pull me closer under moonlit skies (fire in your eyes) || firstprince regency au
rating: explicit || pairing: alex claremont-diaz/henry fox-mountchristen-windsor || word count: 3745 || read here
summary:
Henry peers at Alex’s clothes laid out on a boulder. He dunked them and scrubbed them a little bit before abandoning them for his midnight swim while Henry resolutely turned around and willed himself to calm down.
There is not a better solution, not at this time of night.
“Come in with your clothes on, I don’t care,” Alex says, tone more annoyed than before. “Keep your modesty for the future Lady Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.”
The thought makes Henry’s molars grind together. With an indignant huff, he kicks off his boots and hastily starts unbuttoning his shirt and his trousers. When he glances back up at Alex, he has this mischievous glint in his eyes and that goddamn smirk on his lips. He knew exactly what saying that would do to Henry.
or: after agreeing to a night outside of the ton with his stablehand, henry finds himself having to bathe in a lake with the man he is absolutely gone for.
as always, a special thank you to bestie @seths-rogens for beta reading <3
Hollanov | WIP | Rated E
Angst with a Happy Ending | Smut | Situationships
Shane and Ilya have been hooking up for years. Shane has no reason to think that the 2017 All-Stars Weekend is going to change anything between them. It does.
Or: Shane became a father at 23. It didn't stop his hookups with Rozanov, but it did change some things.
(Or or: the story of how Shane and Ilya finally admit that their hookups mean something)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hello Murderbot fandom, I am officially writing fanfic for you now.
Murderbot and ART are doing a deep clean of their old databases, and Murderbot comes across a file from PSUMNT that ART really doesn't want it to see.
(Written for the New Tideland discord server's writing prompt "warning labels")
RJK sickfic draft because it's not finished but I'm stuck for the moment
So listening to his mum, because he's a good lad, or, at least, trying to be these days, he's gone to the shop for soup, tissues, paracetamol and the like.
He has his hoodie drawn tight around his head, partly because he's practically shivering, and partly so no one recognizes him. He simply doesn't have an autograph in him right now.
It's a good enough disguise, facing toward the shelves, that Roy doesn't immediately clock him when he comes in the shop a few minutes later.
Jamie blinks at him sluggishly because this isn't the shop closest to Roy's, so he doesn't know why Roy's there to begin with.
But, in case Jamie had had any doubts about it being Roy, those doubts are cast away as he grunts and flicks his middle finger at folks asking for a photograph before squarely telling them to sod off. He's then plucking onions, celery and carrots from the produce bins.
Jamie is so distracted by Roy being in the wrong shop, or by his terrible headache, he's honestly not sure which, Roy is suddenly right next to him, giving the soup cans a withering look. "Oi, Tartt, it's a good thing it's not a competition because you're not even making any fucking effort here."
"Er..." Jamie is momentarily baffled before remembering, distantly, that Keeley had texted them yesterday that she'd been feeling off. He supposes she may be the one he caught this nonsense from. Roy must think the soup is for her.
He doesn't even have the chance to explain that the soup is for himself, though, before Roy is dumping his produce into Jamie's trolley. "Put that fucking canned shit back on the shelf. We'll do this together. Come on."
"No, you twat," Jamie says as he puts multiple cans of chicken noodle in the trolley as he glares at Roy. "This is for me."
Part of him wants to take what Roy obviously thinks is an olive branch and part of him is annoyed that his throat feels like sandpaper and he can't believe Roy isn't picking that up. His voice has to be rough.
"Fucking keep it then," Roy mutters before shoving his shopping list into Jamie's chest. "Let's get the rest of this and go back to mine."
Jamie knows he's going to get homemade chicken noodle soup out of going back to Roy's. But it'll be homemade chicken noodle soup made for Keeley, not him. And he honestly doesn't know why that matters, but it fucking does.
He wants Roy to make soup for him, specifically.
He huffs.
"What's that for? There only five things on there," Roy says. "And I'll get the tea if you get the lozenges."
"Fucking fine," Jamie says as he takes off looking for cough drops. He shouts back to Roy, "But in case you hadn't noticed, I'm sick too."
If Roy reacts, he doesn't notice because he's on the other side of the shop.
XXX
"You should have just fucking said," Roy says as he makes Jamie get in his car in the car park.
He starts to put his hand against Jamie's brow, but Jamie swats his hand away. "Don't have a fever. Just feel like shit."
"You sound like shit," Roy says before pulling a bag of lozenges out. "Here."
Of course, now he notices.
Jamie sighs before slowly unwrapping a lozenge and popping it in his mouth before leaning back and putting his feet on the dashboard.
He rests his aching head against the cool glass of the window. He can't decide if he's mad at Roy or himself or that being sick is making him irrational.
Roy isn't a mind reader, and there's nothing wrong with making soup for Keeley when she's sick too. Nothing whatsoever.
town crier, village flyer, got a skull and crossbones on his chest (aemond targaryen)
masterlist ❈
summary: You’d never be a dragonrider - you weren’t a Targaryen, though you’d been raised among them - but you get as close to it as you’ll ever be when you lay with Aemond.
author’s note: the title comes from firebreather by laurel, which is such a good song for aemond it’s unreal
pls be gentle with me this is my first time writing smut for aemond and i hope y’all like it lol brittany broski if u see this call me
pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader
word count: 3k
warnings: pwp, unprotected sex, not beta read (but i did read through it myself like a million times)
also cross-posted to AO3 as always xoxo do not steal this from me or i will haunt your dreams. i will take up residence underneath your mf bed
everyone in this fic is 18+ - minors dni!!!! see note above about dreams being haunted!!!!!
Aemond Targaryen has never wanted for much. Everything he has ever wanted, he has always known he will have.
That includes you.
You’ve grown used to the second-born Targaryen prince visiting you when it conveniences him, when it pleases him - he’s known the secret passageways of the Red Keep like the back of his hand practically since birth, and it took him very little time to route the way from his chambers to yours.
The two of you hadn’t been close when you’d arrived in the capital nearly a decade earlier - a distant Hightower relative’s daughter, whose family had succumbed to sickness, and who’d had nowhere else to go - in fact, you’d been quite the opposite. Aemond had unsettled you as a child, always lurking, always watching, and he’d never had much interest in the goings-on of the ladies of the castle. And then he’d lost an eye, and you still feel the hot pierce of shame crowd your cheeks when you think of how you’d treated him in the aftermath.
As you’d grown, however, as Aemond had grown, an understanding had developed between the two of you. You each recognized something of yourself in the other. What had once been a mutual intrigue had become fondness, over time.
You’d begun to spend more time together, too, oftentimes you and Aemond and Princess Helaena all together, while Aegon was off performing firstborn prince duties, but on rare occasions, you’d have Aemond to yourself. Your paths would cross in the corridor, or between the shelves of the Maesters’ library, or in the courtyard, under the weirwood tree that grew there. You both revered the gods of the Faith of the Seven, like the majority of King’s Landing, but it was always quiet there.
Aemond had kissed you underneath that tree once, where your gods couldn’t see. He had captured your lips with his own, his hands balled into fists at his sides, refusing to touch you despite the damage already being done. You had reached up and cupped his cheeks with your delicate hands, letting him kiss you breathless, but when your pinky had slipped under the patch that covered his ruined eye, he had pulled away and stormed off wordlessly. You had not seen him for weeks after that. When you did see him again, it was clear nothing would be the same between the two of you, not ever again.
“Could I…come to you?” He had asked, no specifics, but you had known what he meant and nodded.
And so the first time Aemond visited your quarters, you were seven and ten, and it was frightening. Not that the prince frightened you - he frightened everyone else, missing an eye and always so gruff as he was, but not you, not since you were children - but you had never been alone with a man before. Not in that way. Not in any way. You’d been watching the door, but he had slipped in the way he always does - through the stone door along the back wall of your chambers - and it had startled you, unexpected, that first time.
“There’s a door there?”
Aemond had nodded, stepped into the room and closed it behind him. “There are passageways all over this keep that you have never seen and will likely never see, my lady.”
You had been worried that it would be painful, or unenjoyable, but he had been gentle, loving, until you had asked him not to be, and that had lit a spark in him you’d yet to see extinguished.
This night is quite different from that one, so long ago. You aren’t so hesitant now. In fact, you’re quite confident. You know when he’ll come, where he’ll come from. You know that he’ll come.
You know how it will feel, how he will taste. And you know that he will leave after.
Aemond never takes anything from you that you hadn’t already been willing to give. That you hadn’t made explicitly clear to him was his and his alone. He has never made any promises to you, outside of pleasure. You see this arrangement for what it is. He has ruined you for other men, but you’ll never be able to have him. Not really.
Tonight you’re poised at your mirror, brushing through your silken hair, when you hear the sound of stone against stone. The promise of a long night. You pause for a moment then keep working, twisting your fingers through your hair, watching in the mirror as Aemond walks across your chambers and stops immediately behind you.
“My lady,” he murmurs, his hands tucked behind his back, and finally you set the hairbrush down.
“My prince,” you respond, turning to face him, gazing up at him from where you sit. He looks so handsome in his riding leathers. He is still wearing his gloves - he must have just come in from riding his dragon. “I am no lady. You know this.”
“But you are my lady,” Aemond says with a smirk, and you roll your eyes. He gives you a half-heartedly shocked expression at the gesture. “Insolence? I could have you flogged for that.”
“Would you, my prince?” You leave your perch and step forward until you’re staring up at him. He looks down his nose at you, smirking.
“Yes, my lady,” he whispers, and there’s a twinkle in his eye, one you’ve grown immeasurably fond of. A playfulness he seems to reserve for you and you alone. You dart away and only just manage to evade his grasp, tip-toeing your way around to the other side of your bed.
“You’ll first have to catch me, Aemond,” you laugh, tossing a grin at him over your shoulder, and watch as his mouth twitches slightly in delight. He moves to stand across the mattress from you, watches your chest rise and fall with glee.
“And when I catch you? What then?”
“What would you like to happen then, my dragon?” You lower your eyelids, look across the room at him through your eyelashes.
Aemond feels his cock twitch in his trousers at the moniker. “I should like to have my way with you, I think. After the flogging, of course.”
“Of course,” you agree, biting your lip. The two of you are trapped in a stalemate, but Aemond makes the first move, stalking around the foot of your bed, hands clasped at his back. He looks terrifying right now, you think. You don’t envy anyone who crosses him one bit.
When he’s made it around to your side, you raise your chin slightly to signal your continued defiance, but when Aemond reaches out for you, you all but let him grab your arm, don’t even try to resist as he pulls you flat against him. You can feel his heavy breath on the crown of your head, and one hand pressed to his chest gives the quickness of his pulse away immediately.
“Have I got you worked up, Prince Aemond? Are you going to have your way with me now?”
Aemond smirks and gives you two light slaps on your arse. You jump, your mouth falling open at the feeling, but you laugh when it’s done.
“You call that a flogging?”
“If you’d like, I could bend you over my knee.”
Your head tips back a bit at the thought, and Aemond’s lips meet the skin at the base of your throat. One of your hands finds the back of his head, running your fingers gently through his bone-straight hair, tugging once.
You pull away from him, and Aemond begins to protest, but then your fingers tug at the string lacing up your shift. His eye follows your hands as you take the hem of the chemise into them and pull it up and over your head, until you’re bare before him.
“Seven hells, I’ll never tire of this.”
You flush at his words and reach forward to grip one of his hands, pulling him toward you. He brings the hand you’ve left free down, down, passing the backs of his knuckles along the inside of your bare thigh before running two fingers through your folds. He clicks his tongue.
“Already soaking, my heart,” Aemond says with a cheshire grin, bringing those fingers up to press into your clit, stroking in feather-light circles. “Were you up here waiting for me? Ready for me?”
“Yes,” you pant, your grip on his hand tightening. Your other hand reaches up to run over his shoulder, down his arm, the leather of his jacket smooth against your skin. “You’re still dressed, my prince.”
“Yes,” he hums, echoing you. He continues his work against your clit before he begins his descent to his knees, pressing his mouth against every inch of available skin on his way. Your hand leaves his, settling instead on the crown of his head.
“Aemond –”
“Shh,” he whispers, biting the space above your hip. You gasp and Aemond cups his hands underneath your bum, holding you close to him as his lips find their way to your weepy cunt. He mouths at your clit, your knees buckling slightly, and then tilts his chin down to run his tongue along your slit. Your mouth falls open, and one of Aemond’s hands falls to the back of your thigh, kneading the flesh there as he consumes you.
Aemond crowds you forward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you sit abruptly, and still he does not take his mouth from you. You bring one foot up to press against his back, supporting your leg so he can spread you open even further, and you cry out when he slips two fingers into you. Gradually you fall backwards until you are lying across the bed, your nails scratching at his scalp. You bring one arm up to toss across your eyes, focusing on the way his tongue feels, the end of it flicking across your clit. His fingers trace over the spot inside of you that sets stars dancing behind your eyelids. Your chest starts to heave.
Before you can come, Aemond pulls away, and you hiss, tightening your fingers in his hair. He wrenches your hand away from him and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your palm, and you rise onto one elbow and grin at the sight of his lips glistening with your sheen.
“Don’t worry, my sweet,” he laughs, rising from his knees and pushing you further up the bed. “I’ll make you come soon.”
He crawls over you and your fingers tuck themselves into the waistband of his trousers, urging them off of him as he blesses you with another of his rare smiles, his tinkling laugh. Kissing you gingerly once, twice, Aemond sits up and makes quick work of the offending garment, making sure his smallclothes go, too, while your fingers tangle with the silver fastenings of his jacket. Once he is as bared to you, he lets you reach for him once more and urge him down to meet you, flat on the bed.
Without hesitation you are kissing him again, grasping his hips and pulling them forward to press against yours, and gasp at the feeling of his hardened cock at your thigh.
“It seems you’re ready for me, too, my prince,” you murmur, smiling when he leans down to capture your mouth with his own at the same time that he takes his cock into his hand and guides it into your wet cunt. You wrap your arms around his back and ease him down until his chest is flush with yours, and he angles his hips to slip himself all the way inside of you.
You’d never be a dragonrider - you weren’t a Targaryen, though you’d been raised among them - but you get as close to it as you’ll ever be when you lay with Aemond. It’s a thrill, and you breathe a sigh of relief when each time isn’t the last.
Your grip on him strengthens when he begins to shift his hips, and your mouth leaves his as the welcoming wet heat of you allows him to press in and out without hindrance. He sets a steady pace, grunting against your lips at the feeling of you tight around him.
Aemond’s fingers bite into the skin at your waist, his touch having verged on painful ages ago, but you revel in the feeling. He’ll be leaving you with reminders of how well he handles you for days to come.
He smells like dragonfire, brimstone, and the sea and leather, and you’d let him bruise your hips a thousand times over if it meant you’d be able to bury your face into the crux of his neck just once more.
“Aemond,” you murmur, fisting the hair at the back of his neck. He hums his reply, pulling back only enough to be able to look at you. You’re not sure when, but he’s lost his eyepatch. The blue glint of the jewel in his left eye socket is nearly hypnotizing, your own jumping back and forth between the sapphire and his violet eye. “Aemond, I’m close.”
“Are you, dove? Would you like to come?”
You nod, your temple pressed to his, and you know then what’s coming next. Aemond stops abruptly, sitting back on his heels, and pulls his heavy cock from you, roughly palming the skin on the inside of your thigh.
“Turn over, then,” Aemond grunts, fisting his cock, and he watches with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as you edge up onto your elbows. Aemond grins and pinches one of your nipples, and he laughs as you yelp and slap his hand away.
“Animal,” you accuse, but he just leans down to kiss the side of your head.
Once you’re settled onto your front, hips flat against the bed, Aemond moves to straddle the backs of your thighs, one hand palming the soft flesh of your bottom while the other works quickly to slide his cock back into your waiting cunt.
You cry out as Aemond’s pelvis meets your back, fisting the sheets underneath you as he begins to ease himself in and out of you again, his pace both agonizingly and mercifully slow. One hand at your hip to hold you in place as his strokes lengthen, he reaches the other up to fist your hair and hold your head in place.
At this angle, he’s able to reach even deeper inside of you than he was when you were facing one another, and as he quickens his pace, you arch your hips up to push one hand under them to rub circles on your clit.
“Oh, you’re so close, aren’t you, little doe? Are you going to come for me? Hm?”
You whine in reply, slowing your hand’s pace but loosening the circles it makes, and Aemond’s hips stutter when you clench around him. He eases his knees back alongside yours until he’s able to fall forward and cover your back with his front.
Reaching down, Aemond grips your hips and begins to rut into you in earnest, mouthing at the skin of your shoulder while you tremble under him. His hair falls free against the side of your face.
“Come for me, sweet thing,” Aemond murmurs. “Come for me, because I am going to come for you.”
Your fingers press harder against your clit, dancing side to side now, and you let out one sharp groan as you work yourself over the edge while the tip of his cock presses into that spot inside of you once more. Your cunt spasms, luring Aemond in further, so he wraps his arms around your stomach and fucks you harder, faster, riding you through your orgasm.
“My dragon,” you whimper, one hand reaching around to palm his bottom, encouraging him to fuck into you even deeper. “Come inside of me, please.”
Groaning, the pads of Aemond’s fingers dig into your skin, and he empties himself inside of you, pressed as deep as he can get. His face is hidden in your neck, and you can feel him panting, his open mouth inches from yours. His arms tighten around your middle as his hips slow, then stop, his cock, now softening, still buried in you.
Aemond braces, unraveling his arms from around you, then pulls himself from you and you cry out, pressing your forehead to the bed. He runs one hand gently across your back, soothing you with his touch, and makes to rise.
It takes you a second to collect yourself - it always does, after Aemond - but eventually you roll over onto your side and gaze at him where he stands, bathed in the warm light of your hearth, your heart aching only slightly.
“You could stay, you know,” you pant, one hand folded across your still-bare stomach, as you watch Aemond collect his clothing from the ground. He hums at the thought, pulls his breeches up his lithe legs, then shakes his head. “No one would know, Aemond.”
“I don’t think I should,” he says, smiling sadly, a far-away look in his eye. He pulls his patch, discarded somewhere, somehow, earlier in the night, over the sapphire he keeps in place of the eye he lost.
You nod, then sit up, pull your knees to your chest, and wrap your arms around your legs. “Could I beg one more kiss off of you, my prince?”
Aemond smiles and stalks towards you, pulling his tunic over his head as he goes. “You wouldn’t even need to beg, my lady.”
He leans down, cups the side of your face, and presses his lips to yours. You close your eyes and grip the front of his shirt, holding him to you. You think to tell him you love him, though you know that could never be true, your traitor heart encouraging madness in the aftermath of your coupling. Your mouth opens in hopes of deepening the kiss, but he pulls away.
