Baelor Targaryen: A tease, Aching for touch, Talks and noodles, Sunday morning, Motives, People's gentleman, Sunlight on the Cannal
Maekar Targaryen: A good wife, Where did I go wrong part 1, part 2, part 3, Grumpy wife
Valarr Targaryen: Pathetic loser
Aerion Targaryen: Closer part 1, part 2
Duncan: Not stupid
Modern akotsk headcannons: First impression, Wiping their kiss, You're a giggly drunk, Peeling oranges, Who says I love you first, First Date, Girl dad
Jon Snow: The bastard's
Off campus
Dean Di Laurentis: Blurry lines, Sneak peak
John Logan: Mr. Dating Coach
My rules
1. I will not write the following:
β’ anything besides x female reader
β’ daddy kink
β’ alpha/omega dynamics
β’ threesomes or poly, whether it is smut or just relationship-focused
β’ heavy/extreme kinks: specifically, no period smut, blood play, or knife play
2. My inbox is always open for thoughts, ideas, and requests, but I will write what I want to write, and I'm only open for modern akotsk men now, not its original time setting
3. And I'm warning y'all abt my unpredictability of writings on here bcs duh it's my blog I do want I want, no I'm kidding we all have real life, sometimes I get busy sometimes I get maniac and post all my drafts
Thank you for paying attention, have a good read! ππ
Guys you gotta choose which prompt you wanna make me fic, I'm yearning for y'all enthusiasm and comments fr and anon too please appear on my inbox I'm waiting
Thinking about reader and gwayne who's pining over each other but the timing wasn't always right until you end up married to ormund so gwayne's left to watch you with his cousin and yearn for you for the rest of his life
Breeding kink with ormund goes crazy when you whisper about carrying his heir, the glorious future of oldtown, making a little lord that's just like him, and he'd pound to you harder
Thinking about reader soon to be betrothed to ormund hightower in exchange for the safety of her house and the forced bend the knee situation to the hightower
But you catch the unsettling atmosphere when you're in the presence of him, your suspicion grows harder when you meet daeron, the boy that ormund ward, looking off and uncomfortable beside him
One day you accidentally see ormund crashes and screaming in anger in the displeased news the ravens send, daeron looking terrified and scared yet he didn't leave
The union is already announced, meaning you can't escape this situation if you don't think of something inconvenient. You pray to the gods that you get out of this situation, for you've met and bonded with daeron, and oh that sweet boy doesn't deserve any of this. And you get this fierce urge to protect him from the violence that ormund is
Luck is thrown at you when gwayne comes here and meets you. He sees your gentle nature and the nurturing ways you treat daeron and his heart fall for you. He somehow has a talk with ormund and... Makes you his.
Well, not yet. He takes you and daeron under his protection. And god helps his weakened heart to fall in love deeper with you everyday, watching the way you treat daeron and the way he feels safe with you and even talk to you about things
You can't say you're not falling in love with gwayne too. The slow, torturous process of your blooming love witnessed by daeron himself, he sometimes makes small teasing comments about it to gwayne when you're not around, and gwayne would clear his throat and steer the topic away, the boy looks unbearably pleased
notes: headcanony mini drabble, afab/fem reader, mentions of periods, potential body image issues if you read into it, briefly suggestive, sweet and fluffy.
ser gwayne hightower is somewhat of a stranger to the world of women. he remembers little of his mother. alicent was raised away at court. his faith and honor would not permit him to frequent brothels. yes, he has lived among soldiers. he hears the crude jokes about their wives and mistresses. yes, he knows what a corset is. he wagers he could even unlace one without any assistance (how different could it be from unlacing a pair of boots?). but in the finer matters of the ladies of the realm, he must admit his ignorance.
but you, his lady wife, find in him an eager learner. where other men might scoff, he possesses only curiosity. heβll watch you embroidering, eyes narrowed, puzzling over how you can create so many different shapes just with needle and thread. and whatβs this one called? heβll ask each time he sees a new stitch. whip stitch, chain stitch, back stitch, heβll learn them all and file them away in his mind so that when he looks over your shoulder and says blanket stitch? youβll give him a proud smile and a yes! that makes his chest swell.
there are some assumptions that need undoing, of course. he quickly finds that what he did think he knew of women are mere generalizations. perhaps his confusion is too obvious when he finds you deep in the pages of a book on the flora and fauna of the reach. detailed anatomical drawings and measurements adorn the pages. do you think ladies only read poetry and romances? youβll tease (and perhaps, indeed, he had not expected you to have such scholarly interests).
then there is your daily routine: hair, jewels, perfume, layers upon layers of skirts. what is this made of, valyrian steel? he mutters whilst attempting to undo the clasp of your necklace. it takes him several evenings before he masters the art of unlacing your corset (a skill which, he insists, any good husband ought to have). does this not pain you? he asks, genuine worry etched onto his forehead. itβs the price one pays to be shapely, you reply, though that does not seem to ease his concern. the only shape i wish to see you in is this one, heβll murmur, smoothing his hands down to your hips once your corset has been discarded to the floor. heβll show you exactly how much he venerates your bare body when itβs free of all the vestiges of daily life.
not to mention the matter of your moonblood. heβll find you abed with a cool cloth on your forehead or a hearth-warmed stone pressed to your back. when you teach him that thereβs far more to your cycle than merely bleeding, itβs as if youβve unveiled a dark secret. but gods be damned if he doesnβt see to it that every month hence, youβre brought warm compresses and teas to soothe an aching head before you even need to ask.
he may never come to understand all the unspoken rules and customs of womanhood. but he realizes that is not his quest; what he wishes to understand is you. he wants to learn the vocabulary of your world, to memorize each small habit and preference of yours so that he might be the kind of man who is worthy to be your husband. to study you (if only to win one of your sweet smiles) becomes his lifeβs purpose. how else should a devotee worship his goddess? how else ought a husband honor his beautiful, wondrous wife?
Thinking about angst gwayne hightower when you and him have a happy marriage but then the war happens and you're separated and standing on the opposite team
You still write letters to each other through ravens and have ONE meet when you're with daemon taking fake daeron
Then the situation gets worse and you're scared for your husband's safety, already longing and learning to let go of your heart and love for him just in case you'd never see him again
But it's ending up gwayne who's never seeing you again
He receives the news after the green wears the victory, broken and devastated, but there's nothing he could do. You're gone. His love and the bearing of his heart is gone for good because of this war
Thinking abt ormund hightower who lately caught himself having pure, genuine affection to his wife after denying it for so long
Then accidentally watch his own eyes how his wife holds the attention and fascinations of the young knights and trembling green bean who he believes doesn't even have the right to look at your direction
He tries to show his charming smile and that cunning face but his mind is thinking about something else. He can't have the men and the random insignificant lords who don't even have the equal place to him anyway to look at the beauty that's his wife
So he plans to secure your place beside him and only him, and to make persistent statements to the men that you're his wife
He'd take you more often, no matter noon or night, in the chamber or in the solar, shooting loads after loads so it'll take root in your womb, planting his seed in hope it'll make his heir grow in your belly, all the while keeping that charming smile as if he's not worried and threatened that you'd flee from his arms and pull out of his aching hard cock
Thinking about ormund hightower who's image of his soon to be wife, the future lady of hightower, is a composed, elegant woman, the very representation of proprietary
And you've succeeded in convincing him, him having his eyes on you and asking for your hand in marriage
What unfortunate surprise he received when his lady wife seduces him with her enticing smile and her heating touch, whispering filthy words to his ears
He rejects you and returns you to your own chamber that same wedding night, but you have your ways
Slowly and surely he can't resist you and melt under your touch while learning it's completely normal for a husband to sink deep to his wife while thrusting to her hard and rough, putting out his frustration of his inability to control his unbecoming desire over his own wife
He'd feel very guilty after, shame and guilt washes over his body at his improper actions and lack of restraint of doing something so filthy while you'd whisper soothing words to his ears and again
Weak to your seduction, he soon puts you beneath him on all four while he pounds hard from behind and slaps your ass hard, grunting about marrying an impudent wife unbecoming of a lady, all while shooting spurts after spurts of warm load to your womb
summary: you can't stop your mind from spiraling about why your husband doesn't seem to agree with you giving him pleasure, does he not want you?
c/w: 18+ mdni, palming that hightower dick, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v, gwayne with teary eyes and wrecked face and reluctant whimpers (yes this man whimpers)
It was some of the many moments you feel that whole happiness in your own heart, the warm and complete feeling in your chest when your father called you to his solar and tell the news that he asked for your hand in marriage.
Gwayne Hightower.
You were overjoyed. You've been paying more attention to him than other men from great houses, the way he speaks with that firm mannerisms and the honorable story people whisper about. You dream about the way he looks at you with sweet tenderness and the way he puts the strands of your hair behind your ear.
And most scandalous, you dream about the way he touches you. It's the least expected for such a lady to have that thought cross her mind, but you can't help yourself. You saw the veiny path in his arms by no intention and you cannot escape from the desire it sparks.
To be courted and taken a wife by such a chivalrous knight from a great house is such a blessing itself, but what you repressed most from becoming is the very shreds of anticipation you feel toward your wedding night. The way he'd whisper soothing words in your ears while his fingers caress you tenderly in places no man ever reaches, and the way he'd murmurs praises in your ear about how you're taking him so well. The mere thoughts make your cheeks warm.
The wedding night came and most of it was what you expected. You heard some wicked stories about husbands who force themselves on their wives. Luckily, Gwayne is not like that. No, never that.
Quite the contrary, he prepares you so well before he takes you. He whispers gentle and sweet words while taking his time making you tremble in his arms. All goes well except his hand stops your wrist when your palm reaching for his trousers. Your shocked, worried eyes fearing for rejection soothed by a tender kiss to your wrist.
"Let us be one, my lady. Let your husband give you what you're most deserving of." He says with a gentle smile before palming himself and pushing in slowly to your soaked heat. He did kiss your discomfort away, relying on interlacing his fingers with yours as he praises you.
"You're taking me so well, my dear. Look how fitting you are of me." He rasps as his wide palm caressing the tender spot under your breasts where he's placed his marks before.
From then on, your nights with Gwayne are glorious, filled with tangled sheets and warm puffs of breaths against each other's mouth. You discover a lot of things about you and himself, like how you favor his praises while he's pushing into you and how he prefers you underneath him so he can watch the way you shatter so beautifully because of his doing, that one time he tells you himself.
The only problem, well not quite a problem if you're talking about the whole thing, is that Gwayne dismisses your wish to touch him after he does you. He usually would kiss your confusion away as he distracted you with his hands and mouth and before you knew it, you're already in his arms panting and moaning his name.
Gwayne relishes when you do that. He even encourages you by touching all your sensitive spots that he learns fast and making you feel overwhelmed with pleasure that you have no choice but to cling to his shoulder and calling his name.
"Husband, please..." Your face is flushed with sweats as your body clings to him desperately, the way a wife seeks comfort and indulgences to her husband, as he would fondle your breasts and press his thumb to your swollen bud.
"What do you need, my love?" He asks in that low voice that exists only when one of you is on the edge, while managing to wear the loving expression on his eyes.
"Please, I need toβ" Your words are cut as his warm mouth envelopes the peaks of your nipples that have been staring at him and begging for his attention. With just a few minutes, your thighs clench around him and the world becomes mute to your hearing, the only thing you can feel is the way he thrust deeper before he joins you in ecstasy and you feel warm spurts inside you.
You are satisfied with being held closely to the safety of your husband like that, sated and your body warm from the afterglow. Gwayne would caress your body lovingly, giving generous kisses on the crown of your head as you drift off to dreamland. But tonight, you can't.
You're determined to find out the reason why your husband won't let you touch him and you'd make sure the next time you can convince him to allow you. You arrange the secret plan you're about to navigate while Gwayne gently runs his fingers through your hair, his breathing slow and steady. He's just happy and sated having his wife laying on his chest while peppering her with his affection.
That night, you wear the usual gown you do before your sleep. Gwayne just comes to your chambers, his presence familiar and pleasant to you now. He greets you with his ordinary tired smile and a loving kiss to your head.
The atmosphere takes turns faster than most, with you now panting for air after he brings you to your first release of the night. You watch him take off his trousers with heavy breathing, his hand faking composed but you can see the urgent desire in each finger.
Before he leans down to push it in, you catch his wrist.
"Let me pleasure you, husband." You say carefully, watching reactions from his eyes.
"There's no need, my love." He tries to dodge your wish and divide your focus to the tender kiss to your lips.
"Why wouldn't you let me?"
The air is thick with silence as he can sense the weight of your question.
"Do you not wish me to touch you?"
He lets out a sigh, then you feel his knuckles brush your cheek, a gesture so tenderly it makes your heart melt.
"It's not like that, my dear."
You look him in the eye and you can see the moment his wall breaks as you learn very well your husband cannot resist with that particular eyes of yours. He closes his eyes before speaking his truth.
"I merely didn't want to startle you."
"Startle meβDo you think of me as fragile, husband?"
"No, my heart, never that." He quickly reassured you with gentle kisses on your cheek. He closes his eyes before the decision settling in. He brings your palm to his standing, hard cock.
The first contact of your more soft, small hand brings jerk to his hips. You can see the breath hitched from his chest as you stroke him up and down. Heavy, restrained sound of rumbling that he holds in thin control.
Grasping the effect you hold over him, you manage to try something a little bolder. You lean down to bring its tip to your mouth, and that's when you hear it.
Not a grunt that he usually lets out in moments like this, no. Under that heavy sighs is a shred of whimper, a reluctant and accidental sound of whimper, but it is definitely one.
You look up at him as you try to take him deeper, and his face crumpled in the way you've never seen before. The composed expressions he wears with ease now completely disappear. What's left is a weak, painful frown on the line on his eyebrows as he can't bear the pleasure you give him just with the slick of your mouth.
"This is what you deny me, husband? The beautiful sounds coming out of your lips?"
Gwayne's cock twitch hearing the filth of teasing words from his wife's sweet lips. You were never like this, bold and teasing. But now that you've got your hold on him, apparently he's not immune to your little tricks and cruel teasing.
His breathing is ragged as he's getting close to his release. The veins in his neck grow obvious and his unintended moans saying your name like a prayer for he never experienced a thing like this.
You look so divine underneath him, taking your husband's long cock in your mouth devotedly, and he mutters how grateful and lucky he is as his broken voice murmurs compliment to your sweet and dedicated nature.
That's the last thing you hear before Gwayne's whimper goes off and his hips are still in place. Then you can feel the new warmth rushing to your mouth and you eagerly swallow it. Your lips swirl around his redden tip before he leans down to support his body on his forearms.
You pull out your mouth and watch him find the rhythm of his breath beside you. His eyes closed and his painful expression still proceeded on his face.
"Are you alright, husband?"
At your sweet, teasing voice he brings his weakened state to glance at you and fails to hide the amusement on his lips.
"You are dangerous, my dear." He says as he gathers you to the sanctuary in his arms. He lays down to calm his breathing and his eager cock that's greedy for more.
"I shall give you that often in later times." You say as you give a tender kiss on his sweaty chest that you lay on.
You can feel him exhale his anticipation of this before he caves and gives long, gentle press of his lips to your hair.
"I'm veritably ruined by you, my love."
a/n: hii do people yearn for more, if yes say it in the comments!!
gwayne my pretty princess my skittish horse my frightened gazelle nobody's doing the medieval romantic knight renaissance painting serve like you are i love you
The way I gasp when I watch ormund bath scene... Like I'm deeply in love and highly appreciative of his shape bcs I thought it's strange that I'm not crazy abt man with thin waist and lean form while people are
But then I see ormund shirtless and yep that's my type, broad man both his shoulders and waist, bulky too
This is my first time requesting but I really enjoyed how you wrote modern!jacaerys.
I just got my wisdom teeth out and I keep imaging how fussy he'd be. Maybe he would make fun of you for looking like a chipmunk and then pout if anyone else did??? lol.
I need fluff to recover from mourning him :(
(Hi nonnie and welcome! Iβm also new around here hehe and I feel you! Need all the fluff I can get to forget the dreadful fact he isnβt with us anymore π₯Ή)
I think Jace would be fussy and caring for you but he would also take advantages of your loopy state and tease you.
Anyways, enjoy~~~
The fluorescent lights were the first thing to greet you, a flat white glare that seemed to press itself directly against your skull. Too bright, was the only coherent thought you could summon, and you frowned up at the ceiling tiles as if they'd personally wronged you. Somewhere to your left a nurse was asking questions, her voice arriving in soft, delayed waves, but the anaesthesia had turned your mind to syrup, thick and slow, and nothing she said quite landed.
Then the door opened, and a different kind of warmth entered the room.
Your mother couldn't be there, so the responsibility of getting you home safely had fallen, quite naturally, onto your boyfriend. Jacaerys had shown up the moment you were free from the surgery, dark curls slightly damp from the rain outside, jacket still smelling faintly of the cold. But when he stepped through the doorway and your eyes landed on him, there was no flicker of recognition, only a slow, owlish blink.
You stared at him with your mouth hanging open around the gauze, a thin line of drool catching at the corner of your lip, utterly unbothered by your own state.
A laugh broke out of him before he could stop it. "Hey pretty," he murmured, leaning down to poke gently at your stuffed cheek. "You look like a chipmunk hiding treats." You didn't respond, too busy watching the lights flicker, while he turned his attention to the doctor rattling off post-op instructions: soft foods only, pain medication every six hours, no straws, call if there's excessive swelling. Jace nodded along, committing it all to memory the way he committed everything that mattered to you to memory, quietly and completely.
It wasn't until you were buckled into the passenger seat, the car humming low beneath you, that a single brain cell finally sparked to life.
Jace drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting against your knee, a habit he'd never quite admit to. You clutched a worn travel pillow to your chest like it was the only solid thing left in the world, blinking at him with wide, glassy eyes, trying very hard to figure out who, exactly, this devastatingly handsome stranger was.
"Hey-" you finally said, words slurring soft around the gauze. "Hey, pretty boy."
His mouth twitched. He glanced over, just for a second. "Yeah? You talking to me?"
"You're really pretty," you informed him, with the serious conviction of someone delivering important news. Your gaze tracked the line of his jaw like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. "But you gotta pull over. If my boyfriend Jace finds out a supermodel is driving me home, he's gonna get so sad. He has the prettiest eyes. I can't make him sad."
Something warm cracked open in his chest, equal parts tenderness and barely contained amusement. He decided, then and there, to see exactly how far this would go.
"Oh yeah?" he said, clearing his throat, eyes fixed dutifully on the road, the picture of an innocent stranger. "This Jace guy sounds like a lucky dude. He treat you well?"
You looked at him like he'd just insulted a national monument. "The best. He let me borrow his favorite hoodie. Heβs super smart and caring. He makes me feel safe and seen and heard." Your voice dropped, almost reverent. "And he has these tiny curls right at the back of his neck. I like to twirl them when we watch movies."
His ears went hot. He had not, in fact, expected you to get that specific. "Is he now," he managed, voice a little strangled.
"Yes. So don't try anything, mister." You pointed a wobbling, accusatory finger at him, the threat losing most of its power when your attention scattered seconds later, caught entirely by a particularly interesting tree sliding past the window.
There was a beat of silence, and then, out of nothing, you said, "You know, I used to think he was gay."
That got his attention fast. "What- Why?"
"Yeah, he has this really cool friend, Cregan. I love Cregan too, but I thought I had no chance. Cregan is also pretty." You said this all with the breezy honesty of someone who had never once filtered a thought in her life. Jace opened his mouth, fully prepared to defend his honor against this slander, but you'd already moved on, eyes welling with sudden, mysterious tears because the tree that had just passed reminded you of something you couldn't quite name. He sat there, half laughing, half stunned into silence, completely unequipped to keep up with the loopy logic unspooling beside him.
By the time they reached his apartment, you'd transferred your loyalty fully to the concept of fidelity, informing him at every step up the stairs that you were taken, thank you very much, even as YOU were the one clung to his arm like it was the only thing keeping you upright and it was.
He settled you onto the couch, propped against a small mountain of pillows, and disappeared into the kitchen for two minutes, just long enough to grab the ice packs and your liquid pain medication. He needs to make sure youβre taken care of. When he walked back into the living room, you looked up, and your whole face transformed.
Something in your brain finally clicked back into place. The pretty stranger from the car evaporated, and in his place stood the only person who'd ever mattered.
"Jace!" The gasp came out thick with loopy, dramatic tears, your eyes shining. "You're here. You saved me."
He set the ice packs down gently and lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, utterly endeared. "I'm here, sweetheart. I've been here the whole time."
You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder like you hadn't seen him in years instead of minutes. "The guy who drove me home was so sketchy, Jace. He kept trying to flirt with me. I told him I only love you. I told him about your hoodie."
He wrapped his arms around you fully, rubbing slow circles into your back, laughter shaking quietly through his chest as he pressed his face into your hair to hide it. "I heard all of it. You did a great job defending my honor. I'm very proud of you."
A pause. Then, suddenly urgent: "Is Rhaenyra here?"
He blinked. "What? No, we're at your apartment, not my mom's place."
Your face crumpled instantly, lower lip wobbling. "But I wanted the cookies. Your mom makes the best cookies. She's so lovely." A fresh wave of tears threatened, and Jace, slightly panicked and entirely charmed, reached for his phone before you could spiral further.
Rhaenyra picked up despite clearly being in the middle of something, her voice warm even through the distraction in the background. You snatched the phone from Jace's hand with surprising speed for someone who could barely sit upright, and launched into a slurred, heartfelt conversation that made his mother laugh more than once. She teased you gently, said something that made you giggle into the phone, and Jace, watching this whole exchange unfold, felt a small, ridiculous flicker of jealousy.
"Okay, that's enough, she's mine to tease," he said, leaning in to pry the phone back, pressing a quick goodbye to his mother before she could embarrass him further.
As the heavier wave of the pain medication finally pulled at your eyelids, Jace pressed the ice packs carefully against your swollen cheeks. You whined softly at the cold, pouting up at him with such genuine betrayal that he had to bite back another laugh. His eyes, though, stayed soft the entire time, unguarded in a way they rarely were with anyone else.
He leaned down and pressed a slow, careful kiss to your forehead.
"Sleep," he murmured against your skin. "I'll be right here when you wake up."
And he was. He made sure you were cared for. He also definitely recorded your tantrums and showed you later as you whined, asking his to delete them.
We all deserve a cutie patootie like Jace in our lives <3
