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From the Beginning - A Persephone!Eternal Reader & Hecate!Eternal Reader Drabble

Pairings: Persephone!Eternal Reader & Hecate!Eternal Reader, ft. Sephia x Ikaris, and Kaetlyn x Druig Word Count: 1.1k Summary: A lil' drabble idea to show how it all started for our favorite thinker and fighter, and how they would soon change everything for everyone. Warning(s): none it's so fluffy Notes: Once again, thank you to the most wonderful beta reader a new fanfic writer can ask for in the history of everything, @valeskafics! She is an incredibly kind and patient human and one of the best and most incredible fanfic writers for HOTD, GOT, and the Ewanverse on Tumblr! If you love any of Ewan Mitchell's works or are a fan of GOT/HOTD, I highly recommend checking her blog out! You will not regret it! Also, the BIGGEST thank you and shout of love to @ethereal-athalia, my good man in the storm, I have never clicked so well with someone on this platform when it came to crazy ideas, and thanks to her, I can write out my ideas and share them on this site! If you want to read more from this AU, please click on this masterlist!

“It is time,” were the first words uttered that would mark the beginning of a mission that would change their lives forever. Long gone were their lives on their home planet, Olympia. Now, their only priority was their mission on the planet Earth.  

Twelve individuals stood from their seats and made their way to their positions that marked their roles in humanity’s growth. Six on one side, and six on the other.  

Six Eternals would serve as “fighters,” protecting humanity from the hideous creatures that threatened their feeble existence known as “Deviants.”  

The other six would take on their roles as “thinkers,” guiding humanity to evolve in their intelligence so that they would be able to create wonders without assistance.  

But regardless, “thinker” or “fighter,” each Eternal was blessed with abilities that would play an integral role for their mission. Each Eternal stood in their place, golden streams of celestial energy encompassed their bodies as they could now wear the armor that marked their Olympian origins and culture.  

With their bodies equipped, and minds ready, each Eternal made their way to gaze out from the many windows that their starship, the Domo, was built with in preparation for their travel.  

As each Eternal introduced themselves to one another, hoping to gain common ground with the team to settle rattled nerves, only two individuals had no need for introduction. 

As one Eternal gazed out the Domo - bereft at the sight of the planet where her new life would begin – she wondered if Earth would ever be home the way Olympia had been to her despite her having no true memory of it. She wondered if her abilities would prove useful, and she was worried that she would be incapable of making any friends. Luckily, that fear would be one that would pass very, very soon. 

“Sephia!” 

Her name was all she heard before arms encased by iridescently dark blue with pearly ivory entwining into celestial bodies that wrapped around her nimble but powerful form. A wide smile grew as she registered the familiarity of the voice.  

It was Kaetlyn, her very best friend.  

Instant relief filled her body as she shifted her body to return the hug. Sephia’s joy knew no bounds as she realized that she would at least be in the company of one of the greatest warriors Olympia had ever produced. But even without her arrows, Kaetlyn was the best person Sephia could think of for as long as she remembered. The fact that she left her home and was aboard with too many strangers no longer mattered to her. So long as her beloved Kaet was by her side, Sephia would get through anything that came her way. It was if their bond was testified and bound by the stars themselves. 

“Aren’t you so excited? Look at it! It’s so beautiful! I wonder what sites we’ll see!”  

As Kaetlyn’s curiosity grew, so did her excitement. Her voice could hardly contain the sheer ecstaticity that was flowing throughout her entire body. The next words that escape her would mark the shadow archer’s true intentions.  

“Think of all the adventures we’ll have,” she whispered out so that only Sephia would be able to hear her, “The stories we’ll be able to tell!”  

If Kaetlyn was known for anything besides her skills in combat, it was her insatiable curiosity. For as long as Sephia had known her, Kaetlyn was never ever satisfied with only knowing whatever she currently knew. She always wanted to know MORE. Sephia smiled at a memory of Kaet once explaining to her that it was her solemn oath that she would never EVER be satisfied with only what anyone gave her, and that she’d always find her way to learn more. That oath felt like it was from a lifetime ago. 

These words were from another lifetime, in more ways than one. But that will come to light at another time. 

But despite Kaetlyn’s contagious excitement, dread began to course through Sephia’s veins. As her nerves began to eat at her, Sephia couldn’t help but pick at her fingers. A horrible habit that would always result in inflamed tissue, bleeding, and ugly scars.  

“I’m scared,” she timidly replied, eyes turned away so that she wouldn’t let her friend see her cowardice. “What if the life forms on this planet are horrible? What if they are beyond help?” As Sephia continued to list her concerns, Kaetlyn understood that it wasn’t the fear of others that terrified Sephia, it was the idea that she would be of no use to Arishem’s grand design. 

“It will be alright Seph,” Kaet declared in a tone that filled herself with confidence and Sephia with reassurance, “After all, as long as we’re together, nothing will be too terrible.” 

“…I suppose that’s true,” Sephia let herself agree to her most trusted companion’s advice, but her heart was still heavy with anxiety. 

Very softly, she dared ask the most stupid question that ever left her mouth. 

“Will we always be together?” 

Kaetlyn looked at her most cherished friend with so much warmth in her eyes that it was as if all the most beautiful things in the universe were born into the very person in front of her.  

“Sephie,” she began with love in her voice and stars in her eyes as she leaned forward to press their foreheads together, “As if you even need to ask.” 

Unbeknownst to either of the girls, two men from opposite sides of the room gazed at the loving embrace with curious eyes.  

One came from Ikaris, a fighter gifted with the ability to fly and emit optic beams of celestial energy, as well as a commanding figure and attitude. His watch was fixed on the beautiful Eternal, with flowing blush fabric draped across her lovely figure as strategically placed brass armor hinted at the curves of her physique. He could not stop staring at her, despite the impossibly lovely Sersi that stood beside him at that very moment. 

The other came from Druig, a thinker who was known across Olympia for his telepathic abilities, along with his quick wit and surly demeanor. But all somber thoughts came to a halt at the sight of the slim figure, who after donning her armor, disappeared into the shadows of the room. Only to reappear to embrace her friend with so much delight, it surprised him.  

Two very different individuals, but both somehow staring at the sight before them for so long, that it would set in motion the events that would be all four individuals’ joy, as well as their end. 

Please like, comment, reblog, and/or share this post with anyone who might enjoy it! Please be kind, and live an extraordinary life!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @valeskafics, @aphroditesmoon, @its-actually-minicika, @spacetalbot, @angelnyx, @vikingqueen28, @redheadspark, @siempre-bucky, @beananacake, @asa-do-your-thing, @justmymindandstuff, @heliosphere8, @bambiandbam, @sunphyre, @bryandechartisasmolbean, @getawaycardotmp3, @americanprometheuss, @karimac

Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future posts!

Bellllll 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

My darling, I don’t think you understand how much I love and adore you. I don’t think I would have even starting writing fanfiction at all if it weren’t for you!!!

Lovely Art That Lovely People Have Done For My Fics ✨

-Artwork for "Dream Boy" by @fuokir

-Artwork for “Across The Stars” + Artwork for "(Don't) Fear The Reaper" + Artwork for "La Petite Mort" by @cyeco13

-Moodboard for "A Love Like War" + Moodboard for "The Maiden" by @zae5

-Moodboard 1 and 2 for "Say Your Prayers" by @cdragons

-Moodboard for "Scream for Me" by @barbiedragon

-Tiktok for "Scream for Me"

It is literally so incredibly kind of you guys to take the time to do stuff like this for something I've written. I cherish and adore each and every one of you so much ❤️

Ikaris and Sephia live for the seasons changing, especially during the colder months. It always means that they get a chance to warm up in the morning more...intimately 😘

Fall Family Chaos Fun - An Ikaris x Persephone!Eternal Halloween Oneshot

Pairings: Sephia x Ikaris Word Count: ~2.1k Summary: A lil'l slice of insight to how Ikaris' and Sephia's home life goes in the fall with their three gremlins angels. This fic also introduces a lot of new characters that will make strong appearances in future works of this AU! Warning(s): Heavy petting on Ikaris' part (man's a horndog for our Sephie), Aggie is a menace who takes after her Aunt Kaety, Ikaris is older than dirt and doesn't understand teens, Laurie being a teen, and Sephia & Arthur just being adorable

Notes: Yes, I know that Halloween has technically passed, but I had midterms and projects during the time so I'm using the rest of the season as a Free Fall fics pass until December. So this oneshot was beta read by the ever-so lovely @ethereal-athalia, who has so graciously sacrificed herself agreed to beta read all of my fics for the upcoming future while my usual beta reader @valeskafics, is currently really busy with law school until the foreseeable future! Even so, please go visit her blog because she is one of the best writers on Tumblr, especially if you are a fan of Ewan Mitchell, and the HOTD/GOT universe! If you have read any of my past works, you know that my girl @ethereal-athalia is pretty much the co-parent of this Eternals AU idea, and I absolutely love sharing ideas with her, and making connections to make these fics more interesting. Anyway, please be kind and enjoy!

Somewhere deep in an enchanted forest hidden from most of the world, there stood an impressive house. This house was the home to a very special family. It was built by a beautiful woman and her besotted husband, and became their home for them and their three incredible children. Every day the home was laughter and peace and a calming air-

“DADDDDDDD! HAVE YOU SEEN MY CLOAK?”

-unless it was October, December, summer, or… actually, it hard to remember when the word “calm” could be used to describe their home.

“Which one Aggie?”

“The one that had the pretty gold swirls and stars! I need it to match with Hamy!”

“Aggie sweetie, I put it on the chair next to Pope Butterscotch the Golden Sheep!”

“Thanks mommy!”

“Mama? Have you seen Bun-Bun?”

“Bun-Bun had an accident with the breakfast this morning, so I put him in the wash! But he should be waiting for you in the dryer!”

“Thanks, Da!”

A frazzled Ikaris crouched on top of the stairwell, scrubbing away the evidence of markers and crayons from the wall-paint. When the colored outlines were only just barely visible, he made his way down the stairwell to find the one person whose sole presence would wash away all his fatigue. Standing over the massive sink - bathed in golden sunlight - stood the love of his eternal and immortal life. You were washing the vegetables that came from their gardens. Ikaris saw an array of vegetables – carrots that ranged from yellow to dark purple, deep red beetroots and radishes, a mountain of spinach, and a pumpkin of impressive size (just to new a few).

With sweat running down her brow and small streaks of dirt on your cheek, you was a vision of pure beauty. Ikaris could spend all his time listing all the parts he loved about you, and the Earth would long be dead from war and famine and any other forms of destruction that came from humanity. No time with you would be enough- it would never be enough. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Ikaris lowered his head until his nose was pressed into the crook of your neck.

Taking in a deep breath, your natural essence of clean and fresh aromas overtook his senses as a wave of calm washed over him. Your natural perfume mixed with the notes of your sweat formed a new sweet and tantalizing fragrance that caused a growl to emerge deep from his throat as Ikaris started to lay kisses over your skin. Given your deep connection to the Earth, your scent always seemed to change with the seasons. As the autumn chill chased away the summer breeze, gone were the fresh and soft fragrances of grapefruit and sandalwood. But Ikaris did not mind the loss as he took notice of notes of patchouli and orange. Reaching behind you to stroke your husband’s hair, you let a light chuckle escape under your breath.

“If you’re hoping to get lucky,” you teased with a mirthful smirk, “I would suggest that you wait until I am not sweating like a pig with dirt all over me.”

“Please,” Ikaris scoffed, “you say that if I haven’t taken you in the dirt a thousand times by now, each time leaving you more flushed with sweat than you washing some greens.” He emphasized his point by creeping his hands under your the massive green and cream flannel you stole from his closet until he reached your breasts. His eyes widened slightly at the lack of a certain apparel, until the corners of his mouth curled to a lecherous grin.

“No bra today?” He whispered with a low and husky tone. “Such a naughty flower, I wonder if I touched you down there, would I find your cunt bare and dripping, or your underwear soaked?” He pinched your nipple to emphasize his point, and let his ears drink in your soft mewling.

“Ikaris,” you rasped, “our kids could walk in any moment-”

“DAD! ARTHUR STOLE MY RIBBON!”

“NUH-UH! AND IT WAS BUN-BUN’S RIBBON FIRST, SO AGGIE STOLE IT FIRST!”

“DID NOT!” “DID TOO!” “DID NOT!” “DID TOO!”

“DAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDDD!”

Lightly chuckling at the immediate downfallen expression on your husband’s face in response to their children’s call to him. Turning your head to press a kiss on his furrowed brow, you reassured him that you would play the mediator this time.

“And while I’m at it,” you reasoned, “you can check on our less problematic son.”

“Laurie?” Ikaris’ expression immediately shifted to worry. “Is he alright? Has he experienced any chest pains or breathing troubles? He barely finished his breakfast this morning. Do I need to call Kaet-”

“No, no, no,” you reassured, already on damage control to prevent her husband from hovering over their firstborn like he had when Laurie was still a baby. “He’s just been holed up in his room all day, and I want to make sure that he isn’t overly stressed about anything.” You pressed her palm on his face, and stroked your thumb across his cheek. “Don’t worry so much, it might just be teen angst – Sersi told us that it’s very common at his age!”

Still a bit disturbed at his son’s unusual behavior, Ikaris quickly kissed your palm before making his way up the deep mahogany stairwell. Thinking over the past few months, Ikaris was making mental notes of his son’s strange behavior. He knew that it wasn’t his studies or his athletics at school, but he was acting more secretive. He would come home later than usual, check his phone more frequently, and even finish his meals as quickly as possible to dash to his room.

Quickly flying past the many rooms – including the one that was currently occupied by his two youngest children, who were still arguing over the correct ownership over a particularly shiny ribbon – he finally made it to the end of the hall where his first child’s room was located. On the deep red-stained wood was a little piece of signage that was covered in laurel leaves with the only negative space spelling out “Laurie.” Softly knocking three times twice (a little signal between father and son) before a soft voice was heard through the door.

“Come in,” called out his son as Ikaris gently opened the door, a faint creak screeched out from the worn-down hinge and its pin. At first glance, the main focus of the room would be the queen-sized bed frame with a hand-embroidered eggshell-white cotton quilt, or the thousands of stars that were painted on the ceiling, or even the gilded golden crossbow hanging over his bed. But all the Eternal could focus on was the sight of his eldest child, Laurus Orion Harris, or “Laurie” as was so lovingly dubbed by his glorious wife. And he couldn’t help but feel immense pride in the fact that he had any part (even if it was only genetically) in creating the child in front of him.

“Everything alright dad?” Laurie asked.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” Ikaris replied, “well, your mother is trying to separate your brother and sister over a very sparkly ribbon. But other than that, everything is fine.” He paused for a minute to notice that his eldest was acting a bit antsy, as if he was expecting something very important. “But are you sure there isn’t anything bothering you?”

“Huh, what do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just unusual for you to be holed up in your room. It’s usually not because of your studies because your Aunt Sersi always tells your mum and me how well you’re doing. At the very least, you’d probably be outside enjoying the changing leaves with your horse.” Ikaris tried not to seem too intrusive, his son had the right to his own privacy after all, and he trusted him to always make good choices. But with everything he had seen for the past few months, he wanted to make sure that Laurie wasn’t involved in anything dangerous. “I just want you to know that if there’s anything that’s at all bothering you, me or your mum are always going to be there to listen.”

Laurie took in what his dad said, and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to tell him a little bit. “Well, now that you mention it. I was just wondering…do you think Uncle Gil and Aunt Thena will bring Mara and Uriel over for Hamish’s birthday?”

And suddenly everything was clear for Ikaris. It was no wonder his child had been acting so nervous lately.

“Laurie,” he began, “are you worried over how you’ll act around Thena’s new ward?”

When his fourteen-year-old son’s face turned bright red, Ikaris knew he hit the nail on the head.

“You know, if you’re really that worried, I can ask Thena and Gil to maybe reconsider coming this year. I am sure they’ll understand, it’s only been a little over a year since-”

“NO! That’s alright!” Laurie was so panicked that he didn’t even notice his voice cracking, “I don’t want to do that to Hamish, he looks forward to all of us coming together for his birthday. And I rarely see Uncle Gil and Aunt Thena that much as it is – plus, Aggie seems to be alright with her, and Arthur is already getting along with Uriel really well. So…I just want to make sure that she knows that she’s welcome and…safe with us.”

“Oh my sweet boy,” mentally sorrowed Ikaris, “that little fire hellion has got him petrified.” No matter how long since it’s been since he last fought, the Eternal would tell when someone was trying to put on a brave face. Not wanting to embarrass his son, Ikaris decided that it would be best to just drop the matter for now. Worst case scenario, he would no issue to take matters in his own hands if that little flame demon tried to pull anything on Laurie like she had the first time.

“Alright,” he relented, “but you shouldn’t worry so much. I’m sure that you two will soon be good friends. But if there is anything that happens with her that makes you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, you tell me or you mum straight away. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah dad, I understand.”

“Good, I want you to know that-”

“DADDDDD! ARTHUR STILL WON’T GIVE ME BACK MY RIBBON!”

“THAT’S BECAUSE IT ISN’T YOUR RIBBON, IT’S BUN-BUN’S RIBBON!”

Letting out a deep sigh before walking over to the foot of the bed next to his son, Ikaris swept aside a bit of his unruly curls to drop a quick kiss on the top of his forehead. A wave of rosemary and frankincense wafted into his nose.

“Seems like your mum needs some help,” he chuckled, “remember what I told you. I love you.”

“Love you too dad,” replied Laurie as he watched his father walk out of his room and closing the door. He tried his best to gather his thoughts for the upcoming holiday, but that was easier said than done.

“Agalia Sersi Harris!” He heard his mother yell out – which happened very rarely. “You tell Germain to lower your brother on the ground this instant young lady!”

Not being able to hold back the laugh escape his throat, Laurie let out a series of soft chuckles. He thought back to all of the comments his friends at his school would make about his family.

They would marvel over how his mum would always make sure his lunches would look so delicious, and laugh whenever he never rejected her hugs and kisses.

Sometimes, they’d jealously gripe over how close he would be with his dad because he would always be there for his games and always act so proud of how he played – even if he did terribly.

There was the occasional snide comment about how Aggie would act so uppity and prissy, and then they’d immediately piss themselves at the sight of her barreling toward them at full speed to deliver her fury.

And then they would talk about how weird it’d be whenever Little Ari would always try to play with them, and Laurie would never brush him off and make sure that there was a way to include him.

It made the young man sad to realize that it wasn’t considered “normal” to be so close to your own parents and siblings. But if being a “normal” meant having to pretend that he didn’t have most incredible family in the history of the world, then he would gladly wear the title “freak” proudly.

I hope you enjoyed reading this fic! Please drop a like if you did enjoy it, and also a reblog or comment if you look forward to reading more!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @3vergr3en, @its-actually-minicika, @asa-do-your-thing, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @hypnoticmistake, @vikingqueen28, @tacorice, @deanthomaswhore, @angelnyx, @getawaycardotmp3, @redheadspark, @sunphyre, @bambiandbam, @diaryofapillowprincess, @karimac, @spacetalbot, @beananacake, @snowprincesa1, @littledoveofchaos, @prettyvintageafternoon, @themeanestlittlewitch

Let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged!

This is the Tumblr hug 🫂🤍 Please pass it on to 5 mutuals to brighten someone's day!

No one:

Bel: *posts Robb Stark x Reader fic*

Me: *crying, heaving, shaking all at once in joy*

BELLLL, you know that I am the biggest whore for Robb Stark, and you go and post this MASTERPIECE?????? LITERALLY HOW DARE YOU????? AND THEN HAVE THE NERVE TO POST IT IN FINALS SEASON WHEN MY SPIRITS ARE MOST DOWN, AND YOUR WRITING JUST PICKED ME RIGHT BACK UP????

"Last Christmas" - Modern!Robb Stark x Best Friend!Reader

a/n: a request from my beloved @foxyanon!!! i love you so much, bby, hope you enjoy this! 🩷

Summary: Last Christmas, Robb Stark broke your heart by getting back together with Talisa. But maybe this year, things will be different.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 1,500 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire 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 🩷

The last time you saw your best friend, Robb Stark, was last Christmas. He was dealing with the fallout of his breakup with his first serious girlfriend, Talisa. It had been a little over a month and from what you could tell, he was still pretty cut up about it. It hurt you, seeing him like that, red rimmed eyes and his lower lip trembling, his hair in disarray, especially when you’ve been in love with him for half your life. You’ve kept that secret close to your heart, never telling anyone, not even your female friends, that you’re in love with Robb.

And, for a brief moment there, you thought maybe he could love you back. You remember the holiday party at the Stark family mansion last year, where the two of you ended up under the mistletoe, the way he smiled at you, his eyes creasing at the corners in that way that always makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy. You looked away, avoiding eye contact, but he gently grabbed you by the chin, tilting your face up toward him, whispering in that rough timbre of his.

“We can’t mess with tradition.”

Robb’s lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss, the kind of kiss you see in movies, where your foot pops up and it feels like everything is right in the world. You lost yourself in the moment, letting him hold you close, his arms wrapping around your waist, his stubble tickling your face. Everything was perfect. When you broke apart, you smiled up at him, telling him you were going to grab some hot chocolate for the two of you, to which he nodded with that adorable smile of his.

But when you came back? There she was.

With her arms wrapped around him, her lips pressed to his. The girl you could never measure up to.

Talisa.

And so you walked away and never looked back. You never answered his calls, you blocked him on Instagram and Snapchat, every social media platform known to man really. And you decided to do something for yourself that you always wanted to but never got around to doing. You decided to take a year to yourself and travel the world. You traveled from Dorne to Yi Ti to Essos, all over the world, from the Riverlands to the Westerlands.

All in an attempt to forget him, which you never did.

It’s been 365 days since you last saw him, and now? You’re standing at the Stark family’s front door again. You tried to get out of going to this party, but Jon saw you at the grocery store and the moment he learned you were back home, he practically blackmailed you into attending.

The door opens and Sansa pulls you into a tight hug, instantly shoving a mug of hot chocolate into your hands, rambling to you about how much she’s enjoying university, how much everyone missed you in the year that you were gone, how Robb kept trying to get in touch with you but he couldn’t.

“I deleted most of my social media,” you mumble, taking a sip of your drink, “And I didn’t have an international calling plan.”

“Oh, well, I know he’ll be so happy to see you, let me go find him!”

Before you can stop her, Sansa has sprinted off, yelling for her older brother. You begin to panic, seeing that familiar mop of auburn curls from the corner of your eye. You duck behind the obnoxiously large Christmas tree, your heart pounding in your chest. You poke your head out slightly and see that he’s looking around the room frantically, no doubt searching for you. The thought makes your heart ache and every part of you wants to go to him.

But you can’t.

Seeing him with Talisa broke your heart, especially after he’d smiled at you like that, kissed you like that, given you hope that maybe he felt the same way about you. You try and make your escape toward the backyard, only to bump into Ramsay Bolton. He smirks at you, opening his big dumb mouth to say something crass, only to see the desperation on your face. You’re taken by surprise when he steps aside, allowing you to make your escape, hearing him tell Robb that no, he hasn’t seen you everywhere.

Ramsay Bolton not being a complete cunt? Seems everyone is getting into the holiday spirit.

You go out and sit on the swingset you remember playing with Robb and Jon on as kids. Jon, being the eldest, would take turns pushing the two of you, and once Sansa was old enough, she would take the seat beside you. Jon would push her and Robb would push you. Those days seem so far away now, you think as you set your mug down, gazing up at the sky, watching the snowflakes fall to the ground, the sight being every bit as beautiful as you remember from your childhood.

You wince as you hear someone taking a seat on the swing beside you, knowing there’s only one person it could be. You turn to face him.

Robb.

He lights a cigarette, placing it between his lips and taking a long drag, the smoke visible in the air as he exhales with how frigid the night is. He turns to look at you, with those big blue eyes of his, and he seems hurt. No, that’s not fair. He doesn’t get to be hurt. He extends the cigarette to you and you take it, wrapping your lips around it and inhaling. He stares at you, his gaze piercing, the two of you silent for a long moment. The silence between you two used to be comfortable, like you could communicate without having a need for words. This silence is different.

It’s tense. You hate it. You hate that your best friend feels like a stranger.

“Why?”

His voice is every bit as beautiful as you remember. You sigh deeply, your fingertips brushing against his as you hand him back the cigarette.

“Why what, Robb?”

“You left,” he pauses, “Without even saying goodbye. We kissed and you were just… Gone. Was it that horrible to kiss me?”

You turn to him, narrowing your eyes, “No, but you want to know what was that horrible? Coming back with hot chocolate and seeing you macking on your ex!”

Robb frowns, “Talisa? Love, she kissed me because I was standing under the mistletoe waiting for you. If you had waited two seconds, you would’ve seen me push her away and tell her I have feelings for someone else.”

You shake your head, not wanting to believe him, grabbing your purse as you walk toward the street, “Forget it, Robbie. I can’t do this right now.”

You hate the fact that your voice cracks, the fact that your eyes are stinging with your unshed tears.

And most of all? You hate the fact that he follows you out into the street, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you back toward him.

Robb holds your face in his hands so delicately, as if you’re a china doll, something precious, meant to be treasured, as he whispers, “I was so blind. For so long. I thought you would never feel that way about me, and so I tried to move on with Talisa. She was never my first love. It was always you.”

You look up at him, lips parted in surprise, “I… What?”

Robb smiles, that same smile with the corners of his eyes crinkling, blue irises dancing with mischief, “I’ve been in love with you since I knew what it was to be in love with someone. I was terrified you didn’t feel the same way, and so I hid it. I did my best to move on, but that’s the thing about you.” He tucks your hair behind your ears, leaning in as he whispers, “There’s no moving on from you, love.”

The tears finally begin to fall as he presses his lips to yours, soft and tender, filled with all the passion and love he has for you, years of unspoken feelings poured into this one beautiful kiss, this moment where the two of you finally admit how you feel for each other.

“I love you,” Robb whispers against your lips, “I love you more than anything in the world.”

You swallow thickly, barely holding back a sob, your voice cracking as you reply, “I love you too, Robbie. Fuck, I’ve always loved you.”

He smiles at you again, pressing his lips to your temple and pulling you into a tight hug, his warmth so familiar and so comforting. He takes your hand in his, leading you back inside the party, his mother and father giving the two of you knowing looks while Bran hands Arya a $20 bill. She smirks at the two of you, giving a mock salute.

And Robb? He kisses you again.

BEL YOU INSPIRE ME EVERYDAY WITH YOUR WRITING!!!

Wish me luck in writing the smut for this

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Prologue

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Future NSFW, Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), Childbirth, Future Sexism & Misogyny (this is Westeros), Political Struggles, Future Deaths, Dark Themes, etc. etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom!

Author's Note: WHO ELSE SCREAMED AT THE HOTD SEASON 2 TEASER TRAILER????? The costumes, the cinematography, the set design, FUCKING BAELA ON MOONDANCER???? But this idea was something that had been on my mind for a while, and I am really excited to share it with all of you! Shoutout to @valeskafics whose works served as a HUGE inspiration to this idea! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

“PUSH!” yelled the midwife to the soon-to-be mother. “Lady Doreah, I can almost see the head!”

“Almost?” the poor woman cried out; her body had grown weary after experiencing a day’s worth of labour. Her hair clung to the sweat on her brow as the rest of her skin was soaked in perspiration from the pain. She cried out in agony as a gentle kiss from above attempted to soothe her from the torment that came with bringing new life into the world. Normally she would preen at such affection, but considering the circumstances she was in, she was in no mood for soft affections. “Ao nādrēsy! You did this to me!”

“Yes, my love,” agreed the man beside her. Unlike most husbands, Hotho Pyke refused to not remain by his beloved wife’s side during the birth of their child. He wanted to welcome the product of their love into the world with open arms. He was desperate to hold this new tiny babe in his arms as his fingers would trace over the features given to them by both their mother and father.

“You speak true my darling; I am a bastard. But if memory serves me right, it was my bastard birth that finally made you look my way after months of me begging for your attention. Well, that and a bit of my bastard tongue.” He tried to hide the wince that almost spilled from his lips at the furious grip on his hands in response of his wife. Even at the worst times, the man would never stop in his attempts to make her laugh. It was a most excellent quality in a husband in any other time but now.

“Gods help me Hotho – if this child does not come out of me soon, I will take my shears and cut out that bastard tongue of yours myself!” Doreah let out another scream as she continued to push her child out – although the pain was intense, the longing to hear the newest member of their family was greater than anything else she had felt in her lifetime.

“The baby is crowning!” exclaimed the midwife, who stood forgotten by the couple. “You are so close my lady, a few more pushes and you and your husband can welcome the newborn!”

This news filled Doreah with a newfound determination. Using every bit of her strength, she grasped her Hotho for support as she let out a furious yell as her body clenched to push out the newborn.

And after what seemed to both a lifetime and no time at all, powerful and shrill cries filled out every corner of the room. Not bothering to lean back against the pillows to rest, Doreah reached forward and demanded to hold her baby. She didn’t even care if you were a son or a daughter- you could have been a goat for all she cared. All she wanted to was to hold whomever had been growing inside her for the past nine months. She wanted to breathe in the scent of their skin and kiss their tiny faces. She wanted to love her child- her new world and her greatest love. Son, daughter, goat- Doreah knew that this child would forever be perfect in her eyes.

And perfect this child was indeed, and perfection suited their daughter.

Ten toes and ten fingers covered in blood, and kicking as hard an airborne goat, Doreah and Hotho wept as loudy as their newborn girl. It was only when the midwife insisted that she have the baby cleaned and wrapped in blankets were the two able to part with her. When you were returned to your mother’s arms, all felt right with the world as they continued to weep at the sight of the newest member of their small and strange family.

“Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala,” whispered Doreah with tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up to gaze at her husband. “Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!”

“I see her my coral,” whispered out her husband, whose face was soaked in tears in response to the overwhelming joy flowing within him. “Our pearl is beautiful. But most importantly, she is healthy and she is loved.”

He traced a finger across his daughter’s delicate features. Although you were currently sleeping, he knew that your eyes would take after hers, and he was ecstatic. There was a time when he believed that he would never love anything or anyone more than he loved the sea, only now there were two women in his life whom his love was consumed by entirely.

As the world slipped away into the background, the love from the new parents was so great it formed an almost impenetrable barrier surrounding them. But all peaceful things reach an end and theirs came from the knocking of a serving girl.

“My Lord and Lady…Pyke,” came a new voice, clearly disgusted by the act of referring a bastard as a lord, “if the Lady is presentable, the Queen Alicent would like to come in to see the child.”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Doreah. “Please let her in! I would be most honored to have Alicent meet my sweet pearl!”

“My brightest coral, are you sure? You just went through birth. Queen or not, shouldn’t you recover before she asks your attention?”

Hotho Pyke was an impoverished bastard born from the Iron Islands. He knew how to predict wind patterns and navigate with the stars before he could write. His skills as a seafarer were so great that he caught the attention of Lord Corlys of House Velaryon who sat on the Driftwood Throne. But however impressive his skills were with a sail, there was still much to be desired with his knowledge of etiquette appropriate for the Royal Court of the Red Keep in the Crownlands. His raised brow and confused tone suggested that he believed his question to be one borne of common sense despite the horrified expressions on everyone else’s faces save for his wife.

“Hotho, ñuha jorrāelagon,” Doreah tiredly chuckled as she shook her head, “there is still so much for you to learn about the Red Keep. Please Jeyne, let the Queen enter. I want her to meet our pearl!”

Almost immediately, a heavily pregnant figure in resplendent green and gold came dashing into the room in hopes to be the first to reach the bedridden woman and greet the child.

“Doreah!” exclaimed out the queen, relieved that her dearest friend had survived the trials of birth with the result of a healthy child. “Let me see you! How are you? Are you sure you are well? Do you need anything for the pain?”

Doreah couldn’t help but laugh at the onslaught of questioning from her fretful childhood friend. Since they were still just young girls, Alicent Targaryen nee Hightower always worried about the seamstress’ health and wellbeing despite being a few years younger. She fondly looked back on the days when she and her would peacefully discuss about their days as they worked on their embroidery or took lessons from the Head Septa. Handing their daughter to her husband to hold, she reached out to her friend in attempt to soothe her worries.

“Alicent, I am fine. Truly, there is no need to fret so much.” Doreah reassured her friend before looking back to the love of her life. “Besides, I was never in any danger. Not with my brave Iron Knight by my side the entire time.”

Still holding their radiant babe, Hotho Pyke beamed at his wife’s tender words before laying kisses on her hands, her fingers, the top of her hairline, before eventually stopping at her lips.

Alicent, however, was less than pleased at the shameless display of affection shared between the couple.

“Ser Pyke,” – she refused to refer a bastard of all things as a lord – “surely you know that men are not permitted in the birthing room during the delivery. I thought that this was made clear to you when you first learned of your wife’s pregnancy.”

Not recognizing the insult in being referred as “Ser” as opposed to “Lord,” Hotho only took the queen’s words as a sign of worry for her favored companion.

“My mother would rise from her watery grave to string me by my feet and call me a cunt if she knew that I left my wife alone in bringing our child into the world. Besides, had I not been in the room, she would have let her vicious tongue loose on another unfortunate soul.”

“In any case, are you sure you should not be resting? You are carrying the King’s child, surely that takes priority over seeing me.” Doreah knew that this pregnancy had been particularly difficult for Alicent, recalling the many times she walked in on her kneeling before her chamber pots in emptying out the contents of her stomach.

“Nonsense,” replied Alicent, who shook her head at the statement, “there is no one more important to me at this moment than you, sweet Doreah. I just hope that your husband’s brash tongue does not influence such a young innocent.”

“Ah, no worries my Queen. The brashness of my tongue is no match for that of my wife. She proved that many a time in our quarters.”

The Iron Island-born bastard was promptly cut off by a swift slap on the arm from his wife.

Before Alicent could respond to such vulgarity, she was interrupted by the presence of another figure dressed in a gorgeous red and black dress patterned with masterful gold embroidery.

“Rhaenyra!” Doreah exclaimed in excitement, happy to have not one but two of her closest friends greet her daughter. “You did not have to come! Are you sure you are not currently preoccupied with your duties?”

“Oh, please,” the princess uttered, “what could possibly be more important at this moment than to greet the firstborn of Laenor and I’s closest friends?”

Walking over to Hotho’s side, Rhaenyra was entranced by the sight of the newly arrived babe. She could already see how you would grow to be the spitting image of your mother.

“May I hold her?” she asked with arms already reaching toward your father.

Looking back to his wife to make sure she approved of it, he carefully handed you to Rhaenyra – but not before he laid a dozen kisses on your face.

“Oh Doreah,” Rhaenyra softly cooed, “she is absolutely perfect. I can tell that she will grow up to be as kind and beautiful as her mother.”

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” tears filled your mother’s eyes at her friend’s kind words, “kirimvose.” She turned to Alicent, who was currently sitting beside the bed in a chair brought to her to ease the stress on her body from her third pregnancy. Your mother reached one arm to each of her friends as a way to show solidarity. “Thank you to the both of you. I would not be where I am now – so happy and full of love – without the both of you here to guide me through the Red Keep. I owe you two everything. I only hope that our children can remain as friends so that they will never know loneliness.”

If your mother knew of the cruel fate she thrust onto you with that wish, she would have given everything to the gods in hopes to free you.

Your father took you back into his arms before handing you once more to your mother. Although you had woken from your slumber, you made no noise. You only gazed at the figures surrounding you with wide and eager eyes. Ever so slightly, you reached out your hand to paw at the green fabric of the queen.

So young, and you already seemed to recognize the beauty in the custom-made garment.

Alicent laughed in a way that was so genuine that it seemed unfamiliar, fascinated by the fervent grabbing of her dress on your end.

“It seems that this little one will be a seamstress as well,” she stated as she reached forward to let you pull and tug at her sleeve in enraptured delight, “I can only imagine what talent she will possess.”

“What will you name her?” Rhaenyra asked, hoping that you will be blessed with a name with Valyrian roots.

But a shared glance between your parents showed that they had already decided a name for you far before this day.

“Ashirri, Ashirri Pyke” your mother confidently stated, “in honor of both our cultures.”

Your father grasped his wife’s shoulder in agreement. “We will never let our child feel she must restrict herself to one background. As her parents, we want to let her know that her world will be one of endless possibilities.”

On this day, Doreah Pyke gave birth to a child for her and her husband to raise. This child will be raised with so much love that it will not matter that you were born from two bastard parents, one from Essos and the other from the Iron Islands. No, you were born as a result of the love from two people from opposite sides of the world who miraculously found one another, and that was all that would matter in the end. Doreah would teach you an art that could only be made through masterfully crafted embroidery and needlework, while Hotho will teach you how to use the stars to navigate waters and open their horizons to an endless sea of possibilities.

And if you did not wish to become either a seamstress or a sailor, it made no difference to them. Westeros, Essos, the Red Keep, the Iron Islands – the world was your oyster, and you were the miraculous pearl.

Their child will not be like the close-minded fools of their homelands, but someone whose mind will be open to new opportunities and will never stop seeing the joy in discovering the unknown. And they would always be there to help guide you in any way the could. Nothing would ever come between the love your parents held for you.

If only the gods could allow for such happiness to last forever.

But dragons have a tendency to burn rather than create, especially ones with sapphire for eyes and strong blood in their veins.

Translations:

"Ao nādrēsy!" - You Bastard!

"Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala... Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!" - She's here, our daughter. Do you see her, my love? Look at her! Is she not the most precious child you have ever seen?

"ñuha jorrāelagon" - my love

kirimvose - Thank you

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @aphroditesmoon, @nighttwingg, @marvelescvpe, @nellychick, @its-actually-minicika, @biancaweasley

💌 Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome. 💌 - @valeskafics

Bel you are my light in the storm

Literally me when Bel posts anything Robb Stark Related

"You're A Mean One, Mr. Stark" - Modern!Robb Stark x Wife!Reader

a/n: a request from @toms-cherry-trees!!! i love you so much, mars, hope you enjoy this little piece! 🩷

Summary: You do your best to get your Grinchy husband into the holiday spirit.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, oral m receiving, breeding kink, p in v sex

Word Count: 1,210 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire 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 🩷

For someone who is from the Christmas capital of Westeros, Robb Stark hates the holidays. He hates the sheer amount of tourists who flock to Winterfell, the extra hours he has to work, the traffic pileups. He finds the music entirely cliche, thinks that most of the mall Santas are probably pedophiles, and hates having to put the lights up every single damn year. The only bright side for him? How happy you, his beloved wife, get during the holiday season. You adore your little holiday traditions - buying an ugly sweater each year, doing a family Christmas card with the two of you, the kids, and Greywind, leaving milk and cookies out for Santa. You absolutely adore Christmas and have raised your and Robb’s kids to feel quite similarly. So, he puts on a stiff upper lip and every year, he manages to eke through the holidays by the skin of his teeth.

This year, however, things seem slightly different. He’s more stressed than usual, being up for a huge promotion and having to work longer hours than ever. It’s also his first holiday season without his father, Ned having passed away earlier in the year. If there ever was a Christmas where Robb earned the right to be a Grinch, it was this one.

And you? You have the perfect plan to get him into the holiday spirit and bring some cheer back into his life.

Robb has never been able to resist you in fancy lingerie, after all.

So, you send the kids over to Jon and Ygritte’s, the latter giving you a rather mischievous smirk, having gone shopping with you to pick up the perfect set, while Jon just looks on in confusion. She rolls her eyes at her long-term boyfriend, slapping the back of his head while telling him he knows nothing, causing you to giggle at the look of offense on his face. You kiss little Ned and Rickard goodbye, waving them off as they climb into Jon’s truck, ready for a weekend with their uncle. Gods, you hope Jon doesn’t send them back all sugared up like last time.

When they’ve pulled out of the driveway, you close the door, smirking to yourself as you race to get everything ready for when Robb gets home. Scented candles, his favorite dinner, all of it. Robb typically does all the cooking - wearing only those gray sweatpants of his that make him look so fucking irresistible - but today? You want to let him relax.

So, the minute he walks through the front door, taking off his jacket, he smells his favorite food, following his nose toward the kitchen, grinning like a fool. He’s always been a sucker for your cooking. But when he gets to the dining table, it isn’t the food which catches his eye.

It’s you, dressed in a little red number with white trim. A naughty Mrs. Claus, if you will, lips painted red and a smirk on your face as you beckon him closer with a curved finger. And what choice does Robb have but to obey? He walks toward you, his jaw hanging open as you sit up on your knees, giggling.

“Welcome home, Mr. Stark,” you coo, “You’ve been awfully Grinchy this Christmas, so I think, as your missus, it’s my duty to instill some holiday cheer in you.”

He lets out a groan as your fingers tangle in his auburn curls, pulling him into a heated kiss, your tongues moving against each other as he quickly moves to get rid of his shirt. You eye him greedily, nails running down his chest before moving to the waistband of his trousers, undoing them with ease, palming at his cock over the fabric of his boxers. No matter how many times you and Robb make love, you’re always amazed by how big he is, how long and thick he is, and immediately think about the way he makes you feel when he’s inside you.

But as he moves to rid you of your red lacy panties, you shake your head, chiding playfully, “Not today, Robbie. Today, I’m taking care of you.”

He watches as you mouth at his cock over the fabric of his boxers, groaning as he tosses your little Santa hat aside, fingers twisting in your hair. You brace your palms against his thighs, tugging his underwear down and taking him into your mouth, moaning against his cock. You give him the tiniest of nods and he knows what you’re telling him to do. Robb slowly begins rocking his hips against you, admiring the sight of your crimson lips wrapped around him, the feeling of your hot, wet mouth as he fucks it being almost too much to bear. And gods, the way you’re looking up at him, your eyes sparkling with desire.

Every day, he’s amazed by the fact that he wants you just as bad as the day he met you. And he knows he always will. He feels himself getting close and pulls away from you, grinning at the little pout you let out.

“Robbie!”

“Want to cum inside you, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you close to him, bending you over the dining table. He pushes your hair away away from the nape of your neck, kissing your sensitive skin as he moves your panties aside, teasing your pussy, grinning at the fact that you’re wet just from sucking him off, “We said we wanted to try for baby number three, didn’t we?”

You nod, barely able to hold back your beam of excitement as you feel him enter you with one smooth thrust. Robb fucks you like he hates, you, his grunts and growls being almost feral in nature as he ruts into you. Gods, you’ve always loved how primal he gets when he’s like this. He’s every bit the wolf starks are said to be, and you’re all too happy to take it. He’s so big, filling you up perfectly with each snap of his hips, his cock brushing against your sweet spot every fucking time. You move your fingers to circle your clit, whining when he smacks your hand away only to do the job himself.

Your eyes roll back, toes curling as he pounds into you, one hand playing with you while the other holds your hips in place as he takes complete control.

“Feel so good for me, baby,” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your skin, “You gonna let me eat that pretty little pussy after this? Gonna let me fill you up again and again?”

“Fuck, yes, Robb, please!” Your whines grow louder and louder in tandem with your pleasure, growing to a crescendo as you spill yourself on his cock, feeling him reach his own end a few moments after.

The two of you stay like that for a long moment, breathing heavily. Robb turns you around to face him, his lips capturing yours for a long moment before he speaks again.

“How long till the kids get home?”

“Jon took them for the weekend.”

The look on his face is downright wolfish as he hardens against your thigh once again, a promise of a very happy holiday season to come.

🎄 Send these trees to ten people you wish to have a good holiday and a happy new years!🎄

I love you bel!!!! I’m so sorry this was so late!!! Finals are the WORST!

drop this sunflower🌻into the inboxes of the blogs that make you happy! lets spread a little sunshine ☀️

🌻🌻🌻

Thank you so much! Sending some sunflowers back! Hope you have a wonderful day!

If there’s anything I know about Queens is that it’s a breeding ground for fighters and biters 🫡

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.

Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.

You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.

You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.

“SORRY!”

You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.

After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.

There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.

You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.

Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.

“Wait, so did you get the extension?”

Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.

Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.

“Yeah…I got it.”

You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.

Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.

“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.

Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.

“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.

“Is it ever?”

“So what do you have to do now?”

“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”

As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.

“Wait, so does that mean-”

“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”

Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.

English food sucked balls.

Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.

You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.

“Did you try to report it?”

“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”

“Do you have any description of him?”

“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”

Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”

“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”

“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.

“Yeah?”

“How tall?”

“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”

“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”

Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”

“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”

You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.

“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”

Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”

“And he’s black.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.

“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”

“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”

An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.

“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”

A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”

This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.

“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”

Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.

“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”

One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.

You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.

Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.

Fuck, was his head killing him.

Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.

He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.

If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.

“You alright there, champ?”

Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.

The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.

“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”

Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.

If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.

But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.

Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.

“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”

He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.

You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.

It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.

Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.

And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.

“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”

Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.

“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”

“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”

Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.

“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”

Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”

And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.

Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.

He was desperate to learn everything about you.

If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?

If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?

If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?

If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?

If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?

If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?

Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.

“Look alive, Golden Boy.”

Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.

Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.

But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.

Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.

When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.

After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.

“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”

Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.

He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.

If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.

Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.

Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.

Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.

“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”

And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee

Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!

Bel has once more blessed us all with an Ewan Mitchell fic and it’s with soft Tom Bennett

All rise

"A Gift" - Tom Bennett x Reader

a/n: massive thank you to my wifey @aemondsbabe for helping me with the title. from an anon request 🩷

Summary: Tom falls hard and fast for the General's daughter.

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, mentions of war, daddy kink if you squint, orgasm denial, oral f receiving, slight innocence kink?, loss of virginity, p in v sex

Word Count: 2,365 words

Rating: MDNI, 18+

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the World On Fire 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 🩷

The moment Tom sees you, he knows you’re out of his league. And you probably always will be. It doesn’t stop him from staring at you though, admiring the way you look in that pretty little dress, standing on the top deck of the ship, gazing off into the distance. He wonders who you are. You don’t look like you’re one of the Wrens. You’re strikingly beautiful, and it makes his stomach twist in a way he’s never quite felt before. Seaman Tom Bennett is no stranger to flirting with pretty girls, but you’re something else entirely. As if you notice his gaze, your eyes move to him, and you frown slightly, noticing how intently he’s staring at you. Tom smirks, raising his hand in a form of greeting, but you just look away, turning to leave.

Though he’s disappointed, it gives him hope when you turn back to glance over your shoulder at him, eyes shining with something akin to curiosity. It’s enough to have him up on his feet, racing up the stairs and down the hall you went. By the time you turn around again, having reached your stateroom, there he stands. Tom gives you a cheeky little grin and you sigh, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, sailor?”

He leans against the wall beside your door, arching a brow as his gaze travels along your curves, lingering in places it has no right to, “Hey, can’t a guy enjoy the view?”

“The view has a name,” you reply, your tone biting.

The sly grin on his face grows wider as he leans in, invading your personal space, though you don’t entirely mind. Not when those blue eyes gaze into yours with an intensity that makes your entire body shudder, his voice like melted honey in your ears as he continues to flirt shamelessly.

“And what would her name be?”

You tell him your first and last name, watching his brows knit in confusion at the latter, a saucy grin spreading across your lips as you confirm, “As in the General’s daughter.”

“So,” Tom leans in, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to face him and look him in the eyes, losing no amount of his cheek, “I have the honor of being in the presence of Navy royalty, it seems.”

You slap his hand away, feeling rather satisfied at the yelp he lets out, “You’re too cheeky for your own good, sailor. It’s going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

That only makes him grin wider, his knuckles brushing against your cheeks, reveling in the feel of your soft skin. You’re so beautiful, so delicate, unlike any girl he’s ever met before. And yet, you’re so full of fire. He can’t help but be drawn in, like a moth to the flame, teasing and playful, trying to see how much he can push your buttons.

“Is the General’s beautiful daughter too good for me?”

You wrench your face out of his grip and stand, hands on your hips, “I’m just trying to spare you, Seaman. My father will kick your arse if he sees you trying to chat me up.”

And he laughs. A hearty, confident laugh that has the corners of your lips turning up ever so slightly. He’s completely unphased by your threat, taking it as a challenge. He gives you a devilish little smirk, leaning in close, his body crowding you up against the door.

“Oh, is that so? What’s the General going to do? Send me to the brig?”

“Probably. I doubt it’s particularly comfortable down there.”

His lips brush against your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he whispers in a low, flirtatious tone, one that would have a less haughty young woman blushing like a schoolgirl. But not you. You stand fast.

“Oh, come on, love. Don’t be like that. You can’t deny there’s a spark between us. You’re not a snitch, are you?”

You bite the inside of your cheek before asking, “What’s your name, sailor?”

Tom’s grin becomes wider as he gives you a wink, “Seaman Tom Bennett. But you can just call me Tom. Or lover, Daddy, a variety of other names-”

You burst into laughter, and the sound warms his entire body. You’re smiling at him, looking so very radiant, the ice around you thawing at his good humor. He’s getting through to you. He knows it. That’s when you glance around and lean in to whisper conspiratorially, as if you’re asking him some state secret.

“Is it true that they dance and drink below deck after dinner? It’s so awfully boring up here.”

Before Tom can reply,you hear your father’s voice calling out for you. You and Tom exchange panicked looks, knowing it won’t bode well for him if your father finds the two of you in this rather intimate position. You have a split second decision to make, and Tom is rather pleased when you grab his hand and pull him along behind you, saying just one word.

“Run.”

He races after you down the halls of the ship, away from your father’s voice. Your dress trails behind you as you run and Tom can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch the soft fabric, imagining how gorgeous you look beneath it. He doesn’t think he’s ever fallen for a girl so hard or so fast. It’s almost terrifying, how one encounter has his heart so entirely bewitched, but when you glance back at him, making sure he’s keeping pace, and your eyes meet, he forgets all his reservations and just grins at you, feet pounding against the floor as you make your way to the hiding place you have in mind.

The two of you finally come to a stop in the corner of the boiler room, filled with steam and heat that’s almost overpowering. You pause to catch your breath, hands still intertwined, both your heart and his pounding against your chests. You gaze up at him, the air hot and sticky around the two of you. Your hair is damp and tendrils of it cling to your face, your dress clinging to your skin as you meet his eyes.

“I figured he wouldn’t look for us here.”

Tom’s gaze moves to your lips. They look so soft, so plush, so fucking inviting. He can’t help himself, admiring the way the heat from the boiler room has given your complexion an almost dewy, ethereal look to it. He leans in closer, one hand resting on your hip, pulling your body flush up against his. You rest your hands on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Tom’s lips hover over yours for a long moment before he finally closes the distance, kissing you.

Tom’s kiss is passionate as he leans in, his hand moving to the back of your neck to hold you in place, his mouth melding against yours, tongue licking at your bottom lip, begging for entrance into your mouth. You part your lips and he kisses you like he wishes to consume you, his hand moving to grasp at your throat, squeezing gently, loving the little mewl you let out against his lips. Your hands twist in his shirt and your heart beats hard against your chest as Tom’s chapped lips move against your own, pulling away for only the briefest of moments to catch his breath before his tongue once again begins dancing against yours.

Tom’s hand trails down to your chest, squeezing gently, groaning at the feeling of your soft flesh, biting back a laugh at the way his hands sully your pristine dress, pressing himself up against you, continuing your intimate kiss, the heat between you two growing to a crescendo.

You hear the sound of a few sailors whistling and pull away from Tom, laughing breathlessly. He gazes down at you, his hand resting against your cheek, wanting nothing more than to kiss you again.

“Come with me,” you say, taking his hand again, “I know somewhere we can go.”

Tom nods eagerly, “Lead the way, love.”

Tom raises an eyebrow when he sees you’ve brought him to the deck where the automobiles are stored, a grin spreading across his face. Tom looks at you and gives you a cheeky grin, bowing and opening the door of one of the cars for you, extending his hand to you as if he’s your chauffeur. You burst into giggles, allowing him to help you in. Tom moves to get into the driver’s seat, honking the horn, making you laugh again, the sound of which again brings that warm feeling to his chest. 

“Where are you taking me, driver?” You ask playfully.

He snickers, admiring how beautiful you look sitting back there, like a dainty princess, “Anywhere you wish, Miss.”

You lean forward, brushing your lips against his cheek as you whisper, “Will you take me to the stars, Tom Bennett?”

Tom’s breath catches as he brushes his nose against yours, murmuring back, his voice barely audible, “I would take you to the moon and back if you wanted it.”

Your lips meet his in a kiss, more tender and softer than before, but no less passionate. You help Tom over the center console, and he gently pushes you to lay back on the leather of the car. You wrap your arms around him and he wraps his around you, holding you close as he kisses you, lips moving to your neck.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whisper.

“I’ll be gentle,” Tom promises, lost in the feeling of your soft, warm body against his own, “Do you trust me?”

You meet his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them and reply, your voice breathy, “Yes.”

Tom kisses you again, slowly moving your dress up to your hips, revealing your legs, your thighs, his hands squeezing at them gently. He moves to press a kiss to your ankle, up your calf, your knee, to your inner thigh. You watch as he pulls your knickers down your legs, his eyes focusing intently on the apex between your thighs before giving a slow lick along your core. You gasp at the feeling, your fingers threading through his soft, golden hair as he gazes up at you, his tongue flattening against your pearl, making you whine softly. Tom smirks against you, his tongue delving between your folds, his nose pressed against your pearl as he tastes you. Your head falls back against the seat, hips bucking against his eager mouth as he brings you closer and closer to your peak, the knot in your stomach tightening until you reach the pinnacle of your pleasure, crying out his name as you spill yourself against his tongue.

He moves to press his lips to yours in another heated kiss, the windows of the car steaming up as Tom moves to rid himself of his shirt, undoing his trousers. You pull your dress over your head, tossing it aside, pressing your bare body against his.

Tom gently parts your legs, giving his cock a few quick strokes before pushing the tip inside of you. You wince for a moment, but you exhale sharply and do your best to relax your body, letting him push further and further inside you until he bottoms out. The two of you stay like that for a long moment, him filling you as you gaze into each other’s eyes, waiting for you to get used to the feeling. Tom presses a kiss to your temple, your jaw, then your lips, feeling your body relax around him. He slowly rolls his hips against yours, reveling in the sweet little moan of his name you let out. You feel so perfect around him, your legs moving to wrap around his hips as you try to meet his movements with your own. Tom moves one hand to caress one of your bare breasts, moaning at the feeling of your soft, warm flesh against his hand.

His movements grow faster and faster, the car growing steamier with each passing moment. Tom braces his hand against the window as he pounds into you, gritting his teeth, trying to keep his climax at bay, the feeling of your squeezing around him being almost too much to handle. His hand slides down against the glass, leaving a print in its wake before he kisses your neck, hands squeezing at your chest as you hold him close, feeling his hips slot against yours over and over. Tom presses his thumb against your pearl, feeling your walls hugging him so very tight until you reach your peak, your entire body going lax as you cry out his name.

Tom reaches his own end moments later, pulling out of you and spilling himself against your stomach, his entire body shaking from the intensity of your encounter. He wraps his arms around you, resting his head against your bare chest, nuzzling against you, your warmth making him feel more safe and loved than he’s ever felt in his life.

“You’re trembling,” you remark softly, running a hand through his hair as he presses a kiss to your arm.

“Don’t worry,” Tom whispers, “I’ll be alright.”

You rest a hand against his cheek and he leans in to kiss you again.

“What happens when the boat docks?” You ask between kisses, “I… I don’t want to be without you.”

Tom smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “Don’t worry love. The way I see it? Life’s a gift, and I don’t intend on wasting it. And I think I was meant to share my life with you,” he swallows thickly, resting his forehead against yours, saying the three little words he never thought he’d say to another person. But it feels so right to tell you, “I love you.”

Your voice is barely audible as you gasp and reply, “I love you too, Tom Bennett.”

Neither of you knows what the future may bring, what might happen over the course of this war.

But Tom knows he loves you. And you know you love him.

And that is the greatest gift life ever could have given you.

*boops your nose* send this to ten blogs you think are lovely and deserve a boop on the nose. 🩷💋

I return your boop with a kiss!

“He's a bit iffy on exhibitionism ever since he caught Larys spying on the two of you going at it”

😶😶😶

…knowing him, he probably got off to the idea to Larys spying Daemon and his girl going at it like rabbits. Especially if he pinned them against the wall with them clinging on to his shoulders and legs wrapped around his waist.

Daemon Targaryen NSFW Alphabet

a/n: requested by my darling @schniiipsel 🩷

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of the Dragon 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 🩷

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Is quite attentive with aftercare. He knows that things can get quite intense between the two of you, so he's there to talk you down, run his fingers through your hair to soothe you, have the servants run you a warm bath and bring some fruit and wine. Anything you need, your prince will have brought for you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part on himself is his eyes. He knows he can get you flustered just by staring at you, his gaze trailing along your curves. He enjoys the power he has over you, the way he's able to drive you crazy with want. His favorite body part on you is you is your ass. Daemon enjoys giving you a good spanking every once in a while but also squeezing it, just staring at it when you walk. He's an ass man through and through.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Loves cumming inside you. But he's not as obsessed with furthering his family lineage. So he definitely enjoys spilling himself all over your pretty face from time to time, or in your mouth, on your tits. He loves painting you white with the evidence of what the two of you have done.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's such a dominant person most of the time that truly? He wouldn't mind it if you took control in the bedroom once in a while. Just climbing on top of him and taking what you want from him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This is the slut of King's Landing. Rest assured that he knows exactly what he's doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves fucking you from behind but grabbing your hair so that you're forced to turn slightly and have your eyes meet his.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Pretty serious for the most part, but can get a bit goofy and giggle if he has some wine in him. Drunken sex with your lover is quite fun, truth be told.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Carpet darker than the drapes. Keeps himself extremely well-groomed and trimmed. He takes pride in his appearance and wants every bit of him to be perfect.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If there are real, honest feelings between the two of you, it's a very intimate and romantic experience. He'll be completely focused on your pleasure, showing you how much he loves you, showing you everything that he's willing to do for you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Truly doesn't find it necessary to jack off that often because he has you. And your cunt or mouth are far more pleasurable than his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lactation kink, master/servant play, kitten play, blood kink, ye olde daddy AND mommy kink, bondage, impact play

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Absolutely anywhere and everywhere.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You standing up for him whether it be to Viserys or Alicent or Otto, your chest pressed up against his back as he takes you for a ride on Caraxes, the sight of you taking a bath, the glazed over look in your eyes when you get caught gazing at him for a moment too long, your natural scent, the sight of you playing with children.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's a bit iffy on exhibitionism ever since he caught Larys spying on the two of you going at it... But beyond the really out there kinks, I don't see him objecting to much.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Slight preference for receiving, but the man loves seeing you writhe beneath him too, your fingers twisted in his hair. Though, his favorite sight in the world is you on your knees, sticking out your tongue to prove to him that you've swallowed his cum.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depending on his mood, it can be fast and rough after he's had an argument, or slow and sensual at most if not all other times.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Daemon is a big fan of having you whenever and wherever he can, so quickies? He has nothing against them and the two of you engage in them often.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Game to try anything and everything at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's the Blood of the Dragon. Stamina is no issue for him. He goes one round at a time but the man lasts extremely long. Takes a bit more time between rounds but you'd best be ready because round two is going to be just as if not more intense than the first. That was just a warm-up.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Definitely owns his fair share of medieval toys and is game to use them both on you and on himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Daemon Targaryen is a menace and he loves to tease. Could even cum just from edging you alone, bringing you to the brink over and over and over and cruelly robbing you of your peak, reminding you that he's the only one who knows your body this well.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Louder than you would think. Moaning your name, growling, rasping in your ear. Loves taunting you with how good he's making you feel and is very vocal about it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

A big proponent of threesomes, no matter if it's with another man OR woman, but it's only you who he loves. No one else.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Average length, quite thick, veiny, with sparse clean hair.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty goddamn high.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depending on his mood, he'll fall asleep immediately or want to stay up and chat for hours on end.

Stannis the Mannis' character development WILL be saved by Selyse's death (sorry not sorry Selyse, but you sucked)

As well as Shireen, Robb, Theon, Bran, Rickon, and a bunch of others!

Also, I just posted the next one, and the one after that one will introduce Mei's Daughter! And from there...we shall see how she and Robb's story develops 👀 👀 👀

When the East Winds Blow

Stannis Baratheon x YiTish Second Wife!OC (who also doubles as a childhood friend)

Aka: A WOC fixes all of Westeros' bullshit with a magic flute and is about to whoop a bunch of old white men's asses with a slipper because they need it ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Summary: 美灵 (Měilíng) was a young girl from the port city of Shenlong in Yi Ti when she learns that she is the only living child of 徐浩然 (Xú Hàorán), a cruel and powerful merchant in Wan, and takes her to Westeros to expand his company. Scared in a new land, her only companions are her trusty flute and memories of her mother's stories. But she will have a friend who will change her life forever, and she will do the same for him.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Domestic Abuse; Child Abuse; Cersei is the worst; Tywin is the worst; Robert is a pig; Měilíng's dad is like 40 years+ her mom's age, and the worst; the story is going to be written like those Ted Ed mythic videos; Robb and the Northern boys and the other OC don't show up for a lil' bit, but it's coming

Author's Note: Please read this post for reference. Exams and ADHD are kicking my ass, and I need a distraction. Please do not repost without my permission. I did not come up with the names for the Yi Ti regions; that credit belongs to the brilliant @anya-snow. If you are interested in the names' translations, it is at the bottom.

From the Beginning:

“As she entered the world and cried out in victory for her survival – the fearsome, dark clouds parted, and the sun’s feeble rays shone only to pool the delivery room as the gentle breeze brought by the sea welcomed Xīwángmǔ’s new child, and the small wind chimes and bells danced in its embrace.”

In the Shenlong province, a young girl gave birth to a young girl. However, the baby was exceptional. As she grew, she showed to have a very cunning mind. She has met thousands of foreigners daily since being born in a port town. Her proficiency in learning foreign tongues alone caught the attention of one of the oldest and wealthiest merchants in Wan. Měilíng did not have much, but she had her mother and her simple life by the docks, and that was enough for her.

Xu Hàorán, an aging but powerful merchant in Wan, was the most important port city in Yi Ti. The merchant was very old, and his wife had long died without giving him any children. At the news of the child’s birth, he ordered the child and her mother to be brought to his home.

After seeing the child’s face, it was clear that this was his daughter. Recalling the time he spent with a girl from a poor fishing family years ago, he realized that Měilíng was the product of that night. Overridden with joy at the idea of him finally having an heir, he immediately ordered Mei to begin her education as he locked her mother in a small, dark room.

Měilíng despised her father. Soon, it became years since she saw her mother, and she missed the lullabies she would sing to her. She would long to listen to the stories of the great water dragons that controlled the storms and the seas.

But still, she decided to continue her education. She showed much promise at a young age for business and trade. She had a keen eye for craftsmanship and a talent for linguistics. Her proficiency in learning foreign tongues made her a vital tool in expanding her father’s company across the Golden Empire to Essos and eventually to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

In return for how rich his daughter made him, Měilíng’s father granted Měilíng one visit to her mother. When the pair reunited, Měilíng’s mother gifted her beloved child a flute from the bones of a basilisk killed by the great Dragon King, who ruled the sky and its storms from his kingdom in the sea.

Because of how quickly she learned Westerosi’s Common Tongue, her father decided it was best to bring her with him on the voyage to Planky Town in Dorne, where he hoped to expand his trading route to the pockets of the high nobility.

On the seas, a cyclone headed directly to the ship Měilíng and her father were on, but only Měilíng was calm.

Taking out her bone flute, she played a simple but beautiful tune to the sky, and the cyclone disappeared, and the winds brought their ships to Dorne in half the expected time. Although this story was kept secret by the crew under strict oath of Hàorán’s orders, she was soon called “风子” or “Child of the Wind.”

“Bewitched were the Martell’s – for they have never seen such finery in all their years. ‘What luster! What radiance!’ they exclaimed. After rigorous negotiations that resulted in a broken vase and spilled wine by thrown glasses, a trade was brokered, and the Xu’s have planted their first flag in the West.”

After reaching Dorne, the Martells refused to meet with the foreign merchant. They believed that any goods his ships carried had long become spoiled and rotten from the sea voyage. But they were shocked to find the fruits fresh and ripe, the herbs and spices’ scents had not dulled, and the porcelain vases retained their glossiness and shine. But what caught their eye the most was how superior their silks were compared to their own. Their roughest bolt alone was far smoother than the Princesses’ finest dresses.

The silks and fruits caught the eyes of a young Princess, Elia Martell, and her younger brother, Prince Oberyn. Fascinated by the riches, their curiosity was peaked by the olive-skin-toned girl, who wore strange braids and smelled of the ocean and wind.

Elia asked Mei if Yi Ti was anything like Dorne. Měilíng replied that only one region in her country matched Dorne, and it was Ren. She wove tales of how the Renii managed to thrive in the deserts and become masters of magi and developing technology and medicine. Although Mei had never personally visited Ren, she told the Donrish princess and her brother all the stories of the province she could recall from her lessons and her mother.

Měilíng asked Elia if there was any magic or dragons in Dorne. Elia laughed in delight. She told the foreign girl that Dorne did not have dragons, but they had vipers with poison so potent that it would instantly kill a ten-foot man. The Seven Kingdoms' only dragons were underneath the Red Keep in King’s Landing. But they were all dead. But there was no magic. This disappointed Měilíng.

Elia asked if Měilíng knew anyone, and Měilíng replied that Elia was the first person in Westeros she had ever spoken to. Amazed by the girl’s fluency, Elia exclaimed that she and Měilíng would be best friends for the rest of their lives. Měilíng thought the young princess strange but agreed nonetheless.

Seeing her children make friends with the merchant’s daughter, Princess Lorenza was pleased to see the strange girl smile. But Hàorán was furious. Greed from his newly gained wealth made him paranoid, and he thought Měilíng was ridiculing him in the Common Tongue. He faked a smile before hurrying his sale to the mother so that he may properly punish his willful brat.

After purchasing their goods, the sewists in Sunspear immediately went to work producing the finest garments for the upcoming ball hosted in the Red Keep at King’s Landing.

Meanwhile, Hàorán grabbed Měilíng’s arm and dragged her to the ship. He locked her in her room and told her she would not have any food tonight. They would leave for Yi Ti after the Martells returned from King’s Landing.

“Silence swept across the hall when the heralds announced the arrival of House Martell. When Dorne’s ruler and her children arrived, a collective gasp was heard amidst the hushed keep – never had anyone seen such pure, unadulterated beauty before their eyes. Every young girl, hoping to catch the eye of Prince Rhaegar and hold his gaze, felt fury flush their bodies. But no other girl was more envious than the little Lioness of Casterly Rock. Cersei Lannister, daughter of the Hand to the King, had come in complete confidence that she would be the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms. But after gazing upon the young Elia Martell’s dress with silk-embroidered suns and stars, golden rings, and topaz diadems – she felt utterly and completely humiliated. She turned to her father to demand they go home, but his stern gaze made the spoilt and rotten girl stay silent in flushed shame.

Tywin Lannister was not faring any better. He had paid more than enough gold dragons to order the finest Dornish silks for his daughter’s dress – only to see it as a tacky, cheap counterfeit. But even he had to admit that Princess Elia Martell was the only girl whose beauty was worthy of watching the crown prince’s. Seeing how her father’s eyes were no longer on her, Cersei decided that she would do whatever it took for Elia Martell to die a miserable and painful death.”

Nobles crowded the Martells’ daughters and sons. They were driven mad with envy at their beauty– so rare to find silk so smooth and lustrous while remaining thick enough to keep away the chills in the evening sky as autumn chased summer away and winter was creeping on the Mad King’s doorstep.

One noble lady with embroidered turtles on her dress approached the Martell Princess. She was Lady Cassana Baratheon, nee Estermont. She begged her friend to tell her who gifted the princess with such luxury, and her friend revealed that her husband had brokered a deal with an old, wrinkled merchant from Yi Ti, along with his young daughter, who carried an old flute with her everywhere she went. She shared stories about how her little sun, Elia, was quickly won over by the foreign girl’s charms, and now they acted as close as sisters born from the same womb.

Cassana wished to know if they could invite the merchant to her home. She thought it would be cruel for such a sweet girl to be trapped on a boat with no companions.

“‘Oh, how wonderful it would be to have a girl around,’ thought Lady Cassana. ‘Robert has gotten too used to being so rowdy after being fostered in the Vale, and hopefully, the little merchant girl will straighten him out.’

Robert stood beside the table, its surface heavy with meats and sweet cakes. He was only ten years of age and had already managed to grasp the attention of every young man his age in the room. Her mind wandered off, thinking about her youngest son, Stannis, who locked himself away in the guest chambers after the Martells arrived—always studying, her youngest boy. Lady Baratheon adored her two boys, but she longed for the longest time to be blessed with a daughter. She thought if the Gods had blessed her and Steffon with a girl, she would help bring Stannis out of his walls and help reel Robert in. If what the Princess of Dorne had spoken true of this trader and his daughter, then Cassana had no doubt that she would make a truly excellent companion for her boys.

Back in Dorne, Měilíng scratched her ears. Had someone been talking about her? Was it the Dornish Ruler she met a few weeks ago? Perhaps Elia? Měilíng shook her head. Thinking someone would speak of her so much was a silly thought. She was only the daughter of a merchant who played the flute. Still, her ears burned as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. To forget her hunger, Měilíng brought her prized flute to her lips to ease her worries and blew to create a sweet but sad melody.

Back in the Red Keep, a young Stannis Baratheon had crept away from the banquet in the Great Hall. He despised crowded rooms, and Robert’s boisterous guffaws only added to his irritation. Once he entered his room, he opened the window and took out the book Maester Cressen lent him while packing for this trip. He had not begun reading it. But a stream of calm and soft notes entered his ear before he could read the title.

“A flute?” he thought to himself. He tried to remember the instruments played downstairs.

There were lyres, harps, and lutes. But there were no flutes. Stannis lifted his head and heard the sweet, silvery tune from the window. Book still in his hand, he decided it best to read his new book beside the window, where he could continue listening to the lovely melody. He glanced down at the book, finally reading the title.

The Golden Empire of Yi Ti”

Tagging: @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @a-libra-writes, @aphroditesmoon, @valeskafics, @anya-snow, @dreaming-for-an-escape and anyone who wanted more of the worldbuilding of GOT are welcome!

Translations: Mandarin was used for YiTish bc author is Chinese

美灵 (Měilíng) - "美" means "beauty" and "灵" means "spirit or soul"; it can be translated as "beautiful spirit"

浩然 (Hàorán) - "浩" means "grand or vast" and "然" is a conjunction and the author will look further into it; it can be translated as "vastness or expansive"

徐 (Xú) - a common Chinese surname that became popular in the Zhou Dynasty and has multiple translations, but the author chose the translation of "slowly."

瑶池金母 (Xīwángmǔ) - "Queen Mother of the West"; the wife of the Jade Emperor and mother goddess in Chinese mythology

风子 (Fēng zi) - "风" is "wind" and "子" is for "child"; it can be translated as "child of the wind"

It’s 4 am here and I’m pretty sure God woke me up so I could read this 😇

Excellent work as always, definitely gave me some ideas for the Robb x OC stuff I’m writing 🤤🤤🤤

Robb Stark NSFW Alphabet

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire 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 🩷

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Robb is an absolute gentleman when it comes to taking care of you after ravishing you. No matter where the two of you are, he'll make sure he cleans you off, carries you to the bath. Makes sure that he's the one running it for you, bringing you wine. He enjoys the intimacy of it all very much.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Robb's favorite body part of his own is his beard when he's grown it out. He loves the way you whine when his face is buried between your thighs, his beard tickling your skin. His favorite body part of yours is a tie between your thighs and your hair. He loves tugging at it when the two of you are fucking.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Robb enjoys cumming inside of you. He almost feels disappointed in himself if he cums in your mouth because the thought of filling you with his pups makes him absolutely feral with need.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When you first came to stay at Winterfell, he managed to get Bran to steal some of your smallclothes and give them to him for... Reasons that he doesn't feel obliged to disclose.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you? None. But you give him allllll the experience he needs.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style. Hitting it from behind, one hand in your hair or wrapped around your throat, the other grasping at your hips as he fucks into you. Also mating press. For obvious reasons.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Tends to err more on the serious side but if the moment arises, he can definitely joke and be goofy. Robb likes that he's comfortable enough with you that he can laugh at such an intimate moment.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Carpet matches the drapes (brownish red, curly, coarse). Before you, he didn't realize the need for keeping himself trimmed, etc. But now? It's an almost obsessive habit.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

An absolute romantic when the moment arises. Words of praise falling from his lips like there's no tomorrow, declarations of love and how he'd slay dragons, conquer kingdoms, anything in the world for you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Remember the aforementioned smallclothes that he had Bran steal for him? Let's just say that this was the reason.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Puppy play, breeding kink, primal play, spit kink, blood kink, impact play (spanking), pregnancy kink

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The Godswood. Does he feel guilty about it? Yes. Does he feel guilty enough to not do it? Absolutely not.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You smiling at him over your wine chalice, watching you act like a mother hen to his younger siblings, the sight of you bending over to grab something, your cleavage, the sight of you after you've done something physical and are a bit sweaty.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never share you. Ever.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers giving. He could eat you out for hours. He lives for the sounds and faces you make, the way your thighs tremble around him. Going down on you alone is enough to get him off.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It's an even mix. Post battle or while at camp or after having had an argument? Fast and rough. All other times? Slow and sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not a fan, but being the King in the North makes it so that this is often his only option. Quickies happen more often than not.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Surprisingly willing and open to experimenting with new things.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Stamina of a wolf. He can genuinely go for 5-6 rounds at a time without even breaking a sweat. The two of you like to joke that it's the Stark blood. Lasts a decent while too.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not really. Neither of you were very experienced before getting together, but if you suggest something? He's game to try it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Robb is a mean, mean boy. He loves to tease, to degrade, to bring you to the edge just to deny you and make you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Quite loud. Growling, groaning, grunting, moaning. Talks a lot during sex as well.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Enjoys walking around shirtless in front of Theon and Jon to show off the scratches you leave on his back. Likes joking that he got into it with a "she-wolf" aka his wife.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Long and THICK. This man is hung like a fucking horse. And he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fairly high, especially after the two of you have been apart. Don't expect to leave your chambers for at least two days.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Falls asleep fast, crushing you to his chest, running his fingers through your hair and smiling softly as sleep takes him.

Babes, with everything currently on my plate…

WHY MUST YOU FEEL THE NEED TO MAKE ME A NATE JACOBS GIRLIE???

🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

Nate Jacobs NSFW Alphabet

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Euphoria 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 🩷

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He thinks he’s an aftercare king but really? He’s doing the bare minimum. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, he just isn’t really aware of what’s expected of him after an intimate encounter. But if you’re just a sidepiece, he won’t bother with anything at all.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your ass. Loves seeing it peak out from your cheer skirt. On himself? Not a body part but his size and how much bigger he is than you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Nate’s cum is surprisingly palatable, considering his psychotically healthy diet. Also, there’s a loooot of it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has definitely hung back and spied on you in the girl’s locker room showers after a game before y’all got together.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A fair amount. But you’re one of the first people where it’s actually meant something. Regardless, he knows what he’s doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style or missionary. He prefers being in control and setting the pace.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Tends to err more on the serious side but if the moment arises, he can definitely joke and be goofy. Robb likes that he's comfortable enough with you that he can laugh at such an intimate moment.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Shaved. Well groomed. Obsessed with looking perfect.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

At first, intimacy is lacking. He’s closed off and focused only on the physical aspect. But with time? You can def get him to be more tender and loving.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t like jacking off because he jokes likes saving all his cum for you (surprise, it’s not a joke).

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink, dom/sub dynamics, CNC, somno, DD/LG, mommy kink (you have to unlock his tragic backstory for that one tho), impact play, choking

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His truck when it’s parked in the school parking lot. Making the windows fog up so everyone knows exactly what y’all are doing.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You in your cheer uniform, you bending over, the sound of your voice on the phone, your laugh, your hand on his arm, resting his hand on your thigh when he’s driving, watching you tie up your hair.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never bring another guy into the bedroom.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Enjoys giving and is good at it but definitely prefers receiving. He loves watching you struggle to take his cock in your mouth with how big it is, drooling and crying as he fucks your throat.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Mostly fast and rough, with how his temper is.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickie in the locker room before the game? In an empty classroom? He’s all fucking for it. Viva la quickie.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Risky in the way that he’ll mainly explore things that allow him to be in control but will occasionally let you take the lead (that’s a risk to him tbh).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s an athlete and a big guy, trust that he has the stamina to go many rounds and make them last.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t really have any (that he’s willing to disclose) and he lowkey feels kinda jealous when you use your dildo or vibe LMAO. He wants it to be him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Nate is the biggest asshole on the planet, of course he likes to tease. He’ll smack his dick against your clit for five straight minutes if you’re not begging well enough.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

More talkative than loud. Says the cuntiest, most out of pocket cocky shit while you guys are fucking. Lots of growling and moaning.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Lowkey into somno. Like he’d love to wake you up by going down on you or fucking you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He has a monster cock. He knows it. He knows how to use it. He’s confident about it. There are some guys who can’t back up their egos, but Nate? He absolutely can.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

About what you’d expect. Maybe slightly higher than average.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Falls asleep right away, which is a testament to the fact that he feels extremely comfortable around you, enough to let his guard down and really relax.

LOLLLLLL, YOU’LL HAVE TO CONTINUE READING TO FIND OUT

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter One

Prologue

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Aemond is delulu, tiny!Jace is delulu, Dark Themes, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for the amazing support for this story's prologue, I did NOT expect so many positive reviews! I'm sorry this took so long, but I had a ton of applications and finals. But since I am on winter break, hopefully I will be able to upload more fics! Happy Holidays and big shoutout to @valeskafics, who continues to be the HOTD fanfic writing ICON that we all know and love! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

You have known your entire life that you were going to be one of the many seamstresses that serviced the Royal Family.

By the age of three, your mother would teach you how to begin your very first stitches, which soon shifted to learning the most complicated patterns of embroidery. You still remember the tears in her eyes as you presented the silk-woven handkerchief that had lovely little purple and blue flowers embroidered on the borders for her birthday. Your face flushed to an almost too bright red when she insisted on showing all the other royal seamstresses and tailors your first handkerchief. But it made you smile in remembering how big her smile was that week, as she was so pleased by how much you’ve progressed at such a young age.

When you were only six, your mother had begun to teach you how to properly extract the dye from beautiful flowers and the scales of brightly-colored insects. So skilled and nimble were your fingers that you even gave your childhood playmate, Aemond Targaryen, a thick green wool cloak with green and silver dragon embroidery. The cloak’s wool had been dyed by your hand with copious amounts of goldenrod and indigo flowers. You then carefully stitched silk to line the inside of the cloak to prevent him from overheating, as even the harshest winters in the Crownlands were hardly anything compared to the summers in the North. It had caught you off-guard in the almost too-tight embrace he locked you in, but you eagerly reciprocated as you could tell he appreciated the gift more than words could describe.

It was not just a gift for is name-day from a childhood companion, but also a way to reassure him that he will one day have a dragon. And even if the gods do not grant him worthy in their eyes, he would always be considered a prince worthy of the Targaryen name in yours. After all, there were not many princes that would willingly spend all their free time with a lowly seamstress’ daughter – even if the supposed seamstress that was your mother was so heavily favored by the Queen.

“Pearl,” came a voice with a tone far too serious despite its youth, “what are you doing in the Godswood?”

You lifted your head from old tome you were studying, only to see a young boy of only nine name-days, that stood as straight as one of the stone pillars that stood in the Sept of Baelor. His white locks nearly blinded you with how the sunshine seemed to reflect on them.

“Well my prince, as you can clearly see, I have decided to take advantage of this fine day to do a bit of studying of my own.” You lifted the near ancient tome on your lap to show him the title, Myths and Legends of the Jade Seas.

Whatever outwardly beauty the book possessed had long diminished, the spine was bent from the hundreds of hours spent looking through its contents and the letters were near faded to a dull grey as the pages yellowed from age. But the colors of the ink remained as vibrant as when they were first painted on the frail sheets, accompanied by beautiful imagery of magical dragons and elusive mermaids. The details were so fine and intricate that it felt as if you only needed to touch the ink in order to be transported into the stories. You remembered how you begged either your mother or father to read it to you every night, as utterly transfixed by the colors back then as you remained so now.

“You are more than welcome to join me, but if – and only if – you share one of those apples hiding in your knapsack.”

Finally showing an expression appropriate for his age, the young prince reached in his pouch to show two gorgeous apples – the skin was practically gleaming in the sun as your mouth watered for its taste. Aemond handed one to you as he sat by your side underneath the plentiful shade of the heart tree. Scooting over to make room on the overgrown root you sat on, you eagerly showed him strange text.

“Look Aemond!” you exclaimed as you shoved the book to his nose. “This book says that there were dragons in Yi Ti! Isn’t that amazing?”

Aemond looked at you as if you had suddenly grown two heads and five eyes. “How can there be dragons in Yi Ti? All the dragons save the ones in the dragonpit and the rocky shores of Dragonstone had perished in The Doom that sunk Valyria. Everyone knows that pearl.”

“These dragons are different! According to my kepa, Yi Ti dragons don’t even need wings to fly!”

The young prince rolled his eyes at that. “How could they fly if they don’t have wings? Even Carraxes the Blood Wrym has wings, and he looks like an overgrown red snake.” Honestly, his pearl could be so silly. “Besides, what would your father know? He’s a bastard from the Iron Islands, that’s nowhere near the Jade Seas.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “He heard so on his travels with Lord Velaryon and Prince Laenor! Apparently, these dragons use magic and live in the ocean. And they don’t even breathe fire! They make it rain and control the oceans!”

“…Pearl, I think you’ve been spending too much time making those dyes. The fumes must have gotten to your head.”

You openly gaped at your friend’s comment, completely in shock for how blatantly he dismissed you. It made you want to pound your fists on his person until he took it back. So naturally, you did just that.

“Aemond Targaryen, you take that back right now!” you shrieked. Although your actions told otherwise, the smile on your face showed that you took no true offense to his words. If anything, it pleased you to know that you could still make the stone-faced prince giggle as a boy should at his age.

“Never!”

As the two of you giggled and played, several pairs of wandering eyes spied and grimaced at the distasteful display. Although your friendship with the next generation of the royal family was no secret, much of the court disapproved of how highly the royal family thought of you and Prince Aemond’s friendship. After all, he was the second born prince of House Targaryen, born of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. By the time the Targaryen prince could toddle, great things were expected from him. From a very early age, he immersed himself in his studies befitting of a prince of Westeros. You, on the other hand, were only the daughter of a seamstress and a bastard knight who became a lord of a holding so minor that it had no name. You only skills were that you could make pretty dye, and stitch pretty pictures with a needle and thread.

But he always treated you kindly and defended you whenever his eldest brother decided to use you as his latest target for mockery. You were a precious pearl – his precious pearl – Aegon may be his brother, but he could never love Aegon as much as he loved you. True, your father being a bastard did you no favors in the Red Keep’s court, but Aemond would never tell you that himself. Instead, he openly acknowledged his bravery and commended his loyalty to the Crown. After all, how many bastards can boast that they saved the Lord Corlys Velaryon, holder of the Driftwood Throne, from a siege of pirates during one of the lord’s many voyages to Essos?

In turn, you always made sure to provide comfort and support whenever his brother and nephews decided to pick on him. Without fail, he would seek out your company – his eyes red and puffy, while his cheeks were wet from hastily wiped tears. You would take his hands and the two of you would venture out to the library’s more secluded sections. You made sure to pack whatever you have been working on with you. While you were glad that he came to you for comfort, it would do little good for either of you if you were to be punished for not completing whatever tasks your mother assigned you.

“Who cares if you don’t have a dragon?” you once asked him as the two of you laid next to each other, surrounded by books. “There are plenty members of the Targaryen line that did not have dragons, but they still lived out important lives in serving their family however they could. King Jaehaerys was considered a great ruler for how he served the realm– not for riding Vermithor. And even if you had a dragon, is that all you wish to be known for? Your grandfather, Baelon the Brave, was wise and beloved by the small folk for how he tried to make their lives easier. But all he is known for in history books is how he burned down Dorne with Vhagar.”

“Better to be known for a dragon than to disappear, not being known for anything – not even a dragon worthy of the Targaryen name.”

Sitting up against a bookshelf, you repositioned Aemond to lie his head on your thighs. Luckily the candlelight made the area dark enough so that you wouldn’t see his ears turning red. Instead, he buried his face in the soft cotton of your blue tunic as you stroked his soft silver white locks. Although his heart was beating erratically, your sweet scent along with your body’s suppleness was enough to take away any ire left in him.

“Stop that,” you ordered, “you will not be forgotten, don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes softening at his tense shoulders, you eased on the sternness of your tone. “Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao.  Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī.  Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros.  Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.”

You pretended not to notice how tightly he clenched your dress as you ignored the how warm the spot where his hot tears grew.

As you continued to stroke his hair, Aemond made a silent vow that when he finally claimed a dragon, you would be the first person he would ride it with. He thought about how his bastard nephews would always try to take you from him, especially Jace, how he despised that boy. No, your touches would belong to him, and only him. Your sweet words and kind demeanor were his to cherish. You were his pearl – his pearl – and no one else’s, especially not the pretend Targaryen that was Jacaerys Strong.

Yes, it pleased Aemond to know that he was your best friend. But sometimes it frustrated him in how you refused to take him seriously as a man. For example, he once announced that when he claimed his dragon, he would finally be a noble dragon knight who would protect you from the most vicious of beasts. No matter how he insisted on his sincerity, you only rolled your eyes at the proclamation. You told him that you had no need for a knight, let alone a dragon knight. You had your dearest kepa for protection, and there was no finer knight in all the Seven Kingdoms in your eyes. So silly was his pearl indeed.

“Ashi’!” a new voice called out, interrupting the comfortable silence between him and his pearl. It belonged to the king’s eldest grandson, Prince Jacaerys Strong Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra. “Your mother is looking for you! She said that she needs your help with Mother’s clothes!”

“Alright!” When you stood from you spot, you made sure to brush away any dirt or debris left on your skirts. You gathered your mother’s book in both arms when you made your way to the prince. “But why did my muña not send one of her attendants instead? It would not have been difficult to find me. Everyone knows that I enjoy reading under the Hearts Tree in the Godswood during my spare time. Are you not busy with your own duties, my prince?”

Straightening his posture to appear taller, Jace did his best to sound as authoritative as his father had taught him. “I just finished my lessons for the morning, and I volunteered to escort you. Besides, I figured that it would do me some good in practicing escorting you. I’ll need to do it in the future when I am king after my mother.” His round freckled cheeks reddened to a rosy hue at that last part.

Not at all catching the terribly obvious implication, you shrugged off his words as you figured that he meant that he was using you as practice for whichever future noble lady he would court in the future. However, the suggestion was not at all lost on your friend, who was still sitting on the overgrown root, glaring at his eldest nephew with a fury that rivaled the Great Doom that sunk Valyria.

“Well, we should be on our way then. Come on Aemond, we should get going!” You held out your held for your friend to hold on to, but were quickly interrupted by the brown-haired Targaryen at the side.

“He can’t! I mean-” stammered Jace as did his best in thinking of an excuse, “-I’m afraid my uncle cannot join us. You see, um – his mother, the Queen, requested his presence in her solar.”

“I’m sure my mother won’t mind waiting for a few moments while I join you in escorting my pearl to her favorite friend, nephew.” This wasn’t a lie on Aemond’s part. While he didn’t like the idea in keeping his mother waiting for him, he despised the thought of you being alone with the Strong Knight’s eldest bastard even more. Besides, his mother adored you as if you were her own daughter. It would have gone without saying that she would be happy with her son spending time with her best friend’s daughter.

“But why would you want to risk it, uncle?” Jacaerys wasn’t going to let his selfish uncle hog all of your attention. You were his friend too! It wasn’t fair that he had find crumbs of your time and affections, while his uncle got to feast on your smiles and laughter. He had spent hours with the dragon keepers of the dragonpit to help him train Vermax, all so that he could finally show you how close he was in riding him! But you were always too busy comforting his stupid dragonless uncle!

Enough was enough. Jacaerys may have been a Velaryon like his father, but he was also a Targaryen like his mother. It was he who carried the dragon’s blood, and dragons took what they desired or felt what they deserved. And he more than deserved more than Aemond.

“It’s alright Aemond, we’ll talk more later! Let’s go Jace, we shouldn’t keep our mothers waiting any more than we have.” Grabbing his hand before walking out of the gardens, you weren’t able to see the younger prince throw a triumphant smirk to his uncle before once more facing you with the story of how Luke accidentally got egg in his hair.

Watching his literal bastard of a nephew walk hand-in-hand away with his pearl, Aemond Targaryen felt his fury grow more potent with each step. He hated that you called his nephew by his nickname, all while he had none. What’s worse was the fact that you allowed him to refer to you as “Ashi.” What a ridiculous name, only a lowborn such as his nephew would refer to someone as precious as you as something as study and simple like “Ashi.” You were a pearl – his pearl, in fact. A fact that he felt was important to emphasize as he watched your head being thrown back in laughter. His anger grew to an all-time high when he watched you ruffle Jacaery’s hair with abundant affection.

Not wanting to make a scene, he walked to his mother’s chambers in fuming silence. While her presence wasn’t yours, maybe he could think of a plan to get you away from his whore of a sister and her illegitimate offspring.

If worse comes to worst, he might need to recruit his sister to his cause. He knew that Helaena would especially be thrilled in receiving your presence. You were the only one besides your parents that did not treat his beloved sister like an oddity. If you were not with Aemond, you were often found stitching with the young princess. It seemed that you were the only person in the entire world that could get her to smile.

Such a sweet girl, his pearl. Someone so kind was not meant to endure the presence of lowly bastards – even if they did technically carry royal blood.

He needed to come up with something fast.

Translations:

“Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao.  Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī.  Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros.  Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.” - “You’re brilliant. I’ve never met anyone else who can speak such fluent High Valyrian, especially at your age. You can solve problems that Aegon has trouble with during your lessons with the Maester. Aemond, you are my best friend. Don’t say that you will be forgotten.”

Tagging:

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A++++ smut as usual but all I can think about is how AI Jaehaerys looks likes how I imagine Slytherin’s top L’Oréal Paris model (Lucius Malfoy) looked like in his Hogwarts days

"Dragonstone" - Jaehaerys Targaryen I x Sister!Reader

a/n: this might be a total bust BUT @aemondsbabe inspired me to write a fic for jaehaerys with tom blyth as his fc so here it is hehehe 🩷

Summary: When Jaehaerys learns of his mother's plans to wed you to Ser Orryn, he simply cannot let that stand.

TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, idk slight slight dubcon/manipulation, loss of virginity, breeding kink, oral f receiving, fingering, overstim, p in v sex, creampie, tiddy succin

Word Count: 2,100 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Fire and Blood/A Song of Ice and Fire 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 🩷

The Realm nearly tore itself apart when your elder brother and sister wed in secrecy. The High Septon proclaimed Rhaena and Aegon’s children to be abominations. The Faith of the Seven forbids incest, and its roots run strong through your family’s kingdom. That is why, when his small council assembles, Jaehaerys’ suggestion to have himself betrothed to you is deemed out of the question. The uprising is still fresh in the minds of all present, the way the Faith stood against your family’s tradition of marrying within your line to keep it pure. He is called away for other business and the small council reconvenes with the Dowager Queen, without him present. No suitable bride is chosen for him, but a groom is quickly chosen for you. Ser Orryn Baratheon.

Your mother is surprised when you do not protest the match, rather, you seem quite keen on it. Ser Orryn is, after all, one of the most handsome knights in the Realm, and he is kind. She bids you to keep this information to yourself, knowing that Jaehaerys will go berserk if he hears that his beloved little sister is meant to be wed to anyone other than him. As far as he is concerned, from the moment he took you for your first ride atop Vermithor with Silverwing being too small to fly, your tiny hands gripping at his tunic as you shrieked with delight, taking to the skies, you have belonged to him.

When Jaehaerys returns to the Red Keep, you ignore your mother’s words and bound up to him excitedly, wanting to tell him the good news. Jaehaerys smiles at you as you walk toward him, the epitome of effortless Targaryen grace and beauty. He pulls you out of your curtsy and into his arms, embracing you tightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your body is so soft, so warm against his own. It takes everything in him to refrain from acting in a way that is untoward for a king. You beam up at him, your violet eyes sparkling.

“Good morrow, brother. How do you like my dress?” Well, he likes it a fair bit, especially how tight the bodice is, the way it pushes up your bosom, but before Jaehaerys can answer, you begin speaking again, “I am to meet Ser Orryn today to discuss the details of our betrothal-”

That one word alone is enough to make the smile fall from Jaehaerys’ face. To make his blood run cold. You notice the change in his demeanor, your voice faltering as he stares at you, his lilac eyes colder and harsher than you have ever seen them before.

“You will not be marrying Ser Orryn.”

You meet his gaze, your lips parted slightly as he advances on you. For every step you take backward, he takes one toward you until you are pressed flush against the stone wall behind you, his stare piercing as he grabs your chin, forcing you to face him.

“But-”

Your protests fall on deaf ears and Jaehaerys fixes you with a stern glare, “But nothing. I am your brother. Your king. It is my duty to ensure your safety, and I am doing so by putting a stop to this match.”

“You cannot keep me here forever!” You declare, surprising him with your outburst. You have always been his sweet, demure little sister. Where is this sudden rebellion coming from? “I am not a little girl anymore, Jaehaerys, and you cannot treat me like one!”

“No, you are correct, sister,” he murmurs, moving to twirl a strand of your hair around one of his fingers, moving ever closer to you, “You are a woman grown now. A beautiful woman at that.”

You swallow thickly, your breath catching in your throat at the heat in his expression, his voice, your stomach twisting in knots as you stare up at him, voice wavering as you reply, “Thank you…”

“You will be married to me, little dragon. Not Ser Orryn. To me.”

Your eyes go wide at his declaration, lips parting slightly as you protest, “But the Realm was thrown into chaos when Aegon married Rhaena. The Faith would never allow it, brother, to wed within our own line would be madness-”

You are silenced by his finger, making you furrow your brow in annoyance, reminded yet again of the fact that he is your elder brother. Your king.. Jaehaerys moves to trace your soft, plush lips with his finger, smirking to himself at the way your lashes flutter at his touch. You have always been his sweet little sister. Always so eager to please him, to make him happy. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your neck, making a shiver go up and down your spine as he whispers.

“We do not bow to the Seven. We are dragons, my sweet sister. We claim what is ours with fire and blood. Though I have no need to claim you,” he murmurs, the smile on his face making your heart pound in your chest, an aching to be near him pervading your entire being as he moves to rest a hand on your waist, “You are mine. You have always been mine. From the moment you took your first breath you were mine.”

“I don’t know, Jaehaerys, it doesn’t seem wise-”

He ignores your attempts at reasoning with him. Perhaps the High Septon will denounce this match. Perhaps it will throw the Seven Kingdoms into chaos once more. But Jaehaerys knows that no match can compare to one between dragons. With you by his side, his sweet, intelligent, brave sister, he will usher in a new age of peace and stability for Westeros.

“I do not think you understand me, sweet sister. You have no choice in this matter. You are under my protection and as your lord, your brother, your king? I make the decisions for you. You are mine and you shall do as I say.” Jaehaerys grips your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his eyes, “My queen.”

Taken aback by his words, you shake your head slightly, “You don’t mean that. You would never force me to do anything. I know you.”

“You know I love you. That I would do anything for you.” His palm moves to caress your cheek, that handsome smile of his spreading across his face at the way you nuzzle against his hand as if by habit, like a docile kitten, “This is for the good of the realm. I cannot see myself with anyone other than you. You will be my queen.”

You leave for Dragonstone that very night, telling no one of your plans. Jaehaerys weds you in the ways of Old Valyria, wearing the traditional robes of your ancestors. And not for the first time, you notice how handsome your brother looks, the moonlight shining upon his face, his sharp features, his silvery hair. This man who you’ve cared for so deeply all your life, is now your husband. And you think, were it not for your mother’s interference and the opinions of the Realm, you would have agreed to this match without hesitation. He cuts your lip and you cut his, sealing your bond, your devotion to each other.

He sees the resistance to this slowly leave you as you accept what he has told you. That you belong to him. That the two of you were meant to be, from the moment you opened your eyes and gazed upon him for the first time. From the moment you took to the skies, clinging to him for safety, Vermithor flying high above the clouds as the two of you gazed at the land below, not knowing one day you would rule it together. Why should you feel guilty about this? He is your brother, your blood, yes. But who better to love you and care for you? No one could ever love you the way he does.

Jaehaerys is gentle with you, knowing that this is all new to you. You are innocent, untouched, ignorant to the ways of men, to the pleasures of the flesh. He will teach you all of it. He presses his lips to yours, slowly at first, allowing you to get used to the kiss, the coppery tang of your blood mixing with his. He pulls you in closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue moving against yours as you gasp, clinging to his robes.

And when you reach the bedchamber, he lays you down gently, disrobing slowly, revealing every inch of his lithe, toned body to you. You sit up on your knees, your hands moving along the planes of his chest, his stomach. Before long, he is bare before you, wanting you to feel comfortable by making himself vulnerable first. Jaehaerys pulls you in, his cock hard against your thigh, standing at attention, as he kisses you again, his fingers twisting in your hair. His lips move to your neck, biting down to stake his claim on you, his tongue laving attention on your injured skin, soothing you. Your robes join his sooner than later, and you two stand before each other, completely bare. 

Jaehaerys stands at the foot of the bed, admiring you for a long moment, his gaze drinking you in as if you are the finest of wines. You are so beautiful, even more than he ever imagined. You smile at him softly, almost shyly, beckoning him to you with an outreached hand. He wastes no time climbing over you and pressing his lips to yours once again, his hands caressing your breasts, squeezing gently, prompting you to moan against his lips.

“You feel so perfect, just as I always dreamed,” he murmurs against your lips, moving to kiss down your chest.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, suckling at the sensitive bud, his tongue licking at you eagerly, his hand moving to cup your mound. Your hands twist in his hair now as you whine softly, hips bucking against his hand, yearning for his touch. Jaehaerys gives you a sharp look with a smile, a silent command that you let him take this slowly. He has no desire to hurt you. He wishes to prepare you thoroughly.

And oh gods, he does. You lose count of how many times he makes you peak against his tongue, the way he laps at your slick folds, pushing your thighs apart to taste you. And all the while he demands you keep your eyes locked on his, forcing you to watch as he refuses to grant you reprieve. He pulls you back in every time you shy away, your body trembling from how many times he has made you come. But Jaehaerys insists that he wants this to be as painless as possible for you. He adds his fingers in, stretching you open, the cool metal of his rings a stark contrast to the warmth of his mouth against your pearl. The noises he makes, the lewd moans he lets out…

Finally, he decides that you have been prepared enough for him to take you. You cling to him desperately as he pushes his cock inside you, long and thick and filling you to the brim without even entering you completely. That will come with time, he muses, as he slowly begins to rock his hips against yours, reveling in every little mewl that falls from your lips. Jaehaerys pushes your knees to your chest, allowing him to fuck you even deeper, the bulge of his cock pressing against your stomach. He pushes down against it, making you whine pitifully as you beg for him to continue fucking you.

The way he kisses you, caresses you, whispers words of love in your ear all while fucking you relentlessly… You could get used to this. To his love. To being his wife and queen. Jaehaerys’ lips nip at your collarbone, his hands holding you in place as he continues to rut into you, fucking you deeper and deeper with every thrust. And when he spills himself inside of you, painting your womb with thick, hot white ropes of his seed, he whispers to you.

“How beautiful you will look, sweet sister, swollen with my babe. You will look radiant, little one. And I will make sure that by the end of this night, you are with child. That, my dearest, is my promise to you as your lord husband.”

“Yes, brother,” you whisper, losing yourself in his kiss once again.

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