Jul 5, 2024
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#interview with the vampire#iwtv#amc tvl#jacob anderson#sam reid
- #heated rivalry
#interview with the vampire#iwtv#amc tvl#jacob anderson#sam reid
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doing the rounds
Hunted in the Red Keep
Paring: Aerion Targaryen / Female Targaryen OC
Summary: Princess Laena Targaryen, daughter of Baelor, becomes the fixation of Prince Aerion Targaryen. Aerion does not court, he corners. He tests her restraint, threatens her reputation, and manoeuvres the court itself to tighten his hold. How long can Laena resist a Prince who has decided she is his.
Tags: WIP, Targcest, possessive behaviour, forced proximity, sexual violence, smut, non-consensual voyeurism, unrequited love, hurt, enemies to lovers
Word Count: 50.8k words
Read on AO3
Read chapter 10: Wedding Night
•☽──✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧──☾••☽──✧˖°˖☆˖°˖───☾••☽──✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧──☾•
The wedding feast stretched deep into the night, swelling and softening in waves of noise and excess. Music threaded through the hall, strings and flutes bright with celebration, drums pulsing steadily beneath it all. Servants moved like the tide between food laden tables, cups were never empty, platters never remained bare.
At the high table, they sat side by side. Toasts came one after another, long live the dragons they all seemed to say. Aerion bore it with practiced ease, Laena glittered under the attention. They performed the dance flawlessly but beneath it all Aerion was unraveling. Something restless thrummed beneath his skin, he had waited too long. Not just the months she’d been back in Kings Landing but all the years before too. Exposed by the lake, begging for her first kiss, a blade pressed between them. The spark that had always and would always belong to them.
Tonight she was finally his, bound to him. He eyed the line of her neck, where candlelight gathered in the hollow above her collarbone. To the faint rise and fall of her chest as she laughed. He imagined his mouth there, latched to her soft skin, supple between his teeth. She was close enough to touch, begging to be devoured.
Laena burned beneath his gaze, working hard to remain composed as she accepted gifts and blessings from their guests. He let their hands brush on the table, his restraint threadbare from anticipation.
A lord leaned across him, sharing earnest congratulations. Aerion nodded at the appropriate moment, but he did not hear the words. All he heard was the echo of her laugh. All he saw was the faint flush creeping higher along her throat as she felt his gaze linger too long. His stomach knotted and gnawed not with hunger for meat or wine, but for her.
He shifted closer, leaning toward her as the hall erupted into another toast. The warmth of him cutting through the noise.
“I have been imaging,” he said, voice low enough to vanish beneath the music, “How you’ll feel.”
Her breath caught, just slightly. He saw it, the pause in her chest and the way her fingers tightened faintly around the stem of her goblet. “You’re relentless.”
“And starving,” he added. He leaned even closer, so only she could hear. “When they drag us apart I will endure it,” he continued, voice dark with promise, “But only just…” His hand slid beneath the table, resting warm and possessive on her knee.
Her inhale was sharper this time, accompanied by a faint tremor she could not fully disguise. He felt it travel through her. “Yes?” she whispered. “And what do you imagine happens next?”
His thumb pressed lightly into the silk at her knee not moving higher, just enough to anchor the threat. Before he could reply, the music changed, taking on a bolder rhythm and the men began pounding their cups in time. Wine loosened tongues chanting for the bedding.
The shift in the room was palpable, the collective anticipation sharpening. Aerion stood, reaching for her hand, and the room surged around them. Cheering, playful laughter and hands pulling them apart unceremoniously.
The men claimed her thick and fast. A roar of voices rose as Daeron caught at her waist, lifting her before she could fully protest. She let out a startled breath as she was hoisted up, onto someone's shoulder. Indignant that her protests were swallowed by the cheer of the crowd. Behind her, watched as he was mobbed by the ladies of court, a sea of hands tugging at his outer layers. The gaggle of giggling ladies had clearly been waiting all night for this. Then he was gone as she was carried down the corridor out of sight.
Her pulse began to climb, mortified as the men began to strip the layers of her wedding gown, a pile of fine fabric pooling at her feet, her veil discarded. Hands everywhere, warm, familiar, teasing.
“She’ll not sleep tonight.”
“Look at her blush.” another interjected.
They left her at last. In a simple shift, pale and soft against her skin. Her hair fell loose, dark and unbound down her back. Daeron placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Good luck. Have fun,” he said, smiling knowingly before the door closed behind him.
Laena sat at the edge of the bed. Her new chamber felt too large and too still. She worked to still her breath, excitement bubbling at the edges. Eons seemed to stretch by until the door finally opened, and he stepped inside. Stripped of his coat, sleeves pushed up to the elbows.
The months between them surged forward at once, every argument, every near-kiss, every withheld touch collapsing into a single, electric current. He crossed the room in three strides, his hands found her at once, firm at her waist, pulling her up and into him.
Aerion’s mouth found hers, the kiss deep, urgent, teeth catching and breath mingling. She answered without hesitation, hands sliding up his chest, gripping fabric, then fisting in his hair as she pulled him closer. The force of it surprised even him.
A low sound escaped him as he walked her backward without breaking the kiss, hands roaming over her sides, sliding her chemise up and over her head in one swift movement.
She arched into him, desperate for his touch and he felt the heat of her through the thin shift she wore. His hands tightened at her waist, then slid upward, palms broad and warm against the curve of her ribs.
A soft sound escaping her that only fuelled him further. Months of tension snapped violently. His mouth trailed down her throat with desperate hunger, and she let her head fall back, breath unsteady, fingers tightening in his hair.
The months between them made everything sharper, every brush of skin, every drag of breath. He kissed down from her lips to her jaw, then to her throat, mouth open and hungry there. Her head tipped back. Her fingers pulled at his hair again, urging, impatient.
“Aerion,” she breathed heavily with desire.
He groaned softly at the sound of his name on her tongue and lifted her easily, setting her down on the edge of the bed. Rose petals crushed beneath them, releasing a faint sweetness into heated air.
He stepped between her knees, pulling his own shirt off and dropping it on the floor. She pulled him back down into another kiss, deeper than before, hands roaming now over his shoulders, down his back, nails grazing just enough to make him inhale sharply.
Their movements were uncoordinated and urgent at first. Too much wanting, too little patience. She arched toward him, breath unsteady, meeting every touch with equal fire. Months of circling collapsing into heat. He broke the kiss only long enough to look at her, flushed, hair wild, lips swollen from his mouth.
“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, voice rough.
“So have you,” she shot back, dragging him down again before he could answer. Desperate and reverent all at once, as though afraid she might vanish if he did not touch enough, hold enough, claim enough of her warmth.
When he sunk into her there was no warning. The moan that escaped her mouth was exhilarating, no maiden shyness left to shed. He braced over her murmuring her name almost in disbelief.
His hands slid under the fall of her hair, gripping at the base of her neck, He leant in, his mouth latching to the curve of her neck, biting down, claiming her. A sound left her unguarded and breathless before she could swallow it. She rolled her hips up to meet him with equal urgency, her mouth ajar and eyes fluttered shut.
Laena had always believed herself measured, deliberate in every choice. She had chosen this marriage with clarity. She had teased him with intention. She had matched his fire with her own. But lying beneath him now, tangled in silk and breath and the crushed sweetness of rose petals she felt something unravel.
His mouth at her throat, his hands warm and insistent in her hair, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, it was not dominance that undid her. It was the way her body answered him before her thoughts could catch up. She had meant to remain in control. Instead, every touch pulled a response from her that felt almost treacherous in its intensity.
He was everywhere at once, mouth, hands, heat and the more he touched her, the more she felt herself yielding in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Burning beneath his touch and her body betrayed her. It leaned into him. It sought his touch when he pulled away for even a heartbeat. It trembled under his mouth. She felt consumed, swallowed into something larger than herself. Into the months of tension and sharp glances and stolen breaths that had led them here. Into him.
And the most startling part was she wanted it. Wanted the way his weight pinned her just enough to make her feel claimed. Wanted the rough edge in his breathing when she touched him back. Wanted the way he murmured her name as if he could not quite believe she was real beneath his hands.
And despite herself, she moaned his name freely begging for him to finish for her, pushing him over the edge. His chest heaving against her, rolling over to uncage her. Warmth spread between her legs.
They both lay there for a moment breathing heavily. His head lulled lazily to this side catching her eye.
“I was not the first?” his tone teasing.
“No,” she responded, meeting his gaze, “My riding instructor when I was sixteen.”
He grinned wolfishly, “I knew that man was no good.”
He reached over, pulling her naked body against his own, their legs interlaced. He was entirely captivated by her. That’s how they fell asleep, her back to his chest, arm hanging over her waist possessively.
~~~
The morning came softly to their chambers, filtered through gauzy curtains that turned the harshness of the day into something more forgiving. The chamber still held the warmth of the night before but Laena had receded into herself. She felt like she’d surrendered her advantage.
Laena sat at their breakfast table, hair loose down her back, wrapped in a dark robe drawn tightly at the waist. Her body still carried the memory of him in faint, blooming marks. She did not touch them. No one would have guessed how little sleep she’d managed or why.
Across from her, Aerion looked anything but prim. He lounged in his chair as though it were a throne made for indolence, one arm slung carelessly over the side, shirt unlaced at the collar. His silver hair still slightly tousled from the night. There was a languid satisfaction in him, a feline ease.
He did not speak at first. He simply reached for a slice of pear. Laena watched him with intrigue, he held it between his fingers a moment longer than necessary, examining it with idle curiosity before lifting it to his mouth. His gaze never left her face as he took a slow bite. His lips closed around the fruit with unhurried precision, teeth sinking through the pale flesh. Juice glistened faintly at the corner of his mouth.
He chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed, never breaking eye contact. Then, with maddening composure, he reached for a strawberry.
“You are staring, wife,” he observed mildly.
“I am not,” she replied at once, eyes snapping to the table.
A soft huff of amusement left him. He dragged the tip of his thumb along the curve of the strawberry before lifting it. Again, slowly. Again, watching her. His mouth parted, teeth catching the fruit. This time he let his tongue graze the red flesh before biting down.
Laena’s breath caught before she could stop it. His eyes sharpened at the sound.
“Are you unwell?” he asked, far too innocently.
“I am perfectly well.”
“Hmm.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table now. The shift brought him closer, made him more present. More dangerous. He picked up a slice of fig and tore it in half with his fingers, exposing its soft, seeded heart.
“You are very quiet this morning.”
She folded her hands tighter. “I see no need for chatter at breakfast.”
“No?” His gaze dropped, briefly, deliberately to the faint flush rising along her throat. “You were not so opposed to chatter last night.” Her cheeks burned. He smiled, slow and devastating.
She would not give him the satisfaction. She reached for her own cup of juice, took a measured sip, and met his eyes with what she hoped was composure rather than humiliation. "You seem very pleased with yourself,” she said.
“I am,” he began lazily, leaning back in his chair, “You know, I think I could sit you on this table and eat you all day.”
The words were casual, as if commenting on the weather. Laena didn't look up. She finished cutting her slice of apple. Speared a piece neatly with the tip of her knife. Brought it to her mouth, chewed and swallowed. Only then did she lift her eyes to him. “How fortunate,” she said evenly, “that this table is reserved for breakfast.”
His brows arched.
“You do realize,” she added, dabbing delicately at her lips with a cloth, “that you saying such things does not undo the fact that I am quite capable of ignoring you.”
“Ignoring me?” His voice warmed with amusement. “Is that what you call this?”
She tilted her head, faintly smiling. “You thought that would work on me.”
“Work?”
“Yes. The fruit. The oogling. Now this.” She gestured vaguely at him with two elegant fingers. “You expected me to melt.”
His gaze sharpened, the playful laziness thinning into something more focused. “And do you not?”
She selected a grape from the cluster and rolled it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. "No.”
He leaned forward slowly, forearms resting on the table now, closing the distance between them. “Surely,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “that made you wet.”
The word hung between them, a provocation. A lesser woman might have flinched. Laena did not. She swallowed the grape. Then she met his eyes. “You are very certain of yourself this morning.” She observed.
“That is not an answer,” he retorted, increasingly interested in the warmth between her legs.
“It is the only one you are owed at breakfast.” He laughed softly under his breath. She reached for another slice of fruit, entirely composed. “If you wish to shock me, husband, you must try harder. You have already seen me blush.”
He studied her carefully now, as though reassessing the battlefield. “And if I wish to please you?”
“Then you should perhaps attempt subtlety.”
“Subtlety is for men with less appetite.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Appetite,” she echoed. “You speak as though I am a roast laid before you.”
He leaned even closer, voice roughening. “You were,” he said quietly. “Last night.”
Her breath hitched, just slightly. He caught it. Triumph flickered across his face. But she recovered quickly, folding her napkin and setting it aside. “Maybe you were the roast laid out for me,” she replied curtly, “I was hardly unwilling.”
His eyes darkened at that. “No,” he agreed softly. “You were not.”
The silence shifted, no longer playful, but charged. She rose from her chair with smooth, unhurried grace. “If you are quite finished attempting to fluster me over figs and grapes,” she said sweetly, “I have to get ready to go riding.”
She stepped around the table, pausing just beside him. For a heartbeat, she leaned in, close enough that her breath brushed the shell of his ear.
“If I were wet,” she murmured lightly, “you would not need to ask.”
Then she straightened and walked toward her bedroom without looking back. Behind her, the chair scraped sharply against the floor. And for once, Aerion was the one left hungry.
i wish he'd slap it on my tongue...
I was watching a video about a book review or something idk I was zoning out until I heard the guy say Inner Conflict and I flinched like an abused child
anyway. have a small collection of Wans from comics i have shown to exactly 2 people.
Eighth Doctor Main Range is just:
and it would also be fucked up if-
oh ok theyre. all suicidal. cool
????????????
OFA the Narrative Tool vs OFA the superpower
I think when discussing OFA people will conflate OFA [The Superpower Wielded by OFA Users] and OFA [The Narrative Tool]. This is not necessarily incorrect and is an intentional writing choice to make the readers blend them together.
However, there is a tendency to not see how OFA is a narrative tool at all, and forgo it entirely as simply a superpower with purely superficial utility. However, we have several use cases to define "OFA" beyond the superpower.
( rp mode on )
Hey guys im new to human run, is this guy good?
If you need the background