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gwaynesprincess · 7 days ago

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Corruption - Chapter Two

Summary: You sneak out to the Street of Silk, unaware of the perils that wait for you there. Upon realizing that you are not in your chambers, your brothers decide to search for you.

Content: NSFW, incest, attempted rape, groping, brothels, sex workers, depictions of sex acts, murder

Words: 3.2K

Note: I implore you to read the content warnings. Thank you to @darktrashsoulbear for being my beta! 💚

The day seemed to drag on forever. Finally, night fell and it was time for you to sneak out. After eating dinner, you told your mother that you had a headache and excused yourself to your chambers. Once you had closed the doors to your room, you quickly hurried over to your vanity, where you had stashed a shirt, a pair of trousers, a cap, and a pair of leather boots that you had procured earlier that day. These new clothes were rough, far more rough than the silken gowns that you were accustomed to. You quickly removed your dress, slip, and stockings, replacing them with the clothing of the smallfolk. You were careful to tuck your blonde locks into the cap, not wanting anyone to recognize you, for it would be scandalous if a princess were discovered in a brothel.

Once you were confident that you could slip through the city unnoticed, you grabbed a small pouch of coins and crept over to your door. “Ser Rickard?”

The knight stood on the other side of your doors, guarding your chambers, as he did every night. “Princess? What is the matter?”

“I would like some lemon cakes,” you said lightly. “Could you please fetch me a plate?”

Ser Rickard sighed. “Princess, that is not my charge.”

“Please?” you begged, praying that the knight’s gentle affection for you would win out. “Please, Ser Rickard? Could you at least fetch a handmaiden who could bring me some?”

He hesitated for a moment, then chuckled. “I suppose, Princess. I shall return in a moment.”

“Thank you, Ser Rickard,” you said. You hoped that he would not be upset upon discovering your deception, but you would rather sneak away than order him to leave. You listened carefully, excitement swirling in your stomach as his footsteps faded.

Once you were certain that he was gone, you quickly slipped out of your chambers, dashing down the corridor as the doors closed behind you. With any luck, you would have an easy time sneaking out of the Red Keep. You smiled as you hurried through the stone hallways, eager to discover the truth about your feelings for your brothers.

–

When Aegon approached your chambers, he was surprised to discover that Ser Rickard Thorne was no longer standing outside of your room. He was also rather irritated to see Aemond also approaching. “Brother,” he said flatly, hoping that his tone conveyed his displeasure.

Aemond hummed in response. “What brings you here, Aegon? ‘Tis no doubt the urge to defile our sister.”

Aegon smirked. “Bold words coming from you. Mother may not be aware of your desires, but I know that you covet our sweet sister.” Aemond’s expression was perfectly still, almost as though it were carved from stone. Aegon had always secretly believed that a statue of his brother would be magnificent, though he would never tell a soul.

“I came to check on her,” Aemond said coolly. “She fell ill at dinner.”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “I am well aware, as I, too, am here to check on her.” He observed his brother, watching Aemond catch his meaning: both of them were there for the same reason, and they would both insist that reason was innocent even though it most certainly was not.

Aemond fixed his brother with a cold look. “Yet I do not trust your intentions with her.”

Aegon snorted. “You may refrain from indulging in her because of your fucking honor, but I promise that I have my own reasons, and my resolve is as firm as yours.” Of course, his resolve was waning. He found himself wanting you more and more with each passing moment, and he needed something to temporarily satisfy himself. He was desperate to touch you, even if it would be innocent and not in the manner that he truly desired. But now, Aemond was getting in his way of even some small relief.

To his surprise, his brother seized him and pinned him to the stone wall, anger marking his face. “And that,” Aemond hissed, “is exactly why I do not trust you. My resolve hangs by a thread.”

Aegon giggled at his brother’s outrage. “It must be so difficult for you, struggling to maintain your proper air when all you desire is to bury your cock in our little sister’s cunt.”

“You have no idea what I feel for her,” Aemond snarled. “It is beyond your comprehension. I want more than to fuck her, because I care for her in ways that you will never understand.”

“You misjudge me, Brother,” Aegon spat. “You and every other person who lives, you all believe that I think only with my cock. I care for her as well, for she is the only pure being in this wretched world.”

Aemond’s grip relaxed as a pained look spread across his face. “And neither of us will ever have her,” he said quietly, “for she will be married off to and defiled by some lord in order to ensure our family’s survival.”

“‘Tis agony,” Aegon said lowly. “I desire her so, but I cannot bring myself to take her. I spend every waking moment thinking of her, desperate for any affection that she can bestow upon me, even if it be only platonic.”

Aemond hummed, expressing that he shared the same feelings. “I know that she cannot give me what I yearn for, so I take comfort in doting on her instead. She is precious to me, even if she does not understand my twisted desires.”

Aegon sighed. Speaking with his brother made him feel better and worse at the same time. At least someone shared his pain, but it was becoming borderline unbearable to exist without being able to tell you what he felt for you. He glanced at the doors to your chambers. “Perhaps we could merely check on her. Though I suppose she is likely either asleep or well aware that we are out here, squabbling like children.”

Aemond smiled thinly, raising his fist and knocking gently on the wood. When there was no response, he frowned and tried again, more firmly this time.

A thin mist of worry clouded Aegon’s mind as he also knocked. “Sister?” he called.

No response. Aemond hummed darkly as he glanced up and down the corridor. “Ser Rickard ought to be here, yet he is not.”

Aegon fiddled with the doors for a moment, then abandoned subtlety and opened them. He half expected Aemond to protest something about it being improper, but his younger brother entered your chambers without a word, clearly placing a higher value on your protection than on propriety.

Your chambers were deserted, the dress and stockings that you had worn that day lying on the chair near your vanity. Aemond quickly approached them, tracing his fingers over the fabric. “Still warm,” he said lowly. “She has been here recently.”

Aegon glanced at the screen where you usually changed your clothes. “And yet her sleeping gown is still here.”

The brothers exchanged a look, then swiftly headed for the doors to your chambers. They did not know where you had gone, but they certainly intended to find out.

–

Even from outside the brothel, you could hear an erotic slew of noises. Still, the sounds could not sufficiently prepare you for the sight that you were met with when you entered the establishment. Everywhere you looked, naked bodies writhed about, shamelessly embracing the pleasure that consumed them.

Suddenly, a delicate hand landed on your shoulder. You turned quickly; in front of you, glancing at you through hooded eyes, was a woman barely clad in a skimpy silk gown. “May I be of service to you, my lord?” she asked lowly, her voice dripping with lust. Your eyes widened in surprise; she gasped, evidently recognizing you. “Apologies, Princess!” she said hurriedly.

You shook your head quickly, desperate to keep your identity secret. “No!” you whispered. “No one may know that I am here!”

She glanced around, her pale gray eyes twinkling as an amused smirk reached her lips. “Princess, this is hardly the place for a lady who wishes to be discreet. It is also certainly not the place for a princess.”

Your face burned at her words. Perhaps your disguise was not as good as you had thought. But if you would not be able to discreetly observe the carnal actions of others, maybe she would be able to aid you. “There are things that I need to know,” you said nervously, “things which I do not understand.”

She arched her brow at you, clearly understanding the meaning behind your words. “If that be your wish, Princess, then follow me.”

You anxiously fiddled with your hands as you followed her through the pleasure house. All around you, there were incomprehensible things being done. You saw a woman on her knees, sucking a man’s cock as he pushed it down her throat. There was a man busily thrusting into a woman, her legs thrown over his shoulders in what must have been a painful position. Two men shared a woman, one busily fucking her cunt while the other took her arse. And finally, there was a woman writhing around, a man’s head buried between her thighs. You did not understand how these people knew to act like this, nor how they felt such evident pleasure, as it was etched on their faces as they screamed in bliss.

Finally, the woman led you into a secluded corner of the brothel. She pulled a curtain back, revealing another woman, one who was clearly busy entertaining a young man. Your eyes were wide as you took in the way that she gently swished her hips, pulling the young man closer and closer to the embrace of pleasure. When she realized that she was being interrupted, she glanced in your direction. “Saera, I shall be with you shortly. This young man has paid well, and I intend to make the most of his time.”

The woman next to you, Saera, took a step forwards, her ink-black hair a long curtain down to her waist. “Madame Sylvi, I’m afraid that it is urgent. We have company.”

Madame Sylvi glanced at you again, realization striking her as she quickly dismounted the young man. “Apologies, Princess,” she said, picking up a robe to cover herself. “How may we be of service?”

You stared at the young man, who was writhing about in apparent distress, his cock swollen and hard between his legs. You had seen a cock before, having grown up in the Red Keep, but it was different to see one now. He looked like he was in pain, and it reminded you of the way that you would ache between your legs if you spent too long alone with your brothers.

Madame Sylvi followed your gaze to the young man. “Saera, see that he is taken care of.” Saera nodded, escorting him out of the room, leaving you alone with the madame. “What can I do for you, Princess?” You nervously fidgeted. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. You had no idea how to explain the situation, and what if your mother somehow found out that you were here? “Do you seek a lover?” The madame asked, gesturing for you to sit down. “I have several young men who could tend to your needs. Or women, if you prefer.” You recoiled at her suggestion; she laughed. “Or not.”

“I do not want a lover,” you said stiffly. You knew that your maidenhead was extremely valuable, as your hand was coveted by several lords. “I-I do not know what I want.”

She studied you, her gaze curious. “Do your brothers know that you are here?”

“No!” you said quickly. “They cannot know!”

She pursed her lips. “It is dangerous for you to be here alone. I cannot guarantee your safety, Princess. You ought to have asked them to accompany you here, as they both know their way around.”

You blinked in surprise. You knew that Aegon frequented the Street of Silk, but Aemond? He was usually so reserved, always careful to be the perfect son, the dutiful contrast to Aegon’s indulgences. “Aemond comes here?”

An unreadable look crossed the madame’s face. “They both frequent this establishment, although your eldest brother is known to visit other brothels as well.” She smiled thinly. “The eldest prince is known to favor bastards with pale hair, not unlike your own.”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. Was it possible that he was imagining that the whores he fucked were you? “I did not know,” you said, not meeting her gaze.

“Your other brother stares at them as well, though he does not partake,” she continued. “But his…desires…are far different than would be expected.”

You frowned. “What does that mean?”

She shook her head. “The secrets of my trade are not to be freely shared, even with you, Princess.” She smiled thinly. “All that you need to know is that both of your brothers are skilled lovers, though their unique taste for affection would discourage many.”

A strange feeling settled in your stomach at the thought of your brothers engaging in carnal acts with women. What did she mean when she said that they are skilled? Wasn’t intercourse supposed to be dreadfully painful for the woman? Helaena’s fear had led her to become a septa, and you were well aware of your mother’s dislike of lying in her marital bed. You squeezed your legs together, attempting to dissuade the ache that was beginning to settle between your thighs. “I do not understand,” you said, shame burning your cheeks as you met Madame Sylvi’s gaze. “When you say that my brothers are skilled, what does that mean? Do they reproduce successfully?” Perhaps that was what she meant, that both of your brothers were highly capable of impregnating women.

A smile formed on the madame’s lips. “Oh, you innocent thing. Do you not know what it is to be satisfied? Are you incapable of tending to the ache between your thighs?” You gasped in surprise. How did she know? She laughed. “And you crave your brothers, do you not?” Shame burned your cheeks as you slowly nodded. “Though the appeal of your Targaryen customs is lost on me, I do imagine that you will soon be extremely well-satisfied.”

Suddenly, the curtain was pulled back, revealing Saera once again. “Madame Sylvi, they are here. Both of them.”

The madame smiled at you. “Perhaps you will be satisfied even sooner than I had anticipated.” She rose and began to follow Saera out of the room, turning to close the curtain. “Wait here, Princess.”

Anticipation buzzed inside of you. Were your brothers here? Were they going to tend to the horrible ache between your thighs, which was worsening with every passing minute? You clenched your legs again as you stared at the walls, which were covered in murals depicting various sinful acts. In one, a man’s head was buried between a woman’s thighs. Was he kissing her down there? What in the Seven Hells could be pleasurable about that?

The curtain opened with a swish, and you turned, eager to see your brothers. But it was not your brothers who stood there, nor was it Madame Sylvi or Saera.

“What do we have here?” the man slurred, smelling strongly of wine. “A little princess, all lost and alone?” He stumbled towards you, drunkenly clambering on top of you.

You quickly pushed him away, scrambling to the edge of the bed. “Please, do not touch me.”

Fear began to seep into your heart as he laughed. “And who will stop me?” He grabbed your leg, his grip bruising, and dragged you towards him. You tried to kick him, only for him to easily bat your foot away and lie down on top of you, his weight crushing you as you froze in terror. “Princess’ maidenhead, perhaps the most valuable cunt in the Realm,” he mused, burying his face in your neck and licking your skin.

Your senses came rushing back to you at the gross sensation of his tongue and you screamed, thrashing about and desperately trying to get him off of you. “Please!” you sobbed. “Please, do not hurt me!”

Tears spilled out of your eyes as he laughed cruelly, bringing a hand to your chest and roughly groping your breasts. “Nobody will hear you scream, Princess.” You couldn’t breathe, nor could you think. You desperately needed him to stop touching you, but he was far stronger than you were. You screamed again; he clamped one hand over your mouth as the other began to work the laces of your trousers. “Shut the fuck up,” he spat; you bit his hand. He snarled in pain, then harshly smacked you across the face. “You fucking whore.”

Suddenly, the curtains were wrenched open. You burst into sobs at the sight of Aegon and Aemond, terrified that they would be angry with you. The man scrambled off of you, but you already knew that any apology he could conjure up would be futile. You tearfully crawled away from him, whimpering as Aegon hurried to your side. “Fucking kill him,” your brother snarled, pulling you into his arms as you sobbed. “Oh, sweet sister,” he whispered, his tone far gentler as he slowly pulled off your cap and began to stroke your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, desperately clutching at Aegon’s doublet. “I’m so sorry.”

He gently shushed you, rocking your trembling body. “‘Tis alright, for you are safe now. All is well.”

Aemond appeared on your other side, hesitantly taking your hand. “Aegon is right,” he said quietly. “You are safe now. Nothing bad will happen to you, so long as you are with us.”

You nodded slowly, sniffling and squeezing Aemond’s hand, which was wet and sticky. You glanced at it, confused, then gasped when you realized that it was coated in blood. “Aemond, are you hurt?” you asked, panic returning to you.

He smiled thinly. “No. But ‘tis sweet of you to ask.”

You glanced over his shoulder, a strange sense of peace settling over you when you saw the lifeless, bloody remains of the other man. “You killed him for me,” you said, your voice faint.

Aemond gently cupped your face in his large hands. “Oh, sweet sister. For you, I would do much more than kill a man.” He glanced at Aegon, then back to you. “We both would.”

A lovely warm feeling bloomed in your chest at his words. Your brothers cared deeply for you, that much was evident. You hoped that they also desired you, as you were now quite confident that you desperately longed for them to do horribly sinful things to you. You had always loved them as your brothers, but now, as Aegon picked you up and carried you out of the brothel with Aemond at his side, hand on the hilt of his sword, you wondered if your affection had always been a repressed form of depraved adoration.

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years ago

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Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

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roronoagem · 10 months ago

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So I had an idea, idk know if you do multiple character hcs but how would the strawhats (separate and choose who you want, I know there’s many strawhats) react to their S/O being super stubborn when their unwell, they only find out they have been ill because they passed out on the ship.

Chopper just being super worried!!

I hope this can be mostly fluff but I can see some angst at the beginning, have fun!!

characters: monster trio + nami

content warning: gn!reader (they/them), mention of being sick, it’s mostly fluff i think + not proofread.

a/n: hi, thank u for the req !! i’m sorry for choosing only 4 strawhats, i hope at least one of your fav is there & most importantly that they’re at least a bit in character 😭 i hope you’ll enjoy it <3

𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘.

i don’t think he would actually panic at first . . his brother used to fell asleep randomly so, maybe it just happened to you too?

when he’s not successful in waking you up, he calls for chopper and tells you just hit the floor and bang.

when finishes explaining what happened, luffy scolds you — maybe call you dumb for not taking care of yourself, too.

he means no harm, trust me. he’s just worried about something happening to you.

would always be close to you — more than usual, to make sure you’re doing okay and that you’re not overworking yourself.

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎.

would call for chopper, explaining that you just passed out right in front of his eyes.

panics but doesn’t panic . . yeah.

chopper does panic tho.

when they find out that you neglected your own body and health out of stubbornness, first zoro lectured you and then chopper tried to be a bit gentler while explaining that it could be really dangerous.

zoro is by your side 24/7 making sure you’re recovering and you’re not sick anymore.

i believe he would start looking out for you even more, just in case you keep ignoring your health.

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈.

she panics.

calls for chopper.

they panic together.

man . . nami definitely scolds you till you beg her to stop and promise you’ve learned your lesson.

chopper makes you promise you will come to him right away if you’re not feeling well.

nami would threaten you by making you pay if she catches you neglecting your health ever again.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈.

he’d call for chopper right away and try not to get in the way with his worry as the little reindeer is visiting you.

once the situation is clear, sanji would talk with you about how important it is to take care of yourself, that your health affects anything you do, etc.

would be super attentive and looking out for you.

he 100% makes sure you’re taking care of yourself.

& i also believe he would assure chopper to not worry too much because he’s here too, y’know.

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americanwh0rerstory · 3 months ago

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Hi there beautiful!!

Can you do Evans character's reaction to their s/o wanting divorce/breakup?!

(like they were sitting in their bedroom until she walked in and told them she was tired of their relationship?!)

Love your work,

Real artist

the evan’s: breakup

contains: tate, kyle, james, kai,

Content warning: angst. a lot of it. murder, kai anderson is a warning himself.

A/N: tysm!!! im glad you like my works and i hope you like this one too. requests are open for anyone to send <3

Tate Langdon

“no. don’t do this, please Y/N”

would cry in front of you

if you’re a ghost he’ll follow you around the house begging for you to talk to him

he’s like a lovesick puppy.

you’re all he wants, all he needs

basically the same as the end of murder house + what we see in apocalypse towards violet

fratboy!KYLE SPENCER

“did i do something wrong?” he’d ask, wanting to know if he can change.

he just wants to make you happy

wouldn’t tell his frat brothers at first, not wanting them to hit on you now you was ‘available’

would cry silently in secret when alone

despite how sad he is, he’d wish you the best and want you to be happy.

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

“but why dearest? what have i done to fill you with such dread that you wish to leave me?”

he’d kill you without you knowing it was him, just so you’d have to stay at the cortez forever.

blames your murder on another ghost

would kill anyone who tries to date you

yet again blames it on another ghost

like the countess, you’d have dinner with him once a month

he’d give you lavish gifts he stole borrowed from his latest victims

he’d try and win you back with the gifts and the dinners

remember when queenie left with michael and he had to play solitaire? that’s the face he would make

that’s the face you’d get

KAI ANDERSON

you don’t get to leave him

did you seriously think you could break up with kai?

he’d initiate pinky power, find out why you tried to leave him, and use it to his advantage

he’d change for a week or two to lull you into a false sense of security

once you trust him again he’d instantly go back to his old ways

and you, the ever so trusting lamb, would fall for it. you love kai, right?

at least that’s what he’s lead you to think

A/N: i’ve never written this type of thing before so i hope it was good! if anyone wants more like this then feel free to ask

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izurou · 2 years ago

Text

“i mean i know ‘samu makes rice balls for a living now, but i’m sure he could do a wedding cake.”

rintarou has been in your ear for the past fifteen minutes, mumbling about whether or not osamu could pull off three whole tiers of cake while also making it taste good.

he really thinks it’s a no brainer, as if onigiri and wedding cake go hand in hand—if you know how to make one, surely the other is under your belt as well. he used to help his mom in the kitchen when he was a kid so, obviously he would know.

the only thing is—you’re not engaged, and you don’t plan to be anytime soon.

“rin, seriously?” you scoff, leaning back against the edge of the countertop.

you’re at his mom’s place for a little family dinner—something she loves to do every once in a while to catch up with her son. you’ve just finished your meal, and rintarou being the angel he is, offered to clean up—but not without your company, of course.

“what? it’d save us some money,” he says, diving a hand into the soapy water filling the sink.

“your grandma was just bugging us,” you hum—swirling the dark liquid in your glass around. “she knows we’re not ready for marriage.”

this was your very first time meeting her, and it’s safe to say you weren’t expecting such a loaded question mid meal. so, when are you two getting married? her words had the tips of rintarou’s ears turning pink, and made his sister howl like a dog, because the thought of someone liking her older brother enough to want to marry him was truly hilarious.

he kicked her shins under the table—a glimpse of the petty little boy you had always heard stories about. he did his best to get his grandmother off your backs as well, giving her a cliché answer—something along the lines of we’re both young, and just trying to focus on college right now.

he was in such a damn hurry to drop the subject—and now, he won’t shut up about it.

“okay, but,” he pauses, swiping a hand against the bottom of the sink to check for any stragglers. “he’s young and stupid now, there’s no way he knows how much a wedding cake costs. we can lowball him, get a good deal.”

“you think he’s that stupid?” you snort—having a little more faith in osamu than your boyfriend does.

“hope so,” he mutters, gesturing for you to toss him the hand towel sitting behind you. “he is related to atsumu, after all.”

“wow,” you gawk, “and you call yourself a friend.”

“i’m just looking out for us,” he shrugs, using the fabric to dry his hands. “bet ‘tsumu would do it for free if we asked right now.”

“he’s not going anywhere near our wedding cake,” you say, noting the way rintarou does a thorough wipe down of the counters—hm, so he does know how to clean. “not until it’s served on a plate for him to eat, at least.”

“good point,” he agrees, tossing his cloth over the tap and shuffling over to you. “but you have to admit, the guy’s pretty damn unstoppable when he puts his mind to something.”

“sure,” you hum, looping your arms around his neck and lacing your fingers together. “but you know rin, once you go pro, we won’t even have to worry about the cost of a wedding cake.”

“and if i don’t?” he asks—throwing the possibility out there. it’s something he’s thought about, but never voiced concern over.

“you will, trust me,” you say, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet—a promise of your word. “but if for some reason you don’t, we’ll beg the twins for a family and friends discount.”

“deal,” he laughs, pulling you flush against him for a hug—and you think to yourself, that when you leave tonight, you’ll love him a little more than when you arrived—if it’s even possible.

you enjoy the moment briefly, until you hear a pair of feet padding in the other direction—someone was listening?

“mom! rintarou is talking about getting married!”

#izurou #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna rintarou #suna fluff #suna x you #haikyuu x you #i love my baby tattoo it on my forehead

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mcuamerica · 7 months ago

Text

The Shadowsinger: One

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. loss of family, gore, canon level mention of violence, Tamlin, heavy spoilers for ACOTAR series. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairings: (Eventual) Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After you were claimed as Amarantha's Shadowsinger, you meet the High Lord of the Night Court.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Prologue

Just 6 months before everyone was trapped Under the Mountain is when she raided your small northern Illyria village. And it was all because of that male you slept with. When you thought he was sleeping and allowed your shadows to come out, he saw. And he knew. He ran back and told his camp Lord, who told Amarantha the second he could. The Lord had sworn allegiance to her before a few others did as well.

Every single villager was taken to one of the camps she had. Sirona, Igna, and Oran included. Every single one of them but you. At first, she threatened you with their lives, and you begged her to spare them. You begged her harder when she threatened to rip off your wings. So, she made you a bargain. One she didn’t make with anyone else.

So long as you would be her personal Shadowsinger, her spy, and told her nothing but what you thought to be the truth, your friends and your wings would remain intact. You foolishly agreed. Not aware of the loopholes that she would find ways around in the coming years.

You were there when she trapped everyone Under the Mountain. You were responsible for her having bargaining power over certain High Lords. How she was able to put a leash on everyone’s powers. You were trapped with everyone else. But you were her spy, and she still needed information from the outside. So she allowed you out, but only when she deemed it necessary.

And you met Rhysand. The High Lord of the Night Court. The High Lord of your home. Or what used to be. And not just a High Lord, but a Carynthian, the highest ranking form of an Illyrian that you knew. And he was Amarantha’s whore.

Rhysand had a familiar feeling the moment he laid eyes on you. Not only because you reminded him of his Shadowsinger brother, but something deeper. Something he hadn’t been able to place for the 50 years Under the Mountain.

When you first told him of your bargain with Amarantha, he was wary to tell you anything. He definitely wasn’t going to tell you about Velaris. Not when you had a bargain to tell her the truth about anything you learned. And lying to her would only get you killed.

Then he learned why you’d done it. How you bargained to keep your friends, your family (albeit not blood related), safe. To keep your wings unharmed. At least unharmed by her. So he decided he would do everything he could to keep his secrets from you. Not because he didn’t want you to know, but because he didn’t want you hurt. Or your family hurt.

You had learned to lean on each other during those 50 years. Amarantha would often send you out together. Even though she trusted you and Rhysand to bring her valuable information alone, she also knew that you couldn’t lie about the information that he told her.

But Rhys had learned to keep you in the dark, away from conversations, when he knew you didn’t want her to know what was going on. You couldn’t lie about something if you didn’t hear it. If your shadows didn’t tell you.

And then Feyre came. The 19 year old girl, human, professing her love for Tamlin. One of the first things that your shadows whispered to you about her was that she indeed did love him. Something Amarantha forced out of you once they took Feyre to her cell. After they beat her, of course.

You remembered when Rhys went out for Calanmai, even if he didn’t tell you what happened. You remember him coming back from Tamlin’s manor and telling you about Clare. You were on the mission to go retrieve her, just to conceal Amarantha’s soldiers enough so they could do their worst. Thankfully you weren’t asked to question Clare… Thankfully for Prythian, not Clare. You didn’t know you were retrieving the wrong woman.

What Amarantha did to Clare, how she displayed her decaying body in the throne room, you could barely watch. You knew Rhys had taken her mind. He wouldn’t let innocents suffer. It didn’t help, either way. Knowing that Amarantha would use it against you if you looked away or left the room. Especially because she may need use of your shadows to scare the poor girl even more.

You watched as Feyre defeated the Wyrm, as she miraculously survived the second task. You knew she couldn’t read. Your shadows told you the second the spikes started descending on her and Lucien. You thought they were going to die. But somehow, after hovering over the second lever for so long, she chose the third. It was like someone told her to do it.

Rhys didn’t mention he was sending Nuala and Cerridwen down to retrieve Feyre on those nights after their own bargain. Or what their bargain even entailed. He didn’t want you knowing the secrets. Not when it would ruin the plan he had in place.

So you stood by as Feyre held the fate of Prythian in her hands, with the dagger as she plunged it into Tamlin’s stone solid heart.

It wasn’t easy, watching Amarantha as she killed Feyre for it. As Rhys roared for her, fought for her. All while Tamlin did nothing but beg. Granted, he was injured, but he didn’t do anything. Didn’t even fight as Feyre’s neck snapped. You even tried to send your shadows towards Amarantha to blind her for Rhys, but she shot out a string of magic and knocked you on the floor and held you there.

But Feyre solved the riddle. She freed you all. And you took a deep breath as you felt more magic swell in you than you noticed before. Maybe it was from it being gone for 50 years. Or restrained, at least.

And Tamlin killed her. He did what every person Under the Mountain was wishing, any sane person at least. Amarantha was dead and you were free. Free to keep secrets from whomever you wanted. Free to see your family without fear that you would endanger them.

That final night roaming about in the upper floors of the Mountain changed your life even more. When you approached Rhys to say goodbye. To go to the camp your family was being held at and take them back to the village. If anything was left. It was then that he gave you an offer that was hard to refuse.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “To Velaris.” He said and you tilted your head, not understanding what that was. Without even reading your mind, he continued. “It’s my Court that isn’t known to anyone. I’ve kept it hidden from everyone. From her… but I want you there. I want you to meet my family. I want my family to meet the female who helped me through these years…” he said. “I want you to meet another Shadowsinger.” He said.

You stood there, blinking for a few moments. “Rhys…” you muttered. “I have my family-“

“They can come. I’ll get you set up in a townhouse with them. And if you’d like, we could see about you working as part of my Court.” He said. “Think about it. I’ll ask your decision by tonight. Once you’re with your family.”

You took a deep, shaky breath. You bounded over to him and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done here.” You whispered. The only response from him was a small hum followed by a tight squeeze.

You stepped back and thanked him again before disappearing with your shadows to the camp your family was in. Where you would finally get to see Sirona, Igna, and Oran. Even if they weren’t blood, they had taken care of you and seen you mature all those years. You may have failed them the day Amarantha came, but you hoped they knew that what you did, you did for them.

Only, you made it too late. The camp had been burned down hours ago. There had been a spell on it, tied with Amarantha’s blood. If she was to die, all of the buildings were to burn with anyone inside. Her foot soldiers or not. And only this camp. As if that last final blow would finally break you. It almost did.

Your knees buckled as you made it to your family’s building, shadows wrapping around you as you fell to the ground. The building was still simmering with fire. But you could smell it. Burnt flesh, blood, and soot mixed together. It caused you to vomit right in front of the small room Igna and Oran shared together. As you staggered inside, you knew they were gone. You were alone again. The only people who loved you were gone.

But you still had Rhys. So when he went into your mind, gently scraping a talon on the walls he taught you to build up, you said yes. In despair. He knew something was wrong. So he winnowed to the camp. He spotted you outside your family’s building, holding onto a small book as you trembled. And he held you as you sobbed. Just as he had sobbed when he reached his family in Velaris. Only you weren’t as lucky as him. Your family was dead, and his was healthy and happy to see him.

Series Masterlist

A/N: A reminder, this is a story about the reader more than it is a love story. It's quite a slow burn for a while. I started it immediately after I finished reading the ACOTAR series. I'm reading TOG now, no spoilers please.

Chapter 2 will be posted April 23rd.

Taglist: @cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadowsinger139

Join taglist here

#acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel x reader #the shadowsinger #katie writes #acotar spoilers #minors dni

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oozedninjas · 1 year ago

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i will BEG YOU ON MY KNEES FOR LITERALLY ANYTHING YOU COULD POSSIBLY THINK OF FOR 2007 RAPH he just makes me so HAHWKAHAKEVBS

This time I came up with something simpler and softer, I hope it's okay :)

Summary: Raph is mustering the courage to confess his feelings, but nothing goes as he plans after your birthday party.

MDNI / Raph is 26, and so is reader/fluff/ post 2007! movie

----

"Get a room, you two."

Donatello rolled his eyes, turning back to the computer. Raphael glared at him, on the brink of delivering a witty retort, yet he stopped upon sensing your hand on his shoulder. You shrugged it off before shooting him a wink.

"No, no, he's got a point. Let's move to your room," you delivered with a knowing look.

Raph grinned, letting out a mischievous chuckle. He thoroughly enjoyed it when you teamed up to playfully taunt his brothers.

"Yeah? I don't know, maybe we won't be able to keep it down if we go," he quipped, infusing a flirtatious tone to his words.

Donatello growled low at the cringe-inducing sensation creeping up his neck. This happened quite frequently. You and Raph would giggle while snuggling on the couch. Some times you were in his lap, some others he laid his head on your legs while you massaged his head or played with the red bandana.

You shared many things together: meals, phone calls, your apartment (especially when he and Leo fought—hell, he even allowed you to use his bike!), and when you weren't teasing each other, you were playfully flirting. Although, at times, it seemed too genuine to be lighthearted. At least in Donatello’s opinion.

He did his best to ignore both of you and once you left, he and the others started blitzing Raph with numerous questions. Why do you always act like that? Raph, do you like them? Are you secretly dating or something? Raph, have you asked them out yet?

“Relax, we’re just messing around,” he deflected.

"You must be careful with your words, Raphael," Splinter said. "Sometimes we dismiss what we think could tear our hearts apart, but that doesn't mean it'll go away, and if you let it linger there for too long, one day you may come to regret it.”

That struck a chord in him.

"I'm old enough to discern my feelings, thank you," Raphael snapped.

Now, one would have thought that after such a sharp response, Raph would not have dwelled on the matter any further. Yet, much to his annoyance, those queries circled in his head all week—a week during which he continued hanging out with you as usual. The only difference was that now he couldn't shake this tingle from his chest.

Perhaps it's always been there, he thought. Maybe he just hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge it.

Do you like them?

You smiled at him at that very moment, and he knew. The realization hit him like a goddamn train at maximum speed. He had feelings for you. Real feelings. Romantic feelings.

Fuck.

Never in a million years would you feel the same about him; he knew it. And even if you did, he was a mutant living in the sewers. What could he possibly offer you? You know, besides always protecting you and taking care of you. Would you be okay just with that? Would it— would he be enough for you?

****

“I think they like you back,” Casey asserted, shooting a smile at Raph. “Just ask them out.”

They found themselves on the rooftop of Casey's shared apartment with April. It was their habitual pullout, a place to unwind for a couple of hours after their patrol shift, when the night was too bright to head home.

Casey swung his bat absentmindedly through the air, while Raph sat with his legs hanging from the building, watching the hasty lights of various cars speeding below.

“I don’t know. What if they don’t? I don’t wanna risk what we have.”

"Raph, trust me, they like you back. Besides, you both look like a married couple already! Like, that fight over the cookies the other day? Come on,” Casey chuckled at the memory.

Raphael scratched the back of his head, trying to tone down the heat creeping up his neck. Yeah, maybe you did look like a married couple.

****

After pondering it for a few weeks, Raphael made up his mind to speak from his heart. He gathered the courage to talk to you and confess his feelings. Not tonight, though. Tonight was your birthday, and you both agreed to hang out after your small party at the lair.

He made sure you had a pleasant evening and gifted you a pretty handmade bracelet. After the song and the cake that Mikey lovingly baked, you both headed to your apartment for a movie.

Now he found himself in your bed, right next to you, and God, you looked beautiful. Who could concentrate on the TV with such a sight beside it? Certainly not Raph. He stared for so long that it didn’t take much time for you to notice.

“Is something wrong, babe?” You asked.

Babe

You’ve never called him that before, not even during fake-flirting. His heart rate pitched inside his plastron. Warmth flushed his cheeks. Damn. He turned quickly, trying to swallow the butterflies in his stomach.

“Nah, just watch the movie,” he mumbled.

“I was, you were the one staring at me,” you noted.

“No I wasn’t”

“Hmm, I positively think you were.”

“Well, what if I was?” he retorted.

You grimaced at the sudden harsh, low-key annoyed tone. Something felt off, and judging by his behavior over the past week, you already knew what it was. Grinning, you asked:

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Raphael turned back to you, his heart beating faster now, a tingling sensation in his hands. Your gaze was flirty, but not as playful this time.

“You know I do,” he said simply.

Damn, this was much easier when he hadn’t realized he had a crush on you.

“I think you’re really good looking too.”

“I know,” Raph smirked, trying his best to play it cool.

You snorted, turning completely towards him. Stretching your hand out, you ran your fingertips over the bracelet.

“This was incredibly thoughtful, you know? I love it. But you know what would be an even greater birthday present?”

“What?” He prompted.

“If you said this was our first date.”

All doubts, nervousness, and his plans of awkwardly confessing were thrown out the window with that single phrase. His smile this time was wide, his gaze radiant with satisfaction and confidence.

"It is," he placed his hand over yours, his hold impossibly tender. "At least to us. The whole crew is convinced we're already dating," he said casually, suddenly unable to stop smiling.

“Yeah, I know. The other day your father asked me some things…”

Raphael gasped, horrified. “What did he ask you?!”

You chortled at the expression he made. Man, this was about to become the best birthday night ever.

#tmnt 2007 #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2k7 #tmnt raph 2007 #raph 2007 #tmnt raphael #raphael tmnt #rapahel x reader #tmnt 2007 movie #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt x you #tmnt

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

candy girl 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you’re about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend’s dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

You can hear Thor following you as you storm down the pavement. You cover your face as your horror overflows in choking sobs. You’ve never hurt like this before. The pain is so deep you could crumple to the ground then and there.

He grabs softly at your hand as he tries to stop you, “little one.”

“Please, let me go,” you beg as you tear away from him, nearly tripping, “oh god, I can’t believe--”

“Shh, shhh, please, breathe,” he grasps your wrist firmly and stops you, “it’s late, I can’t let you go running off into the dark.”

“I’ll find a bus,” you insist, “please, I--” you face him and heave, “how could he do this to me?” You babble and use your free hand to mop your cheeks, “how could I ever think he wanted me?”

“Oh, dear,” he sweeps you into a hug before you can stop him. “It isn’t that. He is wrong. He is... I am ashamed to call him my son.”

You want to resist. You know you should but his embrace is soothing. The sound of his heart beat as he pulls your head to his chest keeps yours from racing. You hug him back and sniffle.

“Thank you,” you murmur, “but he is your son.”

“And?” He rubs your back and rocks you, “it doesn’t mean I condone this behaviour. I’ve been soft on him too long.”

His words drift into the cool night air as you cling to him. He’s warm against the chill. You shudder out a breath as the silence roils with tension. His hand stills and crawls up to the back of your head as he slowly parts. He looks down at you as he holds you at arm’s length.

“You will stay. Just for the night so I know you are safe,” he says.

“I can’t--”

“Yes, you can,” he drags his touch down your neck and arm and takes your hand, “come.”

“Mr. Odinson,” you plead as he tugs you back towards his house.

“Thor,” he corrects swiftly, “trust me, just this once.”

You can’t argue. He’s already done so much. Your car, the tip, you feel as if you owe him. Even in this circumstance.

He takes you up the front steps. Your reluctance weighs down your steps and he coaxes you forward. He hushes you again as he takes you through the front door and stops you just short of the staircase.

“You will go to my room, right at the end of the hall,” he points as he turns to you, “lock the door for now.”

“Thor, what’s going on? What are you going to do?” You squeak.

“What I should’ve done long ago.”

“Are you...”

“He is my son, I wouldn’t harm him, yet he has hurt you. He has made a habit of using people, not only you but myself, his brother, his mother... it cannot stand,” he declares, “please, go, I shouldn’t like him to see you, in case he does choose violence. We both know his temper.”

Your mouth falls open and you look past him then to the stairs, “you don’t have to... for me.”

“It is right. He is not a child anymore. It is a lesson overdue for many years. I cannot help but blame myself for your pain so let me try at least to atone,” he squeezes your shoulder then nods to the stairs, “please.”

You lower your lashes and turn to climb the stairs. You stop at the top to peek back again. He looms. You continue on and find your way to his room. You shut the door but cannot move away from it.

You flick on the light. His room is painted a deep shade of evergreen. The wooden floor is dark and smooth, with a rug beneath the large four-postered bed. A king-size with a thick frame built of square planks. There’s a desk by the window and a chair of the same heavy wood as the bed. A large wardrobe stands opposite with a houserobe hung from the slightly ajar door.

You turn to the door and press yourself to it. You can hear his footsteps below. It happens all at once, muffled but decisive. Magni’s door swings open and hits the wall, Something falls over, probably that table you told him was too close.

Then a girl’s yelp and deep timbres. An argument you can only make pieces out of. Their voices rise higher and get clearer as you hear them moving. The front door opens and snaps shut again. They’re still yelling. Oh god, what do you do?

You can only listen as the tempest blows below. There’s movement too, some banging and slamming. Footsteps back and forth. It lasts forever. Your chest is about to split open. You hear Thor’s voice as clear as if he’s right beside you.

“Get out,” he demands.

The front door opens again and you hold your breath. There’s a strange cracking noise before feet stomp outside and across the porch. You scurry to the window to look out. Magni’s shadow stalks angrily through the dark, the outline of his knapsack crooked over his back.

You retreat and pace around the room. Waiting. The house falls back into silence and you hear Thor climbing the stairs. He sighs and it drifts toward the door. You face it as he knocks from the other side.

“Hi,” you utter dumbly.

He slowly twists the knob and peeks around the door, “he’s gone.”

You gasp as you see his face. There’s a split across the bridge of his nose. Your fear subsides in the wake of concern.

“What happened?” You rush forward as he lets the door fall all the way open.

He won’t look at you.

“Ah, he was caught offguard is all,” Thor rubs the back of his neck.

“He hit you?” You stop before him, looking up tremulously.

“I’m glad it was me and no one else,” he intones. “If you weren’t here, I can’t say I’d have left him in one piece.”

“Oh,” you whimper.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” he shakes his head.

“Your bleeding,” you say as his nose drips red.

“Ah, I thought I’d stopped it,” he presses his knuckle to his nose.

“Here, let me help, um,” you look around and rush over to the en suite bathroom. You dip inside as you hear his uncertain steps in the bedroom. You return to him, “er, can you sit? I can’t reach.”

“Of course, little one,” he sits on the bed and drops his hand. You unravel toilet paper from the roll and fold it into a square. You raise it to dab his nose gently.

“Does it hurt too much? Is this too rough?” You ask.

“Not even close,” he assures. His blue eyes sparkle at you. The way he watches you makes you sweat.

You stare at the split higher up his nose over the cartilage, “do you think it’s broken?”

“He had it crooked but I put it back,” Thor chuckles.

“Oh,” your frown.

“I can take it,” he says, “I’m so disappointed...” he flicks his lashes down, “to think I could raise a heathen like that. Someone who would hurt you.” He winces and reaches to take the toilet paper from you, “I’ve got it.”

You retract your hand as he presses the tissue to his nose. You clutch the roll and sway nervously.

“Where’s he gone?” You ask.

“It isn’t my problem,” he growls, “the idiot. How could he not see--” He stops and looks at you, agonized, “you don’t deserve that. What you said before, it isn’t true. You are easy to want, little one, but he is young and arrogant.”

You bite into your lip at the unexpected compliment. You can’t help but think he only says so because it’s what he’s meant to say. Everyone’s nice to the broken hearted.

“I suppose I shouldn’t care either,” you resign. You look him over and your chest pangs. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

“Oh, no, I should be asking you,” he stands. “First, let’s get you settled. Modi’s old room should do, I think.”

#thor #thor x reader #dark thor #dark!thor x reader #series #drabble #au #candy girl #mcu #marvel #avengers

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 8 months ago

Text

To Know This Will Conquer Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Saviors Arc

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and Gore; panic attack; PTSD; extreme violence

A/N: I’m still on hiatus but I needed to vent. I choose to do that through writing most of the time.

*gif is not mine

He wasn’t stopping. He didn’t want to stop. The Savior wasn’t fighting back, hadn't been since several punches ago. He began begging for his life instead. He knew Daryl was going to kill him.

“Daryl, stop!”

Rick’s hands were on him, grabbing his shoulders. He shrugged him off. They wrapped around his middle, managing to pull him just above where he had straddled the other man. Daryl grabbed one of the deputy’s fingers and pulled until he felt a pop, heard the shout, and the hold fell away.

“Please, I’m—I’m sorry—” The Savior begged as Daryl descended on him once more, picking up exactly where he left off. Blood splattered, covering the archer’s knuckles. Bones crunched, giving way and shattering.

The hammer of Rick’s pistol cocked just behind his head, but Daryl still didn’t stop. He could only see red and he was willing to drown in it.

“Brother, I need you to stop.”

“Then shoot me.” The archer hissed. The Savior was dead, face caved and throat crushed. Still, Daryl continued. He wouldn’t be satisfied until the man without a name was nothing but a bloody smear beneath him.

“Daryl.”

He paused, panting and trembling, but he didn’t turn toward your voice. Fist drawing back again, he couldn’t follow through, your small hand wrapping around his bicep.

“It’s okay.” You soothed, kneeling down on his right. “It’s okay.”

“It ain’t okay!” Daryl roared without looking away from the mess he’d made. “Ain’t never gonna be okay!” He felt more than heard Rick stepping back, the quiet sound of the gun being decocked.

“It will. You just need time.” You risked bringing a hand toward his face but he jerked away.

“Don’t.”

“You won’t hurt me, Daryl.” He didn’t move when you continued, brushing back his hair in a gentle gesture he didn’t feel he deserved. “Come home with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Ya ain’t safe with me.” Daryl was trembling, his breaths coming too fast. The room was shrinking. He was hot. No, he was freezing. “M’a animal. They turned me into a animal.”

“No. They didn’t. I’m safer with you than I am behind any walls or within any army.” Your arm draped around his shoulder and you stood, relieved when he followed. “At least come away from there. You don’t need to keep seeing that.”

“I do. S’the only thing that makes it stop.”

“Makes what stop, baby?” You led him away from the massacre, the men he had torn apart by weapon and hand; away from your friends who watched the scene helplessly.

“I need to kill ‘em. Need to make ‘em bleed. It takes—it takes the fear away, the dark.” He didn’t seem to realize his hand was on your chest, palm pressed over your heart. The action was leveling out his breathing.

“You’re out now. You’re safe.”

“Am I? S’whatcha said when I’d dream of ya while I was there.” He pulled away his hand and wiped angrily at his face. “Are ya even really here?”

“Oh, Daryl. Will you trust me to come closer?” He swallowed hard and nodded. When you moved, it was the smallest of distances. “Do you trust me that I won’t hurt you?” Another nod. “May I hug you?”

Daryl froze, his body rigid and trembling, back pushed against the wall as far as he could manage. You waited him out until he slumped with a sob and a nod. Your arms were slow to wind around his shoulders, one hand rubbing his back while the other cradled his head.

“It’s okay, Daryl. It’s okay.” When he finally returned the embrace, he was clinging to you like a lifeline, sobbing openly without memory that others were there. “When you’re ready to move, I’ll take you home. Just me and you.” You whispered, rocking him gently. “You’ll get through this and you won’t need to do it alone.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl has ptsd #daryl the walking dead #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #Spotify

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fsfghgee · 3 months ago

Note

What do you think happened between Kuai Liang and Cyrax?

I think there's enough evidence that they were close. Which begs the question of how close they were…

I've heard a few theories, including that Cyrax was like a little sister to Kuai, but I honestly doubt that what they had was a brother-sister relationship.

First, because he demands a trust from Cyrax that even he himself didn't have in her (since as we all know, he gave up on her without even trying), which indicates that this blind trust he demands from her comes from a deep, but temporary, bond they had at some point. And as we all know, Cyrax didn't grow up with Kuai Liang like Tomas, she was invited to join the main clan because she was a prodigy in her sub-clan.

Second, although Cyrax is currently the youngest Lin Kuei (since there's no official information regarding Frost in MK1 yet), I noticed that in some of her leaked intros, the older characters talk to her in a way that's very similar to how they referred to Smoke's youth (in MK1, Tomas is the youngest among the three heirs of the deceased Grandmaster), that is, although she is the youngest, she is not a minor or inexperienced since there are intros of some characters flirting with her. I believe that her age is very close (if not the same) as Smoke. Which leads to the possibility that Kuai Liang could have had a romantic relationship with her. I mean, It wouldn't have been immoral or indecent of him to have a relationship with her.

Third, although Harumi is currently Kuai Liang's partner, it is said in his ending that he and Harumi were childhood friends and in Smoke's ending, he says that Harumi and Kuai Liang were just friends. Their romantic relationship arose when he went to Japan to hide in her clan. And though one of the story mode fail quotes refers to how much he'd miss seeing Harumi because he dies, I must remind, those who don't know, that the story mode fails are not canon (just like their quotes).

"As children, we played together. But Harumi Shirai was a woman now, the head of her clan."

"Kuai Liang and I were working hard to build our new clan. But even with the help of his close friend, Harumi, it was difficult."

Fourth, Bi-Han and Cyrax's closeness, as well as "her absolute loyalty to Bi-Han" supposed by Kuai, is based solely on mutual acquaintances (Cyrax's bio says that she served Sektor and she says in story mode that Sektor is her instructor and commander, while Sektor's bio shows that she is the one who is really close to Bi-Han), possible common interests (there are leaked intros that show that Bi-Han is surprised by her change of heart, which indicates that she used to believe in his ambitions for the clan just like Sektor, but unlike Sektor she has limits, such as abandoning Earthrealm's defense during Shang Tsung's attack, Bi-Han scratching Kuai's face and learning that Bi-Han had left the late Grandmaster perish) and I'm inclined to believe that it was Bi-Han who invited Cyrax to serve directly under Sektor (so Kuai believing that she would be absolutely loyal to the Grandmaster who gave her such an opportunity makes sense too). Assuming what Kuai says about him and Bi-Han once having a bond as strong as Kitana and Mileena's is true, and recognizing Bi-Han's clear hurt and disappointment that his blood brother refused to continue following him, it's easy to imagine that Kuai Liang was always following his older brother around, and knowing that Cyrax has been shadowing Sektor as her servant/apprentice… Even if it's cliché, it's quite common to happen. It's not unlikely that they got closer and had a thing once so they wouldn't always be a third wheel.

Fifth, she sounds really heartbroken that he disappeared without explanation. Which indicates that she had feelings for him (or still has…)

Sixth, but not the least, there is this intro that when datamined, was said by the dataminer that it was at the top (which indicates that it's one of Cyrax's intros):

From what I know, this (often) means having fallen in love and had a relationship with a certain person, in this case, Cyrax with Kuai-Liang/Scorpion.

.... ...

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shallowrambles · 9 months ago

Text

I love the view that Dean figured out his deeper feelings for Cas in 6 & 7, and the majority of 8 was Dean arcing out of his hero-worship and people-should-never-let-me-down neuroses.

And then.

Post-perceived rejection… (Remember: Cas threw OFF Dean’s hand in Purgatory, and cut OFF cupid’s hand when it was aimed at him.)

So. Late Seasons 8 to mid-12 are Dean actively trying to get over Cas. In s9, he’s off-key paralleled with Josie Sands and Abaddon. (When it’s actually Hannah who’s “the Josie.”) Then he transitions into a reversal-power arc, towards being force-fit into the cartoonish, dare I say ham-fisted Cain role and its parallels. (They spell out the parallel in a distinctly odd way, esp for SPN. Too on the nose. Prescriptive. That’s because it’s actually mirroring Dean’s power fantasy according to Dean’s deepest, least charitable, nihilistic wishes.)

In s10, Dean still appears hung up on Cas, trusting him with the blade and begging him to help kill him if he becomes disinhibited/loses his free will again. Also, “I’m glad you’re here, man,” and Cas’s awkward reply, “Another time. There’s a female waiting in the car.” In a way, Dean’s feelings and fantasies serve to taunt him. The Cain parallel itself feels like a taunt.

Dean may realize Cas “admires” him but it’s definitely not the way Dean wants, that is: not like a secret admirer. Dean is mad for the unbalanced power dynamics re:Cas in the past. Now in Dean’s power reversal: Cas gets the wife treatment and Dean gets paralleled with the powerful Cain figure. He gets to beat Cas just as Cas beat him.

And it’s no accident the Dean’s power reversal arc culminates in a reverse-crypt. Because that’s what Dean’s bitter about. (“That’s not gonna be a problem = You can’t hurt me anymore, not like you did.”) It’s rooted in the bitterness of perceived rejection. That’s why Cas bears the brunt of Dean’s anger here.

Afterwards, Dean feels soooo guilty for being angry.

Later…

At various points, he tries to reassure Cas he’s okay with and appreciates how things are: a best friend, a comrade, a brother. Acceptance!

Dean spent season 10 dealing with his baggage and hoping hopelessly, then in season 11, I think he resolved to accept things. He may have toed the water with sexual tension and short shorts at times, but overall he was trying to live with Cas and let Cas off the hook.

He also encouraged Amara to deal with her own baggage the way he’d worked through his. Season 10 was his reversal arc: him in power for once, with Cas getting the wife treatment and Sam’s corruption being highlighted for once. And in season 11 he was spirited away, dealing with being powerless once more.

After that was done, he tried to swallow his feelings and let go of Cas, the way he encouraged Amara to let go of him.

He may perceive season 11 as his letting go of irrationally wanting Cas. The car scene may represent him giving Cas an out. Even releasing him from any perceived obligations.

So when Cas shows interest in season 12, I do think that threw him! Made him so nervous that he started hoping again, getting all tentative with his little mixtape.

Then Cas returns the damn mixtape. (Burned again!) But instead of getting bitter, Dean says to keep it, it’s a gift. Then he mumbles another “we’re all stronger together,” lil spill to cover his embarrassment.

Because now, he’s fully accepted that he loves Cas. Dean’s feelings haven’t faded so he has resolved to live with them as they are. No matter how many times he gets his hopes up and disappointed.

But now, Dean’s more scared. In season 8 he was ready to tell Cas “I love you.” He spent four years trying to navigate those unrequited feelings and convert them into familial camaraderie.

It’s much scarier in s12 with cosmic consequences on their heads, and Dean with everything he’s ever wanted just at his fingertips.

My fave thing about it all is that Dean and Cas are ready for each other at wildly different points and hardly ever sync up in between all the disasters.

#josie abaddon dean amara and the false parallels by the #abaddon demon dean amara #false parallels #josie sands hannah #josie sands #amara #i am def dehydrated delirious plz ignore meee #josie sands dean parallels #dean and the reversal power arc

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farity · 2 years ago

Text

Longing

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary: A ward of Rhaenyra’s, you are present on that fateful night when Luke’s being a little shit.

Warnings: Smut.

“Luke, no.”

You whispered to your half-brother. He had been smirking and laughing at his uncle across the table, and the longer it went on, the more you could feel Aemond Targaryen’s anger radiate off of him.

You knew the story well, even though you hadn’t been around when it had happened. Your father, Ser Harwin Strong, had never known of your existence, but when your mother became gravely ill, she went to the Princess Rhaenyra, begging her to take you in. Rhaenyra could see Harwin’s eyes in yours, the same unruly hair, the same determined demeanor. She promised the dying woman to care for you and in exchange, you tutored her children.

You had found Rhaenyra to be kind, her husband Daemon to be unpredictable, and the children to be close. You also knew well what had happened just before you joined the household. The fight that culminated in Aemond losing an eye.

Once again, Luke made a small sound, amused at his own private joke, and again, you walked up to the table from where you stood a few feet away, kicked his chair and whispered. “Stop it.”

Too late.

Aemond struck the table with his fist and rose, and your heart sank.

“Final tribute,” he said. You saw Rhaenyra look up at him, and even though you didn’t yet know what else the prince would say, you felt nothing good would come of this.

* * * * *

“All of you, go to your chambers, go now.”

Rhaenyra sent her sons and Daemon’s daughters to their rooms. She didn’t oversee how you spent your free time, trusting you enough to let you manage your day as long as the children’s lessons took place as scheduled. You nodded at her and followed, catching up with Luke.

“You’re an idiot.”

He turned, ready to argue, but you kept going. “Why the hell would you provoke him like that, Luke? Do you never think beyond the next three seconds?”

You rushed past him and went into the chamber you’d been given, closing the door.

At least the dying king had already left before the evening went to shreds. Poor soul, he didn’t even realize most of the family problems were of his making. In wanting everyone to tolerate the simmering issues, he had only created a cauldron full of roiling hatred, and it was about to spill over.

Stupid, stupid Luke.

Restless, you paced from hearth to bed over and over until you realized you would never fall asleep like this. Some reading might help settle you down. You had finished the small volume you had brought with you, but you knew where the library was here.

You opened the door as quietly as you could, looking around before slipping out and taking the hallway that led to the library. There was no sound and you hoped everyone had settled down in their rooms.

In the library, several candles were lit on the main table, and you walked towards the closest bookcase to look at some of the titles.

“Here to apologize for the whelp?”

“Mother save me!” you slapped a hand to your mouth, your heart jumping into your throat.

Prince Aemond sat on the far corner, fading into the surrounding darkness. Now that your eyes had adjusted, you saw him more clearly, long silver hair, a book in his elegant fingers, long legs extended in front of him. Were he anyone else, you would be besotted. Were he not someone who hated your family, you would allow yourself improper thoughts. Were he not who he was, you would admit to yourself that the tall man in the dreams that tormented your nights was the same man sitting in the library with you.

“I doubt the Mother has the time for the likes of us, my lady.”

Heartbeat going back to normal, you grabbed a candle. “I am not a lady, as you well know, Prince Aemond. And no, I am not apologizing for Luke, although I did tell him he was an idiot.” You turned to examine the titles on the shelf, and to escape his stare. Mostly history books, it seemed.

“Are you seeking something in particular?”

“Travel stories, anything on Essos?” you turned to find he was not ten feel from you.

“Do you wish to see the world, then?” he asked, taking another step towards you.

You wanted to run, to lock yourself in your room and avoid talking to him. Avoid longing for those hands to be on you, for that hair to be wrapped around your fingers, for that mouth, usually so severe unless curved into a cruel smirk, to be on yours.

Steeling yourself, you met his gaze. “Someday, yes. I must make my own way sooner or later.” His eye bore into yours, the pale blue shimmering in the candlelight. He said nothing, and the seconds stretched between you.

You’d heard Daemon say once that silence was the best way to get someone else to speak. That people were unused to silence and rushed to fill in the void with careless words. That when he wanted to find out something, he simply waited for the other person to speak.

Aemond said nothing and you became more and more uncomfortable. You would not speak. You would not move. You would not look away from that intense scrutiny.

He took another step toward you.

You could smell the leather of his jacket, the soap used on his shirt, and some kind of earthy scent you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You bit down on the inside of your lip to force yourself to remain quiet, and you saw his usual smirk appear. He was so close. He reached up past you, never breaking eye contact with you, and brought down a book, holding it up for you to see.

You took it, not bothering to look at the title, curtsied, and as casually as you could manage, turned and walked out of the library. Every step seemed to take an eternity but you would not give him the satisfaction of hearing you run from him.

Then you heard it.

One step, two. Leaving the library.

Following you.

Forcing yourself to keep your steps slow and steady, you headed to your rooms. The steps behind you matched your pace, and your heartbeat picked up.

What was this torment? What was he doing?

Blessedly, you reached your rooms, opening the door with shaking hands. Stepping inside, you turned, finding yourself almost nose-to-nose with him.

“Lost your way, Prince Aemond?”

“I am exactly where I wish to be.” He watched you closely. “Well, maybe not exactly where I wish to be just yet.”

“Then I wish you luck in finding your way, good eve-”

He took your arm, pushing you inside and closing the door smoothly before taking your face in his hands. “I find myself craving your company, my lady.”

You couldn’t make yourself push him away. It was difficult enough to remain impassive when those hands you’d dreamed of were cradling your face so gently. “Your memory seems to be failing as well as your sense of direction, Your Highness, as I must repeat that I bear not the title of lady.”

His breath was warm on your lips as he pulled you closer. “And yet there are those who bear noble titles who are not entitled to them,” he mused, his eye roving over your mouth.

“I am sure I have no idea who you could possibly be referring to,” you replied, tired of the never-ending talk about your half brothers. In response, he smiled, almost gently, surprising you. Gentle was not a word you associated with Aemond. He was fire and fury wound tightly, ready to unleash, as he had earlier after Luke’s provocation. “Would you unhand me, I wish to go to bed.”

“A delightful suggestion.” He didn’t move. If anything, his fingertips had started to rub tiny circles high on your cheeks. You wondered if he was aware he was doing it.

“Alone.”

When he still didn’t remove his hands, you reached up to take them off your face, realizing too late that touching him was a dangerous idea. You placed your hands on top of his larger ones, and he immediately took your fingers in his, bringing them to his lips. You watched as that cruel mouth kissed the back of your fingers, taking each one in turn. “What is this, I wonder,” he murmured, switching to your other hand, “retribution? Punishment? I despise your brothers, their very existence is an insult to the realm, but the thought of you occupies my thoughts to distraction.”

“Prince Aemond, this is most improper,” you whispered, clinging to the last of your sanity. You had to stop this, stop him, and you nearly laughed at the thought of anyone, let alone you, stopping Aemond Targaryen.

“You know not the meaning of the word.”

“Please, Your Highness.”

He’d turned one of your hands over, and was now kissing the sensitive pads of your fingers. “Please . . . what?”

Each brush of his lips against your fingertips made fire spark inside you, and there was a heaviness low in your belly that was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Stop?” he asked, switching to the other hand, “or continue?”

“Please,” you managed, but could not make yourself say another word.

He stilled, and looked at you. “There are signs,” he said quietly, “when a woman’s desires are awakened. The breathing speeds up, the lips become redder,” he smirked, and brushed his thumb over your lower lip, “the skin warms and the pulse quickens.”

You became acutely aware of your breathing, of how overheated you felt, and summoned your will. “And what about men?”

His eyebrow rose at your question. “Much the same, except for one or two differences.” He brought your hand down until you felt your palm brush against something impossibly hard and warm.

You gasped, trying to pull your hand away, to no avail.

“Undeniable, hmm, the effect you have on me.” His eye was icy fire and you felt the smallest sliver of power begin to thread to you.

Foolish girl.

Ignoring your quickly disappearing sense of self-preservation, you flexed your fingertips, the tiniest movement, and felt him pulse against you. Aemond gasped, hips jerking against your hand.

More.

You squeezed gently, and this time he moaned, his free hand still cupping your face.

“Stop now, or I shall have my turn,” he whispered harshly. “Choose.”

You raised your chin, your eyes meeting his gaze, and slowly moved the backs of your fingers up and down his leather-covered length. Aemond made a low noise deep in his throat and pressed his forehead against yours. Before you could do it again, he swiftly grabbed your wrist and began walking you back toward the bed.

You stopped when you felt the edge of the bed hit the back of your legs. Still looking at him, you found the ties to his breeches, tugged on one.

“You will be my ruination.”

You grabbed the other tie. “Someone should be,” you replied, and tugged, letting the breeches become loose on his slim waist. Emboldened, you slipped your fingers into the waistband, feeling the muscles in his stomach tense at your touch. His skin was so warm and smooth, and you began to slide your palm up beneath the tunic he wore, fingertips tracing a map as you explored.

“The skin warms,” you murmured, and pressing your palm against his chest, felt the fast beating of his heart. “And the pulse quickens.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he pulled you in, mouth on yours, tongue demanding entrance. You gasped and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. The taste of him was unexpectedly sweet, with some dark spice you could not name. He placed a knee on the bed, pulling you with him to lay down in the center.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me you want this. I will not have you unwilling.”

“I am not unwilling,” you managed, dizzy from his kiss. “I want, I-”

“Name it, and you shall have it.”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly, “I don’t know what I’m asking for.”

“Then I shall spend all night finding out.”

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