BLUESKINNA’VI

[blueskinnavi]

BLUESKINNA'VI

Masterlist Request Rules AO3

Welcome to my blog! 18, she/her, Sagittarius, INFP, 111.

Racists, misogynists, homophobes, transphobes, ableists, zionists, bullies DNI. This is a safe space and hatefulness will not be tolerated on this blog.

18+ content on this blog.

Do not copy, translate, repost my work or feed it to AI.

Divider by @honeyluvsw

©️blueskinnavi

[blueskinnavi]

Moon Flower Moodboards

Aesthetics for my Maiko fic ‘Moon Flower’

Please go read it, it’s on my AO3, which you can find the link to on my pinned post.

[blueskinnavi]

Paint The Walls White

Prince Zuko x Gender Neutral!Reader

Summary: While the Gaang’s away, you and Zuko play

Warnings: Sex, an attempt at dirty talk, mention of aftercare

Word Count:

Author's Note: Written in one sitting, not checked so probably a bit shitty. Used ATLOA Zuko cause he was a child during season three which is when this is set so he is of course aged up. I can't name my fics so please if you have recommendations, i’ll take anything.

Aang, Katara, Sokka and Toph left on Appa to scout some place near by. You don’t know, you weren’t really listening. You were distracted by the implication of you and Zuko being together — alone.

It was a bad idea.

You were currently being held up against the wall of Zuko’s bedroom. Back slamming into the stone in rhythm with the thrusting of his hips, his muscular arms were splayed over your thighs, which were wrapped tightly around his waist.

You weren’t a part of ‘Team Avatar’, as Sokka called you, when Zuko was hunting them, you had only heard about it through stories, so you understood why they were untrustworthy of them still, but you also couldn’t deny your feelings for him.

The slim muscle, royal facial features — even the scar — not to mention his uniquely hotheadedness that resulted in some heated situations between the two of you. How could you not fall for him?

This particular situation, as you realised by the words he whispered into your neck between kisses, was caused by your clothes.

They weren’t anything special. You only wore them to blend in during your travels through the Fire Nation, so perhaps they were a bit sparser in coverage, to compensate for the climate, but not particularly suggestive.

Zuko found himself turned in by the colour of them. Or rather, the red that belonged to the Fire Nation and by extension him, as the Prince, looked just too irresistible on your skin.

Like you belonged to him.

And that is what led to you being fucked up against this wall behind your friends backs, thinking you are being duteous and watching over him.

Well, you suppose you were — in a way.

“Zu—Zuko… uhh!”

His hand moved to cover your mouth, a knuckle wedging itself between your teeth like a makeshift gag. You bit down absentmindedly, too overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure hurting through your body.

A groan escapes his own lips, vibrating on the skin of your neck before his face crowded your vision, a sneer on his face.

“You need to stay quiet, we don’t know when they’ll come back. You don’t want to get caught do you?”

You whine ‘no’ from behind his hand, shaking your head for good measure as your back arches in response to Zuko’s cock swiping over that spot inside of you, head knocking against the wall.

His hips snap harder against yours as you clench around him, both now chasing the high that is edging closer and closer, cock reaching deeper and deeper.

You suck on his fingers sloppily as they reach into your mouth — effectively silencing the noises you’re making.

Your neck stings as a result of the hickeys Zuko has been laving on your skin, you have no idea how you are going to explain them either but right now you don’t care.

“Wearing my colours — practically begging to belong to me. Yeah you do.” The words echoed in the spade between his mouth and your ear.

Your nails tore bloody ribbons into his back beneath his tunic sticking to his skin with sweat, as you convulsed under the effects of your orgasm. Zuko’s fingers slipped from your mouth only to revel in the uninhibited noises coming from your mouth.

His whisperings turned into unintelligible whimpers as he pulled out, on the verge of an orgasm of his own. Both of you heard the splattering of his cum as it landed on the floor and walls.

In the aftereffects of your shared orgasms, you stated blissfully into each others eyes, breaths mingling as you panted. Zuko collapsed his body weight against you for a moment of respite before picking you up and bringing you to his bed to clean you up.

[blueskinnavi]

Hiiii bby can i please request an aang x fire bender reader smut where the first time he makes her squirt is either gif mouth and fingers and she lets out a breath of fire and aang thinks it’s the hottest thing ever

So Hot

Avatar Aang x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aang makes you breathe fire.

Warnings: Fingering, cunnilingus, squirting

Word Count: 385

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the request! Sorry this is so short but I couldn’t write much with one hand 🫦.

“Aang! Ahh– Aang!”

He had been between your thighs for the last hour. When Aang had come home, he threw you over his shoulder and straight to bed.

His thick yet lithe fingers thrust into you vigorously while his tongue swirled around your clit in firm circles.

“You taste so good darling,” Aang moaned against your cunt, sending vibrations rippling through your body, causing you to moan too in reply.

Your hips squirmed in his grip as you simultaneously tried to escape and lean into the pleasure he was giving you.

It was too much, your whole body felt like it was on fire. Maybe it was.

“Ah, ahh!” Your moans rose in pitch as you felt yourself getting closer.

Your hands felt hot as you gripped the bedsheets between clenched fingers, anchoring yourself to what physical you could.

In the moments before your orgasm, your hand moved from the bedsheets to Aang’s bald head, unable to grip onto any hair, you pulled him closer to your cunt with a flat palm, nails scratching.

Again, he moaned into you. “That feels good, so good.”

“Aang…!” Your voice broke off into a scream as your orgasm ripped through you.

But this could not have been a simple orgasm.

Immediately you knew something was different. The whole world around you went blurry and silent save for the ringing in your ears.

The feeling coursing through your veins felt like you’d transported into the Spirit World. And the orgasm itself… longer and more powerful.

You were still coming.

As soon as Aang processed what was happening, he removed his fingers from you and latched his lips around your hole.

He drank your cum down as he did not wish to drown in it – although, to him, that would not be a bad way to die.

His chin was wet and the bedsheets beneath your bodies were soaked. He had tried maintaining eye contact with you, but that was difficult with your head thrown back against the pillows.

What he saw instead of your molten gold irises gazing into his stormy grey ones was a plume of fire erupting from your lips, orange and hot, fizzling out as it climbed skyward.

Aang could not believe his eyes and was sure it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

[blueskinnavi]

Hii, could you write something about Valarr x cousin reader where she is the daughter of Aerys and some Lys noble and they are childhood friends but they moved to Lys. A few years later she comes back to Westeros because they king demanded it to find her a husband and Valarr is stunned because she has become so beautiful and he still loved her since they where children.

Thank you so much! 😍🫶🏻

Always You

Summary: Your grandfather the King promised to find you a love match, but he didn’t realised you would be looking so close.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note:

You were taken from the court of King Daeron II by your mother when you were young. She married your father – Prince Aerys.

You hardly knew him.

And what you knew of him was the overheard gossip of your mother and her ladies or the whisperings from servants or courtiers.

Your mother is Lyseni, arranged to marry a Targaryen across the Narrow Sea. She saw it an insult to her when her husband turned out to prefer the company of books and scrolls to his young, pretty wife.

He cared not when she bore you from her womb. Half the court had sentenced you guilty of not being of his blood – your looks doing little to convince them for how common they were in Lys.

Your mother was angered by this, though it took her many years to find the courage to do what she did.

In that time you had grown close to your cousin Valarr. He was a few years older but even at that age you found him charming and dashing.

You bonded over your similar predicaments. You had the looks yet the court deemed you unworthy. He had not the looks and despite having the hearts of the court, he still believed he had something to prove.

And in your heart, in spite of your young age, you knew you loved Valarr Targaryen.

Of course you heard of this years after the fact, on the rarest of occasions when you asked about Westeros. You were four when your mother took you from court back to Lys.

In Lys, marriages weren’t traditionally done, men and women kept paramours and had legitimate heirs from them, so your mother didn’t think anyone would care.

The first time the court acknowledged your Targaryen blood was the outrage caused by your mother running away with the Blood of the Dragon.

Your return was not demanded of despite the scandal, you would be allowed to be raised by your mother and the marriage would be annulled afterwards, an attempt of presenting amicability. It only served to further paint your mother a foreign villain.

For twelve years you lived in Lys and you and your mother were largely unbothered. Though you regularly visited and were visited by your mother’s parents, and you had servants.

But all good things must come to an end. But did it have to on your sixteenth nameday? Of all days.

You made your way to the Golden Hall where your fast was broken each day. Plates and platters of sweetmeats and fruits and all the other delicious foods you enjoyed laid on the table, but you could not find your mother there as you always did.

You searched for her, eventually finding her in her chambers, sat by the bay window, staring out at the bay and weeping.

“Mother!” You rushed to her, kneeling by her side and taking her hands in yours. She was clutching something – paper. She held it tightly.

“Daughter, my sweet child. There is something I need to tell you,” she confessed to you, guilt rife in her voice.

You listened carefully as she told you of what happened when you first came to Lys.

Your grandfather, King Daeron the Second, sent a letter to her, requesting that on your sixteenth nameday, when your reach majority, you return to Westeros.

“He wishes to take you into his care,” she said. “This one arrived days ago.”

She offered it up to you and you read it. Your grandfather writes ‘if you consent in coming to court, he will find you a match worthy of a Princess’.

Your mother never allowed you to be fooled by the epic stories of knights or princesses, marriage to you meant little, especially if it was to be found in Westeros.

But you remembered the brown-haired prince you loved all those years ago.

“My girl, it is your choice. Yours alone,” your mother promised you.

“I will go. I want to know what there is for me there.”

The preparations for your voyage were made with haste. A ship from your grandparent’s fleet, likely the one your mother once set sail to Westeros on, though you hoped you had better fortune, and a crew of servants to attend you.

The weather was good, the winds meant you arrived in Westeros in a week. The ship docked out in Blackwater Bay and you sailed in on a smaller boat where you docked on the Red Keep’s own docks.

You were met by a man who introduced himself as the Head of King Daeron’s Household.

You had half expected for the whole of the court to receive you at the dock, but he explained to you that you would be presented to the King and the Court in the Throne Room.

Having freshened up already on the ship with the help of your maidservants, you were taken straight there. Your servants were to be shown to your bedchambers where they would prepare them for you come evening.

Taking a deep breath, you walk in with your head held high when the doors open, the Herald announcing you. “… Princess of House Targaryen, daughter of Prince Aerys and granddaughter of King Daeron the Good!”

You keep your eyes on the Iron Throne and pay no mind to the whispers as you move down the aisle. The shadowed shape of your grandfather clears and you come to a halt at the dais steps.

Below him, on one side stands your father – how the years have changed him.

He was still a young man when he married your mother, with all the health of one. Now, he was skinnier than you knew him to be, and his hair looked haphazardly brushed and his clothes were rumpled. Those parts weren’t new you.

On the other side stands a score of your uncles, their wives and their children, your cousins. Through the crowd you spot Valarr and a sense of calm settles over you.

You bow your head, “Grandfather, my King.”

He roses and the whole room silences. “Welcome home, my granddaughter,” he announces jovially, holding his arms wide to embrace you.

That evening you were properly reintroduced to your father’s family when you were surprised with a feast thrown in your honour.

After the food was eaten, dancing was expected. It was Valarr who approached you and requested the honour of having your first dance. And you accepted.

Others joined you on the dance floor, you were glad as you were unfamiliar with Westerosi dances and found yourself embarrassed more than once but it went unnoticed.

After the first song, men were practically lined up to have your next dance. Which is largely how the rest of your evening went.

Over the hours it mattered less and less how many steps you knew as everyone seemed to forget with enough alcohol.

In the days after, you were constantly in the company of Lords, greater and lesser, all vying for your attention.

It was exhausting. None of them interested you.

At the end of the first day, Valarr had found you and offered to escort you back to your chambers. You had walked back in silence, which was a welcome reprieve. And it was like no time had passed between you.

The weeks that followed were much the same.

But you were sure as you were sure when you were a child – Valarr was who your heart belonged to. No effort made by any other man would sway you.

One night, instead of letting him lead you to your chambers, you took him to a gallery overlooking Blackwater Bay.

You just needed someone to talk to. Being here, without your mother, was profoundly lonely. Without Valarr’s friendship you would have broken down when you first arrived.

You had since accepted you could be ok with him never reciprocating your feelings, as long as you could be friends.

“They are such… men!” Your voice broke rather unattractively upon your outburst. Whether you kicked stone wall out of anger for that or the thing your were complaining about you did not know.

“Are they? Well we must a raven to the Citadel, the Maester’s must be told.” Valarr laughed at his joke but you did not find it so funny.

“Man,” you proclaimed at him, throwing yourself against the wall to rest.

“I only wish they saw me as more than a conquest. Grandfather promised me a love match and none of those men are fit,” you began to rant, throwing your arms around.

Valarr stood in front of you, looking down deep into your eyes. “You must allow yourself time, love takes time. Perhaps one of them may prove themselves worthy yet, or your future husband has not yet revealed himself to you.

The moon and stars reflected off of the water and the fire in the sconces lit up the space around you. You meet his gaze.

No. You were going to tell him. Now.

He was right, love takes time, love has taken twelve years to reach this very moment. Valarr has proven himself worthy, but he had yet to reveal his own feelings to you, Gods you pray he feels the same.

“Valarr,” your words are soft coming from your mouth.

“Princess,” he teases.

You continued. “I have loved you since we were in swaddling clothes. I thought about you everyday of my life in Lys. You are why I came back here. Not because grandfather offered me the hand of any Lord I chose. You.”

Valarr’s face seemed to light up. He was pleased because he could finally ask you the question he had been longing to ask you, but held back because he knew of your frustrations concerning suitors.

“I suppose it is my turn now. I have no grand words for you have taken them out of my mouth. But there is one question I wish to ask you”

He stepped closer to you, joining your hands, heightening the intimacy shared between you.

“Will you be my wife?”

[blueskinnavi]

hilli, i am in LOVEEEE with the way that you write and wanted to make my very first request for an Aang x Reader (Smut/Angst) where, prior to leaving, he promises to return in a months time and throughout his absence, he sends a few letters as updates but unexpectedly, his time away stretches to a little over two months and the longer he's gone, the less he sends out a letter until they eventually stop completely.

in turn, this worries reader until, at some point, it angers her. so, on the night of his long awaited return, he comes home to a quiet dark home and a seething wife who's taking out her frustrations on her poor but nurtured plants out on the balcony.

basically, a sappy and extremely apologetic aang that wants nothing more than to make it up to his pretty angry wife who tries her best to stay mad at him but can't-ugh, darn those big glossy grey eyes of his just all on his knees for her and his way of getting her to stop being mad at him by completely worshipping her in bed <33

(if you can, some mock sympathy from aang would be the cherry on top bc let's face it-he knows his wife best and knows it takes him giving her what she RLY wants to fix all of their problems hehehe)

ANYWAY, NO RUSH OR PRESSURE, TYSM KWEEN MANY HUGS N KISSES <3

Hi, thank you for the request! You may have come from my last Aang piece but it was pretty similar to your request actually. Hugs and kisses back lovely 🖤

[blueskinnavi]

Hiii! Can I please request an aang x thick/ chubby reader smut

It’s basically about aang seeing the reader in his robes for the first time and since he’s so big and tall and buff his clothes are big on her but she just looks so beautiful to him and he loves how soft she is and curvy and that wakes something up in him

And bam!

He makes love to her

Drowning In You

Aang x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aang comes home from a long trip to you awaiting him in his favourite outfit.

Warnings: Cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal sex, aftercare, Aang talks you through it, mild breeding/ impregnation kink?

Word Count: 2.0k

Author's Note: I really appreciated writing this, as a fat girl it was important for me to write this reader as confident and powerful in her body because we all deserve to feel that about ourselves! And for clarification because my mind is obsessed with the little details, the robes I was trying to reference is LIKE the one Aang primarily wore in season three.

You were aware of how much Aang liked seeing you wearing his clothes. At every opportunity, he would put you in them.

Draping his cloak around your shoulders when it was cold outside, it pooling on the floor because he was that much taller than you?

Or when he would lay it over you as a make-shift blanket in your sleep and you were visibly comforted by his scent and warmth?

Sometimes, in the mornings, you would wear a tunic of his when you couldn’t find your own clothes, and that tunic that was perfectly fitted to him came down to your knees?

You never thought you’d experience such a thing. As a big girl you’d lost hope on finding a man who’s clothes you could wear and wouldn’t fill.

Fortunately, your boyfriend was a big man himself – tall and muscular.

Unfortunately, being the Avatar, Aang travelled a lot, and you often stayed on Air Temple Island. And you missed him every time.

As night fell, you retired to your room, leaving the balcony door open as you always did when Aang was away.

Technically, he was home, he returned this morning. Usually when he returned from a trip, he would come to you immediately – however this time, he didn’t. He had gone straight to a council meeting at Town Hall and been there all day.

You had decided to show him just what he had been missing and sat waiting for him on your bed – draped in one of his robes. It showed off a lot of your body and the colours contrasted you deliciously in the low lighting too, adding to the seduction.

It was late when he landed on the balcony, you almost didn’t hear him for his light-footedness.

He collapsed his glider and walked into the room. Despite his confident stride, he was quiet for he expected you to be fast asleep at this hour.

Instead he was greeted by you, sat on the bed, wearing his clothes, hair messy from a long day, flushed from the candles warming the room. There was also tiredness on your face, which somehow only made you hotter.

When you heard him, you lifted your head up – hair falling around your shoulders, framing your face, shadowing it.

Sure as you were of it – you hear the sharp intake of breath. Aang set his glider down against the wall and walked further into the room.

He came round the side of the bed and kneeled down, reaching out to you, but you ignored him.

“Baby–” he cleared his throat, it was tight with the effects of the arousal coursing through his entire body. Specifically to his hardening cock. It was so immediate that Aang felt light headed. “Baby, please.”

Surprised by what you were hearing, you let your stoic expression slip – only for a second – and it was not missed by Aang. It was the crack in your porcelain and all the allowance he needed to make his move.

You heard the rustle of fabric on fabric as he moved to sit behind you on the bed. His head rested in the juncture of your shoulder blades, breathing you in. A hand laid open on your bare shoulder, the other on your clothed hip.

“I’m sorry about the meeting. They summoned me, said it was urgent. I’m sorry it took so long. But that– that doesn’t matter. You’re all that matters. Baby please.”

He was practically whining, begging for you… for your words, your touch.

Aang kissed up your back, trailing tender and burning marks into your skin where he would stop to suck. When he reached your neck, he looked in your eyes, his own glazed with tears, conveying the sheer want he had for you.

The breath was stolen from your lungs at his words. The effect you were having on him – effected you. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Aang,” your voice was breathy, “I missed you.”

Your head collapses back onto his shoulder, you could never have denied him for long.

Aang moved you to face him and you held his face in your hands as you kissed each other all over your faces, anywhere you could reach through laughter and tears.

You sniffed back a sob – being apart for so long, you were sure you would die if you couldn’t touch him.

Aang took you in his strong arms, you felt the muscle under his tattooed skin flex though there was no struggle for him. An exhilarating feeling – amplifying the arousal in your loins.

He laid you out on the bed, had you splayed underneath him.

“You look so good in my clothes, but you have to take them off now,” he laughed. You were both giggly and teary. Aang was already pawing at your skin as you joined him in removing your– his clothes.

As each piece was taken off, Aang laved your body with indulgent kisses – worshipping you.

“Weeks without you baby. Do you know what you do to me?” he was near moaning against your skin now. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your leg, heat pouring through layers of clothing.

Travelling up your body, his hot breath blew coldly on the wetness that was sticky on your thighs. Noticing your body’s reaction, he smirked, “you want me so bad, don’t you baby,” his voice was heady with arousal. “You need me?”

You nodded frantically, euphoric tears pooled in your eyes, threatening to spill.

“Please!” you begged, your breathing heavy, eyes fluttering shut as you took the brunt of a physical pang of arousal.

Aang leaned down down, eyes on yours, and pressed a kiss to your clit. When he pulled away, his lips were glistening with your wetness. He licked his lips and moaned.

You felt his arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to him and he dove back in.

He flattened his soft tongue and licked a thick stripe along your cunt, briefly dipping into your hole, collecting your arousal before swirling his tongue around your clit again.

Your hips bucked against his face. He moved his hands to rest on your hips, pushing you firmly down into the bed, keeping you still against him, and you felt his lips against yours as he smirked at your desperate attempt to stimulate yourself on him.

His nose pressed against your clit as he focussed on your hole. Aang’s eyes flutter shut briefly as he breathed your scent in, finding a little relief by rutting his hips against the bed.

Aang released his grip on one of your legs as he brought his fingers to your hole, dipping them in slowly as his tongue moved back to drawing circles on your clit.

As he began to thrust his fingers in and out at a steadier pace, he formed a suction around your swollen clit and sucked at it gently.

You felt the familiar tightness in your stomach as you neared orgasm. Your increased squirming and higher pitches whines and moans signalled to Aang the same.

“Aang!” you gasp, “fuck– ahh.”

Brought to the very precipice of your orgasm, your fingers curled into the sheets by your head. Your back arched as you let out another slurry of moans.

You grip your boyfriend’s smooth head harder, muscles flexing, pushing his face further into your cunt – you were rewarded with a moan that vibrated through your sensitive flesh.

Your orgasm careened through you. White hot pleasure coursed through your veins, your entire body tensed up upon release.

But Aang didn’t stop, he scissored and thrust his fingers in an unrelenting pace and continued his suction on your clit, maximising the effects of your orgasm for his own satisfaction.

When your body finished spasming, he removed his fingers – wasting no time licking up the cum dripping from your hole.

“You did so well, my love,” Aang whispered against your flesh, stroking the velvety skin of your thigh. He pressed a final kiss to your clit, which resulted in an overstimulated twitch of your hips.

Sinking his face into your stomach, you felt the tickle of his soft lips on your skin – eliciting a giggle from you as you came back to full consciousness.

He nipped and pinched your breasts too, heavy in his palm before finally reaching your lips.

He held you face in his hand, gazing deep into your eyes, communicating something deeper than words could describe. He leant down and kissed you.

In leu of your mind-boggling orgasm, your arousal had not lessened. In fact you still craved to have his cock inside you. You whined against his lips, hands weakly attempting to pull at the sleeves of his tunic.

“You want my cock, do you baby?”

“Aang!” Your tone of voice giving away you were still high off of your orgasm.

“I’ll give it to you baby, hold on.” He could barely contain himself anymore – too long without you. Far too long indeed, he felt close to erupting even without your touch, your words being enough.

Your begs were unheard, drowned out by your breathy whining.

You barely noticed as Aang shucked off his clothes, leaving them piled somewhere on your bed where the others had been thrown earlier. Then before you was the pale, marble expanse of his torso, muscles flexing above you.

You reached your hand out to caress and scratch his abs, embracing the surprised flicker of his skin.

Your hand lowered, grasping his blushed-red cock firmly, you start to stroke him, enjoying hearing the subtle noises escaping your boyfriend’s mouth. He took ahold of your hand, pulling you away. “You’re gonna make me cum baby.”

He took himself in his hand and guiding his cock towards you, notching at your entrance. He kissed you as he entered you, sweet and gentle.

“You’re doing so good love. So, so good,” he whispered.

You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it. One of his hands massaged your thigh, gripping your ass cheek in an open hand, his fingers dug into you deliciously.

The other fondled your breast. Spirits, he was obsessed with them. He imagined how they would fill with milk when you were full with child.

Aang thrust harder, working to fulfil this fantasy, grunting in his effort. His cock reached deep within you, caressing that spot that just felt oh so good inside you.

Your nails rake bloody ribbons up his back as you cry out, but he doesn’t care for the pain.

“You already look so good in my colours, imagine when you’re round with my child. Can you imagine that baby? Oh yeah, yeah– ughn.” Aang groans in your ear.

“Take my cock my love, take it, gonna fill you up with my babies.” His hand is cradling your jaw, you nod into it, craving the intimacy of his touch.

Your thighs tense, you attempted to chase your approaching orgasm, shifting restlessly below Aang, settled by a shushing and promise he would let you come and then you could rest.

“Mmh–!” you hummed behind your lips, hands flailing by your side, unable to grip anything, your muscles having turned to jelly, Aang moves his hand from your face, joining it with yours above your head.

You come at the same time, bodies convulsing and pressing together until there was no space between you.

You cry out loudly into the suffocatingly humid air with no worry of who could hear you beyond your room. Aang’s face falls into you neck and you feel the wetness of tears on your skin, just as you feel the force of his cum shooting into you.

“Aang!” You repeat his name over and over until your words fade from a shout to a whisper, barely clinging to consciousness.

You lie on the sheets, soiled by sweat and cum, tucked into Aang’s side as you recover. You run your fingers over his abs, a memory from earlier. You smile up at him. “So? You want babies?”

Aang halts stroking your back and blushes, looking down at you through his eyelashes and asks, “do you?”

[blueskinnavi]

Hi! Can I request a fic that’s aang x reader

And in this fic they are both 24 ( the reader is a fire bender and an orphan because her parents didn’t agree with ozai so they were murdered )

So her and aang are in a relationship and the reader trains with Zuko a lot because they have the same bending and Zuko is an amazing bender so while they were training he tripped and fell on her and they laughed it off but aang saw that and felt some type of way, he was jealous he didn’t really show it but when him and the reader were alone together he showed his jealousy and bam they have some spicy time😏😏

Fiery Feelings

Aang x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aang feels something he hasn’t felt before as he watches Zuko teach you firebending.

Warnings: Jealousy, vaginal sex, aftercare, I can’t write rough!Aang

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note: Aang is technically aged up as this takes place soon after the end of the war and he is an adult.

Being Aang’s girlfriend, you feel pressure to be a good bender. To be worthy of him even though he has never made you feel that way. But as a common girl, you never had formal firebending training…

Your parents were part of a group of outlaws that opposed Ozai when he was Firelord. They were caught one day and executed, you had been hunted down and taken prisoner to assure your loyalty to the crown.

For years you and others like you were kept in prison, the guards gave you as little as you needed to survive and without proper nourishment, you did not have the strength or will to firebend. You even began to fear firebending because of them.

After Zuko became Firelord, it took time for him to discover the existence of the prison and free you. But when he did, he was joined by Avatar Aang, who had promised to stay in the Fire Nation as long as it took to heal you.

Your recovery wasn’t just physical or mental but spiritual too.

Aang spent much time with you, more than any of the others, even after you were strong. And he showed you how to meditate, to achieve inner peace and unlock your firebending potential.

How to harness love instead of hate.

Once you were fully recovered, you decided you didn’t want to stay in the Fire Nation. It held too many painful memories – the loss of your parents and the torture you suffered in prison.

More than willing to have his new girlfriend by his side, Aang took you with him to Cranefish Town and Air Temple Island.

As the Avatar, he was very busy and your firebending training had to be put on hold. You accepted that for a time but personal insecurities started to arise within you.

It came to a head when Aang informed you Zuko was coming to Cranefish Town on a diplomatic visit.

Looking back, you understand his built up frustrations as you talked his ear off about him asking Zuko to teach you firebending.

Of course, he complied, he could never say no to you, and on the day of Zuko’s arrival, he agreed to come and teach you some stuff.

Now, here you were, in the Air Temple training grounds with Zuko, who was guiding you through the steps of the Dancing Dragon.

He had thought that teaching you this would unlock certain capabilities that would make the rest of your training easier, and had explained to you that although the steps seemed complicated, the form itself was simple.

The two of you spent some time going through the individual steps themselves before even incorporating firebending into the finished product, Zuko was very careful about that.

When you were finally ready, you performed the dance together. Aang was sat on the side of the ring, watching you.

You glided through the Dancing Dragon, your firebending was beautiful and Aang couldn’t help but feel pride in that that had come from his own teachings.

But deep inside him, he felt something seeing you with Zuko.

Aang saw as you got closer to finishing the form with Zuko, he also saw you getting closer to each other than you were supposed to – he remembered from when he learned with Zuko.

He stood up, ready to intervene just as it happened. You and Zuko crashed into each other and in a tangle of limbs, collapsed to the floor. He made his way over to the two of you, but again, Zuko was already up and helping you. A twinge of anger went through Aang’s body.

“I am so sorry Firelord Zuko,” you gasped out. You looked at him so apologetically, embarrassed by your clumsiness.

Aang sensed an underlying fear in you and pulled you to him. You didn’t even notice he had come over.

“Don’t worry about it. It was my fault more than it was yours.” Zuko smiled back you graciously, sympathetic to how you reacted. “But I think we’re done for the day.” He was looking at Aang more than you, who nodded in agreement.

As you walked off back to the Temple, still in Aang’s arms. He spoke fretfully, “are you ok? did he hurt you?”

“He didn’t hurt me, i’m fine, you don’t need to worry.” You stop and turn so you are facing him and kiss him reassuringly.

You had a feeling what had happened that afternoon was still bothering Aang – the way he was acting during your nightly meditation, he was not himself.

He was unsettled – usually he is very good at sitting still and focussing his mind, but tonight you could hear him fidgeting.

Despite the fact he wasn’t into the meditation this night, he sat quietly and patiently while waiting for you to finish. This is a space you can be at one with each other and he honours the sacredness of such – even as waves of unholy thoughts crash through his mind.

Finally, you open you eyes, revealing to you Aang. This time it is him who helps you up from the floor and you make your way over to your shared bed.

He sits down, facing away from you, you observe the tension in him and it dawns on you why he has been acting the way he has all day.

Crawling across the bed, you rest your chin on his shoulder, warm air from your breath tickling his neck.

He leans into it.

You are the air in his lungs, the water that quenches his thirst, soil that nourishes his earth and fire that lights his heart.

But all he can think about is how close you were to Zuko. His mind spits the name out.

“Aang. How you’re feeling, is it because of Firelord Zuko?”

His eyes meet yours – glistening so full of want they are almost teary. He stands up, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

Aang‘s chest is heaving. He brings his hand to your face, thumb stroking your lower lip and it is like he snaps, how is it something so gentle is the breaking point?

Quicker than you can comprehend, his thumb is replaced by his own soft lips. Firm against yours in a hungry mission to consume all of you.

A moan escapes your throat and he swallows it up. He has never acted like this, kissed you like this.

He pushes you back onto the bed, as gently as he can in this state of mind.

His hands are on your body, ridding you of your clothes, removing the barrier between your skin and his. You do the same, fingers fumbling as you do so.

“What have you done to me, my love?” His words come out breathily, hidden in your neck.

Aang shifts his weight, holding himself over you entirely – there is not one part of him you think you cannot feel. Now above you, he reconnects your lips, unwilling to spend any longer than necessary without touching you in some way.

Now you have him unclothed, you slip your hands over his shoulders and run them along his back, swirling your fingers over the sensitivity of his lightening scar.

He shudders above you, he pants into your mouth as your tongues dance and you feel his cock, hard against your stomach — encouraging you to wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down to grind against yours.

A hand leaves its place planted by your shoulder, adorning your skin with teasing, feather-light touches before grasping himself to guide himself into you.

“Ngh– ahh Anng”

“You feel so… good, ugh.”

His head drops to the crook of your neck as he enters you – unable to help himself, Aang begins mouthing at your neck, sucking hickeys onto the soft column.

Satisfaction pools in his stomach at the idea of marking you. He’s the only one who can see you like this, do these things to you, him.

Nodding your permission, Aang begins to thrust into you, muscular hips powering into yours and you knew, if you had not already had some inkling, this was not love making as you knew it.

What happened with Zuko must have bothered him more than he previously let on and this was—

“Aang!” Your voice rips through the heady air the two of your have created.

Your hips buck up to meet his. Amidst you moaning, you chant his name, your words and noises resounding in his ear encouraging him to go faster, harder.

A symphony of noises filled the room, the thought of it being the result of what your boyfriend was doing to you only amplifying your pleasure.

Your nails dug into Aang’s shoulders as you felt yourself draw close. Aang felt himself drawing close too.

He brought his nimble fingers to your clit and rubbed your swollen flesh in tight circles, telling you how good you were being, how good you felt, that he was close too, just a little bit more.

You legs seized up around his waist, pressing him tightly against you with no room to move.

You came together: the knot in your stomach snapped leaving you so blissed out you could hardly focus when you felt the hot spurts of his cum deep inside of you.

“Darling?”

You were no longer underneath the muscular body of your boyfriend but propped up on the mountain of pillows, in his arms.

Aang pressed a kiss, gentle, to your lips before moving to waterbend water for you to drink, bringing the cup to your lips before returning it to the table.

“You did so good darling.” You cuddled together on the pillows, still naked, basking in the cool breeze provided by the open balcony.

His hands stroked along your body, leaving fizzles of sensation in their wake – you were still coming down from your orgasm. Aang kissed above your nipple on your breast where his head was resting.

“I’m sorry if I was too much.” His tone let you know he was feeling real guilt over his actions.

But you know your boyfriend, he would’ve stopped if you couldn’t handle it. Besides, you rather enjoyed seeing him behave in such a way.

You giggled and suddenly found yourself reminded of what you said to start this whole thing. “You have nothing to be jealous about. I love you, and you’re the only Master I want.”

Aang’s breathing hitches as his eyes darted to you, catching the innuendo. You pretend to ignore his face as he buries it in your neck, embarrassed. You scratch at the base of his neck, and through a small gap between you, you see his eyes flutter shut.

[blueskinnavi]

Could I please request Daeron x reader (GN or female reader please) who is Baelor’s child, they have always been close and now they’re getting married. Thank you. 💗

A Good Husband

Daeron Targaryen x Fem!Targ!Reader

Summary: Ahead of his wedding to his cousin, the woman he’s loved all his life, Daeron feels insecure.

Warnings: None, fluff, kissing

Word Count: 750

Author's Note: I got really unwell last week so I really couldn’t write, I promise it would’ve been out earlier! I loved writing this, the whole garden scene was inspired by the image above so ofc I had to include it.

You step out into the gardens of the Red Keep, embraced by the summer sun and breeze carried by the river. Picking up your skirts, you descend the stone steps and find yourself happily lost amidst the shrubbery the further you walk.

You were told Daeron was out here and now you find yourself playing a one-sided game of hide and seek with the prince. Just as it was when we were little, you thought to yourself, a smile gracing your lips.

When you were little, your cousin was your closest friend and confidant, and you his. You grew up in the Red Keep together – sharing lessons, escaping lessons, playing together and making trouble.

Daeron moved away after your uncle was given Summerhall by your grandfather after the Rebellion, and you wrote letters to each other, but over the years the letters grew less and less.

On his deathbed, your grandfather thinks often of his family.

The Great Spring Sickness swept through him and left him weakened but he has not been the same since your father died nor since the Sickness took your two brothers.

Memories of you and Daeron too weighed on his mind. He had started to believe he must marry the two of you.

All his life, King Daeron the Good strove to right the wrongs of his House, like strengthening alliances with other houses through marriage. And at the end he seeks to make a match that would bond to dragons.

And that is what he did. Daeron was summoned from Summerhall to court you.

You find Daeron sitting on one of the many stone benches lining the pathways, with his elbows on his knees and his hands rubbing at his face.

Even from this distance you could tell how weary he is.

You pity him for his dreams – prophecies that show him the darkness awaiting his family.

You make your way over to the young man, clearing your throat as not to startle him with your approach.

“Prince Daeron.” The look on his face tells it’s as if he had heard neither your approach nor cough. He blinks heavily and sighs.

Daeron returns the greeting – the smile on his face unmissable – and he moves to give you room to join him on the bench.

Years of friendship and you find yourself shy upon ‘meeting’ your betrothed.

Gathering your skirts, you join him. The light grey stone is cold on your skin and Daeron’s body heat makes you want to sit closer.

“How fared your journey?”

Daeron snorted, “you ask of my journey?”

“What else am I supposed to ask, Daeron? Why did you stop answering my letters?” That in truth was the question you have so wanted to ask him.

“I heard the whispers of what you’d become, the drinking, the whoring, and yet I never wavered in my love for you. Why?” You rant, exasperation heavy in your voice.

“My journey was long. In part because the weather was badly, but also because I have not had a drink for near a fortnight,” the notion seemed to pain him.

Hearing you scoff he throws his arms up.

“The drinking… is the only thing that keeps the dreams at bay.”

You place your hand on his shoulder when he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’d be drunk for days at a time, weeks perhaps, I do not know, and in no state to answer your letters. By the time I am sober enough, guilt overcomes me, I don’t deserve your kindness and your words and I feel shame in ignoring you, thinking how you must feel, the months with no word, so I don’t write. A vicious cycle.”

What would he have done if he knew how eagerly you awaited your letters, longing for the words you would read in his voice?

“It has been a fortnight since I last had a drink I remember, because I wish to be a good husband to you.”

Your gasp causes him to look up at you, revealing the vulnerability in his eyes. You stand in front of him and draw him into your arms.

When you pull away, he reaches to touch you again, a hand on your arm and another tangling in a loose tendril of your hair.

“I am not worthy of you, my love, my life.” He speaks breathlessly.

“Yes you are. And you will be a good husband.”

Despite impropriety, you cannot help yourself as you cup his cheeks and kiss his lips.

[blueskinnavi]

Ahead of publishing a requested piece tomorrow, my requests are now also open for the Aang film!

I haven’t watched it since it got leaked so I don’t know any of the plot but everyone is hot so I wanna write them.

[blueskinnavi]

About your requests, if you feel like it, could you maybe write one where Aerion is betrothed or married to a Targ!reader (doesn't matter too much if she's his sister or cousin) and she's a dreamer 👀 at the beginning he's maybe a bit reluctant and distant, but he becomes more interested in her when he finds out about the dreams and then actually cares about her (maybe comforting her after a particularly bad dream)

Dream Girl

Aerion Targaryen x Fem!Targ!Reader

Summary: Aerion’s sister always dreamed of wedding him, not knowing what a nightmare their marriage would be.

Warnings: Aerion Targaryen is his own warning, ‘he’s mean to you because he likes you’, angst, description of non-con-ish, nightmares, hurt/comfort (?), lowkey rushed ending.

Word Count: 2.0k

Author's Note: I headcanon Aerion as having the ‘evil’ version of her dragon dreams, which is what makes their relationship so complicated but also why they understand each other by the end. Thank you for requesting, (I am getting through the others too (slowly)) and thank you for your patience, I am very grateful.

You were breaking your fast in your chambers when a manservant had come with a message from your father to meet with him in his solar.

You finished your plate of toasted bread, bacon, eggs and potatoes, a bowl of fruit and honey and called your maidservants to draw you water for a bath.

In a tub of hot water steeped with oils and herbs, you scrubbed away the sweat on your skin formulated in the night because of your dream. You contemplated it.

Two dragons, black and red: the colours of your house. Flying in the sky together so gracefully it was like they were dancing.

In the end they flew at each other, clasping claws and circled – the clouds turning into fire, red, orange and yellow.

Those of your line had what is called dragon-dreams. Prophetic visions that come to you in the form of dreams in the realm of sleep.

All your brothers have them but your twin Aemon – the Maester’s said you stole them from your twin in the womb.

Though unlike Daeron, your dreams did not portray to you future tragedy and curse you as a drunk in order to cope with the horrors.

Nor were they filled with false promises like Aerion’s, which you blamed for his monstrous temperament.

Your dreams impressed upon you visions of your own future.

Your thoughts drifted to Aemon as your maidservants helped you dress, lacing your into one of your favourite dresses. It had been made to match one of your mother’s, and adorning you with jewellery and styling your hair fit for a princess.

Your dreams often left you seeking logical explanation – but so logical was Aemon, instead of answering your questions, he dismissed them entirely.

You love your brothers, all of them, but the the distance has only grown since he left for the Citadel to become a Maester.

Still, you miss him so.

Turning the corner and skipping down the stairs into the corridor in which your father’s solar occupied, you saw Aerion stood outside.

Leaning against one of the pillar’s lining the wall, he stared down the guard posted outside the solar until your echoing footfalls drew his attention.

“Sister.” He said, monotonous, casting a look over you, it was not complimentary but utterly judgemental.

“Good morrow, brother.” Aerion smirked and turned back to the guard, who announced your presence to your father.

When you were a younger girl, Aerion was who you were closest to.

You’ve heard the stories from your parents since you were old enough to remember. You were obsessed with Aerion. Like a dragon they said.

At times he welcomed the attention.

Like when your father would insist the family spend time together and you would all be dragged out to the forest wherein there was a lake.

The boys would go and fish in the lake and you and your mother and sisters would sit by the shore playing in the shallows, watching them.

Aerion would come running up to you, holding a fish up above his head, shouting his victory. And you would praise him, tell him how strong he was and what a victory it was indeed.

Your mother would laugh and smile at this, your father shouting for him to come back and help his brothers with their own fish – also smiling and helpless to it.

Other times he didn’t.

You would often take to following him around Summerhall, to his lessons or training. You would follow him around as fast as your little legs could, but was older and quicker and could escape you.

You came to find out that sometimes he would simply hide behind a wall and laugh at you as you searched for him, confused as to where your big brother went.

You were finally discouraged from doing it after he hit you with a wooden sword. He feigned it was an accident, though you knew he did it on purpose.

When you grew older, Aerion realised he could manipulate your attention.

He would bribe you into keeping watch as he did mischievous things. Make you take the blame for things he did by telling you he would love you if you did.

Your mother had the sense to see through these ruses and put a stop to them before Aerion went too far, as she feared he would.

Though your father seems to lose all sense when it comes to his children – Aerion in particular.

“Let them in.” Your father’s voice broke you from your reverie.

Aerion made no effort for courtesy as he strode into the room as soon as the door opened, leaving you to scurry in behind him.

The door shut behind you.

Inside the walls of the solar, the air felt thick and heavy and a tad stale. The sun shone in through a window behind the desk but no candles were lit so it was still dark.

Your father rose from the seat at his desk with a sigh, coming to sit on the other side of the desk, closer to where you and Aerion stood.

You had moved into the room, clutching at a stile of one of the chairs by the unlit fire. Aerion stayed by the door, shifting on his feet, looking as if he was ready to leave when the conversation displeased him.

Another sigh escaped your father’s mouth as he wiped a hand over his face – dreading to say what he must. This would not be pleasant for any of them.

“You are to wed.” His voice broke the silence, no room for question, yet you remained confused. You shared a look with Aerion, his face detailed his own confusion.

“Father? Which one of us?” You dared venture. Is this what your dream foretold?

“The both of you. You are to wed each other.”

“No! Father–”

He cut off Aerion with a stern look. “This is not to be discussed. In a moon’s turn will the wedding take place.”

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Aerion had ignored you entirely. And you didn’t bother seeking him out.

You highly doubted he cared about the wedding planning at all, but still, every decision you made was run by him and he contradicted every one you made.

You sympathised with Aerion in the beginning. It was his fault he didn’t know this was his destiny. Only you had been privy to that particular dream.

At first, you hadn’t let it get you down – you could still be excited for your wedding day. But now, it was tiring, you had had enough. Aerion had finally managed to make you feel as badly as he did about the whole thing.

During the wedding ceremony and reception themselves he was equally ignorant of your presence.

Proximity to you meant nothing to him as he conversed and laughed with his friends. Less than lickspittles is what you thought of them.

He drank near as much as Daeron too, until your father cut him off with a glare from along the table.

The bedding ceremony was worse. Aerion took you with no regard for your maidenhead. Your Septa told you it would hurt but he was supposed to be gentle, as any good husband should.

The worst part was you know he didn’t even do it to be cruel, he just didn’t care.

His skin was so hot against yours you felt like it was burning you. And his lips were soft but his teeth – oh so sharp against your skin.

His seed you could feel leaking out of you as you tried to sleep. You feared to because it meant waking up to being his wife but you feared staying awake because it means remembering that moment over and over.

Eventually you did fall asleep.

A black dragon and a red dragon. You were the red dragon, you could tell. Just like before, just like it had always been.

You were flying. But the clouds were so thick and dark you could not see where. No… these were not clouds… it was smoke.

From the smoke a black dragon appeared, it- he was flying straight at you.

In a single moment, the black dragon collided with you, his sword-like teeth ripped into you neck as it’s claws did your flank. You flapped your wings, trying to escape the attack but your efforts were in vain.

In the end they flew at each other, the black dragon opened its maw and caught the red in a deadly chokehold, it’s claws ripped into its side. Neither able to use their wings to fly, they hurtled to the ground – a pit of green fire enveloped them.

The pain was unlike any other. But dragons are not supposed to burn. You could feel the green fire melt away your flesh and evaporate your blood. And you knew that all was left of you was your charred bones.

You wake and are immediately aware of the quick beating of your heart and the depth of your breathing. And you can feel the fleeting pain of the dream – pulsing faintly beneath your skin.

Feeling trapped, you cast the bedsheets off of your legs, and lurch into sit on the edge of the bed – your body aching as you do so.

The cold stone floor grounds you and in no time do the tears come. With wet eyes you look back at Aerion, having clasped your hand to your mouth.

Do not wake him. Do not wake the dragon.

A sob escapes your lips and you freeze. Please.

The God’s did not hear you, how could they when in this very room was a demon you called your brother, your husband? Perhaps that made you a demon too.

Aerion startled, bolting upright. A hand darting underneath his pillow, drawing out a knife. Half-asleep he realised who was in his room and laid the knife to rest on his legs over the bedsheets.

“Sister?” He shifts closer and lays a hand on your shoulder. You flinch and you move off yourself off the bed entirely, away from Aerion. But you don’t turn your back on him.

Never lose sight of a predator, like your father said, although you were certain he never thought of your brother when saying it.

Now your cries came unrestrained. You were sure you looked a mess too, red-faced and wet-cheeked. Aerion gripped the bedsheets in his hand now, white-knuckled. He looked at you and you saw in his eyes what looked like guilt.

“Sister.”

He holds his hand out – welcoming not demanding. You take it, allowing him to bring you back to bed.

The bedsheets no longer feel like a trap, but they remind you of when you were little – when you had your dreams and climbed into your mother and father’s bed.

In Aerion’s embrace your cries quieted, your heartbeat regained a normal pace and your breathing levelled out.

Aerion pressed a kiss to your hair and you wondered if this is what he needed when he dreamed.

[blueskinnavi]

My requests are open!

If you want to request, please go to my request rules on my blog first.

[blueskinnavi]

REQUEST RULES

Requests are open.

I write for Avatar and ASOIAF including HOTD, AKOTSK and GOT. Once I make a masterlist, you will be able to find of which fandoms and characters I write for!

My x reader fics will always be as non-descriptive as possible to be inclusive but please, if you feel as though my writing does not include you, tell me, I want my writing to be for everyone. You can request for a description to be included!

What i am comfortable writing

Fluff, angst, smut

What i am not comfortable writing

Dark romance, non-con, dub-con, underage, incest (targcest exception), bdsm, ddlg, heavy kink

Character × character ships are allowed.

If you find anything unclear please just ask but always remember an author is allowed to say no to your request.

[blueskinnavi]

The Red Priestess

Summary: Aerion Targaryen meets a Red Priestess in Lys who promises him fire and blood.

Warnings: Aerion is his own warning, minor violence, mentions of slavery, blood, bondage, handjob, vaginal sex.

A/N: Made from @bloodyziggy’s prompt and highly inspired by that™ scene between Varang and Quaritch. This is my first fic so please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! I will be opening up requests soon I think.

Word Count: 2.1k

When Aerion arrived in Lys, he had been welcomed into the manse of a Magister. He feasted beneath the Magister’s gilded sandstone roof every evening, with courtiers and courtesans.

The courtiers were less noble than they were wealthy, as that is what mattered in Lys: money not blood. The courtesans were mere whores, paraded around like ladies or lords by the courtiers.

He joined in the courts that was held in the day and at night he slept in a bed nearly as grand as his own in Summerhall and rarely without the company of at least one of the courtesans, having already cultivated the favour of many – none he would have one on his arm in the light of day.

If he wasn’t holding court, he was festering in his anger, in his chambers or in the city: whoring in Lys’ famed brothels and drinking in it’s less-famed taverns. He felt just like Daeron, which only made him angrier.

This day, Aerion stalked the island city under the sun, looking for something to do in this strange land – the heat of the day worsening his sore mood. As he did when he got bored now, with neither brothers or squires to torment, nor friends and flatterers to entertain him, he retreated to his thoughts.

In Lys, he wasn’t treated like a prince, not really, he had no wealth, his status here hinging on his Targaryen name, and the false goodwill of the Magister, he had no doubt in time he would expect recompense.

And everyone looked like him – pale skin, silver-gold hair and purple eyes – even the commoners and slaves. Aerion had made his mind up on one thing: this island was made up of three things, slavers, slaves and savages.

But his thoughts were mostly of this exile his father imposed on him. Unable to look at his son who he blamed for the death of his beloved brother, Aerion’s uncle Baelor.

It was all that fucking hedge knight’s fault, and the whore puppeteer’s.

Maekar thought sending Aerion to the East would make a man of him. It would be over soon, he told himself, he’d be allowed home. His father would embrace him and praise the man he’d become and look him in the eye again.

Walking the streets, he passed market stalls of food, clothes, jewellery, weapons, it seemed to Aerion anything could be sold here, people; the smell of alcohol poured out from the taverns, as if built into the walls themselves, and women and men hung out of the windows of the brothels calling to those on the street below. None caught his eye and all fell deaf on his ears.

Nearing the square, he spied the painted gold hair of the tall, marble fountain-statue of Lys’ love goddess. Water sprung from her nipples, arching in a steady stream into the pool.

Below stood a woman dressed entirely in red. A Priestess of the Red Temple, a follower of the Lord of Light. Aerion knew. Upon arriving he had seen many temples on the waterfronts of the city. And, later, when he asked his Magister, the man told him many religions were practiced in Lys.

The Priestess was proffering to a crowd gathered around her, he heard her words from afar and found himself drawn in by them.

“Ñuha eglie voktys sees isse R’hllor’s perzys: isse iā rōvēgrie perzys kessa se Āeksio’s chosen sagon sigligon. Iā perzys, zōbrie se mele”. My High Priestess sees in R’hllor’s fire: in a great fire will the Lord’s chosen be reborn. A fire, black and red.

Her eyes met his when she spoke of the black and red fire.

“Ivestragī īlva jorepagon naejot se Āeksiot Ōño!” She smiled, tilting her head to the sky and raising her arms high, the sun forming a halo around her. Let us pray to the Lord of Light!

Aerion sat in the chair by the fire that night, leaning forward with his forearms rooted to his knees. He turned back to the woman in his bed, making sure she remained asleep and facing where he had been minutes before.

He had spent the rest of the day reading all the books he could find on R’hllor, which was not many. He swallowed a mouthful of wine and returned his eyes to the fire – staring deeply.

The deeper he stared the more the fire seemed like it was coming to life.

It grew, blazing beyond the metal grate of the fireplace, climbing the walls, enveloping the tapestries and all else until all around him was fire, and even still it crept closer to him.

Eventually, it started to consume him and he felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside. The pain was like death and he screamed a sound like a dragon’s roar.

And suddenly, it stopped.

He awoke with a start, his heartbeat fast and his entire body tense. As he blinked away the sleep in his eyes, he realised he was still sat in his chair, the fire was behind the grate and the room unburnt. It angered him deeply and he threw the wine cup as a growl escaped his lips.

He returned to the square at first light. This time, a different woman stood in front of the fountain and already drawing a crowd. He stayed to the back, at that an unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment crawling up his spine. He crossed his arms over his chest.

The proffering and praying lasted hours, Aerion could tell by the sun it was nearing midday. Over the course of these long hours, the Priestess’ eyes caught his a number of times, he was sure she caught the eye of many, but to him it seemed she was making sure he stayed. But by the third time, a smile had worked its way onto her face, as if bemused by his presence.

He was sure of that by the end of the praying, when she was bidding the crowd a good day. Because when she turned to leave, she cast a final fixed glance over her shoulder before she disappeared into the crowd – as if daring him to follow her.

Aerion followed.

Shoving through the crowd, he followed her down streets and stairs until he saw her slip through the great doors of the Red Temple and the doors shut behind her.

He pounded on the door, anger rising like a fire in his stomach.

The one from yesterday’s prayer was the one to open the door. Where did the other go? It maddened him these tricks they were playing. Aerion lunged at her, gripping her neck, “what do you mean by these tricks, witch?” More? There’s no feeling and little action.

She did not look afraid, instead she continued to stare at him, like she could see right into him. Her hand reached up and removed his own from her as if it took no effort. “We play no tricks. Come, my High Priestess wants to see you.”

Aerion was led through the shadowed black brick hall into a chamber in the back of the main hall, it was hot and dark, no windows meant the only light was the brazier fire in the centre of the room.

In the dimness, he could see rows of shelves along the walls, glass vials gleaming in the firelight. Otherwise it was so empty, his footsteps echoed off the walls.

The Priestess barely stepped into the room, bowing and leaving quickly and silently, leaving him alone. Well, not alone, this High Priestess was in here somewhere. Goosebumps raised on his arms and he could feel eyes on him.

“Come, sit. Aerion Brightflame.”

You knew his name.

He reaches the brazier and kneels down, beneath his knees are pillows and a few blankets, all red but he could see blood stains regardless.

The woman on the other side of the fire was beautiful. You dress all in red, as your sisters did. A slip of red silk hangs from your frame, gold and ruby jewellery clinked, strung from the dress to your arms and a red shawl wrapped around your shoulders, resting in the crook of your elbows.

You met his eyes.

Aerion heard the sound of something opening and next, the High Priestess cast a powder into the fire. It sparks, high and wide. Instead of being consumed by the fire, the powder lingers in the air, making him cough. It made him feel another thing too, something he couldn’t yet describe.

You lower yourself into his lap, his eyes followed – fearful like a lambs.

Suddenly, before his eyes is a knife. The blade is poised over his heart – you cut his chest, he feels the blood run down his stomach, between the lines of muscle.

You grab an empty vial from where you were previously sat, filling it up with his flowing blood. Off-handedly, you say to him, “there is power in a King’s blood.”

Once the vial was full, you brought your hand to the cut, gathering blood on your fingers and you lifted them to your mouth, tasting his blood. “I will eat your heart, Aerion.”

Before he could think to act, you captured his lips in a kiss, hot as the fire bearing witness.

Several minutes went by, your tongues danced and teeth clashed, spit trickled down your chins and panting turned into whimpers echoing in the other’s mouth.

Aerion barely registers you pulling him to his feet. He follows obediently as you lead him towards the back of the room and push him down onto your bed.

Despite the hotness of the room, the silk sheets were cool to the touch. Getting back on top of him, he pulls you down, resuming the kiss with fervour. You smile against his lips, he’s distracted himself.

His hands are all over your body, petting your hair, running across your waist, fondling tits and grabbing your arse, but just like your Priestess it took her no effort to grab his hands and tie them up with her shawl, then tying his tied hands to the rail of the headboard.

You sit up on his stomach, caressing his cheek. He looks at you, anger in his eyes, a pout on his lips. Aerion yanks at the ties, trying without success to free himself. You cannot hide your predatory smile.

He is hard in his breeches when you unlace them and pull them down his legs. Teasing, you lightly run a finger down his cock. Precum leaks from his pink tip and you decide to take mercy on the prince.

You lubricate your hand with his precum and wrap your hand around his cock, sliding it up and down. Aerion struggles against his bonds – back arching and muscles flexing.

Against your palm, you feel him throb. He is getting close. Your bring your other hand to fondle his balls. His moans increase in volume, echoing around the room.

Now he thrusts his hips up into your fist, chasing his release. At the last second, just as you know he is about to come, you release your hold of his cock and sit back on your knees as you watch his reaction.

He whines and pants before coming to his senses, then his eyebrows crease in confusion and lips pout in frustration. “Wh- why did you do that?” He demands.

You respond by hiking your dress over your head and climbing back over his lap. You grab his sensitive cock in one hand, eliciting a moan from his swollen lips, and slide over his cock once to make him slick before notching him at your cunt and thrusting yourself on him.

His size makes you take a breath as you adjust to him. But then, you lift your hips, muscles flexing in your thighs and you find a steady rhythm atop him.

You lean down to lick the wound in his chest, the flow of blood has ebbed to nothing now, but still it gathers at the seams of the cut.

Then you kiss Aerion, smearing his own blood over his lips, sharing it with him with your tongue.

You moan into each others mouths as you continue to kiss. “Let me touch you,” he whines against your lips but all you do is smile and shake your head ‘no’.

Lifting yourself up off his chest, you move one of your hands to play with your tit, focussing on your nipple, hard with arousal. You pinch it, observing the look on Aerion’s face.

With the reaction you need to keep going, you move your hand down your torso, finding your clit hiding beneath the patch of hair on your cunt. With the tight circles of your fingers, a tightness draws in your belly and your moans grow louder and your hips begin to falter. You other hand once again reaches beneath Aerion’s cock to fondle his balls, working to bring him as close to orgasm as you.

It comes suddenly – the pleasure explodes within your body, the world around you going silent. The heat of Aerion’s cum floods your cunt.

Unable to keep your body upright, you fall against his chest. You rest your face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, you fingers dance along the skin of his ribs before returning to your senses.

You press a chaste kiss to Aerion’s lips and reach up to untie him, half expecting him to throw you off him and flee the temple.

Instead he tucks his chin over your head and wraps his arms around you.

As High Priestess, your rule over your followers must be absolute, which you maintain by being fearsome, affording you no time for intimacy like this. But with Aerion it is different.

Cupping his cheek, you turn your gaze to his, to find he is already looking at you. “I might keep you here as my slave, to pleasure me.”

[blueskinnavi]

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[blueskinnavi]

The Red Priestess

Aerion Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aerion Targaryen meets a Red Priestess in Lys who promises him fire and blood.

Warnings: Aerion is his own warning, minor violence, mentions of slavery, blood, bondage, handjob, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Made from @bloodyziggy’s prompt and highly inspired by that™ scene between Varang and Quaritch. This is my first fic so please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! Feedback is appreciated. I will be opening up requests soon I think.

When Aerion arrived in Lys, he had been welcomed into the manse of a Magister. He feasted beneath the Magister’s gilded sandstone roof every evening, with courtiers and courtesans.

The courtiers were less noble than they were wealthy, as that is what mattered in Lys: money not blood. The courtesans were mere whores, paraded around like ladies or lords by the courtiers.

He joined in the courts that was held in the day and at night he slept in a bed nearly as grand as his own in Summerhall and rarely without the company of at least one of the courtesans, having already cultivated the favour of many – none he would have one on his arm in the light of day.

If he wasn’t holding court, he was festering in his anger, in his chambers or in the city: whoring in Lys’ famed brothels and drinking in it’s less-famed taverns. He felt just like Daeron, which only made him angrier.

This day, Aerion stalked the island city under the sun, looking for something to do in this strange land – the heat of the day worsening his sore mood. As he did when he got bored now, with neither brothers or squires to torment, nor friends and flatterers to entertain him, he retreated to his thoughts.

In Lys, he wasn’t treated like a prince, not really, he had no wealth, his status here hinging on his Targaryen name, and the false goodwill of the Magister, he had no doubt in time he would expect recompense.

And everyone looked like him – pale skin, silver-gold hair and purple eyes – even the commoners and slaves. Aerion had made his mind up on one thing: this island was made up of three things, slavers, slaves and savages.

But his thoughts were mostly of this exile his father imposed on him. Unable to look at his son who he blamed for the death of his beloved brother, Aerion’s uncle Baelor.

It was all that fucking hedge knight’s fault, and the whore puppeteer’s.

Maekar thought sending Aerion to the East would make a man of him. It would be over soon, he told himself, he’d be allowed home. His father would embrace him and praise the man he’d become and look him in the eye again.

Walking the streets, he passed market stalls of food, clothes, jewellery, weapons, it seemed to Aerion anything could be sold here, people; the smell of alcohol poured out from the taverns, as if built into the walls themselves, and women and men hung out of the windows of the brothels calling to those on the street below. None caught his eye and all fell deaf on his ears.

Nearing the square, he spied the painted gold hair of the tall, marble fountain-statue of Lys’ love goddess. Water sprung from her nipples, arching in a steady stream into the pool.

Below stood a woman dressed entirely in red. A Priestess of the Red Temple, a follower of the Lord of Light. Aerion knew. Upon arriving he had seen many temples on the waterfronts of the city. And, later, when he asked his Magister, the man told him many religions were practiced in Lys.

The Priestess was proffering to a crowd gathered around her, he heard her words from afar and found himself drawn in by them.

“Ñuha eglie voktys sees isse R’hllor’s perzys: isse iā rōvēgrie perzys kessa se Āeksio’s chosen sagon sigligon. Iā perzys, zōbrie se mele”. My High Priestess sees in R’hllor’s fire: in a great fire will the Lord’s chosen be reborn. A fire, black and red.

Her eyes met his when she spoke of the black and red fire.

“Ivestragī īlva jorepagon naejot se Āeksiot Ōño!” She smiled, tilting her head to the sky and raising her arms high, the sun forming a halo around her. Let us pray to the Lord of Light!

Aerion sat in the chair by the fire that night, leaning forward with his forearms rooted to his knees. He turned back to the woman in his bed, making sure she remained asleep and facing where he had been minutes before.

He had spent the rest of the day reading all the books he could find on R’hllor, which was not many. He swallowed a mouthful of wine and returned his eyes to the fire – staring deeply.

The deeper he stared the more the fire seemed like it was coming to life.

It grew, blazing beyond the metal grate of the fireplace, climbing the walls, enveloping the tapestries and all else until all around him was fire, and even still it crept closer to him.

Eventually, it started to consume him and he felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside. The pain was like death and he screamed a sound like a dragon’s roar.

And suddenly, it stopped.

He awoke with a start, his heartbeat fast and his entire body tense. As he blinked away the sleep in his eyes, he realised he was still sat in his chair, the fire was behind the grate and the room unburnt. It angered him deeply and he threw the wine cup as a growl escaped his lips.

He returned to the square at first light. This time, a different woman stood in front of the fountain and already drawing a crowd. He stayed to the back, at that an unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment crawling up his spine. He crossed his arms over his chest.

The proffering and praying lasted hours, Aerion could tell by the sun it was nearing midday. Over the course of these long hours, the Priestess’ eyes caught his a number of times, he was sure she caught the eye of many, but to him it seemed she was making sure he stayed. But by the third time, a smile had worked its way onto her face, as if bemused by his presence.

He was sure of that by the end of the praying, when she was bidding the crowd a good day. Because when she turned to leave, she cast a final fixed glance over her shoulder before she disappeared into the crowd – as if daring him to follow her.

Aerion followed.

Shoving through the crowd, he followed her down streets and stairs until he saw her slip through the great doors of the Red Temple and the doors shut behind her.

He pounded on the door, anger rising like a fire in his stomach.

The one from yesterday’s prayer was the one to open the door. Where did the other go? It maddened him these tricks they were playing.

Aerion lunged at her, gripping her neck, “what do you mean by these tricks, witch?”

She did not look afraid, instead she continued to stare at him, like she could see right into him. Her hand reached up and removed his own from her as if it took no effort. “We play no tricks. Come, my High Priestess wants to see you.”

Aerion was led through the shadowed black brick hall into a chamber in the back of the main hall, it was hot and dark, no windows meant the only light was the brazier fire in the centre of the room.

In the dimness, he could see rows of shelves along the walls, glass vials gleaming in the firelight. Otherwise it was so empty, his footsteps echoed off the walls.

The Priestess barely stepped into the room, bowing and leaving quickly and silently, leaving him alone. Well, not alone, this High Priestess was in here somewhere. Goosebumps raised on his arms and he could feel eyes on him.

“Come, sit. Aerion Brightflame.”

You knew his name.

He reaches the brazier and kneels down, beneath his knees are pillows and a few blankets, all red but he could see blood stains regardless.

The woman on the other side of the fire was beautiful. You dress all in red, as your sisters did. A slip of red silk hangs from your frame, gold and ruby jewellery clinked, strung from the dress to your arms and a red shawl wrapped around your shoulders, resting in the crook of your elbows.

You met his eyes.

Aerion heard the sound of something opening and next, the High Priestess cast a powder into the fire. It sparks, high and wide. Instead of being consumed by the fire, the powder lingers in the air, making him cough. It made him feel another thing too, something he couldn’t yet describe.

You lower yourself into his lap, his eyes followed – fearful like a lambs.

Suddenly, before his eyes is a knife. The blade is poised over his heart – you cut his chest, he feels the blood run down his stomach, between the lines of muscle.

You grab an empty vial from where you were previously sat, filling it up with his flowing blood. Off-handedly, you say to him, “there is power in a King’s blood.”

Once the vial was full, you brought your hand to the cut, gathering blood on your fingers and you lifted them to your mouth, tasting his blood. “I will eat your heart, Aerion.”

Before he could think to act, you captured his lips in a kiss, hot as the fire bearing witness.

Several minutes passed, your tongues danced and teeth clashed, spit trickled down your chins and panting turned into whimpers echoing in the other’s mouth.

Aerion barely registers you pulling him to his feet. He follows obediently as you lead him towards the back of the room and push him down onto your bed.

Despite the hotness of the room, the silk sheets were cool to the touch. Getting back on top of him, he pulls you down, resuming the kiss with fervour. You smile against his lips, he’s distracted himself.

His hands are all over your body, petting your hair, running across your waist, fondling your tits and grabbing your arse, but just like your Priestess it took you no effort to grab his hands and tie them up with your shawl, then tie his tied hands to the rail of the headboard.

You sit up on his stomach, caressing his cheek. He looks at you, anger in his eyes. Aerion yanks at the ties, trying without success to free himself. You cannot hide your predatory smile.

He is hard in his breeches when you unlace his trousers and pull them down his legs. Teasing, you run a finger down his cock. Precum leaks from his pink tip and you decide to take mercy on the prince.

You lubricate your hand with his precum and wrap your hand around his cock, sliding it up and down. Aerion, again, tries struggling against his bonds — back arching and muscles flexing.

Against your palm, you feel him throb. He is getting close. Your bring your other hand to fondle his balls. His moans increase in volume, echoing around the room.

Now he thrusts his hips up into your fist, chasing his release. At the last second, just as you know he is about to come, you release your hold on his cock and sit back on your knees to watch his reaction.

He whines and pants before coming to his senses, then his eyebrows crease in confusion and lips pout in frustration. “Wh- why did you do that?” He demands.

You respond by hiking your dress over your head and climbing back over his lap. You grab his sensitive cock in one hand, eliciting a moan from his swollen lips, and slide over his cock once to make him slick before notching him at your cunt and thrusting yourself on him.

His size makes you take a breath as you adjust to him. But then, you lift your hips, muscles flexing in your thighs and you find a steady rhythm atop him.

You lean down to lick the wound in his chest, the flow of blood has ebbed to nothing now, but still it gathers at the seams of the cut.

Then you kiss Aerion, smearing his own blood over his lips, sharing it with him with your tongue.

You moan into each others mouths as you continue to kiss. “Let me touch you,” he whines against your lips but all you do is smirk and shake your head ‘no’.

Lifting yourself up off his chest, you move one of your hands to play with your tit, focussing on your nipple, hard with arousal. You pinch it, observing the look on Aerion’s face.

With the reaction you need to keep going, you move your hand down your torso, finding your clit hiding beneath the patch of hair on your cunt.

With the tight circles of your fingers, a tightness draws up in your belly and your moans grow louder and your hips begin to falter.

Your other hand once again reaches beneath Aerion’s cock to fondle his balls, working to bring him as close to orgasm as you.

It comes suddenly – the pleasure explodes within your body, the world around you going silent. The heat of Aerion’s cum floods your cunt.

Unable to keep your body upright, you fall against his chest. You rest your face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, you fingers dance along the skin of his ribs before returning to your senses.

You press a chaste kiss to Aerion’s lips and reach up to untie him — half expecting him to throw you off him and flee the temple.

Instead he tucks his chin over your head and wraps his arms around you.

As High Priestess, your rule over your followers must be absolute, which you maintain by being fearsome, affording you no time for intimacy like this. But with Aerion it is different.

Cupping his cheek, you turn your gaze to his to find he is already looking at you. “I might keep you here as my slave, to pleasure me.”