#bring back otto i miss him

[aemondsladywife]

gwayne's two seconds of screentime of todays ep just being him giving attitude to criston he's so real for that 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[aemondsbabe]

Deliverance

summary: following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. as his older sister, who are you to deny him?

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon death, infidelity technically but reader's husband is cool with it and understands that she comes from a weirdo family cough cough incest cough, lactation kink, hurt/comfort, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, titty sucking, angst but happy ending, otto cameo ew, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 7.4k

a/n: *slams fist on table* i need for him to suck on my boobie

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky

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“Shall I fetch Maester Orwyle once we return to your chambers, Princess?” Your handmaiden, Edyth, questions as the two of you make your way up one of the many winding staircases in the Red Keep – each step making you wince. 

“Yes, please,” you sigh, ever grateful that she had always seemed to have a knack for predicting your requests before you had the chance to voice them, “Perhaps tell him to prepare some of the same soothing balm he gave to Helaena?” 

“Of course, Princess,” Edyth nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, ever the optimist, “I believe it should help with your aches, I remember it seemed to help the Queen after…” She trails off, breath hitching in her throat.

A heavy silence seems to fall over the two of you, the same that had been blanketing the entirety of the palace for the past few days. You swallow thickly, battling against the lump suddenly growing at the back of your throat and merely nod your head in simple understanding, offering her a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sure it will be of great help, Edyth, thank you.” 

Ever since… it had happened, the Red Keep feels as if it’s made of eggshells, like one small gust of wind could knock it right over. Everyone’s so on edge, terrified of saying too much or too little, the wrong thing at the wrong time. The stress of it all seems nearly suffocating, though you still have a feeling the worst was yet to come. 

Suddenly, someone calls your name from behind you and you turn, smiling once you see your grandsire striding toward you.

“A raven arrived earlier from Gwayne,” Otto explains, deep voice carrying down the empty hallway, “He’s reached Oldtown safely, everything seems to be well there.”

“Oh, wonderful,” you nod, grateful for news of your husband.

“Indeed,” he continues, “Daeron seems to be in good spirits, happy to come home; they’re to depart tomorrow, as scheduled… forgive me, I meant to tell you before supper but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Everything has been so hectic of late, please don’t trouble yourself. He arrived safely and will be back all the sooner for it, that is what matters.”

“Of course,” Otto nods, glancing out a nearby window, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been ordered to attend to His Grace,” he says gruffly, a wry smile on his lips, nodding in the direction of Aegon’s chambers.

You nod at the mention of your twin, brows pinching together with worry. “Be… patient with him, grandsire, please,” you beseech, chest heaving with a soft sigh, “I spoke with him earlier this morning, he’s… well, he’s not himself.”

“Are any of us anymore, I wonder,” Otto mutters, fixing you with a tight smile before taking his leave, striding quickly down the hallway. Your brows furrow at that, you can’t help but throw Edyth a questioning look before the two of you continue toward your chambers. 

“Seven Hells,” you grumble, quickly bringing a hand to your breast as you climb another, blessedly shorter, set of stairs, “Perhaps check the nursery first, yes? Daena may be stirring still…” You know better, even as the words leave your lips. 

Your daughter has finally begun sleeping soundly through the night recently and while that is cause for celebration, you certainly won’t miss the past eight moons of late night feedings, your poor breasts are paying the price – your body not yet caught up with the lessened need for milk. 

“Yes, Princess,” Edyth replies with a little nod, walking alongside you.

The two of you are almost at your chambers, finally turning onto the hallway where the family apartments are housed, when you hear it – a muffled, barely there cry. The sound makes you pause in your tracks, head swiveling, unsure of exactly where it came from and it’s then you notice that the door to Aemond’s chambers is ajar. 

That in and of itself is strange indeed, your little brother valued privacy above all else, so you stride over only to pause at the entrance, hand poised midair as you reach for the door handle. Your heart clenches when another soft sob pierces the quiet of the hallway – a mournful little noise, one you’d expect more from Aegon. 

Turning back to Edyth, you lead her a few feet from the door, knowing Aemond would hate it if he knew someone, anyone aside from you, had overheard him. “Go to the nursery,” you instruct, making sure to keep your voice low, “Make sure Daena is well, then you’re free for the evening.” 

“But, princess, what about –”

“Nevermind it,” you murmur with a shake of your head, “I’ll send for the maester later myself.”

With a nod, she scampers off further down the hallway, leaving you alone by your brother’s door. Stepping back over toward the threshold, you bite at your bottom lip, wondering if you should go in at all – if it would be more merciful to simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything at all. 

But then it happens again, another pitiful sob sounds from beyond the cracked door and you’re unable to help yourself – Aemond had always come to you with his troubles when he was younger, surely now would be no different. With a little breath, you push the door open just enough to slip through it and thank whichever Gods may be listening when you’re able to press it closed with hardly a sound. 

Peeking around the screen your brother has beside the door, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest. He looks so… small, so fragile, the complete opposite of the towering, formidable man he’d become in recent years. It’s clear he didn’t hear you come in as he stays seated in a chair near the door, his back to you; his shoulders shake with gentle cries while he hunches over, head cradled in his hands. 

The disarray of his normally spotless chambers startles you once you let your eyes flit over the space – papers are strewn about all across the low table he keeps in the little sitting area, some scattered across the floor, crumpled up, or ripped to pieces. His bedsheets are halfway ripped from the bed and lie in a pool at its foot, along with the remnants of a candle, now merely a translucent puddle on the dark stone floor. 

Taking a step forward, you softly call his name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as low and soft as possible, though you’re hardly able to get the first syllable out before he bolts up from the chair with a strangled gasp and spins toward you. 

“Oh, Aem,” the words fall past your lips in a soft sigh, pulled from you by the startled expression on his face – eyes wide with the fear of being caught so vulnerable. His sapphire eye seems to sparkle with just as much emotion as his pale purple one. 

“Sister, I –” He starts, hastily wiping his hands over his cheeks, chest heaving while he tries to calm his harsh breaths, but you’ll have none of that.

“Shh, whatever excuses you have, I’ll not hear them,” you murmur, quickly walking the few feet over to him and enveloping him in a tight embrace, just as you used to do when he would come crying to you about the tortures Aegon or your nephews put him through in their youth.

Your brother stays stiff in your arms for a moment, tense and wary, though he slowly relaxes as you rub a hand over his back, smoothing out his long hair. You yourself relax once he finally winds his long arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder with a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. 

“Tell me what distresses you so?”

“I… Jae– the boy,” he stammers, stumbling over his name. You understand, just saying your little nephew’s name seems to somehow make the pain of the loss even worse. Yet, something in your gut tells you there’s something else going on, that Jaehaerys’s death is not the only thing causing your brother such anguish.

“Aemond…” you gently press, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, “I cannot help if you won’t tell me–”

“Tell you what?” He counters, tone growing too defensive too quickly, “My nephew’s death brings me sorrow, sister. The loss of a young child is a… distressing thing.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You counter, trying desperately to keep your voice calm, even when Aemond backs away from you with an exasperated sigh. You’re no stranger to this game – ever since he lost his eye, your brother has guarded his emotions carefully. Getting him to speak honestly about them was about as hard as keeping a bottle of Dornish wine from Aegon’s grasp. 

He gives you a sidelong glance as he paces about the room, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched. Worry only blooms brighter in your chest the longer you watch him; so agitated and so guarded, closed off like an abused animal. 

“It… it’s nothing,” he mumbles finally, voice short and clipped, “Nothing important, sister, I assure you.”

Unconsciously, you wring your hands worriedly, heart clenching; you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, yet you know from experience that it was better to let Aemond come to you. 

“Well, surely it cannot be nothing if it has upset you so, sweetling.” 

His nervous pacing comes to a screeching halt at that and he squeezes his eye shut, fists clenched at his side – his whole body tense like he’s trying desperately to keep some invisible dam within himself closed. 

You reach a hand up instinctively when he bites at his bottom lip and turns his head away from you, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I–,” he croaks, the tightness in his voice makes your breath hitch in your throat; every maternal cell in your body is screaming at you, pleading with you to hold him, “I don’t w-wish to burden you.”

“Baby brother,” you sigh, finally going to him, practically running the few feet over to where he stands. Your arms encircle him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace – one hand rubs over his back while the other cups the back of his head, holding his face against the crook of your neck, “You could never be a burden to me, never.”

That seems to break him and he gasps, breathing warm against your neck, before he finally lets go and his shoulders heave with sobs while his hands cling to you desperately, fisting into the fabric of your gown like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. A tightness grows at the back of your own throat, not used to seeing him be this raw, this open, in what feels like lifetimes. It breaks your heart to think he’d been holding all of this in, determined to be the strong, silent soldier like everyone expected, while he dealt with such sadness all alone. 

“Shh, shh, Aemond, you’re okay,” you murmur gently, eyes widening when he sags against you, his knees giving way only for a second. “Here, come,” you instruct, taking one of his hands in yours and leading him to the small seating area in his chambers. You urge him to sit on the sofa he has there before joining him yourself, a bit surprised when he all but throws himself against you again – practically laying his head in your lap as he sobs, cheek pressed against your chest in a way that makes you wince from the tenderness still there, not that you’d ever scold him for it. 

“There, that’s much better, hm? Comfortable?” You ask, simply trying to draw him back to the surface. 

He doesn’t reply, something that doesn’t really come as a shock to you given how harsh his cries are, leaving him breathless against you. Deciding to let him get it out, you stay quiet, merely shushing him every so often as you run your fingers through his pearlescent hair.

After a long while, he seems to settle some and tears begin running down his cheeks silently rather than racking his body with savage cries; he lifts his head from your lap and rests it instead against your shoulder, gazing up at you as if you’re an angel sent from the heavens themselves. The intense tenderness with which he looks at you makes you blush, yet your brows furrow slightly at the darkness still there – lingering in the lilac of his eye. 

“I have… I have done something terrible.”

Your brother's murmured confession only serves to confuse you further and you shake your head slightly, heart clenching in your chest as you silently wonder what in all the Seven Kingdoms he could possibly mean by that. 

“Aemond,” you start, knowing not to pry – to let him tell you, “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me think any less of you.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, eye flicking across your face like he’s checking for even the barest hint of deception, yet he finds none – your words are true. 

“You… promise me you will not hate me.”

“I promise, sweet brother,” your brows pinch together at his words, wondering what could possibly be bad enough for all this, yet you can’t stop the corners of your lips from quirking into a sad smile at his request; that uncertain lilt in his voice reminds you so much of when he was younger, “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”

“I…” He starts, pulling away from you as he sits up, sparing you one last glance before staring off into the fireplace, “I am the… the reason Jaehaerys is dead.”

“What?” The word is pressed from you, leaving your lips as little more than a breath. You stare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, utterly perplexed. How in the Seven Hells could he have ever arrived at that conclusion? Taking one of his hands in yours, you lean a little closer, “Sweetling, what in the world do you mean?”

“They were here for me,” Aemond rasps, wincing as if the words themselves are painful, clawing at his throat on their way out, “They were… Gods, they were sent for me and – and when they couldn’t find me, they… H-He died because I was not here, because they could not f-find me…”

“Oh, my love,” you sigh, the backs of your eyes stinging as he presses himself against you again, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Aemond, you couldn’t have known, none of us did. You couldn’t have known…” You repeat, like saying the words again and again will make him believe them. 

“I s-should have,” he whimpers, voice breaking over a sob, “I should’ve k-known, I sh–should’ve been here…”

You hold him tightly, practically hauling him onto your lap as his tears leak over your skin, running into the valley of your cleavage like a river, though you pay it no mind. “Shh, sweetling, shh,” you murmur and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “It’s not your fault, dear one, it’s no one’s fault but the vile men who took him and our… our coward of a sister who ordered it done.”

He stays silent for a moment and you can feel the gears in his brain turning, working furiously as he tries to internalize your words, wanting desperately to believe them but unable to let himself. You sigh softly when you feel him shake his head against you, so determined to cling to guilt. 

“If… if I had n-not been at the…” 

“At the where, brother?” You press, clinging to anything you may be able to use to shift the conversation. 

“...The brothel…” he mumbles after a long pause, the words so muffled against the column of your neck that you have to strain to hear them. His words shock you, the complete opposite of anything you’d been expecting. You try your hardest not to let that show, even as a strange sense of jealousy wells up within you – a sense of possessiveness you’ve always felt for your little brother.

“Well, you… you are a man grown, my love,” you heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you wonder if he can hear it, “If you wish to lay with–”

“I didn’t… I–” He stammers, clinging to you tightly as he shakes his head, an urgency in his voice you can’t quite place, “That’s not what, I… I mean, I–”

“No matter,” you cut him off, aching to see him so distressed, “Whatever you do there, sweet brother, it’s your… right to do it.” You struggle to get the words out, the sense of protectiveness rising viciously in your chest makes your throat feel tight. 

He lifts his head from your shoulder again and eyes you for a long moment – for what, you aren’t sure. It’s almost like he’s surprised not to be meant with disgust or contempt; you wish you knew why.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally mumbles, glancing away from you, ashamed, “I should’ve been home… I should’ve been here to protect my family.”

“Aemond, please,” you sigh and sit up slightly, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, wiping at his tears with your thumb, “It is not your job to protect us, we have guards for a reason… if anything, this atrocity is their fault but it is not yours, do you understand?” Your eyes bore into his as you speak, desperate to make him understand, to rid him of this misplaced guilt. 

“Do… do you still love me?” He asks after a long moment, voice so timid, so meek like he’s already preparing himself for your rejection, that it makes your heart twist horribly in your chest. 

Still, you cannot help but huff out a little laugh, lips lifting into a sad smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You are my dearest brother,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a second, “Of course, I still love you, Aemond. I have loved you from the moment you came into this world and I shall never, never stop – the Gods themselves could not make me.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, save for a small hum from your brother as he nods. His arms encircle you again and selfishly, you enjoy it – being this close to him again, like he was a little boy once more. He’d been all but attached to you at the hip before that dreadful night, following you about the Keep and telling you all sorts of tales about various histories of the Realm in that sweet voice of his. 

All of that had stopped that night and, at first, you had assumed that he merely thought himself a man grown afterwards – a man who had finally claimed a dragon, a man who no longer needed comfort from an older sibling. The sadness in his voice when he speaks again, muffled against your shoulder, tells you otherwise.

“Mother doesn’t love me anymore,” his voice is flat and detached as he breathes out the words, like he’s informing you of some tragic, unavoidable accident. 

“Aem, of course she does. She loves you very–”

“No,” he cuts you off, sitting up once more and shaking his head, “Ever since that business with Luke, I… she can hardly bring herself to look at me. She won’t speak to me outside of Small Council meetings and even then she tries not to, ‘tis plain to see.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, leaving you to swallow around the lump that grows at the back of your throat once again. What are you to say? He’s… Gods, bless him, he’s right, you’ve seen as much to know. 

“You are the only one who has never abandoned me,” he starts, eye sparkling in the candlelight as tears begin welling up within it once more, “Everyone else has left.”

“That’s not…” Your voice fades as you sigh, knowing that arguing with him now will do no good. Instead, you simply hold him tighter and brush a few stray locks of hair from his face. “I can promise that I shall never leave you, sweet brother.”

He grows quiet for a moment, slumping down against you until his head rests in your lap and his body curls up onto the sofa. Silently, you resist the urge to cradle him, to hold him against you as you do Daena when she wakes from a nap with a start, crying out from her cradle. 

He is a grown man, you remind yourself, yet it does nothing to stop the strange ache in your heart. 

“They all used to taunt me, surely you remember, when we were younger,” he mumbles, eye fixated on the fire crackling in the hearth, even as he clings to you, “First for not having a dragon, then for not having an eye.”

You hum in affirmation – you do remember it, sadly. You remember it all very well; he had slept in your chambers for a week after the incident with the pig, not wanting to be left alone at night with the memories of it. You remember having to hold him back at the table when Aegon had poked fun at his eyepatch during supper, about a month after his eye had been gouged out. 

You remember that night too, when he’d come to you with tearful apologies, murmuring sorries again and again for accidentally nicking your hand while trying to brandish a knife against his brother. 

“I have always been an outcast.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite the circumstances and you sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his long strands of hair, “I quite like you being different… perhaps if you weren’t, we wouldn’t be as close, hm?”

Aemond goes quiet at that, stills in your lap with a little sigh before simply burrowing against you even more, curling in on himself tighter. 

A soft coo leaves your lips, strands of his long hair passing between your fingers like silk. “What say you stay with me tonight, yes?” You offer, the thought of him in the dark carrying all this alone grief makes you feel ill, “We could even cuddle, if you like? Just as we did when you were younger.”

A short beat of silence later, all you get is a little, “Yes, please,” mumbled against your abdomen. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs later, the two of you finally lying together atop your bed, cuddled closely against one another just as you’d promised. You’d each taken time to get ready for bed and Aemond seems a little better for it, no longer as distressed and teary now that he’s had the time to collect himself. 

Your hand carefully cups the side of his face that isn’t pressed against your pillow, that isn’t buried in the crook of your neck, as an astonished huff of laughter escapes your lips as they curve into a sad smile, your brows furrowed. “Why in the world would you think such things?” Even as the question is whispered into the quiet of your chambers, you know the answer – Aemond has always been this way, always one to reject comfort, even when it is so freely given, even when he himself seeks it out. 

If only he could see himself as you do. 

“I… I have done so many shameful things, sister, I…” His voice breaks when he cuts himself off and you can feel him tense in your hold, “‘Tis the simple truth, I don’t deserve you.”

You hum softly, combing your fingers through his hair while you mull over his words, silently wondering why he has always been like this – why you have always felt so unworthy of softness and kindness and love. 

“Well, it is not my truth,” you murmur after a moment, eyes flicking over the long line of his body, hidden by your silken bedsheets. In the time each of you had taken to ready yourselves for bed, you had changed into a nightgown and he into a simple nightshirt, leaving your bare legs to tangle together, “Would you like to know what I think, my love?”

You feel him inhale against the crook of your neck, sucking in air like he’s steeling himself for disappointment, yet he still lifts his head and peers up at you. His lilac eye searches your face for a long moment, looking for even the smallest indication of displeasure in your features, only to find none. 

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, assured that surely whatever you were to say would not hurt him too badly, he nods. 

Sitting up just enough to better see his face, you look at him with nothing but adoration as the two of you rest shoulder to shoulder, backs against the headboard. “I believe you deserve every kindness in the world, Aemond. And I believe even that would be too little,” your voice is hardly a whisper when you speak, like this is the deepest of secrets meant only for his ears, “You deserve nothing but happiness, sweet baby brother.”

He stares at you for a long moment, eye wide and glassy while his chest aches as your words seep into him like a soothing balm. You can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, eye squeezing shut for a moment while he processes your words – so sweet they nearly stung. 

A soft coo bubbles from your lips when you see his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath the linen of his nightshirt, and you lean into him all the more when one of his hands reaches out and grabs one of your own, squeezing it like it’s a lifeline. 

“Shh,” you soothe, giving him a sad smile when his eye finally opens again, gaze immediately finding yours, “Sweet boy.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before looking away from you once again, mind reeling. Not knowing what to do, overcome with so much emotion his heart feels as if it’s adrift at sea, he brings your hand up and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles before holding it to his cheek and sucking in another little breath as his bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispers finally, voice tight and hoarse. 

Cupping his face, you caress your thumb over the scar beneath his eye softly and lean over just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I will never leave you, Aemond, I swear it.”

He shudders once more before letting out a shaky breath, eye filled with a wild desperation. Before you can register the movement, his hands are suddenly gripping at your waist and hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, apologies already muffled against your skin. “I-I’m sorry, I – Gwayne will… will hate me but –”

“Shh, sh, sh, sweetling,” you murmur, despite the small, barely audible gasp that leaves you at the sudden movement, so wholly unused to this as half of you tries desperately to comfort you while the other half wonders if you should put a stop to this, “Gwayne knows, my love, he… it’s okay, he knows.”

A sob is wrenched from Aemond’s lips, warm against your neck, but he nods nonetheless, sighing when you begin carding your fingers through his hair once more, smoothing out the long, pale strands. Slowly, he relaxes again, arms wound securely around your waist while his breath evens out. 

You’re about to say something else, though your breath hitches in your throat when he begins peppering your neck with soft, chaste little kisses – feather-light down the column of your neck. He stops after a second, noticing you tense up on his lap, eyes wide as a million thoughts swirl in your mind: Is this okay? Should you stop this? This is your precious baby brother, the one who used to cling to your skirts when he was sad, who used to come to you in the night when he woke from a nightmare… 

He leans forward once more and nips at your earlobe, making your heart stutter in your chest, “Can… can I try something?”

Your head reels at the sudden change in his touches, needier now, though for an entirely different reason, yet still your mind reels – piqued with curiosity. “What is it you wish to try?” You question after a moment, voice scratchy from the sudden dryness at the back of your throat. 

Silently, Aemond relishes this; something about you, you his normally strong and carefree older sister, being this flustered because of him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Dipping his head, he resumes pressing soft kisses against your skin, though they linger now – teeth nipping before he soothes the small bites with a swipe of his tongue, drawing ever closer to the pulse point in your neck that beats so wildly he can feel it beneath your skin. 

“Aemond!” You all but wheeze when he suddenly grabs at your hips, his own firmly bucking up against you. A shock goes down your spine at the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, two thin layers of fabric doing precious little to mask the feel of it. Again, you tense up, practically jumping out of your skin as you pull back just enough to gaze down at him, your eyes wide, blinking rapidly, as they search his. 

This was the last thing you expected tonight, the last thing you’d expect from him at all. “Wha – I…” You stammer, dumbstruck while worry and uncertainty cloud your mind. 

Aemond shushes you now, long fingers squeezing at your bare thighs now that your nightgown has ridden up enough to reveal them. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against your skin, “Do you trust me…?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest. You should be the one comforting him… what in the Seven Hells has happened? Is… is this the comfort he needs now?

Even still, you nod your head at his question; of course you trust him, you’d trust him with anything… even this. 

A smile grows on his lips when you acquiesce, a pleased glimmer in his eye when he lifts his hands to your hips again, his grip firmer this time. “Good… good, sweet sister,” he hums lowly, rutting his hips up against you once more, lilac eye watching you with keen interest. 

“A-Aem…” You gasp once more, the feel of him against you so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, even when your brows furrow as your eyes flutter, threatening to slip shut. His movements press a small whimper from your lips and you can feel the sting in your cheeks as they flush, chest heaving while your hands grab tightly at his shoulders. 

The smug look on his face slowly morphs into one of wonder and his eye flits over your face greedily, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of seeing you like this – already so strung out over him. 

He moves again, the feeling of your soft core pressing against his growing length through the thin linen only serving to drive his urges further. “Gods, you look so beautiful like this…” He murmurs, in awe at having you like this, and all to himself. Unable to help himself, he leans forward yet again and pulls you closer as his lips settle once more against your neck. 

Instinctually, your head tilts to the side, giving him room to kiss over your skin. His movements against you cause you to shiver in his grasp, even if a small part of you was still uncertain, hoping this wouldn’t change your relationship with him for the worse. 

The slow grind of his hips causes his nightshirt to eventually ride up his legs as well, and you gasp anew, jumping once more when his length suddenly presses against your center, unhindered by fabric. 

“Feel what you do to me?” He purrs, letting out a low groan of his own. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly while your chest heaves, silently wondering if this is truly happening. Almost imperceptibly, you nod your head, shuddering at the feeling of his cock pressed against you, already twitching. 

“L-Little brother,” you gasp, breathless already.

Aemond smirks at your response, your whimpers and soft gasps going right to his head. He grabs at your waist still, bucking against you in slow, almost teasing movements. A low, pleased hum vibrates him in his chest when he feels how wet you are against him – the heat radiating from your center nearly stifling. 

The longer this goes on, the more you can feel your resolve crumbling, any small bits left of you that wanted to put a stop to this slowly fading away. Distantly, you can’t help wondering if this is how it’s always been meant to be, if this was the only logical conclusion your paths could reach, the outcome of such a close bond. Perhaps, you have always been made for this. 

“Aemond,” his name falls from your lips in a soft sigh and you finally lean against him heavily, pressing your chest against his unthinkingly. “Shit!” You gasp only a second later, jolting as if stung by a bee, brought back to reality by the ache in your breasts. 

“Sister?” Aemond questions, freezing beneath you while he looks over your face, his hands rising to cup your cheeks protectively. 

You start to answer, to explain, when you feel a sudden tingling sensation at your chest and, judging from the look on your brother’s face, an explanation would be a moot point by now anyway.

“Gods grant me mercy,” he sighs, eye wider than you’ve ever seen it as he stares, near open-mouthed, at your chest. Glancing down, your cheeks flush at the sight of milk dampening the linen at your breasts, leaving it all but translucent. 

Again, you go to explain, only to stop yourself in your tracks when his tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip. Your head spins when you notice his chest heaving as he stares at you with a nearly savage hunger, eyes fixed on your breasts like his universe has been narrowed down to a pinpoint. 

“Aemond?”

“Please,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking over his lips once more, practically salivating. His eye flicks up to yours for only the briefest of seconds before zeroing in on your chest once more, “Sweet… sweet sister, please.”

Again, the energy in the room seems to shift, Aemond once again begging you for comfort, bowing to your whims. Quickly, you shush him while one hand threads into his hair once more as you bring his head back against the crook of your neck, settling him there while he groans against your skin, rough hands slowly trailing up your waist before halting at your ribs. 

Your other hand busies itself with snaking between the two of you and impatiently batting your clothes away before your fingers finally curl around his length, causing the both of you to let out soft cries. 

“Shh, sweetling,” you coo, chest heaving while you position him at your entrance, sighing as he desperately mouths at your neck, “I know what you need, I’ve got you.”

Again, twin moans fill your dimly lit chambers when you slowly sink down on him. Whimpers are punched from your lungs at the feel of him steadily filling you, his chest rumbling against yours as he groans deeply, hips jolting beneath you. 

“Gods,” you sigh when your hips are finally pressed tightly against his once more, panting and letting your eyes fall shut while you give yourself a moment to adjust. 

The feel of him borders on overwhelming – pressed so tightly inside of you, around you, the very air in your room filled with the heady, herbaceous scent of the bath oils you know he favors. You imagine he must feel the same as he trembles beneath you, fingers and hips twitching with barely contained desire. 

Finally, your need to comfort him, to protect him even from himself, rears its head again and you relish the breathy sigh that leaves him as you begin to move your hips. It’s a grinding motion, soft and gentle – what he needs now, to be treated with care. Still, the movements send shockwaves up your spine as the pale hairs at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your pearl, creating a delicious friction to spur you on. 

“So good,” he breathes, warm against your shoulder as he leans forward, kissing at your neck, “You feel so good, sister, you… you are s-so good to me…”

“Just as you deserve,” you murmur, combing your fingers through his long hair once more before your hands travel down to the hem of his nightshirt and you begin impatiently tugging at it, pulling it over his head and grinning at the soft, nearly petulant, whine he gives at having to separate from you even for a second. 

Still, some instinctual force seems to drive you, a need to feel his skin against your own, and you waste no time before pulling your own nightgown up and over your head as well, leaving nothing to separate the two of you. 

The groan that leaves him when your chest presses back against his own once more is like nothing you’ve heard before – a sound of the purest relief, like he’s found some oasis in the desert. His eye opens again and the rhythm of your hips stutters only for a second once it finds yours. The lilac is almost completely overtaken by black and yet, he still regards you as if you are an angel sent from the heavens themselves, stares at you with such reverence that your heart flutters in your chest. 

Something clicks for you then as he whimpers beneath you, his own hips beginning to buck up against your own as the lazy tempo you’ve settled into slowly starts to pick up. You understand, now, that this is merely another step, an added turn, in the so carefully balanced dance the two of you have constructed.

And if this is what he needs to be comforted, then you’re more than happy to give it. 

“My good boy,” sigh, moving against him with renewed vigor, grinning when he lets out a hitched moan, “Is this what you needed?”

“Yes, y-yes,” he nods, his eye never leaving your own as he ruts beneath you, the choppy movements only adding to the fire slowly building within your veins, “Please, sweet sister, please…”

You don’t need to ask to know what it is he means, nodding before he has time to stutter out another word, “Take what you need, my love.”

Another breathy groan sounds from him as he quickly descends onto your chest, tilting his head down and immediately capturing your sensitive nipple between his lips, one hand coming up to gently cup your breast, holding it steady. The feeling of relief that flows through you when he starts suckling is nearly disorienting, the dull ache in your breast slowly fading away with each mouthful of milk he pulls from you, greedily taking a few mouthfuls from one breast before switching to the other.

Your fingers stay anchored in his hair while your hips work against him, your high building more steadily within you now that your breasts no longer feel ready to burst. You pant as you gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded while you watch his lips move against you, lilac eye still fixated on you. 

Below you, Aemond is halfway convinced he’s died and somehow the Gods have seen fit to spare him the Seven Hells. His head spins as he drinks from you, the taste of you by far the sweetest, most decadent thing he could fathom. As the knot in his belly grows ever-tighter, his suckles become more greedy, frantic, not knowing whether you’ll allow him this pleasure ever again. 

“Please, f-fuck,” he sighs, the words punched from his lips as he pulls away from you just enough to speak, uncaring as dribbles of milk leak from the corners of his lips, staining your skin. His hips practically move on their own accord as he mindlessly grinds up into you, seeking out the warmth and safety he knows he shall only ever feel within you. 

Above him, you nod, swallowing thickly against the dryness at the back of your throat, cheeks flushed while you watch him unravel. Snaking a hand between your bodies once more, your fingers quickly find your sensitive, aching bud and rubbing at it with a practiced precision. 

“Gods, sweet little brother,” you breathe out, pleasure zapping down your spine. You frantically nod again, frantic this time, just as your high washes over you, “Come, Aemond… Gods, let go, little one.”

His suckles turn more into little biting nips while he gasps against you, trembling beneath you when he finally lets pleasure overtake him – eye squeezing shut at the feel of your walls clenching tightly around his cock. 

The warmth of him filling you only spurs you on more, your breaths ragged against his forehead while you feel yourself tense and relax again and again, grabbing at whatever parts of him you can reach. 

You each go still after a few moments, panting against each other. Aemond is practically limp beneath you, lazily nuzzling his face against your chest, satiated smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. Chuckling softly, you pepper his forehead in sweet kisses, relishing the contented hum he gives in return. 

When you go to get up however, intent on fetching a cloth to clean you both up with, he reaches for you with a small whine as he grabs at your thighs.

“Don’t, please,” he murmurs, brows furrowed when your eyes meet, “Stay…”

“You… you want to stay like this?” You question, your heartbeat quickening as he quickly nods, “You wish to stay –”

“Inside,” he finishes quickly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows bashfully, cheeks flushed, “I… I feel safe like… like this.”

“Then you can stay, silly boy,” you answer with a grin, kissing at his forehead once more, “Here, let’s just…” You murmur, tilting your hips to the side ever so slightly, attempting to pull him with you.

Blessedly, he seems to understand and follows you willingly, allowing you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides. After a moment, you’re comfortable once more, each of you lying on your side and facing the other, one of your legs slung over his narrow hips to keep him pressed tightly within you. 

“Good boy,” you sigh softly, smiling when he shivers against you. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, your hands gently caressing his soft skin or running through his hair while you hold him against you. After a while, his lilac eye finally flutters closed and you can’t help but marvel at how much younger he looks like this – relaxed and spent while he lies against you, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. 

After a while, he seems to grow restless again, nosing at your chest until he finds what he desires. You sigh softly as he pulls a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling at it contentedly while he peers up at you sleepily. 

“There you go,” you murmur soothingly, coaxing him to lift his head just enough for you to lay an arm beneath it, allowing you to caress his shoulders while your other hand cups gently at the side of his face, thumb sweeping over his soft skin. “Take what you need, sweet one,” you coo, smiling as he quickly returns his lips to your breast, “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[visenyaism]

jaehaerys administration dashboard simulator

🫧maidenpooled Follow

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♟️redwhine

ok bootlicker. you know what she did

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boots not the only thing id lick

🌸queencrowned Follow

this could literally be me and my brother if it weren't for my bitch mom trying to send me to the other side of the fucking continent

🍒saerious

GIRL STAND UP

🤎bowlofbrown

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🥀maegorwife Follow

that's different...targaryens are literally divinely ordained by the seven to rule because they're stronger and better than us...that's why they have the dragons it is in their sanctified valyrian blood

🩸knifeinthedark

SO TRUE...THEY WANT TO ABOLISH THE RIGHT TO FIRST NIGHT BECAUSE OF WOKE. AND YET THEY STILL DO IT. BUT NO ONE CAN SAY ANYTHING ANYMORE OR THOSE GENDER-NEUTRAL DRAGONS WILL BURN YOUR KEEP DOWN

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oh so when maegor has seven wives he’s “aegon’s true son” and “cool” but when i have three boyfriends suddenly im a “whore”

🫀lustywench Follow

op i support you but they did call him “the cruel” for that it was a very important part of the story that he was in fact maegor “the cruel”

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doing all of this with a FAITH OF THE SEVEN URL...girl you better pick a hell and start hoping

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⚔️errantmaid Follow

the king chopped it off and sent him to the wall i fucking hate this place can't have SHIT in king's landing

🏵️floriansjonquil

hey has anyone seen princess gael. it's been literal months and she seems to have up and disappeared with no official announcement from the palace? would be the third female relative to go missing in the king's custody after aerea and saera....

🐝beeeeeeeeeeeeesbury Follow

damn that's crazy. im sure shes fine though anyways i'm a big fan of this new road the king built theres a lot of nice new roads does anyone else like the roads

🐦‍⬛cloakedinfeathers Follow

day 18262 of not fighting the brackens. this is boring as fuckkkkk what am i supposed to do. pretend to care about the triarchy?

🐎brackennation

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🐦‍⬛cloakedinfeathers Follow

192.158.1.38. doxxed. get your dumbfuck horse breeder knights ready because our strongest and noblest raven warriors are on the way to your nasty ass keep right now bitch

[laenordeservedbetter]

My Way

Words: 6.7k

Pairing: Modern!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Hightower Reader

Synopsis: Rhaenyra wants a scandal. You want to get back at your father. What happens when Laena brings the two of you together?

Warnings: Otto Hightower, Criston Cole (this one-shot is not Criston Cole friendly, I'm sorry), mentions of assault, cursing, inaccurate business jargon, self-deprecating thoughts, drinking. [Let me know if I missed any.]

masterlist || previous work

—

“What did you say to Jackie?” You seethe, slamming your fists onto your father’s desk.

“Nothing, my dear. Why? Did something happen?” He questions, briefly glancing at his lackey, Larys, prior to meeting your gaze smugly.

You could feel the sting in your palms from clenching your fists, but you paid no heed to it. Despite your figure towering over him, Otto remained in his seat as if your outburst was merely entertainment for him, fueling your ire. “You know what you did.” You spat.

“If you are referring to your companion’s refusal to return your calls, you must know that I played no hand in that.” Otto says calmly.

You regarded him with a look of disbelief. The earliest occurrence you could recollect that is akin to your current situation was when you went on your first date. You believed that it was your fault dear Tabitha ran for the hills. You were inconsolable for weeks on end until your older brother, Gwayne, informed you of your father’s… meddling. You know not of the details of the transaction between Tabitha and your father, but you did notice how luxurious Tabitha’s life became through her online feed that you definitely did not go through every single day for an entire rotation. Numerous incidents succeeded the first to the point where you could not recall the exact number. Now, your date, Jackie, the daughter of one of your father’s associates, has been denying your calls after drawing up plans to get dinner together. You knew that your father was responsible.

“Maybe Jacqueline has seen reason.” Otto offers, interlocking his hands together as he leaned against his chair. “It’s about time you do the same, daughter.”

“I am being reasonable. You can’t keep meddling in my affairs like I’m some toddler.” You argue.

“I will stop meddling in your affairs once you start pulling your act together.” Otto retorts.

Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to keep calm. As calm as you can manage, of course. “And how do you suppose I do that, hm? By marrying one of your senile friends?”

You could tell the insult irked him by the way he blinked twice whilst keeping a smirk on his face, bringing you a semblance of triumph.

“No, but now that you mention it, I do have a list of eligible bachelors that are interested in you. Perhaps you should take a look.” He pushes a stack of papers towards you.

It dawned on you that he had it prepared before you stomped your way into his office. He anticipated your arrival, which meant that you played right into his game. You smile mockingly at him, accepting the papers. Otto smiled back, believing that he somehow managed to get through to you. However, his self-satisfaction melted once you flung the papers into the trash bin before walking out of his office.

-

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at her phone before tossing it to Daemon, “Read.” She orders, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

Daemon, although stunned at the abrupt shift in Rhaenyra’s expression, catches the phone with ease. Sighing, he goes on to read the headline of the recent article centered on their family’s —or his— wrongdoing.

“From Genius Turned Mad Man: Daemon Targaryen Assaults Criston Cole in Broad Daylight”

“Well, this article is overexaggerated.” Daemon jibes after reading the entirety of the article. “I barely touched him.” He flops down on the couch, throwing the phone in the air and catching it (barely). Despite Rhaenyra’s strong glare, he repeats the movement until his niece breaks the silence.

“The media is in a frenzy.” Rhaenyra points out. “A few Criston Cole ‘defenders’ on social media are demanding that you be put in jail,” She states, her tone growing louder as she speaks each reaction. “The Baratheons plan to back out on their investment, father is under severe stress that goes beyond planning the company’s annual party, and news outlets are questioning Baela and Rhaena’s safety with you as a father.”

The last information brings Daemon back to his senses. He sits up swiftly, Rhaenyra’s phone landing on his head. Daemon grasps the phone furiously, flinging it across the room. Rhaenyra doesn’t spare her presumably dead phone a glance as she continues looking at Daemon and his sour expression. He had a right to be angry, she thought. But he did bring this upon himself.

“How dare they include my children.” Daemon raves.

“They’re just looking for any excuse to attack our family.” Rhaenyra utters gently.

“Did they even look into the bigger picture?”

“They never do.”

“That whore deserved it.”

Rhaenyra nods, “Perhaps he did.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, as if challenging her to say more. “But?”

“But… what’s done is done. Our problem now is how we can fix this.”

Daemon opens his mouth to speak before realizing that it was no use trying to instigate a fight with Rhaenyra. She is not the object of his ire, after all. With a sigh, he looks at Rhaenyra expectantly. His niece has gotten the family out of precarious situations multiple times and was exceptional at it. Daemon would think Rhaenyra was suited in PR if he didn’t believe that she was destined for greater things.

“What is that look about?”

“Give me solutions and I will follow them.” Daemon shrugs.

Rhaenyra contemplates his words for a moment before ultimately saying, “No.”

Daemon scoffs, “No?”

“You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out of it.” Rhaenyra says unwaveringly. She was exhausted of Daemon’s antics and having to clean up after his messes. It was time for him to handle the consequences of his own choices without being coddled. He gets enough of that from Viserys, thank you very much.

Daemon’s jaw clenches, disapproving of Rhaenyra’s denial.

“Well?” Rhaenyra looks on expectantly.

“I suppose I could think of two ideas.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The first one is,” Daemon exhales theatrically, the thought being enough to make him want to hurl himself off the building. “publicly apologizing to Criston and vowing to never do it again, as well as to right my wrongs.” Rhaenyra and Daemon scrunch their faces at the suggestion, for the both of them knew that action would contradict Daemon’s entire being.

“And the second?”

Daemon gives Rhaenyra a sly grin.

“Create a bigger scandal that would make this one look like child’s play.”

Rhaenyra lets out a laugh, mirroring Daemon’s expression. “Now that, I can get behind.”

-

One thing you loved more than gossip was Laena Velaryon. Your friendship began through the business transaction between your father and Corlys Velaryon. You were brought to the office by your father, who thought it was a fine idea to acquaint you with Corlys’ son, Laenor. To his astonishment, you and Laenor got along quite well. However, it was Laena you were drawn towards. You were two peas in a pod. Both of you had a knack for defying your fathers’ wishes and visiting unrenowned coffee shops. Though, the purpose of your visits was more about escaping the scrutiny of the public (and by extension, your families) than actual coffee.

You’re in one of your favorite shops, drinking coffee with Laena that you actually enjoy. The ambience was remarkable. The place was always clean, the staff were nice, and there were booths that acted like little houses with curtains that could obscure you from the other people inside the café. It was another quiet day, which was alarming. It’s been like that for weeks now.

Lyman, the owner, opened the curtains with one hand and a tray of lemon cakes in his other. He places it on the table between you and Laena carefully, “Here you go, girls.” He says, offering both of you a smile.

It was a strange sight. For as long as you’ve been visiting the shop, Dyana has been the one to serve you. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the girl since entering the place. Curiosity gets the better of you, prompting your question, “Is Dyana not working today?”

You wish you hadn’t asked.

Lyman’s smile falters. “We had to let her go.” He explains, “Business hasn’t been that good lately. It’s just me and Sandra now. If this keeps up, we’ll have to close the shop.” He says, his gaze on the counter.

You and Laena share a look, as if having a silent agreement.

“But don’t worry, girls.” Lyman smiles once more, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “If the shop closes, I’ll give you my lemon cake recipe so you could have it anytime you want.”

“Lyman…” Laena starts.

Lyman waves her off. “It’s alright now, Laena. Sandra and I will be okay.” He winks before leaving to go back to the counter.

Laena sighs, shaking her head. “Tell me what your dad did again.” She requests, focusing on your problem for now. If you offer Lyman help directly, he wouldn’t accept it. Better to address the issue without him knowing.

“Influenced Jackie to refuse taking my calls, then handed me a stack of names of eligible bachelors interested in me.” You frown, “I wish he would just stop messing with my life, you know? Every time I think I’m close to being happy, he rips it from me. I couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t attempt to use me for his own gain. He sucks the life out of everyone who loves him and it’s so exhausting.”

Laena looks at you sympathetically, feeding you a portion of lemon cake. She waits for you to finish eating before asking, “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to get back at him.” You mirror Laena’s earlier actions, giving her a bite of the lemon cake. She shoots you a knowing look which you disregard by finishing your coffee, looking away from her.

“Among all your attempts at getting back at your father, which one has worked?” Laena questions rhetorically. Seeing your discomfited look, your friend pushes you further. “You need to take your goal seriously, not just doing things that he can simply brush off. If you want to get back at him, do something that will really leave him unconsolable for a long period of time.”

“Like a scandal?”

Laena raises a brow, “What kind?”

“I don’t know, like… Targeting his favorite business associates on Twitter, spread nasty rumors about our own company, go out with someone he despises or go on a date with someone older than him, spend a large amount of money on a shitty private jet, give people raises without consulting him...”

Laena ponders your ideas, playing out possible scenarios in her head. Your brows furrow, her words to you a couple days prior ringing in your ears.

I am a visionary, Hightower.

She gasps, gripping your arm firmly, the sudden movement jolting you forward.

“Have you met my cousin Rhaenyra?”

-

“You’re going to take a Hightower as a date to the biggest party of the year? Have you gone mad?” Daemon clenches his jaw, scowling. Laena stood beside him, rolling her eyes at his frenzy of rage. “Do you have any idea how long that family has been plotting against ours?”

Rhaenyra shrugs.

“Since the beginning of time, Rhaenyra!” Daemon answers himself, scandalized at Rhaenyra’s impassiveness. She was going to defy centuries-old rivalry by bringing a Hightower to the Targaryen company’s annual party. Not to mention that Rhaenyra’s date is one of Otto Hightower’s children, making the circumstances worse. Oh, how Daemon hated that cunt. His greed knew no bounds and neither did his ambition. If Daemon had not stepped in, Otto’s quest for power might have dented their family. And now Rhaenyra plans to step on his efforts. Daemon’s hard work will be all for naught. “This would ruin our family’s reputation.” He states, matter-of-factly.

“No, it wouldn’t.” Laena murmurs.

Daemon stares her down.

“Uncle,” Rhaenyra interjects, remaining practical. “This is the scandal we were looking for.”

“This wasn’t what I had in mind.” The silver-haired man expresses.

Rhaenyra regards him for a moment, trying to see the situation from her uncle’s point of view. The Hightowers, second only to the Targaryen business dynasty, are their major rivals. Otto Hightower, the CEO, has been doing everything and anything he can to usurp the title of the biggest conglomerate in Westeros. He came close to achieving his plans once upon a time. Daemon had done something to stop him, but the Targaryens did not come out of the battle unscathed. It took years to bring back the shareholders’ trust and improve their defenses. Getting close to a Hightower would be a suicide mission. Rhaenyra’s date might try to earn her trust in order to achieve her true goal: to gather information on the enemy.

But, as it stands, the Targaryens are grilled by the masses due to Daemon’s recent altercation with Criston Cole. Additionally, the Baratheons refused to move forward with their investment, disliking the idea of their business being affected because they are associated with the Targaryens. Rhaenyra has to resolve this conflict before permanent damage is done. Being associated with a Hightower may do just that.

“Our stocks are plummeting because of your dispute with that Dornish boy. Criston works for Otto. Taking a Hightower to the party would be a power play. It will appear as an alliance between our conglomerates. A truce, if you will.”

The words cause the gears in Daemon’s head to turn. The act would indeed serve as a silent agreement between the families. Cole would be humiliated, which was an added bonus. The company he’s working for humbling him by brokering a deal with the family of the person who destroyed his nose. It will be quite the spectacle. But something wasn’t quite adding up.

“Why would the Hightowers agree to such a thing?” He asks. “Cole has been working for them for a long time now. He’s practically an honorary Hightower. Why insult him through an alliance with us?”

Laena speaks up, smiling sheepishly, “Here’s the thing…” She chuckles nervously, “We’re not… exactly… brokering a deal with all the Hightowers.”

“Just one.” Rhaenyra elucidates.

“What do you mean?”

“It’d be better if she explains it herself.” Says Laena.

Daemon purses his lips, his patience wearing thin. “Who’s ‘she’?”

As if on cue, you enter the room, everyone turning their attention to you. “Apologies for my tardiness.” You say guiltily, freeing your hair from the dark hoodie you were wearing. “I had to get past security.” As you remove your sunglasses, Daemon moves towards you like a predator stalking his prey. You meet his gaze, annoyance shortly crossing your features. “Daemon, is it?”

He doesn’t blink.

You don’t let his coolness perturb you. That’s just how Daemon is, Laena once said when she was talking about her family. He seemed…. Not nice, exactly… But he wasn’t giving you any indication that he was going to punch your face, so it’s something, right?

“I’m Y/n Hightower.”

“Hm.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. You’d think that he’d offer more words based on the way he seemed intent on standing before you. “Right.” You sigh, moving past him to greet Rhaenyra.

The heir to the Targaryen dynasty was clad in grey suit and pants, her tie loose. Rhaenyra welcomes you with a warm smile, ushering you towards the couch. “Please. Sit,” She instructs, waiting until you’ve taken a seat to offer you light refreshments. It hits you suddenly that she was just as nervous as you were, easing your nerves to some extent.

“Lemon cake?” Your eyes light up upon sighting the delicacy, meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze.

She looked flabbergasted that that was the first dessert you turned your attention towards. “Would you like some?” Rhaenyra offers you the plate with a spoon. She knew beforehand that you had a liking for lemon cakes because of Laena’s recent Instagram post. (You and Laena took a photo of you eating lemon cakes, the name of the café plastered on the background.) However, it did little to help her hide the astonishment she felt as she watched you take the cake from her hands eagerly.

Daemon regarded you with thinly veiled disgust. A bug within his family’s premises. Look at you, eating cake and making yourself at home while Rhaenyra is made to play the role of welcoming host. His niece was a willing participant, of course, but that did not make the thought easier to swallow.

You ignore his glare until you could no longer bear it. “Is something the matter, Daemon?”

“Out of all your siblings, why are you the one making a deal with us in behalf of your family?” was his query.

“None of them know I’m here.” You state impassively, passing the plate to Rhaenyra, who fixates on how meticulously the slice of cake was cut in half. It was an impressive feat, bearing in mind that you weren’t using a knife. “Eat.” You murmur to her while resuming your staring match with Daemon.

“Why not?” Daemon scowls.

“I’m doing this behind their back.”

“Why?”

“I want to piss my father off.”

Enthralled by your words, Daemon (at long last) displays an emotion other than disdain, “And why is that?” He tilts his head. Maybe you weren’t as boring as he thought.

“Must there be a reason for wanting to anger him?”

“For me? No. For you? Yes.” Daemon says bluntly, “You’re his daughter. He must have done something unforgivable for you to turn to the enemy.”

“‘Enemy’ is exaggerating it, but alright.”

You tell the three other people present in the room about your frustration with Otto, not leaving anything out. You tell them about the meddling, the lengths he went to in order to cover up your failed romances, the list of eligible suitors, how Otto continues to undermine your hard work, and the rest of the sordid details that even Laena wasn’t aware of. By the end of your report, Daemon was stupefied.

If he didn’t have any more reason to despise Otto Hightower, he surely does now. Otto was despicable in business, but Daemon never thought that he would be the same with his children. Does this man hold no love for anything other than power?

“Your father is a cunt.” says Daemon.

Rhaenyra and Laena gasp at his crassness. He really said those words in front of you, Otto’s daughter. While you might not have the best relationship with your father, it must be grating to have others speak about him in a bad light, the two women think.

You nod, agreeing with Daemon’s words. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

The two Targaryen women lock eyes, shrugging.

“The party is in a week, correct?” You ask to confirm the details.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in affirmation. “Yes. The Hightowers are invited, as always,” Even though your families were at “war” with each other, there was still a place for your family in the Targaryen annual parties. You believed that it was Rhaenyra’s strategy.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

“—But you will be arriving the party with me.” Rhaenyra continues, analyzing your expression. “We have to arrive late, in the middle of my uncle’s speech.”

“Quite the dramatic entrance.” You murmur, a smile gracing your lips. “I like you already, Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra grins triumphantly in response.

You spend the rest of the evening planning out your actions for the party. Daemon continued treating you with apprehension, though he was less insufferable about it. Thank the Seven. Rhaenyra proved to be a pleasant company, assuring you that you would never have a boring moment in the event. The party would last for eight hours, beginning at four p.m. sharp. Every important person you could think of will be there, all the more reason why you and Rhaenyra need to make sure that this would be the biggest scandal of the month.

You just hope that it will drive your father mad.

-

The day of the party rolls around and you are bubbling with anticipation and anxiety. You and Rhaenyra have been texting each other back and forth about the chaos that would ensue in just a few hours. As you read her recent message, you find yourself grinning at the kitchen table, giddy with excitement for what was to come.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Gwayne speaks from behind you, grabbing your phone. The shock gives you no time to react, your older brother scrolling through the messages. “Who’s ‘R’?” He stretches his arm, holding the phone above his head, and standing on his tiptoes to ensure you wouldn’t be able to reach him. “You have plans tonight?”

Letting your impulse take over, you punch his shoulder, causing him to drop your phone from his hand. Gwayne groans in discomfort while you pick up your phone, identifying where he stopped reading. You let out a sigh of relief once you realize that he wasn’t able to read anything that would indicate your plans for this evening.

“Nothing.” You state stiffly.

“Come on, I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” You grit your teeth, wondering why he wouldn’t drop the subject.

Gwayne, sensing your displeasure, raises his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, don’t tell me. But the Targaryen party is tonight. Are you sure you want to miss it?”

You recall your earlier practice with Laena, reciting the script she has given you word for word. “I have an important meeting. I can’t go with you tonight.”

“Dad won’t like that.” Gwayne reminds you, “You know how much he loathes them. We need to form a united front against the Targaryens.”

“If he hates them so much, why bother going at all?”

“To keep track of their moves.” Gwayne explains as he takes one of the chocolate pancakes your cooks had made. He then proceeds to chew very loudly in your ear, invading your personal space. “Business 101, sister.” He says, “See, you’d know that if you actually listened to father.”

“Between the scheming and the bullshit he says, it’s hard to tell which one is worth listening to.” You move away from him, sitting down on a kitchen stool.

“What kind of meeting are you going to, anyway? Is it more important than the party?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. Your upcoming scandal with Rhaenyra is more important than the party. But then again, you’d have to be in the event for the scandal to work. But you can’t tell Gwayne that you’re going. It’ll ruin the surprise. But at the same time, your father will wonder why you aren’t going. He’ll probably send Cole after you.

Ugh.

Criston.

“Is it a date?”

“You could say that.” You try to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“What do you want me to tell dad?” Gwayne looks at you seriously, his brows furrowing.

Ever since he could talk, Gwayne’s main goal has been to gain your father’s approval. He thought that if he played the dutiful son, Otto would hand the company over to him. And for a while, your father did give off the impression that Gwayne would be his successor.

Until Alicent decided to go no contact.

You have to applaud Alicent’s resilience. She was twenty-three, fresh out of business school. She had money in her account, but it wasn’t much. Her departure was sudden. You didn’t hear from her until two years later, when her face was plastered on billboards across Westeros as a creative director for a renowned fashion brand. A year after, she started her own fashion company in the luxury industry. Your father reached out to her in order to “reconnect” and they’ve maintained a business relationship since. While the reason for Alicent’s exit remained undisclosed (even to you), it is clear that she is the most favored among your siblings. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Otto gives her the company when he retires.

Since then, Gwayne has decided he was going to “step up”, become the next man of the house. He would take on more responsibility that he can handle, refusing to buckle under the weight of the pressure and hoping that one day, Otto would see him.

“Tell dad I’ll be late.” You mumble, but it was enough for him to hear.

“You won’t be late, though. You won’t attend.” Gwayne points out.

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile, patting his shoulder on the way out.

-

Hours succeeding your father and brothers’ exit from your estate, you began to get ready. You took your mother’s infamous red dress from her closet, pairing it with some of Rhaenyra’s jewels that she lent you days prior. As you put on the necklace with the Targaryen crest, thrill washes over you. The piece looked good on you and the colors suited you well.

Otto taught you that going against your family is the greatest iniquity you could ever execute. But if committing this grave sin meant seeing the color from his face drain in front of the masses, you would carry out this act of treason a hundred times over. You felt no remorse for what you were about to do. It was about time you paid your father back for the hurt he caused you. However trivial and juvenile it may seem, you had dreamt of this day for a long, long time, despite the specifics being last to get finalized.

You finish putting on your makeup just in time for Rhaenyra’s car to arrive in front of the mansion. You open your door to the sight of her in an off-shoulder, black sleek dress. Her hair was styled in intricate braids with a few strands let out from the left side of her face. She looked otherworldly, like a goddess, perhaps. Rhaenyra had a beauty that could make individuals conclude themselves blessed purely by being around her existence.

“You look lovely.”

“You look beautiful.”

A laugh escapes your lips, finding it amusing, the way you spoke at the same time.

“You look lovely.” You repeat, taking in her features once more.

Her smile widens, “Thank you.” She observed you with awe and another emotion that you couldn’t decipher.

Throughout Rhaenyra’s life, there was never an instance wherein her thoughts were silenced. Her mind consists of a plethora of ideas that tangle themselves together, leading to everlasting noise inside her head. But at the moment, her world was entirely quiet. All she could ruminate about was how ethereal you looked.

“Let’s go?”

Your words snapped her out of the trance-like state, pulling her back to reality. She offers you her hand, which you take in yours, marveling at how gentle her grip was. You make your way to the Mercedes and Rhaenyra opens the door for you.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” You joke as you enter the back seat, Rhaenyra following soon after with an eye roll.

-

Numerous photographers and journalists lined the entrance of the venue, as if they were waiting for something interesting to happen. Some of them were sat on the ground, scrolling through their phones. These people are likely the ones who weren’t permitted inside the party. The sun has almost set, which meant that the temperature wasn’t as harsh as the earlier hours. But they’ve spent their entire afternoon under its glare, making you feel sorry for them. The heat was a formidable enemy, a sentiment everyone in your vicinity shares.

You feel a hand on top of yours, the tenderness of Rhaenyra’s touch making your breath hitch.

Gods, she’s playing this act a bit too well.

“Daemon texted me.” Rhaenyra says softly, squeezing your hand. “He’s delivering his speech now.”

Gaze fixed upon your hands together, you hum in response, then look back at Rhaenyra. You try to decrypt her emotions, almost losing yourself within those amethyst eyes you find so beguiling. You wanted to know her thoughts about this, if she wanted to push through. A part of your desire to know is due to your own doubts. Doubts that aren’t about the mess you were about to get yourself into, but rather the need to save Rhaenyra from your family before things get out of hand. The Hightowers have done well to mislead the people, persuading them to think that the family is the epitome of composed and organized. However, those who have seen what you and your relatives are like behind closed doors, know that everything you’ve shown to the public is merely a deception. Tonight, would be no different. If Rhaenyra gets insight on how fucked up your family was, she might want to run for the hills.

The second reason is simpler than the first.

You want to know Rhaenyra.

You want to understand how her brain works. You want to know how she is able to get her family through muddy waters and how she comes up with solutions that does not only benefit the Targaryens, but also everyone who associates themselves with them (workers included). You want to know her opinions on things, even the random ones. You want to know how she spends her time when she’s not working. Does she spend it like you do, reading books and doing anything you can think of, or does she have her own preference for how she utilizes the days without work. You want to know what she doesn’t like. You want to know if she hates Jason Lannister like Laena.

You don’t know Rhaenyra Targaryen, but you want to.

The questions you wish to ask don’t come out of your own mouth, however, as Rhaenyra beats you to it.

“Are you sure about this?” Rhaenyra’s brows were furrowed when asking the question, as if she has been thinking for a long time if she wanted to say it. The query was sudden, Rhaenyra’s words coming out in one breath. The situation was laughable, really. You’ve spent the last two minutes trying to figure her out while she was worrying about the same thing with you.

You can’t help but return the question, “Are you?”

“I asked you first.” Rhaenyra huffs, not liking that you evaded her query by shooting the question back at her.

“I’m sure.” You try to quell her worries by your words, ensuring that you sounded as sincere as possible. Rhaenyra doesn’t look convinced by your statement, cocking her head to the side with a challenging look. Gods, this woman was stubborn. “I’m serious, Rhaenyra.” You play with the ring on her finger, noting how that was the only one she was wearing in her hand, an unusual sight, given her love of rings.

Rhaenyra stares at you for a moment longer before determining that she believes you. With a sigh, she puts her phone back in her purse, getting ready to leave the car.

“I wasn’t joking when I asked you the same question, though.” You confess. “Are you sure about this?” Rhaenyra doesn’t respond for a while, which made you even more anxious. “Because if you’re not, then we can just go separately. No one will have to know and we can go about our lives like before.”

The idea of going back to a life without you scheming with her was unacceptable to Rhaenyra. Although she has only been granted the presence of your company for a week and a half, those days have been the highlight of her year so far. To call off your plans would entail the possibility of never speaking to you again. Rhaenyra would rather face Otto Hightower herself than be divested of the chances to hear your laughter. So, with a shake of her head, she utters, “No.”

Your face falls. It was to be expected, really. Who would want to involve themselves with you, with your family? Rhaenyra has every reason to back out. You probably look so stupid right now. But this is for the better. Rhaenyra wouldn’t have to deal with your family and wouldn’t get roped up in your father’s schemes. She probably didn’t even want—

“No, sorry, I meant, I don’t want to go back to the way it was before.” Rhaenyra confesses apologetically. Seeing you crestfallen brought an ache in her chest that gradually spread throughout her entire body like wildfire. “I’m sure of this.” She reassures you, squeezing your hand. Rhaenyra gives you a few seconds to breathe before she tells you that it would be best if the two of you head to the venue now, lest you miss Daemon’s speech and let your strategy go awry.

You thank Erryk for driving you to the place and he wishes you luck before you and Rhaenyra step out of the car.

The journalists, reporters, and photographers don’t notice you for a while, wrapped up in conversations amongst themselves. Erryk drives past you with astonishing speed, leading the press to turn their heads and question whose car it was. Erryk was no longer in sight, but in his place was you and Rhaenyra. The people stared at the two of you, dumbfounded.

“That’s Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“She’s late.”

“She brought a date.”

“Who is that?”

“No way.”

“It’s Y/n Hightower.”

“Hightower?!”

“Hightower.”

“What are they doing together?”

“Aren’t their families—”

Rhaenyra turns to you, locking your arm with hers, “Ready?”

You exhale shakily, “Ready.” Closing your eyes momentarily, you steel yourself for what was to come.

When you open your eyes again, the media headed towards you and Rhaenyra. Mics were being shoved into your faces left and right. Photographers were snapping pictures of you, the light from their cameras blinding. It was a miracle you could still see.

Three of Rhaenyra’s bodyguards paved the way for you, guaranteeing your safety. They held off the press and made certain that they wouldn’t get too close. You held Rhaenyra’s hand, letting her guide you towards the entrance of the venue. You haven’t even faced the difficult part yet things were beginning to get overwhelming. Though, having Rhaenyra by your side did make it easier.

The security guards positioned at the entrance opened the doors as soon as they saw Rhaenyra. They bowed their heads in respect. You couldn’t hide your grin even if you tried.

“Don’t let go.” Rhaenyra murmured, referring to your interlocked hands.

“I don’t plan to, my darling.”

You could have sworn you heard Rhaenyra’s breath hitch as her grip tightened around your fingers. Together, you entered the venue, walking the red carpet laid before you. The place was massive. Banners with the Targaryen symbol of the three-headed dragon was placed all over the area. There was even a giant dragon statue near the stage. It seemed excessive, but there was no doubt that everything screamed luxury. While you’ve been to Targaryen parties before, you haven’t paid much attention until now.

“—And I thank my brother, Viserys, for giving me the opportunity to—” Daemon’s words get stuck on his throat when his eyes land on his niece and you. Viserys smiles at him cluelessly, wondering why he stopped in the middle of his speech. Aemma had to nudge him to turn his attention to the doors. Daemon hides behind a smirk as everyone in the room looks at you.

The attendees’ disbelief rose to a clamor, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. A Hightower and a Targaryen side by side. Surely, this would be included in the history books to come. Being under the scrutiny of the public gave you an uneasy feeling. You felt like a caged animal, a spectacle. Everyone was looking at you like you’ve done something wrong.

Taking a deep breath, you recall the lessons your father gave you on propriety. You hold your head up high as you waked with Rhaenyra, not letting go of her hand.

Walk now, overthink later.

You spot your father and your siblings on the left, near the stage. Otto had an incredulous look on his face, his eyes widening in horror. You school your expression, refusing to laugh as you imagined the things he would say to you when you got home. If he would even allow you to come home, that is. Gwayne and your brothers stood, dumbfounded, while Alicent raised a glass of champagne towards you, downing it in one gulp. Your father was too fixated on looking horrified at the scene before him to notice. The man would not move. Criston stood by his side with his jaw set firmly. It was hard to tell who was more appalled. Him or Otto. The former’s gaze hardened, staring Rhaenyra down.

At last, you make it to the front. Rhaenyra brings you to the stage, beside her parents, whom you’ve never shared an interaction with.

“Hello.” You smile shyly, unsure what to do.

“Hello, Y/n.” Viserys and Aemma reply, both of them grinning. This was the first time Rhaenyra brought someone with her during a Targaryen party. With a grand entrance, if they may add. They saw the smile on Rhaenyra’s face as she looked at you and immediately knew that you were someone who made their daughter happy. They had more questions, sure, but Rhaenyra seemed content around you and that’s what matters for now.

“It appears my niece has made quite the entrance.” Daemon says into the mic in order to get the attention back to him. “If my speech bore you, you could’ve just said so.” That earned a laugh from the guests.

“Sorry, uncle.” Rhaenyra whispers even though Daemon knew quite well what was going to happen.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” More laughter came from the crowd, successfully turning the attention away from you and Rhaenyra. You silently thanked Daemon for the ephemeral respite from the critical eyes of the masses. “I would like to thank Viserys for giving me a chance in helping him plan this party.” He turns to Viserys, “Your trust means greatly to me. I love you.” Daemon whispers the last sentence and…

Wait.

Is that a tear?

“Lastly, I would like to thank you all for coming and I hope you enjoy the evening.” Applause echoed around the room as Daemon finished his speech, stepping away from the mic and letting Rhaenyra take over. The praise died down promptly, the audience observing Rhaenyra with keen interest, eagerly awaiting her words.

“Good evening, everyone.” The silver-haired woman started. “I apologize for my tardiness. As you know, I’ve never been one to keep track of time. To my uncle, I offer my apologies as well for cutting your hour-long speech short. I know how far you had to go to perfect your writing abilities.” The sea of people dissolved into laughter once again. Daemon narrowed his eyes at her remark. He did not like being mocked. That much was clear. “The Targaryen party is an event that I look forward to each year. Not only do I get to see your lovely faces, but also the simple truth that it brings us together. We may not always see eye to eye on things, especially in business,” Rhaenyra locks eyes with Otto, “but there is no denying that during this day, we are granted the privilege to treat each other as companions. The tensions are eased and everyone gets to enjoy each other’s company,” Your father bristles at Rhaenyra’s words while others murmur in unison, agreeing with Rhaenyra.

“This event is dear for me and my family, which is why I chose today to make my announcement.” Rhaenyra reaches for your hand, “My love,” You move forward, intertwining your fingers together. She analyzes the crowd nervously, fearing their possible response to her impending revelation. “You may know her as an influential and stubborn businesswoman,” You hear Jason Lannister snicker at the word “stubborn”, still not over the stunt you pulled with the Starks. Jason’s family was promised a great deal from the latter, but because of your interference, the Starks offered their contract to you instead. “Or you might know her as Otto Hightower’s daughter . . . I’ve had the honor in getting to know the different sides of her and I can say that she is definitely as tenacious as she looks. It’s a miracle I’m here today, really.” Rhaenyra jests, “But, in all seriousness, this woman has inspired me to do better every day and never failed to offer her support whenever I needed it. You know her as a businesswoman, but right now, I would like to reintroduce her to all of you as the magnificent Y/n Hightower. My partner, the love of my life, and most importantly… my fiancée.”

Otto lets out a strangled cough.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Bound to Apologise

Summary: Aemond upsets his wife and forms a punishment fit for a Prince, feat. subby!Aemond | Word Count: 5.6k | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: subby!Aemond x wife!reader, p in v, oral (m receiving), use of a belt as bondage, orgasm denial, breeding kink I guess, Aemond blueballs Targaryen

When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.

 Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion and when the opportunity should present itself, he has quite the silver tongue. He is a man who is sure of himself in identity, fiercely proud of his Targaryen ancestry, his skills with the sword and his deep and well-founded knowledge of history and philosophy, a fact he rivals smugly against his older brother at any occasion he is able.

 It is not as if Aegon cares much for rivalries of the mind. No, Aegon’s knowledge that is worthy of bragging in his mind is that of the flesh, and he makes sure to flaunt such knowledge in Aemond’s face at any chance.

 That is until Aemond took a wife.

 It had been almost half a year since Aemond was wed to his sweet wife in the Sept. An arranged affair, of course, and the two had scarcely seen one another beforehand, so even now he remembered the way he held his hands behind his back, wound tight with nerves, wondering what kind of person she was. It felt wrong to be tied so intimately and indefinitely to another person without really truly knowing them.

 She had smiled sweetly on that day, kissed him softly once their vows were exchanged, a faint blush at her cheeks while standing before her now husband. The wife of Aemond Targaryen. It felt so final, and she could not help the fluttering in her stomach.

 Aemond on the other hand had barely cracked a smile, simply kissed her, as he was duty-bound to do, and said his vows. She was pretty, yes. But he almost felt bad. What did this woman, illuminated so softly by the warm rays of light, have to gain by marriage to someone she surely found repulsive? Aemond hadn’t missed the various hushed conversations his mother had with Otto, the door cracked slightly ajar.

 He had a reputation amongst the ladies. Some desired him purely for his title and placing their family name on a high podium, their future children into the bargain. Some were repulsed by his fiery temper, those long, hard looks he gave everyone. And perhaps most notably, they were frightened of the One-Eyed Prince, on this moniker alone. ‘Aemond One-Eye would never find a wife’.

 Despite the incident being several years ago, it still raised its ugly head every now and then, in the form of self-consciousness, hushed female whispers and side-glances throughout the Keep. Most Lords and Ladies appreciated his skills from afar, never treading that delicate path in between that would bring them closer to him, which is precisely why it was difficult to even court a woman. Nevermind marriage.

 And yet, when his new wife had looked upon him at their wedding feast, she’d given him a sweet smile, looked deeply into his good eye and showed no signs of repulsion. It confused him for a moment. Was she making a mockery of him? By pretending not to be afraid or repelled by him on purpose? Hiding what she truly felt inside. Holding the bile in her throat at the thought of consummation? He blamed her flush on her face on the two cups of wine she had consumed.

 He was immensely relieved to have been proven wrong.

 Once the chamber doors were closed, she was clearly nervous, as any young maiden would be on her wedding night. With every aching second she removed the pins from her hair, Aemond stood before the fireplace, his heart hammering in his chest with nerves. He didn’t want to have to bare his soul to her. He didn’t know her. And the thought of forcing such a delicate little thing to gaze upon his affliction, watching her face contort into one of disgust, was eating away at his insides, his insecurities feeding on the buzz of the wine.

 She looked so pure and gentle in her off-white, thin chemise, leaving extremely little to the imagination. And with her hair down, waved from the braids, she looked positively mythical.

 Aemond swallowed and began to unclasp his doublet. She must have seen his true feelings beneath his poorly-hidden expression, because she’d stopped before him, a small hand laid delicately on his arm. A silent confirmation, that she was just as nervous as he was.

 “I do not wish to frighten you, my lady”

 Her heart could have broken, but instead it merely shuddered with his words.

 “Do you believe you frighten me?” she asked.

 Aemond’s silence had confirmed it.

 “You are my husband. And I, your wife. You may show me as much of yourself as you deem comfortable and I will not judge”

 Though brief, her comforting words gave him the confidence to consummate their marriage. At first it was clumsy, the way their lips had pressed against one another, and the clamouring at her body, laid entirely bare for him to feast upon. As with any wedding night, there was some discomfort, both for her and him, but for different reasons.

 But he was gentle, which surprised her and elated her in equal measure. And the sting of the loss of the maidenhead gave way to blooming pleasure, alongside something else. Perhaps a closeness that neither of them expected to have after just a few hours of knowing one another. But she hadn’t shied away from him, as he expected her to. On occasion during the act, she held his face so softly he trembled, struggling to fathom that this woman wanted him.

 They had left it only an hour before he was inside her again, where he now found sanctuary in her acceptance of him.

 In the moons that had passed since then, she had been his haven. His escape. She was so good to him, accepting of his desire to take his time in showing himself to her.

 Three moons after their wedding night, he finally pulls off his eyepatch, after a particularly long evening of lovemaking. She was laid next to him, the bed sheets tucked around her chest. Her lips parted when she saw what he’d been hiding underneath his eyepatch all this time, and she felt an undeniable closeness to him that was not there before.

 His scar felt raised beneath the gentleness of her fingers, but it was a look of sheer wonder, watching the way the sapphire that replaced his eye adopted the amber glow of the candles.

 Aemond felt his heart thunder and his cock get hard, when all she asked was for him to fuck her again.

 And he did with a new-found enthusiasm, a warm feeling blossomed in his chest, holding her form beneath him and fucking her relentlessly into the mattress, so hard that the bedframe struggled. He moaned loudly, giving her his seed and praying that it took, so that he could see his precious wife grow round with his child.

 It took him an entire moon to figure out that he not only respected her, but had come to love her.

 His wife, shy and timid perhaps at first, had become rather a force to be reckoned with. Their intimacy with one another had awakened something not only in her, but in him as well. At first, he delighted in having power and dominance over her, being quite a lot taller and broad, which he was wholly proud to have on display in the comfort of their chambers. He loved every little one of her whines and moans, drawing peak after devastating peak from her until she quivered in his touch.

 It had become a nightly routine. Sometimes several times in one night.

 Who would have thought that Aemond Targaryen, every now and then, enjoyed having such power taken away sometimes.

 It had started innocently enough. After so many moons being married and proving their love to one another every night, his sweet wife had sought for some variety and instead had clambered on top of him and sank on his cock, guiding the pace herself. Her hands steadied on his chest for leverage, her backside smacking against his thighs with every rough thrust of herself onto him.

 Alongside the dizzying feeling of watching his cock disappear into her cunt over and over, reaching new places in this new position, he found being held down exhilarating. Dare he say, even pleasurable. It made something wind tight as a bowstring in his gut.

 It seemed like she noticed this, as a lazy smirk graced her face.

 Ever since then they had experimented with that sensation. The feeling of one partner having full control, being held down, even tied sometimes. It was something reserved solely for them, behind their chamber doors. In the morning, when they break their fast with his family, he is once again the stone-faced, stoic Aemond Targaryen.

 Although it does not stop her from shooting knowing grins in his direction on the odd occasion, which makes his cheeks go a very fair pink, the tips of his ears burn and his breeches get inexplicably tighter.

 He enjoys this new side to his wife. It was buried deep, but now that he sees it, it never fails to surprise him.

 Which brings him to this moment. The moment when he knows he has said or done something to irk her.

 Her sister had arrived at the Red Keep alongside her father to visit her for a few days. Unlike his dear wife, her sister was still young and unmarried, and unbearably innocent. As soon as Aegon had laid his eyes on her little sister, his eyes gleamed with mischief, as if he’d seen a shiny new version of his favourite toy, but one that was actually available.

 He wasn’t even deterred by the firm look she’d given him.

 She and her sister walked arm in arm to the main hall, where they would dine all together that evening. Her sister spoke excitedly, happy to be brought to the Red Keep for the first time and to be reunited with her beloved eldest sibling.

 Aemond and Aegon were chatting idly at the table when they’d arrived, her sister went to one side of the table to be sat next to their father. The two brothers, who usually were not so well-acquainted and chatting in such a friendly manner, were so engrossed in their conversation and their cups, that they barely acknowledged her presence.

 All the better that Aemond’s back was to her as well.

 “She is a lovely looking girl, but it is a shame she is so terribly dim-witted” Aegon chuckled, “A family trait, I presume?”

 Aemond, dizzy from the effects of his wine, chuckled.

 “Perhaps”

 She’d bitten her cheek in frustration. Was he so deep in his cups that he actually found Aegon funny? Not only that, but had humoured him in insulting not only her sister’s intelligence, but his own wife’s as well.

 She pulled her chair out beside him loudly, and Aemond went red and jumped in surprise, dread prickled all over his skin. She gave him a mischievous, knowing smile as she sat, “Husband” is all she greeted him with.

 Aegon, who found the entire situation hilarious, had left him with that and as Aemond took his seat next to his wife, straight-backed and instantly sober, he bit his lips several times throughout the evening. She didn’t spare him a single word nor glance, unless he spoke to her directly, in which she forced a pleasant enough smile to her face and gave him one word answers. Playing the pliant little wife, while at the same time letting him know that he would not get off so easily.

 She thought, once, that she may have taken her retribution a bit too far. But it was fun if nothing else, to watch how frustrated Aemond got.

 She did not lay with him that night, nor the night after. Nor the night after that.

 When her sister and father departed King’s Landing, he thought this might be the reprieve. But he was wrong.

 It had been a full week since he had touched his wife intimately, not because he didn’t want to, he’d tried a fair few times. But every time, she had dismissed him with that playful smirk, the same one she had when she’d clambered atop his lap for the first time. And though her outfits and mannerisms remained the same as always, after being denied the pleasure of his flesh to hers for so long, every sway of her hips, every glint of her eyes and every movement of her hands had his breeches pathetically tight.

 She knew what she was doing as well, the little tease.

 He was aching. And it became too much. Not only did she deprive him of her sweet, tight cunny. She barely spoke to him. And the silence and barely-contained need to be inside her, was all too much to bear.

 She was in their chambers, sat before the fire, a large tome open in her lap and when she’d heard the chamber doors shut, her eyes had met that of an extremely pent up husband.

 But instead of greeting him, she bit back a smile and turned back to her book.

 That little-

 “Wife” he greeted through gritted teeth.

 “Husband”

 She didn’t fool him with the sweetness of her voice.

 “What are you doing?” he asked, half-desperate and half-irritated as he crossed the room to sit opposite her.

 “Reading, my love. So that I may grow to have acceptable intelligence”

 His nostrils flare in annoyance, and yet he can’t deny the way she acts has a profound effect on him, after a week of not being able to have her, he’s desperate for anything. Even just the brushing of her hand, he is convinced, would make him spill in his breeches.

 “You know as well as I that is not what I meant”

 She slowly closes the book, righting to stand in front of him, her eyes trickling over his form. She knows him well now. Knows how underneath this cold exterior he offers up to her, is a desperate man underneath, yearning for a taste of her affections. His body sparks up at her hungry eyes over him.

 “Then I do not know what you mean, husband” she replies, barely able to stop the spread of her smile, “You shall have to elaborate”

 His hands form tight fists. She’s right there, ripe for the taking, his sweet wife. How easy would it be to sling her over his shoulder and take her right there on the bed, still dressed in her finery, with her skirts rucked up over her hips.

 “I mean-” he starts, “-you and I have not laid together for the better part of a week”

 She cocks her head, “Oh? Is that so?” she answers sweetly, “Forgive me, I hadn’t noticed”

 He’s stunned into a sort of shocked silence, mouth slightly open, but without the headspace to form a reply. His wife pretended to busy herself with other things, placing the book back and dusting the covers, something she knew would get him riled up.

 “What is this game, wife”

 When she turns to him with that faux-innocence smile on her face, unable to hide how amused she is at how outwardly her husband is showing his frustration, Aemond can feel his limbs go numb.

 “I do not believe you are in any position to accuse me of anything, husband” she counters, crossing the room in deliberately small steps, “In fact, I do believe I am owed an apology of sorts”

 Her brow twitches slightly. She knows. She knows she has him exactly where she wants him.

 As much as he tries to ignore the way her attitude makes his breeches get tighter, all of his blood goes straight below his waistline.

 “But I can see, in your true Targaryen male nature, that you will not apologise…with words that is” she says, a wider smile gracing her face. An almost mischievous one.

 Aemond swallows thickly.

 He clears his throat, blinking a few times at what she just said, “Perhaps…you might enlighten me on how I can make amends”

 Got you.

 “Give me your belt” she instructs.

 It’s borderline pathetic, the speed in which he tries to unbuckle it from his doublet and his fingers fumble with the silver, the embarrassment evident in the way it clinks clumsily. He pulls it through the loops and extends the leather towards his wife. She lets his hand hang there for a moment, as if to extend his internal torment, before she takes it, her fingers slipping over the roughened edges.

 “Take off your clothes, leave your breeches on” her voice is clipped and deadly serious, “then get on the bed”

 She watched from the foot of the bed as he did, twisting the belt in her hands as she regarded him. Saw the way his breath had hitched as she instructed him to do something and the way his pupils swallowed the violet of his eye. He was desperate. And the longer she went without saying or doing anything, the more the excitement and anticipation was starting to build in his core.

 “My dear husband” she says, still fully clothed but clambering onto the bed beside him, “You have wronged me in a manner most unbefitting”

 Her voice was low, the same way it would be when they were alone together, coupling.

 Gently she pulls both his wrists together, tying them first before raising them to the bed frame, sliding the leather through the buckle and pulling his skin flush to it. She pulls on it a few times, to make sure it is secure. Smiling down at him when she confirms he is not able to move.

 His chest moves hurriedly, a warm, fluttering expectancy erupts in his gut.

 “And all you have been able to think about is our coupling, or rather lack of” she smirks, pulling a large pin from her hair so it falls around her shoulders. Looking up at his dear wife from this angle, in this position, will never cease to be thrilling.

 Her small fingers slide under his eyepatch, depositing it on the bedside, so that she may see all of him.

 He would never ever reveal beyond their chambers how he enjoys to see her, eyes half-shut looking down at him, exerting her own version of dominance over him. And he was eternally grateful that she never told a soul either. It would embarrass him beyond measure. He could only stand to be embarrassed in front of her.

 Even though she was very much in charge, she did so in her own feminine way. Used her body differently, her words even.

 He doesn’t think he will ever tire of it.

 “Would you like to fuck me, husband” she asks low, nudging his knees apart so that she can kneel between them. It doesn’t fail to set his blood alight, the way she says such vulgar things…and make it sound so right.

 As her fingers begin to undo his breeches, his hips move and so do his hands against the bed frame. It sets that grin on her face again.

 “Yes, I do…I have missed you”

 Her fingers start to peel his breeches from his hips, exposing the pale skin underneath, and he almost sighs in relief to feel her soft hands on his bare skin.

 She cocks her head, looking at him, “What makes you think I will let you fuck me?”

 A sort of dread…disappointment  pools in his stomach, but alongside that, arousal. He cannot tell if she is serious or merely teasing him, and it is the in-between of not knowing that makes his head feel as if there is cotton stuffed into it instead of thoughts.

 “Fucking is a reward” she starts, “and you have not been good”

 Once his breeches are off, or at least down to his toned thighs, enough where she can see his manhood, aching and swollen against his taut abdomen, hardened from his years of training with the sword. The tip is flushed, the same colour as his lips, with a milky arousal leaking from it. She is sure that with one touch, he could simply come undone, and it makes her smirk wickedly.

 “I will forgive you…on one condition”

 Gods, how badly he wants her to just touch him already. With his cock now exposed to them both, her hands so close, it’s borderline unbearable to be teased like this.

 “Anything, please…”

 A flush blossoms on her cheeks. She always did like it when he begged.

 “You must not peak, until I say”

 Aemond almost goes bright red. This is territory that has not been tread before. And yet, he can’t deny the excitement it sends through him, the way the air is instantly knocked out of his lungs, and how his hands tug slightly against the belt.

 He outright moans as her small hand encircles his cock, giving a few languid pumps, squeezing when she gets to the tip, brushing her thumb over the sensitive slit. Now that she has given her order, her demand, all he can seem to think about is his peak, and how hard he is concentrating to not do it too soon.

 “You seem more sensitive than usual, husband” she coos, her other hand placed on his thigh, only barely squeezing, “have you missed me that much?”

 “Yes…” he responds through slightly gritted teeth, unable to take the breathiness out of his tone.

 “Hm” she hums, dipping her head to his waistline, making him suck in a quiet breath, “Let us see if you can be good then”

 She flatters her tongue against the underside of his length, dragging up achingly slow to the slit, her hand still applying pressure as she makes her way up. When she gets to the slit, her eyes meet her husband's.

 There's that damn smile again.

 Aemond shudders a breath, looking into her eyes while she has his cock on her tongue is only spurring him on, so he shuts his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillows. His hands tug at the belt. Wanting morning more than to just run his fingers through her hair.

 "Look at me" she orders.

 When he does, his jaw slackens, cheeks warm as her hot mouth envelops him entirely. Pushing down to take more of him, her hand strokes whatever else she cannot fit. Aemond watches her take him with every slow bob of her head, pushing his cock against her hot throat, warm, wet and inviting.

 If he is good, he may get something else.

 From this angle, her breasts are dangerously close to spilling from her dress, and he watches them move as she continues to suck him, her tongue curled up to press against the prominent vein on the underside. After a week of not having him, she relishes the taste of him. How he smells faintly of sweat and leather, and how badly she wants more of it.

 She plunges her mouth down further, til her lips are against the base and Aemond moans out loudly. His tip lodges the back of her throat, and while well endowed, she has learned to take him as deep as she can, until she softly gags, tightening her throat around him.

 She is testing him. Seeing how far she can push him as she pleasures him with a renewed vigour, humming around him, sending little jolts of pleasure up his spine.

 It was his biggest weakness, taking him into her mouth. And to be so clearly pleased to do it as well. Merely watching the way his length disappears between her plush lips is nothing short of heavenly.

 He bets her cunny is wet from this alone.

 It very nearly makes him peak, those sparks are there most certainly. Especially the way her throat contracts around him.

 But he holds back the reins. For now.

 She pulls off him with a soft, wet pop, making a show of licking her lips to taste his precum.

 "You are blushing, my love" she says, and he knows even without looking she is smirking again.

 "Please…" he murmurs, "...do not tease me any longer"

 She cocks her head again, pretending to not know what he means.

 "Is my mouth inadequate?"

 He shakes his head quickly, feeling his hair begin to stick to his nape with the effort of holding back his peak.

 "No-no…I just need you"

 "Need what" she grins, moving to straddle him.

 Aemond's eye widens here. Her dress is fanned out, and underneath he feels her bare form pressed against his aching cock.

 The vixen had not had small clothes on this entire time.

 And after using her mouth to pleasure him, she was soaked.

 It was most like her. She always did everything with purpose. Always one step ahead.

 She smiles when she sees it click in his mind and she moves her hips, dragging her slick over his length, making his eye flutter.

 "Say it"

 He swallows, tugging against the belt. He half thinks of requesting to touch her. But he knows she would not allow it.

 "I need to be inside you"

 She raises her eyebrows.

 "Please" he finishes.

 She pulls the front of her dress up, to give him a good view of her wet cunny, spreading her slick over him and he almost moans at just that. It's a sight to behold. The feeling…even more indescribable.

 "My poor, silly husband" she coos, taking his length in her hand, using her palm to coat the entirety with her arousal, "...you came here to say something. Now is the time"

 She raises her hips, his tip not even touching her, but the anticipation of it is too much. Aemond, almost subconsciously, bucks his hips up. Only to be met with her pushing him back down.

 "Stay still" she says firmly, "or you will not fuck me at all"

 His chest moves quickly, clenching his fists, his whole body feeling unbearably hot.

 She waits, with that glint in her eye. She really would do it. She would clamber off him and not fuck him, just for the satisfaction that she knew he wanted her, and that it had been denied.

 "I…apologise…" he mutters quietly.

 She doesn't move.

 "For?"

 He grunts, frustrated. Too busy thinking of him sliding through her folds, nestled in her cunny.

 "For saying such things about you…"

 She tuts, with an amused grin, "We shall test your loyalty, husband. Remember…you need my permission"

 Whatever Aemond was going to say is stuck in his throat as she sinks on him, enveloping him entirely in her slick heat. She does it slowly, so that he might feel every inch of her, every ridge inside. And when her backside sits on his thighs, moving her hips side to side, his tip nudges her sweet spot, the curve of his long, delicious length finding it effortlessly.

 He has to briefly close his eye, not look at her, so that he doesn't get too overwhelmed. After a week of not having her, she feels so perfectly tight, so much so it feels as if her cunt is milking him already. He cannot get too tied up in the feeling, lest he lose her forgiveness.

 The sound he lets out when she begins to move is almost pained, one that feels like it takes all his strength from his muscles.

 He looks up at her, her hair cascading over her shoulders with every shallow thrust inside, with that tell-tale pink to her cheeks from the effort of it. He can feel her arousal weeping out of her, coating his length and smacking against the base, that alongside his barely-contained moans.

 Her hands trail up his bare torso and he can feel gooseflesh erupt in the path she leaves. Her soft palms trace the expanse of his chest, and she doesn’t miss the way his stomach muscles tense up as she hastens her pace while she touches him. It’s only when her fingers apply a feather-like touch against his nipples that she finally gets a breathy moan from him.

 It only adds more fuel to her fire.

 Every touch, as small as they are, with how pent up Aemond had been, is hurtling him towards that edge. He can feel every inch of her perfect insides, squeezing him as she nears even herself. His stomach does flips, a familiar flutter getting stronger inside.

 “Please…wife…” she barely manages to say.

 She smiles, her chest moving quickly with the effort of their lovemaking. Her thighs ache in the most wonderful way, her cunt stretching around his girth, the tip kissing her end, filling her so deliciously.

 “Please what”

 “I want to touch you…please” he begs, his fists still tight and pressed against the bed frame.

 He takes a much needed breath when she slows down, merely circling her hips against his pelvis instead.

 “Are you close, my love?” she asks sweetly, leaning up to grasp the belt in one hand.

 Aemond nods, not trusting his own voice, lest it betray the inner turmoil inside. But she sees it. She doesn’t miss a thing.

 She cocks her head, half of her wants to reprimand him for not using his words to reply to her. But the other half feels how his cock throbs inside her, aching for completion, to paint her walls with his spend.

 “Very well” she smirks, undoing his bondage, “but you may only touch me here”

 She guides his now free hands to her clothed hips, keeping hers on top to make it clear how serious she is. Even now, merely touching her, through clothes it doesn't matter, it’s like some kind of torture.

 He grabs her hips tightly and backs himself up against the pillow in a half-sitting position, causing his length to press up inside her, he doesn’t miss the small gasp she emits. She’s close as well, he can tell.

 He fucks up into her with renewed passion, and her head tilts back, her lips parted only slightly to allow her quiet but wanton moans to slip out. Her sounds are like a reward. But he knows he is still denied the greatest one of all. One that seems more and more difficult to hold back the tighter she clenches around him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his wrists. There was something exciting about her being fully clothes while he fucked her. It almost felt forbidden. But exciting all the same.

 He can feel her slowly losing her resolve as he pounds harshly into her, as if he is letting out all his frustrations.

 “-Fuck…Aemond…” she breathes, “-Don’t stop-”

 His breath comes in hurried pants, wanting her to feel good but at the same time holding himself back. He can feel the pressure inside, fit to burst at any moment.

 “My perfect wife…”

 “-Aemond, I’m close-”

 She pulls up the front of her dress, her small slender fingers diving between her legs to apply pressure to her pearl, and she inadvertently tightens around him at the combined pleasure.

 He is not sure if he can last much longer. Forgiveness be damned, he wants to see his spend leak from her.

 “My love, I-”

 She looks down at him, a lazy, fucked-out smile on her face, her hair sticking slightly to her forehead.

 “-Yes, husband…fuck your heir into me…”

 His eye widens at the vulgarity, but his throat tightens at the challenge and he slams so deep inside her with a shocking collection of desperate thrusts. She continues to circle her slick over her bud until the buzz floods into her limbs with a choked cry, her body trembling in the bruising hold he has of her hips.

 He fucks her all the way through it, now that he has been given the permission he so desired, he craves it like hunger. It feels like it takes everything out of him, the wind surely knocked from his lungs, as he finally stills inside her, feeling the warm, familiar flood of his spend deep against her womb, completely emptying himself until he aches.

 Aemond never lets up on his grip, holding her tightly to ensure she has all of it, and he gives a few additional shallow thrusts that make her cry out, hoping his seed will take and she will grow round with child for him. The thought alone makes him want to keep her in their chambers all day if he has to.

 Their eyes meet, the only sound is both of their breathing. Her own eyes flicker from his seeing one, to the sapphire, and a soft, contented smile, not the same mischievous one as earlier, makes its way to her face. It encourages him to do the same.

 “I could stay in your perfect cunt forever…” he breathes, his chest moving steadily.

 She hums a laugh. It is certainly something he would say.

 “Am I forgiven?” he asks, eyebrows moved only slightly, like he is expecting a witty response.

 His wife pretends to think, her fingers touched to her lips. And with his softening cock still nestled inside her, she leans forward to lay a tender kiss on her husband, her delicate, soft lips pressed so gently to his, in a manner that contradicts the sensuality of what they had just done.

 When she breaks, her forehead pressed against his and her hand cupping his face, she wrinkles her nose playfully.

 “I shall think about it”

 When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.

 Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion. With not a soft bone in his body.

 Who would have thought, that sometimes, he enjoyed letting that persona slip, just for a moment.

 But only ever with her.

dividers by @firefly-graphics​

General Taglist:  @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301

Aemond Taglist:  @m00n5t0n3 @boofy1998 @merakiaes​ @hanihoney88 @let-love-bleeds-red​ @bellaisasleep​ @watercolorskyy @heavenley1927 @ryswritingrecord @partypoison00 @gaeela-6 @saeselkie @padfooteyes @introverbatim @queenofshinigamis @thatkingofgirl @ryswritingrecord @dahlias-and-marigolds @triscy

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐕 ✴️

Taglist: @faespace @baellabass @ejs398

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere EVERYONE x reader, sexual content, no actual smut, mentions of noncon

>Alicent and her children had been guarding your sleep the whole night, the night of the king's passing

>Aemond saw his mother just observe you while displaying an unreadable expression, he prides himself with being able to decipher people and use it to his benefit, but this time, his mother seemed out of reach to him. If he had to guess, she was attempting to treat you like a pawn, trying to dehumanize you to gain control over the political situation, and she was failing

>For his part, his thoughts while observing you, were much tainted he was watching your chest rise with every breath, examining your boobs and how they would slightly change shape when you laid on your back, much rounder. He would love if his mother and sister left to grope and caress, even just over the cloth, even for just a minute. Just a minute to smell your skin, your natural scent now free of the perfumes you would wear to fit in court

>He would love to have a minute, but he wants a whole life, Aemond is sure not even growing old with you would leave him satisfied, he would look for you again

>He wondered what would you think of him, he has a plethora of fantasies depending on your reactions. The most obvious one, disgust. He would cage you his his arms, hold your wrists with one hand while using the other to rid you of the bothersome clothing, sucking and biting at your neck, then your niples. You resist, but he is able to bring you pleasure regardless, some of your screams turn into moans and by the time he's kissing below your navel and starting to use a finger to play with your slit, your pleas of "no" and "please do not" are almost automatic, you do want him to go down on you, but you continue to chant the words as if to preserve what's left of purity

>But that fantasy would soon get old, he wished to exert power over you, yet have you willingly submit

>If you could only look at him the same way that you used to while consoling him over his lack of a mount

>Helaena was there as well, Jahaera and Jahaerys had been brought by her, but taken to bed by the maids in no time

>Helaena sung intelligible songs while playing with the threads in-between her fingers, for the little audible parts, Aemond heard the songs speak of dragons, swords, fire and blood

>His mother had arranged for Aegon to usurp the throne, he would never say this out loud, he knows his brother is a usurper, but he encourages this, as he wants the strong bastards away from the line of succession as one can be. Better off dead, but that's too much to ask

>Everything was in place, except for the king. Aegon was missing, «of course Aegon was missing» he thought

>Otto wanted to send ser Criston to find him, but Alicent protested it would leave you alone. They went back and forth until Otto said they would entrust Daeron with your guard. Aemond rolled his eye.

>Helaena had left without him noticing, possibly to mother the twins and whatnot

>He was in his mother's chambers, Otto alongside her, discussing the future of the realm. «This is the real small council» he said to himself

>"I will find Aegon, mother" said Aemond

>"That is already taken care of, Ser Criston will not rest until-" Otto spoke

>"He doesn't know where Aegon is, I do"

>"Then speak at once, boy" Aemond grimaced at the words of his grandsire

>"I am not to speak, I am to search, this is matter that requires involvement" he paused "But I want something"

>"We shall send Ser Criston, you will join if he fails"

>"And waste all that time? He may be as well as dead halfway through ser Criston's crusade"

>"Name your prize" Otto replied, breathing defeat in every syllable

>"You will hear it after" Aemond saw Otto arch an eyebrow and open his mouth to speak "Do not worry, I have no interest on the crown, or land, or titles, I would have acted before had been that my goal" His mother urged him to speak, but he had to remain silent, he was sure she would understand

>Him and the royal guard were underdressed in rags to blend in, Aemond wore a cape to cover his silver mane

>He had to endure the obnoxious Cole knocking on every brothel door like he was a lost peasant

>He was very uncomfortable when he found the madam of that one place, staying stiff and shivering under his cold facade

>He thanked the seven you could not see him like that, weak

>Once they found the White Worm, she said the prince would be handed over a ridiculous sum that they bargained

>But before they could leave with Aegon, he remembered something. The White Worm weaves silk through far and wide in the realm. The White Worm who is the paramour of the prince of the city, the White Worm that could have been your mother

>Aemond would order extra vigilance on you that night, while Misarya was known to be a slimy, untrustworthy woman, she had never been known to betray Daemon, or to betray gold for that matter, and Daemon was not going to skimp on you

>He had to say he was anything but surprised when he learned of that idiotic scheme of his brother to leave the city. Aemond imagined he'd waste his small fortune on whores as soon as he arrived, feast with men who are just waiting for him to surrender his better judgement to a glass of wine, then steal whatever is left. He always thought Aegon would likely die with his pants on his knees, possible covered in vomit and other fluids, choking on a chicken bone, or something as meaningless as a cherry pit, his women would steal his gold and he'd die slowly, lonely, pathetically, he had to say the idea did not displeased him too much

>But then, he could only cash his prize if he retrieved him, in one piece no less

>Aegon had returned, being almost locked up in his chambers, and the death of Viserys continued a secret to the world until the preparations for Aegon's ascension were finished. By the third day, the corpse of his father started to stink, he had already been rotting in life, and death was not stopping that. He looked at the king, he found him graceless, he had nothing, he was an absent king and absent father, Aemond would do better if he had the chance

>A couple hours after Aegon's arrival, you had woken up, almost immediately you were taken from your room and (to your perspective) randomly put on another, the maids insisted it was for your safety, and you decided to not waste a breath asking them questions that were for someone else. You wanted to see Alicent, and you wanted to see Viserys

>No one would give you answers, and you had no way of communicating with your family, not your father or even your family in the castle, for that matter, you only had ser Criston as a form of familiarity, not even your usual maids were to be seen anywhere. Even though you did not wish to think of it, it was probably because Aegon had chosen them to place his "affections"

>The second night you were awake and isolated, you commanded sir Criston to come into your room and talk to you, give you whatever detail of information he had. He refused again and again, with excuses of how he answered to the queen only, how he was to the door to protect you, how it was improper

>But he ended up giving in

>He told you all he could say, was that the king had died, and that now a conflict of ink and ravens was arising

>You wept the lost of your uncle, and (awkwardly) ser Criston put a hand on your shoulder, ghosting over it. And he told you to fear not, you were in good hands

>You wanted to believe him, you did

>Back to Aemond, he had come to speak with his mother as soon as he was done arranging your room transfer. He felt accomplished by commanding, especially when commanding for your well-being. Alicent knew what Aemond would ask for, and she had tried to ready herself to hear it

>"I want lady Y/N, wed her to me" he did little to stop the smile growing on his lips

>Alicent could have said many things, but she just asked her son one thing. "Do you understand the consequences, Aemond?"

>He nodded, he did not care, if the consequences of taking you were fire and blood, so be it. Never in the seven kingdoms had existed a more lovely lady, and Aemond was only blind in one eye

>He wanted to marry her before Aegon's crowning, and he had threatened to get the supreme septon to do it in secret if he had to, he was smart, and knew it was just a matter of time before Daemon and Rhaenyra caught wind of everything, and he will not lose you

>Daeron had come to face him, Aemond never thought he had the balls to do it

>Whining about his lack of honor, how he was stealing their cousin, dragging them when she was practically engaged to him already

>Aemond let his anger simmer, he smiled while the boiling blood warmed his body, the delicious liquid reminding he was alive, he lived for the taste of rage, his or from others

>"Worry not, little brother, you can now take your vows as a white cloak, so you can become my wife's sworn sword and stand behind her door when she and I share our bedchamber"

>Daeron reached for his sword, he did the same

>"Uh uh, are you sure?" He teased while Daeron seemed on the verge of tears (sadness, ire, who knows)

>His younger brother simply walked away from him, in shame

>You were losing your mind in confusion, and no tantrums from you were enough for the servants to let you leave your chambers to visit Viserys' corpse

>So imagine your surprise when the maids came with shiny new silks, to dress you for your wedding day

>Two ladies, one named Olivya Swann and one named Celesse Hightower, announced themselves as your new ladies in waiting. They said your measures were needed to confect a wedding gown for you, you refused to strip until they spoke and told you what was going on, you felt bad for them, as they were clearly not the ones to blame for the mayhem

>It took a while, the maids genuinely did not know much, the orders came from above and they obeyed. But it was Celesse who finally broke down. They were sent to aid the preparations for your wedding to prince Aemond

>You had to sit down on the bed, your head was spinning around, now there was nothing to do, you were a prisoner in King's Landing. And it was easy to put two and two together, they were not planning to bend the knee to Rhaenyra, and you were there as a pawn in their twisted game of chess

>You yelled at the women to leave you alone, and despite their attempts to calm you down, you ordered them to go. You knew they would come back later, but you simply could not stand there like nothing was happening

>How could Alicent allow this? If they wanted to marry you to the greens, why Aemond? It was clear you and Daeron had far more in common, and comments were made about betrothing you to him, why Aemond?

>Aemond was cruel, and you could never decipher what he wanted from you, he took pleasure on hurting your family, and you were further perplexed on why would he want to marry a bastard

>Maybe he was being forced to marry you too, it would have made you almost sympathetic if it were not for his previous actions

>You tried to sleep, you layed fully dressed on the bed without covering yourself with the blankets

>You dreamt of nothing, and were awaken once again by the maids looking to measure you

>They came in, and helped you undress as to avoid the measures be altered by the thick of your clothing

>You were sleepy and docile, allowing them to carefully place the meter in your waist, bust, hips and shoulders, they also measured your arms

>Olivya presented you with squares of several luxury fabrics, one stack was several shades of white, and the other was a similar amount of shades of green.

>You did not let the opportunity slip, this would probably be the one choice you would have on your marriage

>You made your ladies show you each and every square of fabric, you took all the time in the world. Finally, the chosen ones were pearl white with emerald and laurel green. The colors reminded you of your dragon, you missed him so much, but the gods only know where he could be, he was too large for the dragonpit and therefore set free, he would have come to your calling once you left with your family, that was what was supposed to happen

>You spent three more days locked away, at least you had Olivya and Celesse now. Celesse came from Oldtown, she was the daughter of Hobert Hightower, you made her tell you stories of Daeron, as you were unable to see him. You fondly smiled when thinking of him, your dragon knight

>Olivya was from the stormlands, but she had been raised in King's Landing, as her uncle was serving in court, and she was brought to keep company to princess Helaena

>You told them of Pentos, then of Dragonstone, you told them of your little brothers, so small and cute, you also told them about dragons, you told them about your home, in all its meaning

>Three days after the measuring, the wedding gown was ready, you were amazed, and wondered how many people had been working in full speed in order to complete such an intricate piece in so little time. There was pearls and little gems embroided in the translucent sleeves, a green dress, a beautiful Hightower green dress

>Celesse spoke highly of your soon-to-be husband, telling tales of his skill with the sword and his intelligence

>Olivya told you you would enjoy married life, that the prince was a fine suitor with "admirable manners"

>You remained silent, luckily, your saddened face was covered by a white veil

>What you saw could hardly be called a ceremony, there was Alicent, Aemond and a septon. You slowly walked towards the altar, and recited the vows you had learned when fantasizing as a little girl, none of your fantasies happened this way

>Like always, Aemond was unreadable, and you did not care to try to read him anymore

>There was no feast, no celebration, nothing remotely similar to the wedding ceremony of a prince

>Like everything around the castle, it was rushed, poorly done and with second intentions behind it

>You struggled to look at Alicent, she was dear to you once, but now you debate whether should you trust her

>During the dreaded wedding night, you expected Aemond to humiliate you, to take you by force and call you names, to degrade you

>Anxiety pooled in your stomach, and your eyes burned as you tried to hold tears in

>But instead, he kissed your hand and laid next to you, not even touching you

>You must disgust him, he was forced to marry you, and he has no interest in you, you thought you found yourself in the position of Rhea Royce

>But you could speak plainly to Aemond, you always had

>"An unconsummated marriage can be easily annulled" you pointed out

>"You don't sound at all aroused with the idea, you appear hardly seductive" Aemond replied

>Aemond sat down on the bed, you copied him

>"I am not Aegon, I found screams for help less than enticing. Besides, you would never love me if I raped you" he stated as if he was talking about his day

>"Who says I love you now?" Maybe you should have not been so bold, but you were

>"We are married, you'll learn to do it eventually"

>"As humble as ever. Then let me ask why I should I love you, and you are free not to"

>"I love you, Y/N" you could feel the scorching heat coming from his eye, the sapphire shone in the candlelight. You were speechless, it would have been hard to believe if he wasn't gazing at you so intensely, he carefully took your hand in his

>"You have not acted as such" was the only thing you thought to answer

>"I am not Daeron" your eyes widen in shame. It is not unfaithfulness, yet shame makes you feel as if it is "But again, you have not treated me like you treated Daeron, have you?" He knew what he was doing to you

>"He never called me a bastard"

>Despite the topics of conversation, you both remained calmed, vulnerable in the cocoon of the sheets, your hand was still intertwined with his

>"Neither have I" he squeezed your hand a little

>"But you continue to humiliate Jace, Luke and Joffrey for it"

>"And I paid with my eye. And with you" you look at him confused after he says that, so he continues "After I bonded with Vhagar, you pushed me away, you never forgave me for it"

>"You never asked for forgiveness"

>"And I will not, not for what I did, but perhaps the way I did it"

>You and your husband talked for what it felt like days, for what it felt like years of lost time

>By the hour of the nightingale, you felt like you married one man and now lay with another. Despite his hardened exterior, you now smile at Aemond the way you did once when you were children

>"We still have time to make this wedding night exciting, my lady wife" he smiled mischievously, you looked at him with slight distrust, hoping he was not expecting sex after all that heartfelt talk "would do me the honor of flying with me?" You smiled

>"Dagahrion is not here"

>"There's plenty of room in Vhagar, I ride the largest dragon in the world"

>"You clearly have not seen mine lately" you teased

>"I suppose we'll have to clear that matter once he returns"

>You dressed up and sneaked into the dragonpit, this kind of mischief made you think of happier days, made you forget about the mess

>You missed Vhagar, she used to be Laena's, and she remembered you

>You rode with Aemond until sunrise, in that moment it was just the three of you. No marriage, no usurpation, no conflicts, nothing but the wind in your faces

>Until you had to come back, and you found the preparations for Aegon's coronation being set in place

>"This is outrageous, disgraceful, illicit! This is simply- this is bullshit, Aemond!" You shouted to him once alone "Aegon will be the worst king since Maegor and you know that"

>"I am not the one who sat him on that throne, don't you shout at me for it"

>"It's true, but you are not doing anything to stop it, Rhaenyra should be crowned"

>"Of, course, then Jacaerys Strong can become protector of the realm" he snickered sarcastically

>"May his father be Ser Harwin, Laenor or the damn mushroom, we are sure he is of Rhaenyra and that is what matters"

>"If he was born of Rhaenyra's husband then it truly would not matter if his sire is mushroom or whoever may he be, he is a bastard"

>"So am I! Appoint me leader of the bastard council If you want, because I will defend his claim to the throne, Rhaenyra is the heir and you and I know Aegon is a depraved drunk"

>"Bastard or not, you are my wife, and I will not argue anymore, you are mine now. And when you are called, I want you pretty and smiling when witnessing his coronation, because your husband says so" you had not even realized when he had caged you against the wall, his eyes burning with rage. No trace left of the man you spent last night with

>"Yes, my prince" was all you said. He nodded, kissed your forehead and left the room

>Your father used to call the court "the nest of vipers" and now you understand, the only way to survive was playing their game

>You called in for Olivya and Celesse. Told them to dress you and arrange you to attend Aegon's coronation

>You were pleasant, smiling when you had to, staying right at your husband's side, one may think of you as tame

>You even let Aemond fancy himself your hero, standing before you when Meleys interrumpted the ceremony

>Rhaenys looked at you, you knew she could not steal you away from this, so in her eyes, you imagined her apology

>You decided you will come back to your family, and so, after Aegon's coronation, you told Alicent you needed to go to the Sept, being so throughly shaken. As Aemond said you needed to be guarded all day long, you asked for Daeron to accompany you. Aemond would have never allowed it, but Aemond was not there, he was with the small council talking about recruiting the loyalty of different houses

>Once in the Sept, after praying, you looked at Daeron, it pained you to ask

>"Do you love me, Daeron?"

>"You are married to my brother, my lady"

>"We know what happened. And I did not ask you that"

>"It is improper for us to talk this way"

>You felt rejected, but once again asked "Do you love me, Daeron?"

>"I do" he bashfully responded

>"Enough to run away with me?"

>"Don't make me choose between honor and love"

>"I fear I have to"

>"Enough to run away with you"

>"Then meet me at the dragonpit at the hour of the bat"

>"Y/N, please-"

>"I will run regardless, but I would rather you are with me"

>You rose from your knees looking at him

>He came closer, your lips were near, but not touching, you could feel his breath

>"Kiss me once we're far away, do whatever you desire then" you say before leaving the Sept

>You decided to wait in the library until it was time to go, on your way, ser Criston asked if he could scort you there, you were reluctant, but skillfully lied and said it would be a pleasure

>"My lady, may I speak plainly to you?"

>"You have my permission"

>"I saw you asked for prince Daeron to accompany you in your prayers. Please don't look for him, he loves you, my lady" he made a melancholic pause, and again, his hand ghosted over your shoulder, his face close to yours "And noble ladies only run away with the knights in tales and songs"

>"I understand"

>Ser Criston's words left you with a strange feeling, he seemed sincere, did he know something you did not? Maybe you should wait before running, maybe you should find a better way to do it

>But you remained firm, and slipped out of bed once Aemond was asleep

>You went to the dragonpit, singing to the dragons, and hoping for Dagahrion to come back, if not, you'd have to leave on Tessarion

>You heard steps, thinking it was the dragonkeepers, you hid

>"Riñaaa~" you heard Aemond's voice, and you feared. You don't know if he would be capable of doing you harm, but you'd rather keep wondering

>His voice kept chasing you, in a mocking tone

>Until he finally found you

>You were a the center, and you felt the gazes of the dragons, but by far the fiercest one was Aemond's

>He pressed you against the wall, his sword unsheathed

>His body was pressed against yours, you felt him practically vibrating with wrath

>"I have wanted you for years, yet I held back, I was patient and devoted, and you run away at the first chance you get" he spat

>"I guess we had a rocky two-day marriage" if you were dying, you were doing it with your head high

>"I should have broke you, but I was a fool" it was all tension, you did not know if he would snap, or when would he, and kill you or gravely injure you

>He grabbed your face with his sword still pressing and threatening to break your skin

>He kissed you roughly, like he wanted to mark you as well as harm you, like he was tasting both heaven and steel

>When you were recovering your breath, you spoke "will you slay me?"

>"I will take you back and treat you like the backstabbing bastard cunt you are, the way I should always have" you knew this was probably the last time you will be like this, unbroken, whole

>You missed him back, tasting all the poison inside him, it was messy, rough, teeth crashing, you took him like he was your last breath. You were just saving courage

>All that could be heard was your labored breathing, Aemond's sword never moving. You felt an ache in your chest, you were scared. You wished for the mother, the celestial mother, the one that never left you, unlike every other woman you had though of as a mother. You wished for your father, although violent and rude, unpredictable and sour, he loved you with his whole heart, body and soul

>Maybe you were just going to make a fool of yourself, you hoped so, that Aemond would just laugh at you

>You took a breath of the second-hand air, smoky and anything but clean, and when your lungs were full, you screamed so loud your throat felt raspy

>"Dracarys!"

>Dragons obey their masters, and Dagahrion was not here, so it would work, supposedly

>The last thing you saw was the startled face of your husband when all the dragons around you spat scorching hot fire and burned both bodies

>Less than an hour later, prince Daeron found your remains. Some dragonkeepers said your voice commanded all the dragons to attack, others say that it was impossible, that it must have been Vhagar trying to kill you by Aemond's command, accidentally getting caught in-between

>The death of lady Y/N Targaryen, daughter of prince Daemon Targaryen, [allegedly] at hands of her own husband, Aemond Targaryen made the dance of dragons a conflict of fire and blood

[suuuupernovaaa]

Ruthless

Aemond’s wife is even more ruthless and bloodthirsty than he is, and he’s proud.

Aemond x reader

Your ears must be deceiving you. Surely, you think, this snake-like man with a worthless leg is not vying for a spot as hand to the king.

Hand to your king.

Seated across from the conniving man, your lips pull back from your teeth in a near snarl, and your hand finds the hilt of the ruby-encrusted dagger in your skirts. The mere thought of this unsettling man having any kind of sway over your husband churns the bile in your gut. This gutless gimp whispering in your king’s ear? It will not do. You can’t kill him here, in front of everyone, but surely he couldn’t defend himself if you cornered him later. He doesn’t seem to carry a weapon, or have any sort of formidable strength.

He’s gotten too comfortable here. His knowledge is of no use to anyone anymore. He can be dispatched, quietly. Who will miss him?

Aemond is dismissing the man with words while you plot is demise, and you hear him request for the rat to send word to his grandfather, to reinstate him as Hand.

Your eyes snap to your husband, who looks back at you for only a moment with a curt nod. You relax the grip on your dagger, and lean back into your seat.

It’s good to know, at least, that Aemond listens to you. Just last night, you’d mentioned how things would not be in such a way if Otto had not been dismissed by the idiot king, Aegon.

You hope he dies. If you had been there, maybe you would have finished the job yourself, there on the battlefield. His suffering now is unnecessary, and the realm is better off without him.

The only person you can find any pity for is gentle Heleana, but is she not better off without her brutish, drunken husband?

Aemond’s eye finds yours again, and then he turns back to Larys.

“I believe my wife is ready to strike you down, should you recommend yourself for such a role in my court again,” he says coolly, and the lame Lord stammers in return, looking between the two of you. “I can only keep her at heel for so long.”

He stands then, dismissing the council, but you stay behind until the room is emptied.

“Keep me at heel?” you snarl, but Aemond laughs.

“I must maintain the illusion that my lady wife is under my control, beloved. You looked as if you wanted to leap across the table and slash the man’s throat.”

Aemond sits at the head of the table still, and you perch on the edge of the table, just before him, facing each other.

“He would not even be able to defend himself, even against my small blade.”

Aemond’s mouth curls up in a sinister grin. “Even a man trained up on the sword would need all their strength and wits about them if you decided it was their time to pass on, dear.” His words are biting but beneath them, there is pride there.

He leans over, his silky white hair falling over his shoulder, and reaches a hand down to your ankle. His fingers dance over your skin, up your calf in a slow and gentle dance, and up your thigh, stopping to rest as he smiles at you.

A shiver travels up your spine, and you shudder, closing your eyes for a vulnerable moment.

“Still soft for me, my love?” Aemond asks, and you try to keep the blush from your cheeks as you lean forward, bringing your lips to his ear.

“Take me to our bed and find out,” you whisper, and you needn’t tell the King twice.

[factorydefaultlu]

The 3 boys finding out their darlings personal maid was paid to give the reader moon tea without her knowledge by Alicent and Otto, even though they know the boys have been trying for a child with reader.

I went a little crazy with Aemond and Aegon woops.

Jace is upset, nearly in tears when he sees the tea his wife is drinking. Of course, she's confused. It's just tea? When he explains what kind of tea it is, his wife is as upset as he is. She's horrified that she's been drinking it for months, finally understanding why she hasn't conceived yet. She holds him close, kissing him and saying that she's sorry she didn't know. Of course he comforts her and kisses her, telling her that it's not her fault.

Jace will help her figure out who has been paying the maids to bring her this tea, and why.

*

Aemond looks at his wife from across the room. He was finally able to join her for tea for the first time in a month, and when he arrived he immediately smelled the kind of tea she was drinking.

Anger filled his being. If this was some kind of a cruel way to say she didn't want kids with him, it was fucked up. He would then enter the room and make his presence known. Sitting across from her, she immediately noticed something was wrong. When she asked him about it, he went on a long tangent about how if he wasn't good enough to give her his children then she shouldn't have agreed to have them in the first place.

Of course she's confused, she asks him what this is all about and he refers to the tea. Still confused she asks what's wrong with it. Aemond finally understands, she has no idea what she's drinking.

He interrogates her on who's been giving her the tea, and he will find out why. Then dispose of them.

*

Aegon isn't stupid. He knows what moon tea is, but he's never seen nor smelled it. He had joined his wife for tea nearly every day, watching her drink it, completely unaware.

The two were confused as to why they had no children yet, they fucked like rabbits. Eventually Aegon would confide in his brother, Aemond would suggest that maybe one or both of them is infertile.

This would lead Aegon to consult a maester, he'd ask a million and one questions and get various answers as to why his wife hadn't fallen pregnant. The Maester then mentioned to him that ingredients for moon tea had been missing from his stores.

Something clicked in Aegon's brain. He then marched back to his chambers, ready to confront his wife. He had entered the room, immediately raising his voice. "You told me you loved me, you told me you'd be honored to have my children!"

His wife nearly jumped out of her skin, he had never yelled at her before. She asked what he was talking about and he brought up the moon tea, and how they hadn't had kids yet.

She was confused, then as he continued his rant she put the puzzle together. She was shocked that the supposed Dornish blend the maid has been giving her was actually moon tea.

After it was explained to Aegon, he fell to his knees apologizing. Swearing to her that he will find whoever would dare control their relationship and make them pay.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather. 

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering. 

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity. 

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.” 

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.” 

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area. 

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera. 

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!” 

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world. 

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!” 

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows. 

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more. 

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one. 

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.” 

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly. 

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue. 

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer. 

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.” 

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?” 

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm. 

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table. 

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer. 

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more. 

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?” 

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…” 

“Hey, dad?” 

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…” 

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated. 

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over. 

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[randomsillyfangirl]

Oliver Otto x Reader

To start this off. Ik many people think that Oliver is gay, which is alright and people are allowed to think whatever they want! Me personally, I don't really give him a label. But I do think he likes girls, since he's shown much interest in them. I do not mean any harm with this post! If you do not like it- please just scroll away 💕

But anyway, again I will still be writing Pablo Gavi x Reader. I'm just watching American House Wives rn and am obsessed with Oliver lol

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You and your family just moved to WestPort. Your father was a famous author while your mom was the ceo of a famous book company- matched made in heaven. You were an only child, their only daughter. And in a whole new country.

In the first week of your family moving your mom and Katie became besties, your dad and Gregg became friends. But you? You felt so alone. Everyone else seemed to be snobby. You didn't like them- you weren't raised like a WestPort kid.

Your family was going to the Ottos house, they invited you to their home for a barbeque. " and young lady, you better not be on your phone or reading the whole time we're there! " your mother warned and you sighed, you really missed home and didn't wanna be around WestPort type people.

Thankfully the Ottos weren't those snobby WestPort people, but you still wanted to be alone. Taylor tried talking to you, and you two did have a conversation. " what sports are you into? " Taylor asked, but before you could respond Oliver started to insult his sister, " all sports are useless they're to get into college. You're just wasting your time. " he said and you rolled your eyes.

" actually, that's not true. What's more important is experience." you corrected him, when you made eye contact with him you had to hold back a smile, he's so cute.

Oliver was going to give you a response before Taylor stopped his comment. " you dress so... Let me dress you!! " she started to beg. You sighed and nodded, " mom, me and Taylor are going to our place to try on clothes." you told your mom, but Katie demanded that you bring Oliver too.

At your place, Taylor went through your closest. " you have really cute clothes! Why don't you wear them?" Taylor asked. " because WestPort kids don't." you sighed sitting on three bed. Oliver stood against the wall, looking around your room.

(See below for the outfit + hair Taylor chose for you)

When Oliver saw you, he smiled. Taylor noticed and her jaw dropped abit- Oliver wasn't being a bitch? What's going on!

Oliver coughed to signal to his sister to stop being weird. You smiled back at Oliver. " you're in my English, aren't you?" you asked looking at him. He nodded and chuckled, " don't forget, also in your biology." you nodded and laughed, " almost forgot."

Taylor went to ' go to the bathroom '- aka give you two some time to talk. " why'd you move to WestPort? You seem like you hate it. " Oliver asked. You sighed, " my parents wanted to expand their business from (your country) to the states too. And here, we can make connections. Everyone loves it here but me." you sighed again. Oliver sat next to you, " trust me. It gets better."

The next day at school, you wore another outfit Taylor recommend for you. (See pictures below) You didn't have any friends, so you walked in alone. You got alot of attention. You weren't wearing skinny jeans that cost $300 with some ugly expensive grandma sweater. You were wearing a Pinterest type outfit that probably cost you $20, excluding the shoes.

You were getting attention from the girls, more of them questioning you. But the boys? They liked your outfit. Yawning, you walked to your class, you could feel peoples eyes on you and you hated it.

Oliver watched you walk in. " isn't she pretty? " he heard one of the guys say and Oliver nodded. Cooper nudged his shoulder, " ceo and successful writers daughter right? Perfect for your mission. " he teased, but Oliver wasn't listening; all his focus was on you.

In English, it was a pair assignment. Cooper wasn't in his class, so nobody interrupted his plan to ask yo- who the hell is that? Some WestPort snobby guy was asking you to be his partner. " so darling, you do the work my dad will do m- " the guy was proposing his idea until you interrupted, " I'd rather get hit by a car." which seemed to annoy him. You looked over at Oliver and smiled, giving him the confidence to ask you to be his partner.

" You? Me? Working together? What do you think? " Oliver said sitting next to you. You smiled and nodded, " I'd like that. We can go to my place after school? Since I've been to yours already " you chuckled and he did as well, " I've always wondered what the house of a ceo and writer looks like. " he said making you laugh.

You lived in one of the larger houses in WestPort. Oliver was checking out the place, amazed, it was a gorgeous house. You sighed, " sorry it's not very fun.." . " it's amazing!! " Oliver basically screamed, hearing an echo. You shook your head but chuckled, " it looks nice.. But it's lonely " Oliver listened to your words, " yeah, like cooper.. " he said, sighing to keep talking " but hey, you'll make plenty of friends." he said smiling, making you smile.

You looked at him, " wanna see all the useless and expensive crap I have? " he nodded repeatedly, " umm yeah! " and his reaction made you laugh. Going into one room, " this is where my dad keeps these random glass statues. " going on into another, " my moms old coats, boringggg " and then finally, " my records and record players " you said, going into the room next to your room.

In your room, you two started your group project. Your project would last for half the school year- a massive school project.

But the two of you started to get really close during the time. He was your friend friend in WestPort, other than Taylor.

" so I was thinking, we hang out. My place. " Oliver proposed the idea to you. You nodded, " yeah sure, I'll bring the study stu- " you were saying until Oliver intrupred. " no no. No books. Just you and me. Hanging out." he clarified. You smiled and felt you cheeks go light red, " I'd like that." you told him, making him smile too.

You two went up to his room later that day. You sat on his bed, " sooo, what we doin?" you asked him. He looked at you, a little panicked, " what are we doing?" he repeated and you looked confused.

" you have no plan? "You said and then laughed at the lack of response. You weren't laughed at him, you were laughing because it was sweet. You got up," wanna see what we just got at my place? " and Oliver nodded, so you took him to your place to show him.

Your parents got in a massive library. You ran to one of the shelves, grabbing the ladder and climbing up, " there's a book in here that reminded me of you!!" you yelled, looking for the book. By ' reminded ' you meant ' I specifically asked for this book, to give to you. ' hey, that's how girls work.

You came back down to him with a book, before you could speak Oliver already took the words out of your mouth, " how did you know I wanted this book!? " well maybe not exactly what you'd say, just rearrange it.

You nodded, " thought you'd like it." you gave it to the brunette. " you can have it." And you both smiled. Oliver coughed, " I was wondering if tomorrow, you and me, alone, go out somewhere. No studying, but this time I'll have a plan.." he said, fidgeting with the corners of the book.

You smiled and nodded, " I'd like that.." Oliver was trying to ask you on a date, Taylor said that he should.. " she likes you! " Taylor yelled at Oliver. " but how do i ask her? If I ask her to go out- she'll assume it's got studying! " Oliver argued. Taylor laughed, " then ask her to go out alone, and mention no study. And people call me dumb." Taylor scoffed.

------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed!! <3

Ik this is all over the place- but I actually had fun writing this.

For the people who asked to be tagged in a oliver otto x reader post: @y4sm1nsstuff @animesimp3456 @hunterluvr

[written-in-flowers]

Can we have more Otto Hightower x Rosebud smut or is that off the table? Cause that would be devastating to my mental health 🥲

Absolutely not! Rosebud x Otto is my favorite smut series lol I'd never stop writing for them!

Pairing: otto x fem!reader

Tags: pretty vanilla compared to what they normally do lol creampie, foreplay, fingering, sex while standing, doggystyle position, both of them being absolutely horny for each other. clothed male/naked female sex, sex with clothes on(?)

A Quick One

He came up behind you when you'd stripped for your bath. You turned to greet him, but that familiar dark glint in his eyes made you pause. Warmth built up in your cheeks as he removed his cloak and approached you.

"Lady Wife," he said in his deep voice, the implication sitting right behind his low tone.

"Lord Husband," you replied, giving a playful curtsy even when fully nude.

His eyes swept over your naked form in front of the fireplace. The slight evening chill made your nipples harden, and the sight of him coming closer aroused you. Lifting your chin to meet his eyes, the smooth leather of his gloves sent shivers down to your core. Otto said nothing as he placed a chaste kiss on your lips, his beard and mustache tickling your mouth briefly. You held back the whimper in your throat from the light touch alone.

"You look beautiful this evening, love," he said, kissing you again. "Enchanting."

"Because I'm nude?" you grinned, putting your hands on his chest. Finger tracing the hand brooch on his breast, you forced yourself to keep from brushing into him right away. You felt tempted to push your breasts against him, so you could feel the smooth fabric on your sensitive nipples.

"It's when I find you the most beautiful," he smirked.

He pulled you into his arms. You trembled when his gloved hands smoothed over your waist and hips to your bottom, where he gave both cheeks a squeeze. Seeing the reaction, Otto continued groping them as he kissed you deeply. It had been too long since your husband touched you this way. With your son, his duties as Hand of the King, and general court life, moments with Otto became scarce as of late. Locking your lips with his, you slid your tongue into his mouth. Your arousal burned the longer he groped and kissed you; you gently pushed yourself to his clothed body, the mixture of fabrics sparking more sensitivity.

"I've missed you," you whispered, breaking from his lips and sliding your hands up his neck, "I've been so lonely without you."

"Forgive me, darling," he breathed, cupping one of your breasts. You whined at the thumb grazing your nipple. "It was not by my doing but-"

"-But The King's," you finished for him. "Must he always keep your from me?"

He chuckled in the next kiss. Bringing you away from the tub, Otto guided you over to the bed. Excitement flourished in your stomach once your knees hit the edge. You turned around so your body molded perfectly to his, and gave his hands further access to you. He didn't remove a stitch of clothing. Not even his gloves. You whimpered when he slid his hands up your sides to your tits.

"I am his Hand, Rosebud," he groaned in your ear. Grabbing both of them, the black leather of his gloves teased your naked breasts. "It is my duty to serve His Grace and the realm."

"And me?" you pouted, grinding into his groin. The slightest bit of hardness had you pushing against them. "I am part of the realm, am I not?"

He pressed a kiss to your neck, beard prickling your bare skin, and laughed. "You are."

"Which means you must serve me as well, does it not?"

"It does." He pinched both of your nipples, whining with you when you sqiurmed in his arms. "How may I serve you, Lady Hightower?"

You turned your head, craning your neck to reach his ear. He lowered it further to press kisses to the curve of your throat. "I'd like you to fuck me," you said, the filth from your lips making him groan, "Hard. Fill me with more of your cum, and get me pregnant again."

"As you wish, my lady."

He continued squeezing your breasts with one hand as he slipped the other between your thighs. The cool leather against your heat had you whining once again. You felt the padded fingers swirl around your throbbing clitoris, deftly touching all the spots that made you weak in his hands. Middle finger rubbing up and down your swelling clit, you could feel your entrance already clenching. Each time his fingers came slightly close, it tightened in hopes of catching them. You moaned louder when those fingers rubbed you from side to side rapidly, keeping the brushes light and quick over your dampening sex. His fingers thicker due to the gloves, Otto only slid one finger inside you. Propping one leg on the bed, you kept hold of him as he fingered you in gentle pumps at first.

"My sweet Rosebud," he moaned when you reached a hand behind you for his cock. His length already pressed into his trousers, making a large bulge you cupped easily. "Always so eager for me," he stuffed his finger further inside you and making you arch your back, "Ever since we met."

"It's hard to control it sometimes," you confessed. Expertly, you untied his breeches and pulled them down just enough to withdraw him. Having his hard length in your hand only aroused you further. "Is it wrong for a wife to want to please her husband?"

"Not at all," he moaned, pushing forward into your hand in time with his finger.

The two of you touched for a while longer before he bent you over the bed. Your body already so accustomed to his size, you took it easily. Gripping the bed sheets, keeping your legs spread apart, you stayed still as Otto feverishly pounded into you. As always, one of his hands cupped your breast to pinch your nipple while you rubbed your aching clitoris for him. You made your fingers go in time with his thrusts, the need for an orgasm becoming hotter and hotter.

You both came quicker than usual. All the tension built up over time exploded into a hard, body-quaking orgasm that had you muffling your cries. He kept himself deep inside you for several minutes, doing his usual routine of pushing his seed further. Cedric already growing into a toddler, you'd told Otto you wished for another and he gladly agreed. When he finally pulled out, you stood up on aching and wobbly knees.

"Let's bathe together," he said in your ear, and you knew he was far from done with you.

[aemondsladywife]

need another otto vs aegon scene funniest scene of the szn idc 😭😭😭

[floatyflowers]

The Adopted Princess| Dark! Targaryen and Velaryon Boys x Reader (Aegon II, Aemond, Jacaerys, Lucerys) VI

Part V

You smile at your one-year-old daughter, as you happily play with her, entertaining her with her dragon toys.

A lot has happened in the past six years, like how your adoptive father Laenor who was killed, and how your adoptive mother remarried Daemon.

Helaena and Aegon got married and had children together, and so did you and Aemond, you gave birth to a daughter who your husband decided to name Daenerys.

Honestly, Aemond is a blessing, that's if you exclude his extremely possessive nature.

In other words, he's gentle and soft with you behind the doors of your and his chambers, but in front of the eyes of others, he is brutal.

Also, Aegon has been making your life extremely hard, especially with his persuasion of trying to bring you to his bed, to have an affair with him behind his brother's and wife's backs.

Something you hate, as Helaena is your best friend and you would never do that to her.

And Aemond...there's nothing in the seven kingdoms that would convince you to cheat on him.

Right now, you are enjoying your time with Daenerys, or Dany as you and your husband like to call her.

Suddenly, one of the guards enters your chambers.

"My princess, your brothers, Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys are here"

Hearing those words made your eyes widen in shock, which made you stand up on your feet with your daughter in your arms.

"What are you waiting for? let them in" you order, handing your daughter to the nursemaid.

The last time you saw them was at your wedding to Aemond, which was a disaster.

But that's a story for another time later, as the two Velaryon boys enter.

"Welcome brothers, I'm so happy-" 

Luke doesn't wait for you to continue as he throws himself into your embrace, hugging you tightly. 

"I missed you so much, (Y/n)" Lucerys exclaims as you hug him back.

"I believe it is 'we missed you so much', not only you"

You chuckle at Jace, opening your other free arm, and inviting him to hug you.

Jacaerys hugs you without hesitation, inhaling your scent without you noticing.

"I didn't that you would come, are mother and Daemon also here?" you inquire, after pulling away.

"Everyone came" Luke states while his older brother continues. 

"But, there was no one to greet us" Jacaerys asserts, causing you to sigh.

"I apologize, I'm sure it was unintentional, I'm sure" you assure them, even though you know it was done on purpose by Alicent and Otto.

"Is this Daenerys you have been talking about in the letters?" Luke suddenly inquires, staring at his niece.

"Do you want to hold her?" you offer cheerfully.

"Yes," Luke exclaims before taking the baby out of the nursemaid's hands.

You notice Jace's silence and his intense staring at your daughter, but you don't question it.

Little do you know, that Jace feels bitter inside.

You were supposed to be his wife, and this child could have been his not Aemond's.

If only his plan worked at your wedding, this dream of marrying you would have come true, but the king insisted that the wedding would continue.

"Vaemond Velaryon is trying to take Driftmark for himself" you chuckle at the news.

"Someone is trying to get his tongue cut off today"

꧁𖣔꧂

As expected, Vaemond got his punishment for calling your brothers bastards and your mother a whore, but Daemon cut off his head and only left his tongue and jaw attached instead of his tongue.

But, what wasn't expected is the king attending and defending his daughter in such poor health.

And not only that but also holding a feast tonight.

And also you who decided to stand on your mother's side, dressed in all black, showing your true intentions towards the whole situation between the greens and blacks.

"What was that back then?" Aemond demands as you brush your hair, while he stands directly behind you.

"I don't believe I know what you are trying to say, dear husband," you reply in innocence.

But his sharp glare through the mirror made you feel uneasy, you have never seen Aemond that angry before.

"Why did you stand by them, and not only that but wearing black instead of the green dresses you wear around me and my family?"

You turn around to face him, titling your head at him.

"You already know the answer to that" Aemond's hands grabs into your arms tightly at your answer.

"You must stand by me and my family, this is your duty" you huff, rolling your eyes.

"I believe I have been doing my duty for years, putting up with your idiotic brother and cunning grandfather" you assert.

"I mean support Aegon's claim to the throne" 

You try to move away from him, but he holds you in your place, not removing his gaze away from you.

"Support whose claim? A drunk and a molesting person like Aegon? over my dead body" you spat out, glaring back at him.

Aemond's following silence made you feel fear for some reason.

He's always calm before he strikes his enemies.

But you are not his enemy, you are his beloved wife, the mother of his daughter.

"Get ready for the feast, my dear" 

He kisses your forehead and smiles down at you, this caused you to become more worried.

"I will make your brothers, my nephews, feel welcomed"

With that, Aemond leaves you in your chambers, terrified at what might occur at the feast.

꧁𖣔꧂

You play with your necklace in paranoia, as Jace dances with Helaena while everyone having fun talking after Rhaenyra and the queen fix their friendship to please the king, who has left to take a rest.

However, the way you saw Aegon poking fun at Jacaerys shows how nothing is fixed.

"Can I please have this dance with you?" Lucerys asks, making you smile a bit at his sweetness to ease your worries.

"I would love to" your husband interrupts you, standing up all of a sudden, slamming his hands on the table, then picking up one of the wine cups.

"Final tribute, to the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, each of them handsome, wise... " Aemond glances at you, continuing his speech.

"...strong boys

You place your hands over your face with embarrassment and sadness. 

"I dare you to say that again" Jace raises his voice angrily at Aemond, causing the letter to walk over to him.

"Why? T'was a compliment, do you not think yourself strong?" Aemond mocks the older Velayron boy, causing him to throw a punch across your husband's face.

Aemond shoves Jace to the ground, and Aegon slams Lucerys face down on his plate, but you stop them from taking any further actions against your brothers.

"Stop it! STOP!" You scream, causing everyone's attention to switch to you.

"You are unbelievable, and I don't want to see your face today again" you point a finger at Aemond, turning around to narrow your eyes at Aegon who only smirks at you.

"And you are the most disgusting person I have ever met in my life, Aegon" you add, implying to him cheating on Helaena.

With those words being said, you leave the feast, not bothering to look behind.

However, Aemond will not let that slide.

Nor would Aegon.

Part VII

[the-heartlines]

bittersweet

rhaegon | {e. 3.5k}

~post-dance & the only survivors~

“look at what has become of us? both of us have lost everything. and now all that’s left of us…is our pain, our grief. you and me.” rhaenyra chokes back a sob, looking at her half-brother. all that is left of her family. her blood.

aegon gazes back at her, not with disdain or rage, but exhaustion, sadness, defeat. with the same dark circles, the same exact look of madness mirrored in her own violet eyes.

he could be mine own twin, she thinks almost laughing at the realization of how much they are alike. the same shade of silver blonde hair, unkempt and wild. she wishes he would say something, anything to stop her mind from racing, stop the madness from spreading through her like poison.

she longs to hear her brother speak, even though she should hate him, want to tear him apart with own bare hands. spill his blood all over the realm, sacrifice him—like her own son’s were sacrificed.

but she cannot seem to hate him any longer, wish to see him dead, his pretty head on a spike. because aegon ii targaryen, her brother, is all that’s left of her on this earth, keeping her tethered to her, tied to her fleshly vessel. and as long as he lives, breathes, is bound to her, she is chained to him as well.

“you and me?” he scoffs sadly, bitterly, pushing salt into the gaping wounds that are still bleeding, that have yet to scab over. 

“yes, aegon,” she says his name softly, trying to use her words as a binding tourniquet, stave the bleeding of the gashes, the cuts, that run deep, with her tongue. she has always been braver than him, never willing to let failure rule her life again.  “we started this mess and we must fix it, or lest—we let it consume us, destroy us. kill us.”

“i do not care, sister. and neither should you. i’ll hand you the dagger myself, while you drink the poison. we can both die together.” aegon retorts, firing back at her with his words, but she sees tears swimming in his eyes, unshed, and it makes her heart seize. her brother has never truly known true unconditional love and affection that one can have for the other. that a mother can have for a son. a sister for a brother. 

she can’t help herself, for she was a mother, is his sister. 

“aegon, do you not think that we have both drank enough of the poison fed to us since we were born? and i will not spill anymore of our blood, it is far too precious now, more than a bloody throne. or valyrian steel.” rhaenyra walks towards him gracefully, as a queen would towards their king, and gently grips her brother’s pallid cold cheeks in her hands, longing to bring warmth, rosiness back to them. 

the siblings have never been this close to one another. this kind of intimate proximity unbidden to them, forbidden by otto hightower’s garbled poison fed to alicent, the same way she undermined, poisoned her first born son with.

aegon looks up at her, his dark glassy violet eyes, still full of unshed tears. he looks haunted, so haunted, older than the young man he is. he reminds rhaenyra of their father, a king of the seven kingdoms, with all the unwanted weight, the burden laden upon him. since he was pushed from his mother’s womb. brought into this world with only this purpose, to be her challenge, her opponent, her enemy.

“we are family, aegon. you are my brother.” she strokes over the divot in his chin with her thumb, eyes drinking in every scar, mark, freckle, every indication that they are related, of the same bloodline.

“half.” 

it’s all he says, spitting the word out like a curse, a reminder of the past, but rhaenyra ignores it presently, taking aegon’s hand in hers and pressing it against her beating heart, right above her full breast, towards his future. she swallows, heart rattling like a drum, not realizing how much she’s missed being touched so intimately in a year.

“feel my heart, brother,” she accentuates the word, hoping each syllable rings true deep inside him; in his spirit. she bites her lip, suppressing a slight moan, when aegon’s hand flexes, nearly brushing her hardened nipple. and she wishes he would. she desires for him to be bold, to be the wrathful dragon, plundering and pillaging, taking and taking, burning her, until there is nothing left. 

but instead his hand remains motionless, stiff, refusing to mold to her flesh like molten fire. “aegon, please, feel my heart beating. the blood flowing through my veins is as much mine as it is yours, dear brother.” rhaenyra guides his hand upwards towards her warm skin, dipping his fingers beneath her gown, letting him feel the heat from her breast. the burning flesh, feverish with want, with desperation.

rhaenyra gazes deep into his eyes, seeing something alight, a spark starting to spread and it emboldens her, so she presses his hand more firmly against her heart, his calloused fingers deeper into the top of her gown, until his rough fingertips touch her hardened nipple, making them both gasp.

“sister,” aegon’s breath hitches and she can feel him shivering from their shared warmth, the closeness they should have had all along. but it’s not yet too late...fate now giving them both another chance to make things right.

“yes, brother,” rhaenyra moans, feeling his fingers curl around her sensitive nipple, no longer able to hold back the desire, the lust that swirls through her like a hurricane, overwhelming and over entrenching. “more.” she says, knowing that word is enough to push him to the point of no return. pushing them beyond containment because they will both lose control in the other. for they are two sides of the same coin of madness. and only they can complete one another now.

and rhaenyra is the key to unlocking everything unbidden in her brother, unleashing it all.

aegon’s lips are on hers before she can meet him halfway, kiss him first. and she understands he needs this, mayhaps, even more than she does. for in this moment, he’s a dragon starved, feasting, devouring on her flesh, his mouth inhaling her in like the sweetest aphrodisiac. her divine taste— a cure, unlike dreamwine or milk of the poppy, for all ailments he’s suffering. more potent and powerful, all consuming, all encompassing. 

and so rhaenyra opens her mouth to him, lets him twist her tongue with his, in another dance of the dragons. aegon clutches the front of her chest with both hands now, tearing her gown downwards to release her heavy teats to his gluttonous, greedy gaze, groping the meat of her tender breasts in his hands.

“oh, fuck,” rhaenyra groans, unable to help the curse, the hiss, that escapes her throat, his fingers prodding and pulling on her pink peaked tips.

“rhaenyra,” her brother growls her name so brazenly, so beautifully. and every syllable reverberates down her spinal cord, through her veins, straight to her core. towards her cunt that is dripping and drenched, desperate to be full and filled, only by him.

“please,” rhaenyra closes her eyes, pleading against aegon’s lips unabashedly, her hands groping the front of her brother’s hardness unashamedly, trying to mold his cock into submission with her hand. “i need you, aegon. i need to be fucked, brother, to be full of you.” she squeezes his cock a little too harshly in her hand, biting down into his bottom lip, pricking and piercing the skin, drawing his blood with her teeth for the first time. the bittersweet coppery twang of it streams into her mouth, coating her mouth. 

it makes them both ravenous, insatiable for one another.

“more.” aegon grinds his groin into the palm of her hand, digging his jagged nails into her nipples, begging rhaenyra for more of her pointed teeth upon him. begging for her to be the dagger, the sharp valyrian steel, that spills his blood. that only she has permission to. for his flesh, the fire in his blood, belongs to her solely now. and it feeds her volatility, the violence beneath her bones that rattles and resonates with both brother and sister. 

she sucks on his bottom lip, soothing it with her tongue, before her hands unlace his breeches frantically, freeing his weeping cock, gripping its girth close in her fist. “fuck, rhaenyra.” aegon jerks up into her embrace, so she closes her fingers tighter around him, tongue dipping into the mark on his chin, before her mouth moves downwards, towards the underside of his jaw. his stubble scratches her smooth skin and it feels sumptuous along her forlorn flesh, long forsaken by the fevered flesh of another. 

“tell me you need me, aegon,” she murmurs into the crook of his neck, his cock perfectly molded and shaped in her small enclosed hand; shielded and sheltered, held steady by her. “tell me you wantme.” her teeth graze over his throat and he swallows, breathing labored, nostrils flared, eyes closed, heart beating erratically, unevenly. her younger brother, lost to every sensation, every sensuous and serpentine slithering of her inexorably entrenching herself into his very soul and spirit. the elder sister taking root in his body, in the very veins, bones, and muscles that twist and tangle her in their intricacy. 

a queen capturing and conquering the king, caged within her motherly wings, her pointed claws, her maw clutching onto him forever. and so rhaenyra bites her dragon again, but harder, harsher, vulgarly gnawing on his wounded skin, his blood flowing into her, flooding her mouth. a primal roar emits low in her throat, and she clings to his jugular, wanting to drain him of every drop. 

“fuck!” aegon yelps, whining, and rhaenyra yanks his head backwards by his hair, running her fist along his manhood, demanding his compliance, commanding his body, his bones to bend, to sway and swing towards her like the branches and limbs of a tree. but not to break him because she needs him whole, sturdy and standing, rooted to her, not rotting from the inside out.

but first she must have his seed, milk it from his lithe body, have it take root deep inside the rot, bringing forth new life; a rebirth.

rhaenyra reluctantly relinquishes her damning hold on him, and aegon whimpers, her hold forever intertwined, interwoven into every crevice and crack, mending, sewing him back together with the scarlet string that links them together, unbent, unbroken.

“brother, sit,” she says hotly, his blood thick and red like pomegranate juice upon her plush lips, pushing him backwards into their father’s seat, with fiery fervor, but not rage, nor hate. running and raking her nails, her gaze, along her brother’s handsome body, she eyes his cock, standing proudly, flushed an angry shade of crimson, weeping, straining, matching the blood staining his neck, his pale chest, his now rosy cheeks. 

and then rhaenyra’s eyes are on his wide, hungry eyes, seeing the beginning of hope, the flowering of spring; lilac staring into deep violet, blooming under a new rising sun. 

she keeps her orbs locked with aegon’s, mesmerizing him, memorizing every fleck of gold that shines brighter in them when she reveals more of her hidden skin to him, tearing the black gown from her curves wholly.

he stares up at her in awe, mouth agape, the sunlight filtering through, haloing her silver hair, encircling her in a golden crown of the most glorious sun rays. a crown to echo the one rhaenyra lost everything for. lost everything to gain this. for she is his now. his savior. his sister. his goddess, his queen, with his fire and blood dripping deliciously from her mouth.

she steps closer towards his shadow, letting the sun touch it, bathe her brother in its luminous light, letting it blind him and bind him to her.

“kiss me,” rhaenyra demands and aegon is ferocious, feral, pulling her towards him, sealing his lips to hers, licking up the blood she extracted from him so exquisitely, so effortlessly. 

“nyra,” he growls, gutturally, his teeth gnawing onto her own lip, desperately trying to puncture it with as much perseverance, persistent on gorging and getting drunk off of her sweetness and blood.

“yes, aegon. yes.” rhaenyra extols, giving him permission, and so aegon does, rupturing through his sister’s pink flesh with his teeth lecherously, extracting her blood, tasting it alongside his. 

“brother, my sweet brother.” she praises, both exchanging breaths, sharing the air in their lungs, the blood of one another, with each other. and rhaenyra descends herself downward, sinking her supple, slick cunt onto her brother’s stiff manhood, engulfing and suffocating him with her heat.

 “sister!” he cries, his head falling back against the cushion, her voluptuous plump body beginning to bounce against his, contouring against his leaner one. 

“oh, gods,” rhaenyra moans, biting her bloodied lip raw, beginning to ride him viciously and wickedly, his cock penetrating her deeply. 

she watches aegon, with his eyes  closed tightly, fists clenched around the arms of their father’s chair. a chair that their father as king occupied daily, commanding the realm, serving his realm,  while rhaenyra kept quiet, bit her tongue, and served her king and his men. 

and now she rides his son—another king upon it. while each submits their body in servitude towards one another, a slave to each other’s insatiable pleasure.

rhaenyra’s peak is nigh, crescendoing inside her like the waves of a volatile sea, rising inside her, the higher the sun sets on the horizon, illuminating both dragons in its golden light.

“finish inside me,” rhaenyra orders, thrusting and rotating her hips into his, hearing him hiss before he latches onto her throat in the exact place she marked him; reclaiming what should have been his since the moment he was born. what should have been hers as much as the realm, the crown, and the throne.

“give me your seed.” she groans, feeling aegon’s hot searing tongue upon her tender and torn throat, licking her wounds. before the waves of pleasure crash inside her, drowning her in a mixture of salt and sea, as tears stream down her face. “give me your son, aegon.” 

this time aegon kisses her softly, with yearning, but hungrily, the curve of his lips sculpted by the gods, shaped to fit against hers faultlessly, immaculately. rhaenyra tastes the iron, the bitterness of her blood, interlaced with the sweetness of him—her brother.

the burning beneath his flesh, his very soul that scorches her, burns brighter and more incandescent than any star or sun. and she’s his silver moon mirroring that luminosity, brilliantly lighting the way towards both of their salvation. 

for targaryens were always meant to burn together—one body, one soul, one heart, one spirit.

she cups aegon’s face in her hands, thrusting her body languidly, longingly, not wanting him to ever leave her.

“i love you, brother.” rhaenyra confesses against her brother’s lips, telling him those three words for the first time, for she means every single word. and the storm breaks, lightning cracking, catapulting both siblings towards the highest and thunderous peak of their lives.

“sister!” aegon’s piercing cry rings out, as the sun sets and shadows engulf them, but they are together this time, tangled and tethered, closer than ever, eclipsing one another. he holds tight to her, hugging her to him, his mouth latching onto her breast, clinging to every piece of her he can clutch.

rhaenyra’s velvet and vice tight cunt selfishly milks his cock, every drop into the warmth of her womb, welcoming him, her king. and aegon selflessly offers himself up, willingly, worshiping his own goddess, his queen. 

and as king and queen, brother and sister, they shall begin anew, as husband and wife.

—

"don't worry, my son. just because your sister is older, doesn't mean you matter any less." aegon laughed, his smile lighting his face up is the most exquisitely, ethereal way.

"valarr." he let his son's name roll of his lips as venerated as a prayer, cupping their babe's silver haired head in his hands with such tenderness, it made rhaenyra's heart swell. "

"a fine name for a prince. one of valor, if i must say, my husband." rhaenyra teases, lightly trailing her fingers over the inside of aegon's wrist, affectionately, causing goose pimples to rise along his flesh.

"yes, wife," aegon breathes deeply, eyeing their other silver haired babe at her breast, nursing contentedly, nearly asleep. “a brave brother for his older sister.” 

rhaenyra laughs, rolling her eyes, “only by a mere minute, aegon.” 

“and they shall be closer than we ever we’re growing up..thank the gods.” aegon places valarr in the cradle next to their bed, then takes their sleeping daughter away from rhaenyra’s breast, placing her next to her twin.

”viserra,” he presses his lips to her forehead, “my sweet viserra. every bit her mother’s daughter.” aegon chants, sighing against her skin, his violet eyes catching rhaenyra’s.

and his beautiful gaze is full of light, of hope, of love.

rhaenyra tries to speak, tries to say her brother’s name, but her throat is thick with emotion, so she extends her hand to him, beckoning him towards her.

and he holds it, intertwining and interlacing their fingers together, gripping her tightly.

”i love you, rhaenyra,” he confesses for the first time out loud, for her to hear, with his own lips. and it’s the most holy words he’s ever said, that she’s ever heard; the sweetest and heavenliest honeyed wine dripping from his tongue.

she pulls him towards her, kissing him to reassure that’s she knows, has always known—luring her sun to her with her moonlight that seeps into every crack and crevice of his soul, healing every wound, sealing every internal cut, a soothing balm for each scar.

“i know, brother.” she cups his face and tears fall freely down her face and rhaenyra welcomes them, for they are ones of happiness, of the utmost joy. 

“sister,” her brother groans into her mouth, glancing down towards her chest, where her rosy tips are leaking onto the her husband’s naked chest. rhaenyra sighs when he cups her swollen teats in his hands, molding his hands with their shape, before he’s moving his lips once more.

“please, mother.” he seeks her permission and rhaenyra relents graciously yanking aegon by the roots of his hair and pushing her dripping, hardened nipples into his waiting mouth.

”yesss, my sweet brother,” she hisses, his mouth moaning, latching hungrily, drinking, needing to desperately drown his lungs in her mother’s milk, just as he has with her blood—their blood. 

his fingers snake between her sore cunt, finding the hidden aching pearl that brings the most exquisite pleasure. for his mouth and fingers know her body, how to expertly draw out her peak in mere moments. and aegon does it hastily, afraid he’ll lose her forever. and so she climaxes fast, hearing him suck her teats fiercely, his fingers furiously dragging another peak from her body.

”no more, please. she begs quietly, trying not to wake the twins, before he does it once more, determined to ruin her extravagantly. and this time rhaenyra bites her lip to keep from moaning her brother’s name aloud. she’s eager for him wholly, wanting him to fill her womb once more, but she knows she must wait, be patient. but nonetheless her body trembles effortlessly, exhaustively, her cunt soaks his fingers and he drains her of her milk, before he finally finishes.

“gods, wife. i will never tire of your sweetness.” aegon collapses next to her, panting and breathless, licking his lips and rhaenyra seals her lips to his, stealing the sweetness from his tongue, wanting to share in the nourishment that feeds their babes.

”well, husband,” rhaenyra yawns, nestling her backside into her brother’s very hard and leaking cock, rubbing her ass against it. “i am exhausted and must sleep.”

”rhaenyra!” aegon hisses, feeling his wife’s hand reach around and encircle around his girth, gripping it tightly. 

“goodnight, brother.” rhaenyra squeezes his head, petting it, patting it, then leaving him without her touch, teasing him. and aegon groans frustratedly, while she smirks knowingly.

because they both know she won’t leave him wanting long, waiting for her, not like she has in the past.

because as brother and sister they belong to one another, like a body belongs to a soul, connected by veins, arteries, a heart. and rhaenyra is the very heart of aegon. and her blood makes his heart beat, with fire, fervency. 

free from the shackles of the bitterness, made whole by the blossoming sweetness; with the burning bond that’s unbreakable between them.

[e1e4n0r5]

Twisted Love - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Summary: You always expected to marry your twin brother, Daeron. However, when this does not come to be, you find comfort with your siblings. As only Targaryens could. 

Okay, can't lie, I struggled with this chapter. I just wanted to bring Daeron back but logistically couldn't because of the necessary time jump. After all, it would have been very unlikely for Alicent & Otto to allow Daeron to come home the second Reader is no longer "available", so yes we have a time jump. Lovely family life for our foursome!

Warnings: oral sex, vaginal sex, pregnancy, descriptions of childbirth, lactation kink, talk of postpartum bodies

As it turned out, perhaps you were meant for Aemond all along. Over the two years previous, Aemond had proven himself to be an excellent lover, whilst still able to maintain the public façade of being simply a loving brother to his younger sister. But from the moment the two of you first walked arm-in-arm through the corridors of the Red Keep, he excelled as a husband. He thrived on it, basking in it. Born to fulfil that role. The validation and approval he felt when he saw the courtiers looking at your matching rings satisfied him immensely. He practically preened whenever someone addressed either of you as ‘husband’ or ‘wife’. Your husband was glowing with pride, and you loved that for him.

Growing up, the middle Targaryen-Hightower sibling often felt excluded from the five of you. There was Aegon and Helaena, and you and Daeron. Where did that leave Aemond, he wondered all his life. He didn’t know that you had never intended for your second brother to be excluded; you would have taken him as a second husband in the very same ceremony in which you would have married Daeron. The five of you would never have been separated. You would never have allowed that to happen. Never.

But now he felt secure in his place, with you officially by his side and he by yours. Before your marriage, the two of you would spend time together, of course, you were siblings after all. But now, it was like Aemond wanted you with him constantly. He could barely stand to be apart from you. He even moved his training time to the first thing in the morning, at the very crack of dawn, because he knew you slept until mid-morning, and he wanted to be there when you woke. He didn’t want to miss a second with you. After he broke fast with you, you bathed together – he had to clean after his training, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to spend time with your handsome naked husband – then you would both spend time with family, typically Helaena and the children. You would ride your dragons together, walk through the gardens together, read in the library together. Every possible second he could spend by your side, Aemond did so.

But it didn’t madden you, because you understood the reason why: Aemond was happy.

At long last, Aemond Targaryen was finally happy.

After spending his entire childhood feeling isolated, being bullied by the Velaryon boys for not having a dragon, then having his eye carved out by Lucerys after claiming Vhagar, Aemond was finally happy with his life. He had a beautiful wife who loved him; two lovers in his other siblings; and finally approval from the courtiers – despite how much he might deny how important that last part was to him. You were well loved at court, and he was your husband; having an adored wife was always a bonus for a prince. After Rhaenyra’s long absences from court, her moniker had somehow been placed upon your head, and Aemond flourished in the knowledge that his wife was now the Realm’s Delight. It thrilled him.

So no-one was shocked when you announced your pregnancy within only a few months of being married. You lay with your husband almost every night and you never once drank Moon Tea. It was inevitable, and most welcome. Not entirely by your mother or grandsire. They both smiled for you and toasted your health, but you could tell they weren’t completely happy. Perhaps they had hoped that if no children occurred soon enough, that they could dissolve the marriage and use either you, Aemond, or both of you to secure alliances elsewhere in the Six Kingdoms. But your mother hugged you and wished you well, offering advice and support about pregnancy and what you could expect.

Helaena announced her pregnancy a fortnight after yours but told you when you were all together that night that she had conceived the same night as you – your wedding night. The four of you were all thrilled; you had everything you wanted. You were all together, and there were two babes on the way. Life was perfect.

But you did still miss Daeron. You were delightfully happy and content with your new life, but that didn't - couldn't – take away how much you still longed for your twin. When the midwife had confirmed your pregnancy and a kiss had been pressed to your cheek, a part of you had expected to turn your head and see Daeron beside you. You weren't disappointed that it was Aemond, but that part of you that had long desired to marry Daeron hadn't gone away.

And you knew Daeron felt the same. You wrote to your twin almost every day, even though ravens took almost a week to travel to Oldtown and another week to return. You and Daeron would just send your replies to each other paired with the original letter, that way you would always know which conversation you were replying to. But when you sent him your letter announcing your pregnancy, he didn't respond to it. He replied to others, with an undeniably stilted tone, but he never addressed your condition. He would ask if you were well and that he wished you good health, but he never directly acknowledged the babe in your belly. You knew it must have been hard for him, to hear of your marriage to another brother and know that you were carrying that other man's child, but it still hurt.

You could only hope that your mother and grandsire would finally allow Daeron to return home, now that they thought you weren't free to marry each other. Nothing to do, but wait for the final sibling to return home. It was just a question of how long that would take.

Aemond closed the door behind him as he returned from visiting Vhagar. He glanced around your rooms on his way inside.

“Abrazȳrys? (wife)” he called.

A sash suddenly came down over his head, pressing lightly against his throat. For a split second, Aemond panicked, but then he calmed as he assessed the situation. It was a silk sash, not a rope or chain. Whoever was behind him was significantly smaller than him, with breasts and a bumped stomach. An unlikely assassin. Then a familiar perfume filled his senses.

“You shouldn't play with fire, little one,” he purred. “We wouldn't want you getting burned,” he looked over his shoulder at you.

You smiled up at him, the ends of the sash in your hands. “I won't get burned, husband-”

“Then would you care to explain your actions? Sneaking up on a trained warrior, tying a rope around his neck... Something awful could have happened to you had I not recognised your delicious fragrance.” His voice was hard, reprimanding you.

You pouted. “I wanted to take charge tonight.”

That shocked Aemond. You had never once expressed a desire to be in charge in the bedroom, always so happy and willing to follow his lead in everything you did together. You didn’t even top with Aegon or Helaena – you were the most submissive sibling, always happy to submit to everyone. Aemond himself was the most dominant, never submitting to anyone. Aegon was mostly dominant, though he did enjoy certain submissive activities – he had even fully submitted to Aemond on several occasions. Helaena was flexible, though she was always dominant to you.

“What has provoked this new want of yours?”

You shrugged. “I don't know precisely. I just want to try it, see if I like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I can fetch Aegon or Helaena-”

“No,” you protested. “I want it to be you.”

He turned slowly in your arms, the sash moving from his throat to the back of his neck. “I'm not suited to submission, Y/N.”

You frowned sadly. “You don't trust me.”

“I trust you with my very being, with all that I am.”

“…But?”

He pulled you close, pressing his hips to yours as best he could, given your lightly rounded pregnant belly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I take over, darling? You always receive such pleasure with me, do you not? You know I can give you anything you desire,” he ran the tip of his nose up your neck, pressing soft kisses as he went.

Your eyes fluttered closed, sighing softly. But you stopped. “No! No, I know what tricks you’re playing,” you protested.

Aemond sighed through his nose. “You won't be swayed?”

You shook your head.

“There is nothing I can offer, or promise, or provide you that will change your mind?”

Again, you shook your head.

“Very well then.” He stood up straight, clasping his arms behind his back. “Do you want to begin now?”

You grinned widely, nodding. “Yes!”

“Then I am yours.”

Hours later

You took control hours ago, and you had only climaxed once, Aemond not at all. You had started the two of you off slowly, asking Aemond for a long massage of your entire body. Your pregnancy was starting to send aches through your body as you grew to accommodate your baby, and you were getting sore most days. It was certainly no hardship for Aemond to lie you down, supporting your body with soft pillows atop your bed, and slowly, sensually, and thoroughly rub his hands across your body. He made a note to himself to do it for you more often; going by the sounds you made, your body definitely needed it.

He had soothed your body for an hour, leaving you floppy and relaxed on the bed. Afterwards, you took control back and had him get on his knees at the end of the bed. Again, not exactly a hardship for him. But it had been for you; your desire to be in control had made you direct him too much – ‘up a bit, harder, suck gently, faster’ – and rendered you unable to truly relax and enjoy your husband’s attention. When Aemond politely suggested that you relax and let him please you his way, given how he knew your body and knew precisely how to give the most pleasure, you had reprimanded him, thinking he was trying to take back control.

It was a long hour for the both of you before your legs had finally started to shake and your orgasm eventually arrived, not as satisfying as usual. You then ordered your husband onto his back on the bed, climbing over his hips and started to ride. Something you had done many times and that you both always enjoyed. But it wasn't going well.

Aemond looks up at you, pity rising inside him as he watches you grip the headboard over his head and try to maintain your rhythm. You’re tiring, quickly. He can read your face perfectly after years of experience; your head tilted forward indicates your fatigue from riding; the tiniest crease between your brows shows your frustration at not climaxing for so long; and the subtle tremor of your jaw tells him you’re close to tears.

He squeezes your hips softly. “Y/N,” he purrs your name, “stop, sweetheart-”

“No!” you snap. “I can-” you pause to pant, “I can keep going! I’m doing it! I’m in charge!”

He shakes his head. “Y/N, do you trust me?”

His random question makes you stop, your quivering thighs giving way and dropping your hips onto his. “What?”

“Do you trust me?” he repeats calmly, rubbing his hand over your tense thighs. He’ll need to massage them again later.

Your shaking arms drop down from the headboard, falling limply at your sides. “Yes,” you concede.

He knows you’ve given up, and that you’re upset about it. He knows you feel like a failure. “Come here, darling,” he urges you to lie down against his chest, holding you tightly. He gives you a minute to catch your breath, kissing your forehead every few seconds. When your breathing has slowed, he tightens his hold on you, slowly and carefully rolling the two of you over. With your body under his, you visibly relax, your drained body sinking into the soft mattress with a relieved sigh.

“You did so well, darling,” he praises, dotting kisses all over your cheeks and neck.

You’re too exhausted to shake your head. “It was awful! I could have done-”

“It was your first attempt at domination, Y/N. You can always try again.”

“With Aegon or Helaena,” you giggle.

He smiles down at you. “That would be best. I’d be happy to instruct you, if that was what you wanted?”

You shake your head. “I actually didn’t enjoy it that much. It made my mind too busy; I couldn’t focus on enjoying myself. How do you do it? How do you make it seem like you’re focusing on me completely, and still be able to find your own pleasure?”

He slips his fingers into your hair, rubbing your scalp gently. Your eyes close as you release a low moan. “Because for me, receiving your submission and giving you pleasure is what gives me pleasure. Having you suck my cock is pleasurable, but it’s your submission in the act that is most satisfying for me. Your cunt is a joy to fuck, but it’s the trust you place in me as I do that fulfils me. Do you understand, darling?”

You nod. “I think so?”

He kisses your lips. “Good. Do you want to continue, or should we let you rest?”

“I want you to finish,” you answer, surprising him.

“Not yourself as well?”

You shrug. “I think I’m too tired.”

He smirks. “Well, that is a challenge if ever I knew one. Let’s see what we can do for you, shall we?”

And he did not disappoint. He started slow, letting your body adjust to him again through your fatigue. It was the most pleasure you’d experienced all evening. He held you close, kissing you deeply, knowing just what rhythm to keep by how you moved under him, the sounds you made, the way you begged him for more. It was well into the night when you finally used your safe word, tapping his shoulder three times with a mumbled 'bantazma' (long night), indicating to Aemond that perhaps eight orgasms was sufficient for the evening.

He made you do fifteen the following night.

Your pregnancy went perfectly, everyone said you handled it wonderfully. Like a true Princess, many courtiers had complimented. Helaena gave birth only a few days before you, to a beautiful healthy son. They had yet to announce a name for their third child, and you suspected she and Aegon were waiting for you to give birth yourself. Your sister had mentioned a few times that she thought it would be nice for your children to have similar names, given that they were conceived on the same night. If the Maesters and midwives were to be believed, your labours would begin any day.

And it was. You started having pains in the late hours, Aemond staying up all night to rub your back and tummy for you as you tried to get some rest. By day break, your waters had broken and your pains increased. The Maesters tried to make Aemond leave the room, but he just stared them down.

"The birthing room is not a fit place for a man, your Highness."

"And how do you plan on removing me from my wife as she births our child?" he snapped coldly, even as he rubbed your hips whilst you clung to him during a contraction.

"He stays," you insisted through gritted teeth. “If you take him from me, our dragons will feed well tomorrow.”

Helaena and your mother came in from time to time, giving Aemond brief respites, but he was never gone long. Aegon stayed with the children and nannies, keeping himself occupied and out the way. Whilst he did want to see you, it wasn't permitted – after all, to everyone else, he was merely your brother, nothing more. To have him, a man who wasn’t your husband or a Maester, in the room would have caused scandal and rumour. Aemond assured him whenever he left the room that you were doing well and the Maesters had absolutely no concerns about you or the child. They anticipated an easy birth for you both.

And they were correct. It was agony, but all went well. You insisted on pushing completely naked, standing in front of the window, looking out over the city. The sun was high in the sky and bathed your skin with its heat. It soothed your Targaryen blood, and you felt peace as you pushed, despite the pain. Aemond stood by your side, holding you upright as the midwife guided your efforts. With a long and low groan, your child was born just after midday. A son was placed in your arms, crying his lungs out until he rested his ear against your chest. Aemond held you tightly as you wept with joy, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as a tear slipped down his own cheek.

The midwives cleaned you up and got you back into bed, your mother the Queen waiting patiently outside to be let in. She, Aegon, and Helaena carrying her new-born son, all entered when you called them in, large smiles all around.

“Well done, my darling,” your mother praised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “A healthy son?”

You smiled down at your sleeping babe. “He’s perfect.”

“Have you got a name?” Aegon asked, standing next to Aemond and giving him a congratulatory pat on the back.

Aemond looked at you, and you gave him a happy nod. He lifted his head proudly. “We've called him Maenor.”

Aegon raised his eyebrows. “There's never been a Maenor before.”

“First of His Name,” you agreed. You looked at Helaena and her baby. “Have you finally got a name for your son, sister?”

She came and sat next to you on the bed. “We waited for you. This is Maelor.”

Aemond looked at Aegon, “First of His Name?”

Aegon nodded proudly. “Great minds think alike, brother.”

“Maelor and Maenor?” Alicent blinked a few times but smiled at both her daughters. “They're both beautiful boys, with strong names. Though it may take some time to...Remember.”

You smiled at your obviously tense mother. “Just remember that both Helaena and Maelor have Ls in their names, and me and my son don't.”

She nodded. “Very helpful, daughter, thank you.”

Motherhood came naturally to you. Of course you had nannies and a wet nurse to care for your son during the nights, but you wouldn't be removed from him after you woke. You even followed in Helaena’s footsteps and shocked the court by feeding Maenor from your own breast. It was almost completely unheard of that a high-born lady would nurse their children – your own mother certainly hadn't – but you loved the bond it created between the two of you. It was hard at first, even painful at times, but it was worth it to you.

Your brothers and sister had no complaints either. After the Maester and midwife had cleared you and Helaena to resume ‘marital relations’, the four of you had almost fallen over each other to get back to Aegon’s and Helaena’s rooms. And the first thing the three of them did was strip you naked, lay you down and worship your breasts. You, Aegon, and Aemond had all sampled Helaena’s milk from having the twins; and now the three of them wanted to try yours.

Aemond had already had a taste when you nervously indulged his interest one night, so he settled his head between your legs whilst your siblings kissed and licked and sucked gently on your breasts. He had sorely missed this most intimate part of you since your birth, and he was aching to get reacquainted. He kissed and licked and sucked gently, bringing you to a soft and peaceful climax for your first time after having a baby, and you almost cried with your release.

Then it was Helaena’s turn, receiving the same treatment from the three of you; her husband between her legs and her siblings at her breasts. She had a few more lines on her tummy than you, and you made sure to kiss every single one.

Life had moved on with your growing family, now a family of four with a daughter following your son. Maenor was now four, and your beautiful, sweet Aena was nine moons. You didn’t know where the time had gone, life and time were odd concepts. Helaena hadn’t had another child after their son born only one week before Maenor, but she and Aegon had said she was going to stop taking Moon Tea soon. Knowing how easily she had fallen pregnant with the twins and their son Maelor, Helaena would be pregnant before her next moon’s blood.

The four of you were all passing an afternoon together, surrounded by your growing brood of children, when a page was let into the large sitting room. He headed for you as you were closest to the door, pouring yourself a cup of tea from the sideboard near the door. Helaena was sat on a sofa with Aena in her lap and her daughter Jaehaera at her side, showing the older child illustrations of insects from a book; Aena was asleep in her arms, still needing several naps a day. Aegon and Aemond were on the floor rough-housing with Jaehaerys, Maelor, and Maenor.

The page presented a scroll on a silver platter to you, a polite nod of his head with a quiet ‘princess’. You smiled and gave a thanks as you opened the scroll, your smile widening when you saw Daeron’s seal. You unfurled the scroll, your eyes moving left to right as you read the carefully penned words. Your eyes welled up.

Aemond saw you from his spot on the floor, even as he dangled Maenor over his shoulder whilst the little boy screeched with laughter. “What is it, issa jorrāelagon (my love)?”

You looked up at him, joyful tears trickling down your cheeks. “Daeron’s coming home.”

And Aemond’s heart sank.

Chapter 3

@watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @aemondsdelight @thelittleswanao3 @misspascalpunk

[flowerandblood]

The Vanity and Variability (2)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & VhagarMoodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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When their father received a letter of marriage proposal from Otto Hightower he was furious. He thought it would be humiliating for him to give any of his daughters away to a proud, vain bankrupt who would choose any of them by grace, just for their vast fortune.

He decided to create a small domestic gathering and called her, all her sisters and their brother into their living room.

They sat at the table listening with attention and surprise to what he had to say to them. Their father was met with a completely different reaction than he had expected.

"Please, father, he is almost like a prince. I would live in a palace!" Exclaimed Maris, already imagining in her mind how she would walk through the grand chambers of their gigantic mansion located in London.

"The Targaryens are one of the most important names in our country, it would bring great honour to our family. Your grandson would have royal blood, father. What harm would it do for us to have him come here to determine if we would like him?" Cassandra asked, and their father could not find the right answer to this question, so he finally gave in, recognising that it was nothing official for now.

He replied to Mr Hightower that his grandson could come to his estate to get acquainted with his daughters under his watchful eye to decide if they liked each other.

She had no idea what she thought of the arrival of someone like him; her sisters lived only for his person, counting down the days until his arrival.

One evening they sat all together in their nightgowns in Cassandra's room, which she was entitled to as the eldest daughter and was the largest, talking animatedly. It was good custom for it to be the eldest daughter who was married first, and it was clear that she was concerned about what Mr Targaryen would think of them.

"When he arrives here, we must all behave with decorum and maintain good manners. Do you hear me?" She directed her words at her and she swallowed quietly, nodding and lowered her gaze, fiddling with the fabric of her chemise.

She was the youngest of them, standing next to them looking less like a real, full woman and more like a child in her eyes.

Although the shape of her breasts and hips were outlined under her chemise, she didn't look as serious as they did, she still tied her long hair up with a ribbon at the back of her head instead of forming it into an exquisite bun like they did.

She tried once to style her hair in such a bun, but found that it completely didn't suit her. She looked as if she was just trying to disguise herself as a grown-up woman, a wife and mother, which she was not, and she gave up sadly, telling her maid to let her hair down again.

She had never thought about marriage or love before, being far in line behind her sisters, but one day she realised that since it was not agreed that Mr Targaryen would marry Cassandra and that he could choose any of them, he could choose her too.

The thought terrified her.

"But what will I do if he chooses me?" She asked one day on a walk, walking with them leisurely into town to see the new hats in the shops, and Floris laughed out loud at her words.

"Don't bother, you look like a child and you're unkempt. You have nothing to worry about." She said lightly, and she felt burning tears of humiliation under her eyelids, slowing down and following them completely behind.

Although she did not want a husband at all, it hurt her cruelly that they thought he would despise her not only as a possible future spouse, but as a person in general.

She confided her worries to her father, standing before him and weeping, struggling to put her distress into words, and he looked at her with paternal concern, running his hand over her chin. When she had finished speaking he stood up and walked over to her, catching her soft cheeks in his large, rough hands.

"My dearest, why do you need the attention of someone like him? A man who only wants your wealth, who I am sure will not respect or value you? I hope that after his visit your sisters will change their minds and no marriage will take place, and you will pay no attention to him at all when he arrives here. Even if he wanted you for a wife, I would never give you up to him for the devouring of those vultures of London with only vanity and volatility in their hearts." He murmured lowly and leaned down, kissing her forehead, and she felt an immense sense of relief.

Her father, as well as her brother, were always able to comfort her.

When the day of Mr Targaryen's arrival came, her sisters had been dressing up all day, shouting and running around the house, accusing each other of stealing jewellery or dresses, losing something every step and crying. She watched this with amusement, dressed in her everyday summer gown, looking calmly out of the window, thinking only that this commotion did not concern her.

She had stopped feeling bad about the thought, but she was curious to see what kind of man he would be.

When his carriage finally arrived outside their manor house everyone, according to good manners, went out to meet him with their father in the lead. When the carriage door opened a large, beautiful white dog, looking like a fox, suddenly jumped out of it.

She thought it was love at first sight.

She immediately ran towards her despite her father's calls, and the animal jumped on her, putting its dirty paws on her shoulders, licking her face. She laughed, embracing her around her waist, dishevelled by how sweet this dog was.

When she finally jumped down she stroked her soft fur and raised her head, noticing the man looking at her out of the corner of his eye, pale, his lips tightened into a thin line expressing impatience and embarrassment, his gaze piercing, cool and uncomfortable, the black ribbon bow tying his almost white hair into a long ponytail.

He pulled off his cylinder, tucked it under his arm and it was only then that she noticed his famous black eye patch, the long scar stretching across the entire left side of his face.

She thought that, contrary to what she had imagined, he was not scary, but, according to her father's words, he seemed to her infinitely vain and distraught at having to be here, even though they were doing his family a favour.

She decided not to think about him and leave the conversation with him to her sisters, leaving all her attention and love to his dog, whose name, as it turned out, was Vhagar.

Taking advantage of her owner's absence, she decided to lock herself in her room with her along with a piece of roast on a plate and practice tricks with her.

"Sit." She said lowly, and Vhagar immediately sat down, looking greedily at the piece of meat she had in her hand. She handed it to her as soon as she followed her command, and she devoured it greedily, licking herself with a loud click.

She also appeared to be able to lie down and stand still on command, as well as running up to her leg.

"Give me your paw." She said, extending her hand to her, and she sat up, wagging her tail, looking with big eyes at the next piece of meat she was holding, panting heavily.

She sat down next to her on the floor, still holding her outstretched hand in front of her.

"Give me your paw." She repeated, and she began to squirm and bark, not understanding what was expected of her, what she had to do to be able to eat this delicious piece of chicken.

She took her paw in her hand and shook it, showing her what she was supposed to do, then placed a piece of meat in front of her, which she immediately swallowed.

"Good doggy." She praised her and stroked her, taking another piece from her plate, again extending her hand to her.

"Give me your paw." She said softly, Vhagar twisted in her place and barked. She repeated the command and she scratched her thigh with her paw, checking to see if this was the movement she had in mind.

"Good doggy! Such a good doggy!" She said happily, letting her eat another piece of meat, stroking her fur, praising her wisdom.

They both jumped when she heard a quiet knock on her door. She opened it and was startled to see the silhouette of their guest, looking down at her as if he was about to kill her, Vhagar threw herself at him cheerfully, longing for her owner.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her coolly, clearly frustrated, and she pressed her lips together, deciding that she would share the rather pleasant news that his dog was able to perform a new activity thanks to her efforts.

"I was just teaching her a new trick." She whispered, not wanting to wake the sleeping family members and was already about to explain to him what the trick was specifically about when he spoke directly to her, looking at her disapprovingly.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed and whistled at Vhagar, motioning towards his room.

She pressed her lips together, feeling a sting in her heart at his unpleasant and cold words, but thought she might have expected it. She saw to her surprise, however, that his dog turned towards her every once in a while, standing and apparently considering whether she felt like continuing to play with her instead of going to sleep.

Despite her owner's efforts, she refused to budge and jumped up when he suddenly grabbed her violently by the fur on her neck, pulling her forcibly towards his room, as if he had completely lost his temper, furious, she pulled in the air loudly and squealed in despair at the sight, hearing her whine full of pain and terror.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She called out pleadingly, and suddenly, as if he realised what he was doing he looked at her surprised and let go of Vhagar, who immediately ran away from him, hiding back in her room. She looked at his face and was surprised to find that he was broken, she had a feeling that he was about to cry.

What was the matter with him?

She swallowed loudly, wanting to quickly alleviate the situation she ran into her room and picked up a piece of meat, shoving it under Vhagar's nose. She immediately followed her, curious, and they both left the room, but when she saw her owner standing in the same place she panicked and lowered her tail, fearing that he would do the same to her as he had a moment ago.

She approached his stony figure, she had the impression that he had completely frozen absorbed in his own agony at the thought that his dog would now hate him.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She whispered to him pleadingly, handing him the meat she held between her fingers. They both crouched down, looking at Vhagar, who watched them with lowered ears, alert. He held out his hand to her, she could see that his fingers were trembling.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered with difficulty, brokenly, no longer resembling at all the man she had seen getting out of the carriage. He seemed suddenly human to her, full of some cruel contradiction she could not comprehend. She felt the pain pouring out of him, the fear of rejection, and involuntarily felt sympathy.

She realised that he had probably been forced to come here, exposed as if in a market to be watched and judged by her sisters, all the time in the limelight, having to make a choice even though they, in his eyes, were not worthy of him in status.

She thought he had no right to feel superior to them, coming here only for their fortune, but she couldn't help seeing him now as just an ordinary man, terrified by the vision that his beloved pup would be afraid of him.

Vhagar approached him slowly and hesitantly took from his hand what he had on it. She saw his fingers stroke her white fur with tenderness and gentleness, and then her head snuggled against his chest, his face pressed against hers expressing something like relief, his lips tightened, his eyes red.

She smiled at the sight, feeling at the same time remorseful at the fact that all this had happened because of her, because she hadn't asked his permission if he would mind if she played with his dog.

"− I'm so sorry −" She whispered softly and he looked at her, she noticed with surprise that his gaze was not cold and chilly. It was focused, uncertain, filled with feeling, suffering and loneliness, depth and emptiness at the same time.

He did not answer.

She stood up and called out quietly to Vhagar, heading for his room, and she immediately moved to follow her. She wanted to lead her to his bedroom and force her to stay there to end this whole unpleasant situation.

She sat down on the floor and reached out to her. She immediately laid down next to her and put her paw on her thigh as she taught her. She smiled and stroked her soft fur, then lifted her gaze and saw that he was standing over them, looking at them as if they were some amazing creatures, in his eyes surprise and shock that she dared to enter his room in the middle of the night in just her nightgown.

The realisation of this gaffe hit her with redoubled force and she stood up quickly, explaining that she only wanted Vhagar to go in there after her, leaving quickly and closing the door behind her, running to her room and sighing heavily, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought that this was not a good start to their acquaintance and that he probably hated her for sure now.

However, she decided that since he wouldn't consider her anyway it didn't matter, she was more worried that by her behaviour he would have a bad opinion of her sisters, and she knew how Cassandra cared about this marriage.

She was the eldest and felt time was slipping through her fingers, many men had asked for her hand because of her father's wealth, but they were too old for her or unpleasant to look at.

It appeared that she might have been too fussy, and now someone from a royal background almost their own age had come to their house and it seemed the perfect opportunity for her.

She didn't want to ruin her happiness.

However, as always, Floris was unable to restrain her nosiness even at breakfast, pestering her with questions and accusations that she did not have the strength to answer. She felt Mr Targaryen's eye on her, and if she didn't know him she would have thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his gaze.

"My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself." Her father finally said to her, and she swallowed loudly, lifting her gaze to him.

She could see that he was looking at her uncertainly, terrified of what she might say, of what she had seen, which could reflect badly on his reputation.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out with difficulty what she really wanted to say to him and saw that he swallowed loudly, lowering his eyes and hummed under his breath as if in thought, running his fingertips over the table top.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, startling her completely, and as he lifted his determined, burning gaze to her she understood that he wanted to tell her that he was ashamed of his behaviour.

She felt a warmth in her heart at the thought that he had decided to apologise to her even though the fault lay with her.

She heard Floris snort at his words, displeased that he had not rebuked her.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, looking her straight in the eye, and she felt humiliation spilling over her body, her cheeks red.

She swallowed hard, breathing unevenly, lowering her gaze, repeating to herself that she couldn't make a scene and start crying in front of him, that Cassandra would reprimand her again, saying she was acting like a child.

She felt she was losing to her own distress and got up at last, apologising quietly and left quickly, running out into the courtyard. She heard quick footsteps behind her a moment later and didn't even have to turn around to know it was Royce.

"Wait." He called out to her and she stopped, looking at him with parted, trembling lips, tears streaming involuntarily down her red face. Royce put his arm around her waist and she embraced his as they moved ahead, looking forward, saying nothing.

"Don't mind her. She can't bear the thought of not living in a grand palace. Unfortunately, I can't say she's the smartest of my sisters." He said amused, and she burst out laughing through her tears, hugging him, as usual feeling relieved in his company.

"What was he apologising to you for?" He asked after a moment, and she grunted quietly, unsure if she should talk about it.

"He was angry that I locked myself in my room with his dog. But he was right. That's all." She said briefly, figuring she would skip the details, not wanting to put him in a bad light in front of her brother, recognising that she had known him too briefly to judge him so quickly.

Royce already wanted to go home, but she said she wanted to continue her journey and walk to the lake to calm down completely. She loved listening to the quiet sound of the water sitting by the shore and had no desire to look at Floris for the next few hours.

So she moved ahead alone, taking comfort from the beautiful summer views all around her, the fields surrounding her green and full of flowers, the air clean and crisp.

She shuddered when she suddenly heard a loud barking and saw Vhagar running quickly towards her. The dog pounced on her and started licking her face, and she laughed out loud.

"What are you doing so far from home?" She asked, stroking her snout as she fell back onto her four paws, and it was only when she looked around that she noticed Mr Targaryen's silhouette sitting on the shore, his impenetrable gaze directed towards her.

For a moment she considered returning home, but realised she didn't want to go back there. Even more so if he wasn't there now, her sisters would lash out at her with questions and accusations, keeping at least a hint of civility in his presence.

Only Ellyn was being nice to her, Cassandra tried to fight the feelings warring within her, but she could see the frustration on her face.

No matter how hard she tried to stay away from him, she kept running right into him.

She thought that maybe if they had her attitude they would experience the same thing.

She sighed heavily and started walking towards him, recognising that it wasn't just his shore, that she was the first to discover this place and had as much right to sit there as he did.

She sat down beside him on the sand, a safe distance away, which Vhagar took immediate advantage of to lie down between them, laying her head on her thighs.

She was sure he would get up and go somewhere else, discouraged by her presence, he, however, seemed to make nothing of it, sunk in his own thoughts. She closed her eyes and began to listen to the sounds of the wind and water, the pleasant breeze wrapped around her face. She felt sleepy.

She opened her eyes after a few minutes, looking around as if half asleep, and saw to her surprise that Mr Targaryen had fallen asleep beside her, his head settled on his shoulder, his face unusually gentle and calm.

She thought he needed a moment of rest and solitude too, and smiled at the thought.

With some strange warmth in her heart, she lay down next to Vhagar and wrapped her arms around her, wanting to fall asleep next to them.

After they had returned to her mansion, after what he had said when Floris had assaulted her, she herself was not sure what she thought of him.

On the one hand, she felt grateful because he had stood up for her, refuting any rumours or conjecture about the nature of their walk, but on the other hand, his words were so cruel and insolent that she thought he would never have referred to a woman of his status in such a way, that he was showing how much he despised them, that he did not regard them as equals.

The next day they were all due to go to church, and as it was literally a five-minute walk from their property, they decided to go there on foot.

She wore her bonnet on her head, so she tied her hair up in a bun like her sisters to make the whole thing look right, the colour of her headdress warm cream, just like her dress.

She did not know if the form of the walk made Mr Targaryen happy or not, his expression remained invariably indifferent. He walked at the front with her father and Royce, Royce telling him something with amusement and he seemed to be partially listening to him.

Further along walked Cassandra, Maris and Floris, adding a word or two to their brother once in a while, and she walked at the back with Ellyn.

"Floris is very jealous." She told her quietly, clearly wanting to comfort her. "She teases each of us behind closed doors and says very nasty things."

She did not feel surprised by what she heard. Floris always cried when her father refused her, loving to point out mistakes to everyone but herself.

She thought that she had felt overlooked all her life and was now trying to make up for it by getting everyone's attention, the higher-ranking person it was, the better.

It wasn't long before they arrived at a beautiful little brick church surrounded by a stone wall and orchard. They went inside, their father greeting everyone, the presence of Mr Targaryen sparked great interest and everyone wanted to shake his hand.

She could see the tension on his face, the enormity of his discomfort in the presence of so many strangers, and she thought he was in constant pain, forced to be polite and courteous when he felt like running away.

One by one, they all began to sit down in the pew where their family always sat, but when she wished to take her place at the end, Floris placed her hand on the seat.

"This seat is for Mr Targaryen. After all, we won't let him sit at the back." She said lightly, and she felt a tightening in her throat, tears of humiliation filling her eyes once more.

"There's enough room for everyone." She whispered, her father leaning over, looking at her concerned, not understanding why she and Mr Targaryen were not yet seated.

"There isn't."

She looked at her with red eyes, feeling her clenched lips tremble, but there was not a trace of hesitation or sympathy on her sister's face.

So she turned back, swallowing loudly, sitting down in the empty bench behind them, her father turning his head after her, startled.

"What are you doing?"

She did not answer him, for she looked shocked sideways when she saw that Mr Targaryen had stepped into her pew following her, placing his cylinder on his free side, undoing one button from his tailcoat, sitting down beside her with his legs crossed.

Floris turned towards him, apparently wanting to announce to him that there was a place for him on their bench, but before she could open to say anything, a single, cold sentence left his lips.

"Please attend to your prayers, Miss Baratheon."

Floris turned pale and pressed her lips together, turning away, pretending nothing had happened. She looked at him sideways and swallowed loudly as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frustrated.

"Can't you concentrate on prayer in the house of God either, Miss Baratheon?" He growled and she shook her head, pulling out her prayer book from her small pouch hanging on her hand, not daring to turn her gaze to him for the entire liturgy.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't concentrate on what Pastor Thomson was saying, thinking only of the fact that he had given up the seat he was entitled to by his status and sat next to her.

She thought he did this because he wanted to avoid her sisters, because after their nap at the lake he knew she would not torment him. That he sat next to her because he wanted to show Floris again what he thought of her.

She figured that perhaps he wanted to comfort her too, that he didn't want her to sit alone away from her family, rejected and abandoned.

The last thought filled her heart with gratitude and warmth and she found herself thinking that he was a more complicated man than she had originally assumed.

As they stood up to receive the eucharist, Mr Targaryen let her go ahead and, squeezing between him and the pew, she involuntarily brushed against his body and heard him quietly gasp through his nose, all tense.

She knew he was standing behind her in line, she could hear his breathing behind her, she could feel his gaze on her. This was a test, he wanted to see if she would get distracted again, if she would think about him, if she would end up pestering him like her sisters.

She thought he didn't deserve her treating him so objectively.

She preferred to think of herself as his friend who, understanding his needs, would not impose on him, allowing him to remain comfortable in her presence.

She didn't look at him as she passed him in line or as she sat back in the pew and they both listened to the psalms, waiting for everyone to take communion.

She swallowed loudly as she felt him spread his knees, sitting down more comfortably, his leg rubbing against hers and pressed to her barely perceptibly.

She felt a pleasant shudder and swallowed loudly, running her fingers over the book lying on her thighs, but she didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to give him satisfaction.

She gasped, her heart starting to pound like mad as he righted himself on the seat and grunted, leaning back with his shoulders against the rest of the bench, his knee pressed almost painfully hard against her leg now.

She felt herself breathing through her mouth, droplets of sweat running down her neck, her fingers tightening on her prayer book.

She felt him looking at her.

She felt his breath directed towards her, enveloping her face.

She glanced at his hand lying on his knee pressed against hers, his pointing finger tapping restlessly against the material of his trousers, as if impatient.

What did he want?

Why was he doing this, playing with her, putting her in this position?

She drew in the air in horror when his hand suddenly pulled away from his knee and moved over her thighs towards her fingers, as if he wanted to grab them.

She clutched her book, terrified, and heard him hum under his breath as he grabbed her prayer book, sliding it out of her hands in a slow movement.

She felt her whole body quiver, her fingers trembling as they lay numbly on her lap.

She knew he had seen it.

Was he deriving some kind of dark satisfaction from it?

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he looked through her prayer book page by page, even though he had his own lying on the backrest in front of him.

Hers was older, had belonged to her mother, was her only memento of her after her death, and she felt uneasy seeing it in the hands of someone else.

"Please, sir, give it back to me." She whispered quietly and heard his murmur expressing surprise or displeasure.

"What harm am I doing? I am merely looking at it, Miss Baratheon." He hummed low, licking his finger and turning the page, something about the gesture seemed inappropriate, ungodly to her and she thought he had done it on purpose.

"Please. This is my only memento of my mother." She mumbled helplessly and felt him suddenly freeze.

She didn't look at him but she could feel the atmosphere of discomfort between them, his knee pulled away from hers as he grunted, swallowing loudly, pointing her book towards her, holding it in his hand.

She reached for it with a trembling hand, and their fingers involuntarily touched, she had the feeling that his thumb had purposely run over her skin, as if in a gesture of apology, of comfort that made her want to cry, she felt goosebumps on her cheeks.

She put her prayer book back on her thighs, clasping her trembling hands on them, breathing hard, feeling as if he was mocking her, taking pleasure and satisfaction in what he could do to her, in how naïve she was.

She felt as, despite her mind's tremendous efforts, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly with her thumb, but they kept flying.

She saw his hand, which again laid stretched across his knee clenched into a fist, his fingers moving restlessly.

He knew she was crying because of him.

When the liturgy ended she stood up first and headed quickly for the door, not looking at him or her family.

When she turned into the field corner and knew no one could see her anymore she burst out into a loud sob, tired of her sisters, tired of this strange, variable men who played with her, who would never look at her or her family as equals.

She drew in a loud breath when she heard quick footsteps behind her and, thinking it was Royce, turned hopefully behind her. She turned pale and parted her lips with a sound of mournful despair when she saw him, breathing loudly, his hair in partial disarray, slipping out of its ribbon.

"Miss Baratheon. Forgive me." He mumbled, not believing himself that these words were coming out of his mouth, clearly surprised and ashamed of his own behaviour. "I have no idea what has gotten into me."

They stood before each other in silence, looking at one another with wide eyes, she struggled to calm her breathing, her trembling lips slightly parted in disbelief.

"I don't understand you, sir. I try, but I don't. You are cruel. You humiliate me and my sisters knowing that we do not stand in a position to oppose you. I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself." She almost wailed, shaking her head, looking at him with anguish, something flashed across his face, his brow furrowed, his lips tightened, he swallowed loudly, her words hitting something deep inside him.

She did not give him a chance to reply. She turned her back on him, seeing her family approaching, and set off towards her mansion, thinking with despair that she already felt sorry for whichever of her sisters this man would choose as his wife.

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