He looks you in the eyes, taking your face in his hands, “I love you. I do not have much, but I love you. And I will make you happy, I swear it.”

He knows his words may seem naive, but they are true. You look up at him, smiling sweetly.

“Kiss me again. Like you did all those years ago,” you request softly.

Osferth does not hesitate, his arms wrapping around your waist as he presses his lips to yours, submitting to his desire for you. The kiss is passionate and loving, an affirmation of the way the two of you feel about each other, bound by the love you have always shared and always will.

“I will go to Coccham with you,” you whisper when the two of you part, “I will marry you. How could I not?”

You take to the road with Osferth, Uhtred, and the others that very night, packing a small bag of your belongings and ready to begin your new life with your love. Uhtred has watched you grow into a young woman before his eyes and feels an almost fatherly sort of affection for you as he watches you and Osferth, Finan and Sihtric teasing you as brothers would.

You ride for several days, but you take ill on the road, a horrible fever overtaking you. By the time you reach Coccham, you need to be carried to bed by Osferth. He lays you down gently as Uhtred’s wife, Gisela, rushes to get blankets to warm you. Osferth’s hand rests on your face and he kisses your feverish brow, wanting to soothe your pain. He hears you cough, a terrifying rattling sound that shakes him to his core. He prepares hot tea for you every day, reading to you from the Bible, some of your favorite Psalms to soothe you. Uhtred suggests that they take you back to Winchester, that perhaps the healers there may be of more help, but Osferth knows you would never survive the journey.

You hold his hand weakly, coughing hard, “Osferth, I…”

He looks at you, his heart in his throat as he kneels by your bedside, “My love? What is it?”

Osferth cradles your face in his hands, watching as your eyes shut and you breathe your last. He shakes his head frantically.

“No… No… My love, no!”

He holds your face in his hands, gently shaking you awake, growing more and more frantic as he screams for help, kissing your cheeks, your lips, feeling that your body has already begun to grow cold. He cannot bear the thought of losing you, his true love.

After a while, Finan points out the obvious, tears in his eyes. That you will need a proper burial. Osferth bursts into tears, sobbing hysterically and shaking his head.

“Come back to me, please!”

He holds your body close, refusing to let anyone near you, begging you not to leave him.

And that is when Sihtric offers a solution. Unorthodox, yes. Blasphemous, certainly. He suggests that, if Osferth is willing to pledge fealty to the Norse gods, that he may be able to convince Loki and his wife, Sigyn, to return you from Niflheim to the land of the living. Osferth nods fervently, immediately agreeing to the idea. He will give anything in the world if it means that you will wake. He will risk everything.

The journey to the gate between Midgard and Niflheim is far, and the road is treacherous. But Osferth braves it. He travels to the ends of the earth, refusing to give up on his quest to get you back. It takes days, weeks, maybe even months before he reaches the realm of Loki. Time has ceased to have meaning ever since your death.

Osferth reaches Loki and Sigyn’s throne room, dark but beautiful, prostrating himself at the gods’ feet, begging for mercy. Begging for you.

“Ask me your favor, mortal,” comes Loki’s silvery voice.

Osferth gazes up at him and Sigyn before speaking, “I ask you to return my love to the land of the living. She has died before her due time and I will give anything to have her back.”

Loki chuckles, shaking his head, “Your lady is one of the dead now, mortal. One of my servants. Why would I ever return her?”

Osferth looks down at the ground, his jaw setting in determination before he meets the god’s gaze once more without fear, seemingly impressing the deity, “I love her. More than anything in the world. I know I can make her happy. I will pay any price to have her back.”

Before Loki can refuse, he sees that Sigyn is moved by Osferth’s declarations of love. She fixes her husband with a sharp glare and Loki lets out a sigh before turning to Osferth.

“I will send your lady up after you, through the Niflheim gate. But,” he warns, “You must not look back at her until you have crossed back into Midgard. If you do not trust me and look back to see if she is there, she will be lost to you forever.”

Osferth nods in agreement, bowing again and accepting Loki’s terms. He takes a deep breath and turns to begin the arduous journey back to Midgard, wanting nothing more than to see you again, to hold you in his arms and kiss you.

As he walks, he hears your voice calling to him and smiles, nearly turning to face you before remembering Loki’s words. Your cries grow more desperate.

“Osferth, help me…”

His face goes pale. Everything in his body screams at him to turn around and save you, but he remains steadfast. He keeps moving forward, not looking back, his body trembling at hearing the sound of you in pain and suffering.

“Osferth, please…”

He hears you let out that low, rattling cough. The one you did just before you died. He feels tears pool in his eyes, mouth going dry, but he continues.

“I will make it. I can make it.”

The cries fade and a voice sobs as if in pain, but still he walks. He walks and walks until he reaches Midgard, hearing the Niflheim gate close behind him. He immediately turns to look now that he has held up his end of the deal, but you? You are nowhere to be found. His face twists in despair. Has this all been some cruel trick? Did Loki play him like a fool, dangling his dream of a future with you before his eyes and snatching it away? He is ready to go back for you once more but he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He turns around slowly, seeing you, your face glowing with visible happiness as you greet him, “My Emperor.”

“My love,” Osferth whispers in shock before pulling you into his arms, embracing you tightly. His lips find yours, desperate and passionate to confirm that you are here, standing beside him.

You giggle as he spins you around, peppering kisses all over your face, “Osferth, put me down!”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, I missed you so much. I thought you were lost to me forever.” He sets you down, resting his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes, “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

Osferth kisses you once more, hearing you murmur, “I love you so much. I want to marry you, have a family with you, grow old with you.”

He nods in agreement, smiling at you, “Let us marry. As soon as Lord Uhtred allows us to do so. I cannot imagine life without you.”

When the two of you reach Coccham, you let out a yelp of surprise when Uhtred, Finan, and Sihtric race to shower you in brotherly hugs, Gisela coming to you as well to kiss your brow and embrace you tightly, “Perhaps I shall try dying more often…”

Osferth smiles at how everyone greets you, with so much love. It warms his heart. Uhtred immediately announces that he will begin preparations for the marriage, that the two of you need not worry about a thing, that he and Gisela will take care of absolutely everything. Sihtric suggests that the two of you go somewhere special to celebrate your reunion, giving Osferth a knowing smirk. Osferth blushes and nods, taking you by the hand.

It is a long ride, but you two do not care as you reach that very garden where you met all those years ago. You sit on that same bench, your head resting on his shoulder as you watch the sun begin to set, the sky coming alive with its pink and yellow hues.

“I remember the day we first spoke here. All those years ago,” you sigh.”

Osferth presses a kiss to your forehead, smiling softly, “Destiny brought us together. We have always belonged to each other from the moment we met. It is you and me, forever and always.”

“Forever and always, my Emperor,” you agree, kissing his cheek and letting your lips linger against his skin before you tease, “Osferth… Must we wait for the wedding night to…” You trail off suggestively, giving him a cheeky smile, “Enjoy each other?”

Osferth thinks for a moment, blushing before he breaks into a wide smile, “No, I do not wish to wait a moment longer.”

You giggle, throwing your arms around him and tackling him to the ground in your enthusiasm, much as you did the first time you met, “My Emperor.”

“My Empress,” Osferth whispers as you kiss him passionately, “I need you. I need you so badly, my love.”

You make quick work of his robes, tossing them aside, the moon now rising in the sky, illuminating his pale skin. You kiss every freckle, every inch of exposed skin before taking his cock into your mouth, gazing into those blue eyes of his all the while, admiring how handsome he looks as his face twists in pleasure. You hollow your cheeks, cupping his stones as you bring your beloved closer and closer to his peak, nearly choking on his length before he pulls you close to him, shaking his head.

“I… I wish to spill myself inside you,” he whispers, almost shyly.

You nod, grinding your hips against his thigh, wetness pooling between your thighs.  Osferth practically rips your dress from your body, desperate to see you in all your splendor. The moonlight makes you look almost ethereal, bare before him in this garden, your place. His hand snakes between your thighs, slowly stroking your cunt, gasping at how wet you already are. He gently pushes two fingers inside of you, grinning at the gasp you let out, pumping them slowly, loving the subtle bounce of your breasts as you grind your hips down against his hand.

He feels you squeeze tight around him, reaching your peak with a gasp of his name. And when the two of you join your bodies, he gazes up at you in wonder as you sink down onto his cock. You let out a soft moan, just staying there for a long moment. The two of you gaze into each other’s eyes before your lips meet in a tender yet passionate kiss. You begin rolling your hips against his while Osferth’s hands grasp at your arse, squeezing your flesh, kneading it between his hands.

“I can’t wait to see you with child,” he admits, “Your belly round. Everyone will know that you are mine. My Empress. My love.”

“Yes, my Emperor,” you murmur, mewling as his cockhead brushes against your sweet spot, “Oh, Osferth…”

“I feel close, my love, let me spill myself inside of you,” he pleads.

You nod, squeezing around him tighter than you thought possible, his hips bucking up wildly against yours, admiring you as your face twists in ecstasy. You feel his fingers move to touch your pearl, gently rubbing it with the pads of his fingers. He feels your walls flutter around him, sees the way your lips part, and knows that you like it and so he continues. He feels his peak getting closer and closer, sitting up to take one of your breasts in his mouth, holding your hips in place when he feels you begin to tire, instead, rutting up against you like some sort of feral beast.

You reach your peak, moaning his name as he continues suckling at your breast, his cock still bullying against your walls until he lets out a shuddering, raspy moan of your name, spilling his seed deep inside you. The two of you fall backward onto the grass, breathing heavily as you gaze up at the stars. He brings your hand to his lips and turns to face you, holding you close.

“I love you, my Empress,” Osferth whispers, kissing you gently.

“And I love you, my Emperor.”

You two stay like that for a long while, gazing up at the stars, exchanging soft kisses, before you finally decide to begin your return to Coccham.

To your home.

Together.

anyway...gonna be using "click" to describe pussy sounds now, it's so visceral and I love it😂

The Downfall (Oneshot)

[ Hamlet • dark Aemond x Ophelia • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, fingering, virgnity loss, violence, suicide, angst, smut, obsession, remorse ]

[ description: When she attracts the attention of Prince Aemond during the wedding feast of his brother and his sister, she knows that something terrible is going to happen. His figure lunges towards her like black storm clouds and she feels that, along with his desire, he will bring on her downfall. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

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

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Tis I who should receive this honour. I, second son, rider of the greatest dragon in the world, experienced in wielding the sword, educated in history and philosophy, 'tis I who should…" He didn't finish, pressing his lips into a thin line. He stopped in the middle of his chamber, not looking at her but at the floor, his eye wide open in rage, his nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

She swallowed hard, clenching her fingers on the material of her gown as she sat in one of the chairs at the table, fearful of him as usual when he behaved in this way, making her unsure once again how to act.

To endorse his words would have meant betrayal, so she had to remain silent, though her heart was pounding like mad in her chest, a drop of cold sweat running down the back of her neck.

Their betrothal had come as a surprise to her; the prince had caught sight of her at a grand wedding feast held in honour of his brother and his sister, dancing among dozens of other couples.

She dared not look at him, knowing of the arrangements between the Red Keep and Storm's End, not wanting to ridicule herself by begging like some of the women from respectable houses for his attention.

Apparently that was what made his bright, cold, dangerous eye notice her figure and his sight did not leave her until the end of the evening. At first she thought she was just imagining it, then, however, glancing towards the table standing in front of the Iron Throne she met his gaze, his lips curving into a grin that was disturbing to say the least.

She was terrified.

The next day, her father was asked to extend their stay in the Red Keep and enjoy the King's hospitality, though it was not explained to them for what reason.

She was frightened because she understood what it meant and she never went anywhere alone, always taking a servant with her, having heard numerous stories of what Prince Aegon did to women who caught his eye.

She didn't want to see for herself if his younger brother was the same.

It seemed to her that black clouds had gathered over her, that it was a matter of time when something would happen, and indeed, when she came across him passing through the courtyard during one of his sparring sessions, though she turned her head away, his deep, mocking voice stopped her.

"My Lady."

She swallowed hard, knowing that if she didn't answer anything, if she didn't look at him, she would commit a great discourtesy and offend him.

She couldn't afford it.

Therefore, she turned towards him, looking at the ground, seeing only his legs and waist clad in black leather garments, bowing in front of him.

"Your Highness."

She felt for a moment that her heart stood in her throat, the only thing she could hear around her was the clinking of steel and the voices of servants discussing something with each other behind her back. She saw the legs she was looking at move towards her and she closed her eyes.

"What a scared little bird you are. Hm?" He hummed, his voice soft and teasing at the same time, amused, as if he were speaking to a small child.

She swallowed hard and looked up at him – he towered over her with a smirk that was mysterious and unsettling, his healthy eye bright and wide open, his gaze piercing to the core, his lips swollen and full.

She felt herself grow hot with shame.

What was she supposed to answer to such a question?

The prince cocked his head, apparently ignoring her silence, taking advantage of the fact that they were standing so close to each other, watching her as if she were some curious being he had never seen before.

"I watched you dance last night. Did you feel my gaze lingering on your figure?" He asked, and she swallowed heavily, lowering her gaze, involuntarily betraying herself. The Prince grinned under his breath, seeing her reaction.

"You did." He said and looked to the side, as if he wanted to make sure no one would hear what he was about to say, leaning over her ear. "I will marry you."

She drew in the air loudly, shocked and surprised, freezing for a moment, tense, looking at him with big eyes and shook her head, not understanding how he could say such a thing. He, however, only grinned broadly in a way that made her shudder and stepped away from her, turning to Ser Criston Cole, letting him know that they could continue.

Ser Criston gave her one terrified look that told her everything.

She was doomed.

She didn't tell her father about the prince's words because she was convinced that he was mocking her, wishing for certain that she would succumb to him and spend the night with him only to disappear from his life forever. She knew she couldn't let that happen if she wanted to marry any self-respecting lord and decided she would just stay inside her quarters.

And then their betrothal was announced.

There was a feeling of emptiness in her mind as she looked at him, at the wide, mischievous grin stretched across his face as he sat at the table, while his mother, the Queen, spoke to her of the King's decision, apparently persuaded by his son, wondering how she was supposed to tame such a man, tame such a fiery, unpredictable nature.

She was scared.

To her despair, her father had been invited to take on the role of one of the treasurers under the direct authority of the Small Council, which he welcomed with joy. It meant that their family was to stay in the Red Keep, and her betrothed could slowly clamp his claws around her neck.

He followed her like a wraith, sinking her further and further into his darkness, making her slowly melt into one with him, not knowing where his soul ended and hers began.

On the day he was to see his nephews again years later, she locked herself in her chamber, unwilling to watch this theatre of malice and humiliation, knowing what her betrothed thought of them, how often he mused about slitting their throats or gouging out their eyes to later gift them to his mother.

She knew he was furious, wanting to show her off like a pretty object he had in his possession, but she offered him a passive resistance that drove him to the brink of madness.

She drew in a loud breath as he surprised her by silently sneaking up to her chamber at night – she heard the loud creak of the wood beneath his body as he lay down behind her. His one hand took place on her womb, as if he was already imagining in the back of his mind as it swelled from his seed, the other went under her jaw, stroking her skin warningly, his lips against her ear.

"You're hiding from me. You're avoiding me. You move through the keep like a shadow." He whispered, however there was no threat or frustration in his words, which she felt instead in his hand that slowly clenched around her long neck. She swallowed quietly, looking ahead at the night, starry sky outside the window.

She did not answer him.

She rarely used words in his presence.

Unfortunately, this only deepened the state she aroused in him.

A curiosity bordering on obsession.

She tilted her head back and sighed involuntarily, feeling the tickling heat spilling over her lower abdomen as his moist, full lips ran over her cheek, the tip of his tongue leaving a wet, cool trail on her hot skin.

"– I needed you –" He hissed in a trembling voice, pressing his body against hers from behind, his hard, swollen manhood hidden under the material of his breeches pushed against her buttocks, pulsing steadily. Her nipples hardened at his words, a shiver of fear and excitement ran down her spine.

His hand from her womb slid lower, between her thighs, his fingers closed on her womanhood – she knew how he learned these tricks, knew that he had played with whores before he met her, but she couldn't convince herself that she particularly cared.

The delicacy and uncertainty of the movements of his fingers did not match how she perceived him: apparently it seemed to him that one too aggressive gesture on his part and she would fall apart in his hands.

Thus, he merely teased her through the material of her nightgown, waiting as usual for her breath to grow heavy and ragged, for her buttocks to begin to rock to the flicks of his wrist and rub against his throbbing erection.

They both moaned quietly as his hand impatiently lifted the material of her long robe, seeking the warmth between her thighs and finally found it, her pulsing, swollen slit leaking from her sticky wetness.

The fingers of his hand from her neck rose higher, to her cheeks, closing on it in a rough gesture, forcing her to turn her face in his direction – she didn't resist him as his slick tongue burst deep between her lips, as his mouth pressed against hers with a loud, lewd click in a greedy, ravenous kiss that took her breath away.

She let him do whatever he wanted with her lips – he was sucking, licking and biting them, as if he were some kind of animal that had grabbed its prey and wasn't going to let her go until he devoured her.

She didn't care, because her mind seemed to be muffled, as if she was underwater, focused only on the touch of his fingers as they dug into her puffy, delicate folds, teasing again and again her warm, pulsing slit.

Her body tensed like a string, knowing what he was about to do, and then at last the tips of his fingertips broke into her hot, throbbing interior with a quiet click of her moisture.

She moaned a tad too loudly into his mouth, making him sigh deeply into her throat, freezing for a moment, his hard erection slapping impatiently against her buttocks.

"– fuck –" He gasped, startling her completely, letting her go and turning her onto her back, laying on top of her, looking at her with his mouth parted wide, breathing heavily.

She had thought that, as was his custom, he would just simply take out his manhood and make her squeeze it with her hand, touching her at the same time to give her fulfillment.

He, however, after he untied the material of his breeches, grabbed her nightgown with his hands and lifted it above her thighs, making her voice froze in her throat, her hands clasped helplessly on his shoulders.

"– n-no – no, please –" She muttered, knowing that if he took her maidenhood, took what he desired, he would never marry her, would send her and her father back to where they came from humiliated and ridiculed.

"– I need this – I need to feel you –" He breathed out, as if he was in some kind of frenzy, heedless of her helpless attempts to stop him, forcing her to spread her thighs open. She cried out, tilting her head back and closed her eyes as she felt the fat head of his cock begin to push against her swollen slit.

"– no – please, Aemond, please –" She whimpered, raising her trembling hands to his cheeks, stroking his jaw, trying to give him what he wanted, what he was apparently dreaming of in his black, grim mind.

"– you don't understand –" He growled, in a sharp, impatient motion trying to slide deeper into her, opening her little cunt on his throbbing, long erection. "– I fucking needed you today –"

She whined as he forced his way deeper into her body, filling her so much that she felt like he was going to tear her apart from the inside, clenching her fingers against the material of his leather tunic, shocked at how foreign, frightening, painful and exciting this sensation was.

"– I know – I know, just a little bit more – it's almost in – shhhh –" He hushed her, stroking her head with his broad hand as he thrusted his thick root all the way in into her, one last cry of effort left her lips.

She seemed to feel him with her whole being, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling like she was suffocating, her heart pounding like mad, her whole body quivering in his arms, his lips placing warm, moist, reassuring kisses on her cheek.

"– thaaat's it – there we go – I'm going to start moving now –" He hummed, in a slow, lazy manner beginning to rock with his hips, sliding out of her a little and sliding back in with a quiet click, trying to force her body to adapt to his shape and receive him with greater ease.

He hugged her face to the hollow of his neck, without accelerating or making sudden movements, letting her fingers tighten vulnerably on his back.

"– good girl – calm down and let me fill you with my seed –" He whispered, as if he wanted to soothe her, to reassure her that he took no pleasure in her discomfort and suffering, even though he himself was the cause of it.

She nodded, not having the strength to stand up to him, breathing loudly to relax, to endure what he wanted to do to her. A low, loud groan of pleasure erupted from his lips when he felt it, and his thrusts became a little more sure, deep, loud.

"– g-gods –" She breathed out, feeling with horror that he was teasing a spot inside her from which shivers ran through her, waves of cold terror and hot pleasure surging through her body, causing a complete void in her mind, all she could focus on was the wooden canopy of the bed above her head.

"– yes – ah – so fucking wet for me – all warm and soft –" He breathed out into her ear, licking her hot cheek with his tongue, pounding into her with quiet clicks of her moisture, making her feel the tickle in her lower abdomen, in her puffy lips and in her hard nipples, the bed beneath them beginning to creak loudly.

She felt the familiar hot tension building within her, the tension that he aroused in her when he touched her with his fingers, that, to her despair, she began to take pleasure from this animalistic, simple act of slapping their naked, sweaty bodies against each other.

She tilted her head back and sighed as she let her hips tentatively begin to rock to his thrusts, her hands slid from his back to his bare buttocks, stroking them. He shuddered all over and groaned, blindly seeking her mouth with his own, joining her in a sticky, messy, loud kisses, licking and sucking her lips.

"– yes – yes, just like that, fuck, little one, fuck, fuck, fuckkk –" He gasped, pressing his forehead to hers, slamming into her so quickly and aggressively that he was barely sliding out of her, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again, opening her wide on his fat cock.

They both were moaning shamelessly, looking at each other wide-eyed with their mouths open, listening to the shameless, sticky clicks her slick cunt made with each of his thrusts.

"– just a little more – ah – f-fuck, yes –" He groaned in elation, his final, deep, sloppy thrusts prolonging the inevitable, she heard and understood little as a wave of pleasure shook her and something hot spilled deep inside her, their mingled wetness ran down her buttocks.

"– such a good girl –" He gasped, throbbing inside her for a moment longer, filling her with the remains of his spend.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, feeling her little cunt clamp down on his half-hard manhood, sucking it inside her again and again.

He fell on top of her without strength, panting heavily, and they both remained silent for long time. She finally heard him swallow hard, not even daring to look at her, his face sunk into the hollow of her neck.

"– will you forigve me, little bird? –" He muttered in a weak, deep, trembling voice.

At his question a single tear of sadness, regret and emptiness ran from the corner of her eye down to the side of her face, falling onto his forehead.

He felt it and lifted himself on his arm, wanting to look at her, but what he saw apparently made something inside him break.

He clamped his eyelid shut, swallowed hard and pressed his body against hers, burying his face in the pillow.

She didn't know why her hand lifted and laid on his head, stroking his hair with gentle, calm movements, why she felt a squeeze in her heart, why she wanted to comfort him.

Why she let him stay with her that night, cuddled into to her as if he were a small child .

And then the King died.

Her betrothed walked into her chamber the next day, pale, not looking into her eyes, twitching all over, as if in shock.

"My father is dead…" He began, and her mouth opened wide, looking at him in horror.

"… and my grandfather demands that I marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters."

She stared at him dully, feeling her heart stop in her chest, her stomach twisting in pain as if she was about to vomit.

"I admitted to my grandfather what I did to you. I refused to let him send you away. You will become a Septa. You will be safe and retain your dignity I wrongfully took from you." He said and flinched hard as she grinned at his words, looking at her in disbelief.

"Do you think I'm surprised? I knew you wouldn't keep your word the day I saw you."

It seemed to her that something in her words broke him, for his lower lip began to tremble without the participation of his free will, his eye turned red, his nostrils twitched in heavy, accelerated breathing.

He was unable to get anything out of himself.

On the evening of the day before she was to leave the Red Keep, she demanded that a bath be prepared for her.

She knew he would come to her, she knew his conscience would not let her go without a farewell, she knew he would want to take her one more time before he abandoned her once and for all.

When she was left alone she slipped under the water, sinking her head into it as well, and closed her eyes, feeling strangely calm as the air stopped flowing into her lungs, a shudder shook her body indicating that some part of her still wanted to live.

It was said afterwards that the prince had found her and pulled her out of the water, that he had sobbed and wailed over her bare body, that he had locked her in his embrace, not allowing anyone to come near her, kneeling with her cuddled into his chest on the cold stone floor.

It was said that after that evening he stopped to speak and leave his chamber, staring dully into the fire for hours, playing between his fingers with a lock of her hair, the only memento he had left of her.

It was said that the prince's heart had died with her.

Hey, i'm not like, dead lmao. I know I haven't posted anything in foreverrrrrr it feels like, or written anything either really. I adore fanfiction and it's really helped me get some things out and helped me not be so lonely in the past, but I think I'm gonna take an indefinite break.

I found someone who really makes me happy and makes me feel like I'm living in an actual fanfiction, so I haven't felt the need or desire to write anymore haha. I'm still gonna be active on here and stuff, just not gonna post any more stories for now.

Thank you to anyone who's engaged with or supported my works, I appreciate ya💕

💀💀THANK YOU LMAO The accuracy🤣

𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐄𝐝𝐞𝐧

didn't really wanna write this in the first place, considering my faith, but ugh it was too good of an idea to resist😅

Summary: Aemond was always God's favorite creation, that is, until He made you.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), ROUGH NONCON, Lucifer!Aemond x Eve!Reader (does this count as monster fucking?), a whole lotta blasphemy going on here, guilt, degradation, humiliation, corruption, taste of the forbidden fruit (aka oral, m!receiving), painful loss of virginity, blood, creampie, Aemond is very very mean

word count | 2.4k🤙🏻

As soon as Aemond was created, he knew he was made for greatness.

Aemond was the most beautiful out of all of the angels, the most beloved and cherished. God put a lot of effort into sculpting him out of the finest materials, making him appear ethereal, almost as much as Him. It shouldn’t have been much of a shock when some of the angels preferred his company to God’s, telling him how much better he could run things, what things he could achieve if the Creator simply…ceased to exist.

Aemond tried, and Aemond failed, forcing God’s hand to banish him and his fallen angels from paradise, making Aemond lose his eye in the process. He refused to bow down and blindly obey what claimed to be a superior being than everything else, and he was thrown into Hell for wanting his own independence.

Aemond grew bitter and angry, what kind of Father did that to his beloved creation? 

He vowed from then on that he’d try to spurn his Creator at every moment he could, devoting himself to make God have a perpetual headache as revenge. He’d destroy anything and everything He loved and wanted to protect, burn Heaven’s gates to the fucking ground. 

So when Aemond saw God had made such fragile little toys to roam what he called Earth, he took every opportunity to maim and kill each creature. But that only made God create beings that could take care of said creatures.

Aemond and his demons could only laugh at the smooth skinned being that God created out of dust. Dust, he thought derisively, how inferior this so-called human is compared to me to be made out of something so quaint.

Aemond attempted to push all sorts of dangerous thoughts into the human’s head, wanting the man to destroy and self-destruct, but all he managed to get through was the feeling of loneliness.

Then, in response to the human man’s loneliness, God created a similar being to keep this human company; you, whose beauty almost matched Aemond’s, and he suddenly came to the realization that he wasn’t God’s favorite anymore.

God didn’t walk with Adam as much as he did with you, little Eve, doting on you and granting you whatever you wished without you even having to ask. No, no, no, this won’t do, Aemond thought maliciously, only he could be God’s favorite. No…Aemond had to ruin you.

Watching you and Adam live in blissful ignorance, speaking and being in the presence of the Lord, boiled his blood, hotter than he had ever felt before. But one silver lining, the Tree of Knowledge.

God told you and Adam that you could eat from any tree or plant you wished, just never the Tree of Knowledge for you would surely die. Aemond smirked to himself as he devised his plan. He would make damn sure one of you would eat the forbidden fruit.

Aemond came to you when you were by yourself, disguising himself in the appearance of a serpent, the only form he could take in your presence, which irked him, but he’d make do.

You eyed the serpent carefully, watching as it slithered across the grass towards you, seemingly just watching you as you worked in the garden…until it started to speak.

“Did God really say you must not eat from any tree in the garden?” The serpent spoke.

“We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but the Lord God did say, you must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.” You answered hesitantly, still very confused why a snake was speaking to you like it was a man. But a part of you were intrigued, his voice was soft and alluring; entranced, you had to listen to what it had to say.

The serpent seemed to scoff. “Surely you will not die.” The serpent climbed up the tree, taking a bite from the lowest hanging fruit, a loud gasp eliciting from your own lips as you saw the being swallow and didn’t immediately fall dead. “See? Who is He to tell you what you can and can’t do, hm? Aren’t you supposed to be free?”

A sinking feeling formed in the pit of your stomach, feelings of rage and betrayal encompassing you. “I-I…I am free! You have forgotten your place, beast!” You snapped, “The Lord God loves us and wants the best for us. He must have a reason!”

“You think everything is perfect, silly girl?” The serpent giggled, circling around you like the predator he was, eyeing your naked form, finding a reluctant feeling of gratefulness that God chose your features so well. “There’s so much wonder here right in front of your eyes, all you have to do is simply take a bite of the fruit.”

You shook your head defiantly. “No. He said we’d die. Why would He lie?”

“Because, if you eat from the tree, your eyes will be opened for what the world really is. You’ll understand right from wrong. You will be like Him. Consider, for just a second, if God truly loved you, He wouldn’t keep all this knowledge from you, right? Why would He keep something so simple from someone so innocent? Maybe He wants it all for Himself because He doesn’t think you deserve to feel all the joys He feels, that you’ll never feel. Ask yourself, why does He give you less when He takes more? How being free is being locked inside this place? Maybe you're weak or a mistake or too emotional. Maybe you're not good enough for His world, maybe you never were…”

Aemond could see the hesitance slowly leave your face, finally considering what he was saying to be the truth. Yes, little Eve, eat. “He’ll never know, sweet little lamb. I’ll never tell, you have my word. You deserve to know, you deserve to be free.”

The serpent’s poisonous words penetrated into your mind, making your mouth water from just the thought of finally eating from the forbidden tree. You had to admit, the tree was pleasant to the eye, the fruit it bore looked so delectable, like water on a hot day, maybe it would have always come to this? If not now, then definitely later.

You picked the same piece of fruit the serpent had bit into before, the skin of the fruit so soft and ripe, you were practically drooling as you brought it to your lips, taking a considerable bite.

As soon as the sweet yet bitter flavor hit your tongue, it felt like all the walls came down and the heavens opened. It was the best thing you had ever tasted in your life, the taste almost making you moan aloud. And you weren’t dead, in fact, you had never felt more alive. But your skin prickled at the breeze hitting your skin, and you realized you were naked. How long have you been naked? And the serpent was no longer with you, instead, a tall figure stood in front of you now, transformed as soon as the fruit traveled down your throat.

Unlike the serpent, the being in front of you was too beautiful to be any sort of beast, or human for that matter. You teared up instantly, the sight being too amazing for your human mind to comprehend. “Who…who…?” Was all you could get out.

“I am called many names, little lamb. Lucifer, Satan, Devil, Father of Lies, and much more…but you may call me Aemond.”

Your stomach dropped, the fruit sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone, burning from the inside out; you wanted to vomit. What have you done? You almost screamed when he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you close to him, your chest touching his, your breasts pressed uncomfortably against the leather of his clothing.

“You just had to give into temptation, didn’t you? You just had to taste it.” The Devil disapproved mockingly, an evil grin decorating his face, making his visage all the more menacing.

“You…you deceived me!” You sobbed, “You lied! You-!”

“Ah, ah, ah, can’t claim yourself to be innocent now, little girl. Now, the trust is broken. How will your God ever love you now?” He purred, licking up your free flowing tears from your cheeks and moaning at the salty taste. You tried to pull away, but he was too strong, holding your head in place, his fingers digging into your skin, once never blemished nor tainted now marked by the beast. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Besides, I’ve got something else for you to taste.”

You begged for him to stop as he forced you on your knees, the grassy floor that once felt so soft now cutting up your flesh, itching and burning. “Please, don’t do this to me!”

Aemond only snickered, “Poor girl, you have no idea how evil this world really is, huh? This is just a taste of what’s to come. Be grateful this is all I want…for now.” Aemond forced your mouth open, squeezing your cheeks together and forcing his fingers into your mouth, choking you until he replaced them with his cock. “Ah, such a sweet, innocent, unused mouth. Adam never made you do this, hm?”

You couldn’t force back your tears, copiously flowing down your cheeks along with the drool on your chin. The head of his cock kept hitting the back of your throat over and over, you gagged and almost vomited until he gave you a breather, pulling back and looking over your tear stained face with a sickening awe. “So pretty…prettier than me, I must admit.” His eyes darkened in jealousy. “That bastard can’t possibly love you more than me once I’m finished with you.”

In one swift movement, Aemond had you on all fours, shoving your face into the ground, dirt and grass covering the side of your face uncomfortably. You screamed as he shoved his cock inside you in one thrust, filling and stretching you almost impossibly wide. The pain had your ears ringing and vision going white, sweat beading out of every pore in your skin as he forced you to take all of him. “Fuck, so tight. Did Adam never take you to bed? I figured as much, such prudish creatures. Don’t worry, my sweet little lamb, I’ll break you in for him.”

As if you thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, his brutal thrusts had you sobbing, the amount of tears you shed causing the soil to turn into mud beneath you, grass getting underneath your fingernails with how hard you were holding on to keep yourself from passing out. “S-Stop, please, mercy!” You begged.

“Mercy?” He growled. “I’ve begged for mercy too many times to count, I never received any. Neither shall you. Now shut up and take my cock like a good little lamb.”

“God…please…make this end…” You whispered into the ground, only to get a mocking laugh in return.

“He can’t save you now.”

Aemond’s thrusts were wild, trying to make it as painful for you as possible, watching your blood drip down your inner thighs and making a little puddle on the ground, staining the grass. But along with the blood, an almost white fluid made a ring around the base of his cock. “Oh, starting to enjoy this now, are you?” He grinned evilly, gripping your hair to pull you back against his chest, his other hand reaching around to hold your neck.

As much as you hated to admit it, yes. The pain slowly went away, all that was left was an achy pressure in the pit of your stomach, a burning that seemed to grow in intensity with every harsh thrust he made. “S-Stop…”

Aemond hummed in disapproval. “Why do you resist the pleasure you feel? Give in to sin and you can have anything you want in the world.”

“No…” You said to yourself. “No!”

Aemond chuckled. “So defiant, I like that. Makes it more fun to break you.”

You gasped as Aemond reached down to rub circles around a spot you didn’t even know existed, the sensation overwhelming but you didn’t want it to stop, though you’d never admit this. It made the pressure in your stomach only grow faster, moans escaping you and getting louder the more he touched you. “What’s happening?” You cried, panicking.

“You’re about to reach your peak, little lamb. You’re about to feel one of the most pleasurable of sins, and all because of me.”

“No, stop! Don’t make me, please!” 

But it was too late, you reached the point of no return. It felt like you were going to die, the feeling was so intense, your whole body convulsing and spasming around Aemond’s cock. And with it, a dark feeling overtaking you. 

You groaned loudly, an almost growling noise, as you reached your peak, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, only to come back as black voids. There was no white in your eyes nor color, just darkness. Your fingernails pushed out, being replaced with claws. Your canines fell out, being replaced with fangs. A brutal ache in your skull had you crying out, blood dripping down your face as a horn on either side of your head grew from beneath your skin.

“Yes, dark little lamb, give in to me.” Aemond cooed, and for the first time, you listened to him.

Aemond flipped you onto your back, looking down at you in a mocking admiration, grinning as your skin grayed and veins went red, beginning to resemble one of his demons.

He was taken by surprise as you flipped him onto his back with a shocking amount of power, shoving his cock back inside you and began to ride him violently. “There she is, there’s my fallen angel.” He groaned as his cock began to pulse, your walls squeezing him just right as you made yourself come around him as many times as you could, the feeling addicting to you now. “Fuck, do you want my seed, little Eve?”

“Don’t call me that.” You growled, scratching up his chest with your new claws, drawing copious amounts of blood, your now forked tongue lapping up the red fluid. The added pain made Aemond reach his peak quickly, his cum filling you to the brim. With one more cry, you sprouted dark wings, fluttering softly but just enough it brought you to your feet. 

Aemond stood up with a grin, watching as his cum dripped down your shaky legs, mixing with your blood. “You’re mine now, understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Hm, now what shall I call you, if not Eve?” You pondered his question for a brief moment, before ultimately deciding your new name and your new fate.

“Lilith.”

hey y'all, thought i'd post a little something something for Valentine's Day. I wrote the first half of this months ago and then i got a boyfriend and stopped writing but i really liked this idea and decided to finish it. Hope you enjoyed!