#but i am soft for reader and aemond too
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THE WARMTH OF BOTH BODIES
masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3
✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen
✧Rating: +18 mdni explicit
✧word count: 3.1k
✧gif credit: aegon ✧ aemond
-ˋˏsummary: Dragons are greedy, and both of your brothers have perverted desires that you take no issue on entertaining. ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, mummy kink, lactation kink, breastfeeding, threesome (f/m/m), aegond, targcest, polyamory, oral (f and m receiving), masturbation (f and m receiving), aegon is the most submissive to exist, switch!aemond. ✧ this is a part from @targaryen-dynasty 's 3k celebration ! check all the other works too, and as always a pleasure to participate with my silly things and congrats to her ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ✧ note: i added my own spice. it didn't say anything about aegond but i am... weak... #i tried
By no means had you known what being alone was like.
After Aemond, you were the fifth child of king Viserys to survive childhood. Daeron was your youngest by two years, and like your sister, you were dotted and cared for by your mother and father… unlike your brothers.
Your mother had a weird way to demonstrate affection to them, you always thought. With Aegon was non-existent, and Aemond had this burden to be the reliable sibling amongst them all.
When Aegon had to marry Helaena; you married Aemond. It was how the tradition dictates, and it was under your father’s wish, much to your mother’s dislike.
And just like Helaena, you recently had a daughter with Aemond, Rhaelle, who was the apple of his father’s eye. Yet, the only difference between your duty and Helaena’s is that she wasn’t the one who had to take care of Aegon. Instead, you took care of Aegon’s whims, alongside your husband’s.
Aegon was greedy, whiny and clingy. He searched you whenever he wanted, following you around like a puppy for your attention. Whereas Aemond was quiet, reserved and embarrassed, but not less greedy. He often wanted comfort, praise for his action and the reassurance that he was doing no wrong in his desires.
Both of them accepted the other, in a quiet agreement. You were a petulant person, and if you wanted, they knew this, all of it, would be over. So they shut up their differences for the sake of it.
Aegon was curled by your right side, lying on the bed of your chambers. Post coital bliss at its finest, as he was slightly sleepy, and even a bit grumpy when bothered. It had been some cold days, but the fire made it more bearable, and it gave some sense of cosiness to both. He was just resting, a bit sleepy, his head on your stomach as you read some silly book about Valyrian fashion, as his legs were pressed against your shoulder, as you slowly caressed his leg, soothing him like that.
You hear his soft yawn, as the laziness of the evening consumes you both as you are cuddled against the other for the warm. As Aegon draws slowly patterns upon the lower part of your chest, you feel the door of the chambers opening knowing it was your husband
You lower your book, caressing Aegon’s heel and calf, as you look at Aemond, walking closer to the bed as he makes a slight face at seeing Aegon here, as if he wanted you all for himself. He takes his boots quickly, moving to take off his leather jerkin.
“Hi” You say, softly, and he hums. You can see it in the slight frown on his face.
Aegon stirs a hit, not greeting Aemond as he sits on the bed, closer to you. Like a lazy cat, he yawns, and you feel his muscles stretching a bit.
“Did you tuck Rhaelle?” Aemond asks, his shoulders tensed up as he takes off his eye patch and loses up his hair. He was tired, you could see.
“Yes, she is sleeping in the nursery…” You say softly, looking at him. “What is it?” You ask, seeing how Aemond wants something, yet he doesn’t know how to say it, looking at you a bit unsure.
“Mummy” He whines softly, frowning as his tone was a bit sheepishly, sitting closer to you, by your left side.
You press your lips together, looking at him as he seems so vulnerable, and tired, for whatever reason he probably will tell you later. Aegon nuzzles your stomach, his interest piqued on Aemond’s word, because if it involves Aemond, it will involve him as well.
The unspoken words between you and Aemond are no obstacle to knowing what he wants. You know your brothers, surely, but Aemond was different. Aemond was your husband, and you knew him like the palm of your hand.
Aemond nods shyly, as if agreeing with the thought on your mind, and he scoots closer once you sit better on the bed, leaning back properly on the pillows. Your nightgown is easy to untie at the front, more so when you are lactating and need an easy way to open the dress. Rhaelle would fuss and wail her little lungs out, so your clothes were always easy to undo.
Now, if Rhaelle’s father and uncle enjoy the same, is another thing.
You undo the laces in the front of your dress, and you know how Aegon reincorporates to sit, suddenly all woken up and interested in this. The dress is pure cotton, and it is comfortable to wear. You pull the fabric out of the way, and with their gazes following your each movement, you know it is a matter of time for them to hungrily latch onto you.
Aegon curls up to your right side, whereas Aemond does the same on your left. He always preferred your left, since the blind spot faces Aegon, so he doesn’t have to bear seeing him too. Aegon is much more shameless, clinging to you and moving his hips softly against your right side.
You feel both men getting closer, and their breaths hit your nipples as they nuzzle your blossom, in hopes of sucking hungrily.
“Aegon…” you say softly as he was growing impatient, moving a bit as he pressed his face closer to your breast, restless and eager.
Aemond is never restless; he stayed still as he loved, caring. He always pressed faint kisses, around your tits, before suckling calmly. His left arm always found its way to wrap your waist, keeping you close to him as he delighted himself with soothing milk.
Instead, Aegon immediately latched onto your breast, suckling and trying to get all the milk he could, eagerly as he always seemed relentless, always craving more and more. He’d watch you with bright, purple eyes as he craved for your attention.
You comb their hair with your fingers, kiss the top of their heads and rub their back. They were your older brothers, but behaved like hungry little kittens that needed their milk.
Always was a bit strange, as they weren’t always amicable. It took a long time, for Aemond, at least, to join in. It was mainly due to the fact that Aegon rarely left you alone, even if you were Aemond’s wife. Little by little, they learned how to warm up to each other, and sometimes to your request, they’ll kiss.
The suckling sounds are loud, almost obscene, as you feel both swallow each drop from your leaking milk. Aemond had probably been tasting it since the end of your pregnancy, yet it didn’t tire him at all. And Aegon? He was always hungry, and he suckled and his tongue lapped your breast, milking more and more.
You can feel how they swallow the milk, both eager. Aemond has a hand around your waist, as Aegon has his hand around your breast and squeezes it slightly as if to have more.
“Mummy” Aegon murmurs, pulling back as he looks at you, and he has wide purple eyes “are we being good?”
The reassurance is a must, you realise with time. “Yes, baby. You both are my good boys” you murmur, caressing the top of their head “Both of you, my best boys…”
They delight themselves in the praise; you hear Aemond’s faint moans, as you feel his body at ease. You caress the back of his head, feeling the loose hairs on your fingers.
It always made you feel the arousal settle in the lower part of your belly, and feeling so turned on you had to press your thighs together a bit. Aemond loved when your breast grew larger, and full of milk. Aegon was not behind that feeling, as he was the one to propose the idea to ‘help you with the heaviness of them’.
Aegon gulps on the milk like a glutton, and his eyes are closed in the delight of nursing. You feel his cock hardening little by little by your side. Aemond instead, looks at you. His eye is deep and intense, watching your face as his mouth is still working on your nipple, his tongue pressing against the nub getting more milk. His hand on your waist loosens up slightly, slowly moving down all the way to your stomach, and little by little, makes its way to your centre.
Aegon is oblivious to that, as he suckles and slurps loudly, with not a care for the world, nipping and licking all of the sweet milk that your breast can produce. He whines a bit, scooping closer and closer as he tries to get more and more.
“Doing such a good job for mummy, darlings…” You say to both, as you feel Aemond’s hand almost innocently brushing against your womanhood. “So good…” You murmur dreamily, sighing as Aegon nuzzles his face closer to your right breast, his nose brushing the skin as his mouth slightly presses a bit harder, eager for more.
They could feel you moving under their touch, almost possessive as they fed from you, keeping you right there at their mercy. The sound of your praise stirred something in both of them, yearning more of your affections, more of mummy’s affections.
Aemond is the first one to pull away from your breast, beginning to shift as his body moves higher, his mouth kissing all the way up to kiss you in the lips. You hum, feeling the taste of your own milk on his lips.
“Mummy” Aegon protests, not wanting to be left out as always, as he pulls away from your breast, an obscene sound from it as he moves his head to nuzzle your cheek, kissing lazily to keep on worshipping your body.
Aware of how his hand was still between your legs, Aemond pressed it harder against your core, rubbing more firmly. As if wanting to draw more sounds from you, Aegon moves his hand to grope softly, carefully your breast, not wanting to leave a part from you unattended.
“You are such good boys for me, always wanting to please me, hm?” You say, panting a bit from how good your husband's hands on your pussy feels.
“Yes mummy” Aemond murmurs, and Aegon nods in agreement.
It’s as if Aemond knows your thoughts, because he turns to watch Aegon, moving slightly his other hand to place it on the back of his neck, pulling Aegon closer to share a slow, yet passionate kiss between both of them.
They could feel the milky taste in the other’s mouth, and you could see how their tongues crashed against each other, making it as sloppy as possible as they made out for quite some time, as Aemond’s fingers tried to pry into your clit and pussy.
You know that at the beginning it was more to put on a show for you, for your delight that they agreed to do as well. If they enjoyed it, you could never know. But now it’s different, watching how they hungrily seek each other’s mouth, and if one tries to pull away, the other is quick to lean, following their mouth to keep on kissing.
It’s hot, to say the least, and it makes wonders for your arousal to see both of them kiss like this. You think, for a moment, if you could maybe propose the idea for them to follow this lust for each other further. Maybe for another occasion.
As Aemond’s lips move to kiss Aegon’s neck, you see how your baby seems so aroused, you could always see it clearly with Aegon, how his cheeks turned pinker and he had that blissful expression. You feel Aemond’s hand moving away from your core, and before you could ask anything, they both pulled away from each other.
Aemond probably murmured something in Aegon's ear, because they shared a look before the eldest slowly turned to you.
“Mummy, can we please you…? We wanna taste your pussy… please…” he asked, and you see how Aemond looks at you, awaiting your answer, as his hand caresses your thigh softly.
You caress Aegon’s thigh softly, as they both almost look at you with puppy eyes.
“Yes, my darlings. Please mummy with your mouths”
It does not take them long to accommodate between your legs, Aemond presses one hand to your left leg, keeping it still. Aegon does not bother to do the same for your left thigh, as he has other priorities.
You feel Aegon’s mouth first, his tongue tracing along her slit. Aemond moves his hand to the back of Aegon’s head, pushing his mouth further into your cunt, as the eldest savours your wetness. And at the sound of your moans, he doubles his efforts.
Then it’s Aegon who pulls your husband’s face down to join his mouth, both of them licking and sucking your wet cunt. You can see both of them, their cheeks pressed together as they pleasure you with their mouths at the same time, licking and slurping in unison.
“Fuck, f-fuck, gods…” you moan, your hips moving closer, grinding against his tongues, grabbing Aegon’s hair, short and easy to grab (unlike Aemond’s)
Aegon seems delighted at that, and you feel his tongue darting out to suck your clit eagerly, and you feel your jaw moving at the motion, and he whimpers with need. Aemond is, as always, focused as he slurps and sucks on her entrance, obscene sounds fill the room as his expert mouth works on you.
They both clearly relish both the taste and the privilege of having their faces buried between your thighs, moving to please you, and their tongues crashing together as they do so.
“Mummy, you taste so good” you don’t even recognise the sound, the sound muffled by the little space between his mouth and your folds.
“Fuck, so good…” the other agrees, and your legs tremble, as your hips try to get more and more of their wicked tongues.
Aegon is the one whining, you know that. As you pull his hair, you see his needy eyes looking at you. You press your heel on his back, as if pushing him closer to your cunt. He moans, closing his eyes as he goes back to feasting on your pussy.
Aemond moved to your clit now, and you can see how the sapphire glints on the dim lights. You imagine that both of their cocks are rock hard, throbbing impatiently.
Maybe it’s Aegon or Aemond (maybe both) the one who drools, while the muffled moans still come and go. You, on your side, are a mess, as you try to keep both of them close to you, feeling Aemond’s hand caressing your breast. Your pussy can’t take longer, and your hips grind against both of their faces, as you roll your eyes back and lean your head back in the pillows, as you feel your orgasm so close.
“Fuck, babies, so good for mummy, fuck…” you mean it, moaning loudly as you feel them whimper.
“Wanna make you cum so hard, mummy…” Aegon’s raspy voice is a bit clearer, as you clench on his hair.
“Hmmmm” Aemond hums, not separating one bit from your cunt.
As you start cumming, both of them press their mouth against your pussy, wanting to taste your cum as they try to be the one to get more. You are cumming hard, and their greedy tongues only fuel your orgasm even more.
Feeling your pussy quivering and pulsing around their tongues it's probably one of their favourite things, along with the rest of you. The feeling of your creamy juices made them greedy, and they share it all
Their faces are shiny with your arousal, and even when you retreat, they lick their lips as if wanting more. You can’t exactly see in the faces of your brother’s what they are thinking, but you feel tired to think about anything but the great orgasm you just had.
You are not exactly sure who started the kiss, but it's messy and sloppy, as you see their tongues sharing the last tastes of your cum, as their hands clenched to the other to keep him close, and keep on the passionate kiss.
It’s Aemond who groans, Aegon pressing his body to his, almost humping his cock to any part of your husband’s skin, who holds him close, one hand on his jaw and the other moving down to the eldest hips.
You move a bit, sitting better on the bed, yet your back still leans on the pillows, body relaxed as you accommodate to watch them devour each other as one does sit to watch men fighting in a tourney. But both of them were involved in different practices, which was a show for you to see and most importantly- enjoy.
You can see their tongues pressing together, their heads moving to not break the sloppy kiss, messy and passionate. They surely are doing this out of passion and lust, rather than rational thought, but you are not complaining.
Aegon’s hand comes to caress the firm abdomen of Aemond, like you enjoy doing. Your husband is a creature of many sides, and he can be as submissive as he can be dominant. He moves the hand on Aegon’s hip to grip his short hair, and keeps him in place to keep on kissing him.
“Aem… mummy” Aegon’s little whines come in a low tone, and a bit slurred, as Aemond does not give his mouth a break.
It takes you a while to notice that Aegon is using his hand to stroke Aemond’s cock, using the side of his thigh to hump and grind his own cock. He was needy, but he was too much of a needy baby to fight for dominance. Aegon relished on being submissive, either with you, or Aemond.
Aemond breaks their kiss, his head falling back to pant, groaning slightly as Aegon uses his hand on his cock. You know Aegon is the most lustful creature since he discovered pleasure, and he was always good with his hands.
“Mummy…” Aegon whines, wanting you to help him with his cock, and you move on your knees closer to where they were having this exchange of pleasure, because both of them wanted to cum very badly.
Your hands on Aegon’s cock make him go weak, whimpering as he leans closer to Aemond, moving his lips down on his body, his abdomen and the tip of his cock.
“Good boys, hm? You both are such good boys for mummy, pleasuring yourselves…” You say, that sweet tone of yours makes Aemond’s arousal explode.
“Fuck-” Aemond mutters, groaning and whimpering as he cums one of his hands moving to grip your shoulder, and as your hands stroke the eldest’s cock, your hand over stimulating movements on his cockhead, as if trying to replicate his tongue movements on Aemond’s tip.
Aegon is greedy, and he whimpers, still pleasuring Aemond, his hips bucking on your hand, as his own orgasm hits hard. Aemond is the one holding him, as your baby’s orgasm hits him hard, trying not to fall on the bed, panting loudly and whimpering.
He makes a little sound when you kiss him, wanting to taste Aemond’s cum on his tongue. It was delightful, and you feel his body melting on your touch. You feel how your other brother moves to caress the back of your head, nuzzling your shoulder and kissing it tenderly.
You could get used to this new dynamic, surely.
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Sweet Disposition
summary | Gwayne is welcomed to King's Landing by his beloved niece.
pairing | gwayne hightower x niece!reader
tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (m), oral (f), just the tip, cum eating, reader has blue eyes and red hair, gwayne is a classist (and is in love with the niece that looks like him lol), incest, lotsa rubbing, lotsa yappin'
song rec | Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap
wordcount | 3.2k
note | welcome to the stage, gwayne hightower!!! i just had to, u guys. i’m not too sure how the age gap’s looking since idrk how old gwayne is, but do assume they did stuff the first time when the reader was of age :)
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
“Ah, sweetling!”
You squealed at the sight of him, rising from your seat by the window to rush over to the door. Your uncle grunted in surprise as you jumped into his arms, chuckling amusedly in your embrace. You had waited all day for him. Worry began to fester in your gut when there was no sign of him as the day grew dark. Mother said they must’ve gotten held back by the impending storm that was painting the blue sky a desolate gray. However, the gods have granted you your wish. Soon enough, a flurry of green flashed through the gates of King’s Landing, and Gwayne Hightower made his way to find you.
“What took you so long?” you asked, pouting at him. His chest rumbled against yours in another chuckle, the rich sound of his amusement a lively song.
“My deepest apologies, princess. Some trouble down in the Kingsroad had us going a longer way. No worry now, I am here,” he explained, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “Brother dearest keeping you locked in here?”
You scoffed, pulling away from your uncle. His bright blues wandered around the expanse of your chambers, observing the various Valyrian tapestries decorating your walls. He admired you, as you trailed your hands over the cushions of the settee. Pure Targaryen, all except for the vibrant red of your curls. That was all Hightower, much to his delight.
“More so mother than Aegon, he doesn’t give two shits about me. Either way, it’s always him and mother huddled together in those council meetings. And Aemond, when he’s not off to gods know where. War feels pretty boring if you ask me,” you responded, earning a raise of the eyebrow from the redhead.
“It won’t be boring once thousands of men die for your cause, princess, all so you could stay here and sit prettily while we fight for you.” He remained standing as you plopped down onto the plush chaise, reaching for a cherry from the plate of fruit situated on the side table.
It was tart, bursting with its dark juices as you sunk your teeth into its plump flesh. Gwayne watched as you wrapped your lips around the round fruit. It tainted your lips a luscious red, utterly delectable.
Your brows furrowed in offense, while a frown turned your pretty lips downward. “Are you saying I’m useless? If only I were given the chance, I could fly off on my dragon and burn more than half the enemy’s army before you could even engage,” you said, to which Gwayne replied with an understanding nod.
“I know you would, darling, but we cannot have you harmed. You are too precious to be sent off to battle, take it from me,” your uncle replied, placating. You huffed, grumbling under your breath, making Gwayne bite back an amused smirk. Throwing away the cherry’s pit, you grabbed a strawberry this time, wrapping your fingers around its leaves to deliver it in one bite. Your cheeks had hollowed as you sucked on its juices, provocating… inviting. This had wiped the amusement off the elder Hightower’s face, making him clear his throat and shift where he stood, A smirk of your own rose on your lips at this success.
“How does Daeron fare?” you asked nonchalantly. Gwayne shrugged, waving a hand dismissively as he continued his exploration of your apartments. It was quite spacious, though the smallest out of the entire royal family, but it was comfortable enough. It was situated at the far end of the hall, farther away from prying eyes and curious ears.
“You know him, itching to fly back at a moment’s notice,” your uncle informed, to which you nodded in understanding. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time in King’s Landing, only in recent years. When the youngest was sent off to Oldtown to squire, you were tasked with accompanying him as his eldest sister. You were ten and five then, only returning after six years when your grandsire decided it was high time for you to be married off. In your time away from the capital, you had missed much, evidently enough. The war had put any courtship or marriage proposals on pause, which aggravated you. If only you had known, you would have spent your days back in Oldtown happily. With Daeron and your dragons. With Gwayne.
“Not curious as to how I’ve been, little red?” he mused. You smirked at him, tilting your head to the side in feigned curiosity.
“How are you then, uncle? Missing your little squire?” you queried, teasing. Gwayne narrowed his eyes at you, which you mimicked. You were no stranger to your uncle’s tastes. Being away from the careful watch of your grandsire allowed him much freedom to do as he liked, especially when the old codgers were asleep. It was why you hadn’t seen much of him in your first years in Oldtown. The elder Hightower used to barely show an interest in his sister’s children, kept occupied by the pursuit of his merriment. He remained detached from you, up until you accidentally came across some unknown servant stumbling out of his chambers late one night, doublet unbuttoned and breeches unlaced. It sparked your curiosity, had ignited a carnal hunger deep within you. He had opened your eyes to such proclivities, had broken away the conservative mold your faith had locked you in.
Gwayne feigned a sarcastic laugh, walking around you to your window. “Funny.”
One could see the vastness of the horizon past the Bay from this view. The breeze a salty, refreshing prickle. It held little of the nose-scrunching stench of Flea Bottom. You craned your head to watch your uncle face the wind. His hair had gotten longer, you noted. It looked better. “Though I am a bit peeved to travel all this way to not be welcomed by my whole family, but I suppose our new Hand has been keeping your mother company,” he said, a bite of bitterness in his tone.
You stood from your seat, approaching to stand by his side. The greens of your garments matched perfectly, and so did the reds of your tresses. You were always happy to look more Hightower than Targaryen, though your blood always ran hot, much like a dragon’s.
“Jealous much? Perhaps you could ask to join them,” you teased, bumping your elbow into his playfully. Gwayne merely rolled his eyes at your implication. The sight of the Dornishman leaning too close to his sister had confirmed the rising suspicions his father had made him aware of. How convenient it was for him to be made Hand too, granted a position that brought him closer to Alicent’s level. And to share her bed at night. How exhilarating it must be to a man like Ser Criston.
“I’d rather indulge with someone that stirred something in my loins without stepping on my shoulders for leverage in this society, thank you very much.”
“Anyone in mind?”
Gwayne turned to meet your gaze. The blues of your orbs were much like his, icy and deep. He could see the freckles that dotted the bridge of your nose from the proximity, could spend all day to count each one of them. The corners of his lips quirked upwards, as fast as a blink, before pursing.
He regarded you with a gaze so familiar, yet tantalizing enough to warm the meat underneath your skin. The hairs on the back of your head stood tall in attention, prickly underneath his stare. He turned his body to face yours, and you followed suit. Gwayne could almost feel the heat exuding from you, the dragon that you were, from this distance. Almost.
You watched him watch you. The momentary flicker of his eyes to your lips was not overlooked, igniting a spark of excitement deep in your chest. Your feet took a step closer to him, nearly closing the gap. Gwayne mimicked you, taking a step of his own. The air between the two of you grew thick, almost dizzying with tension, but neither of you made the move. This was a familiar game with your uncle. It always left you thirsting for more, had made you an addict. It had you almost sneaking off on your dragon back to Oldtown just for a taste.
“When are you to set off then?” you asked, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You felt his fingertip begin to trace the outline of your curves, though you paid them no mind.
“Well, it was supposed to be on the morrow, but this storm hasn’t worked out in our favor. In two days’ time, perhaps.” He had flattened his hand on the small of your back now, pulling you in subtly. You planted your hands on his chest, caressing the firm planes hidden underneath his doublet. His breath was hot on your face, bringing about a flush on your cheeks.
“So soon?” you pouted. “You’ve only just gotten here.”
A heavy sigh escaped Gwayne’s lips. The skin on his neck was pale as he tilted his head back, littered with a light dusting of freckles. He was close to tipping over, you could feel it.
“War waits for no one, I’m afraid,” he muttered. You hummed in agreement, taking a bolder step by wrapping your arms around his neck. He tutted in warning, to which you only responded with an innocent bat of your lashes.
“We should make most of our time then,” you suggested, preening up at him suggestively. Your uncle bit his lip, pondering, deciding whether it was time for him to succumb to the magnetic pull of his body to yours.
“Princess.” A warning.
“Uncle.” An invitation.
Gwayne pressed his lips to yours, sweet like cherry. You moaned in delight, a budding warmth in your chest bursting at the feel of his kiss. It was hungry, urgent, tainted with the promise of making up for the time you had spent away from each other’s warmth. Roaming hands found your rear, squeezing the plump flesh through your skirts. Your uncle’s wandering lips traveled their way downward, trailing to settle on the length of your neck. A whine echoed through your chambers as he bit on your neck, before smoothing over with his tongue. Something was starting to poke your hip, and your hand descended to cup it, earning a grunt from the redheaded man before you.
A breath was hitched into his throat when you dropped to your knees, making quick work to untie his breeches. The heady scent of his cock was familiar, albeit he was unwashed, and it almost felt like coming home. Gwayne was your home. You wasted no time to press kisses to reddening tip, licking a stripe down the underside of his length before taking him whole. Your desperation was evident in your movements, head bobbing up and down fervently while you kept your eyes on him. Above you, the knight could only grunt, running a hand through his ginger tresses to keep himself grounded.
“How is it you’ve gotten better at this in my absence, hm? Had done your own practice?” he groaned, placing a guiding hand on the back of your head. You hummed around his length, the vibrations of your cavern making his cock jump. A hand replaced your mouth when you pulled away, stroking at a uniform pace as you looked up at him.
“One of Aegon’s friends said I certainly do it quite well. I have you to thank for the knowledge, I suppose,” you bragged, smirking when his blues visibly darkened at your words. He pulled you up back to your feet, leading you back to lean against a sidetable before claiming your lips once more. He was unbothered by the taste of himself on your tongue, nor by the spit painting both your cheeks in this messy exchange. You took hold of one of his hands to guide up your skirt, past your smallclothes, and settling on your mound.
Gods, you were soaked. You had been the moment you felt his warmth, had pressed your nose into the familiar scent of his flesh.
His fingertips trailed down your slit to collect your essence, before taking it into his mouth for a taste. You watched, hypnotized as his lips wrapped around his fingers. Your skirts were then bunched up to your hips, your smallclothes falling to the floor once you untied the ribbons that held them together. The figurines on your table rattled as the wood accommodated your weight when you had shifted to lean further. You beckoned him closer by wrapping your leg around his trim waist, and an arm around his shoulders. It was almost like you readied to dance as he took hold of your waist, an embrace so rehearsed, so familiar. The underside of his cock pressed against your weeping cunny, and with the sway of his hips, the sweet song of your whines filled Gwayne’s ears. His cockhead snagged against your pearl when he pushed his hips at a perfect angle, making you both moan.
Calloused hands took hold of your thighs, dimpling the soft flesh under his hold. You gripped the edge of the table to ground yourself, throwing your head back as your uncle rubbed against you deliciously. He knew how much you liked this, well aware of how much power he held over you when he teased you with the promise of his claiming of your maidenhead. It stoked a fire deep within your loins, though today, it was not enough to burn you under.
“Gwayne…” you whined. “More… I need more!”
His red tresses swayed as he shook his head in refusal. His eyes were trained on the sight of your essence coating his cock, angling his hips to press against your pearl more. “I can’t… not yet, my love, you know this.”
You gripped his shoulders in frustration, urging him to look at you with your hands cupping his jaw. Your lips displayed your desperation as you kissed him. You have always asked little from him, naught but for one thing.
“This could be the last time we ever see each other. Please, uncle,” you pleaded, burying your head into his neck as you sobbed.
Your uncle had shown you much, had taught you much. However, there was one thing that was not for him to take. He dared not sully his niece, his beloved sister’s eldest girl. That kind of depravity is for Targaryens, and Gwayne thought himself a dignified man, honorable. Yet as you bit your lip temptingly at him, your brows furrowed adorably, the tight noose of virtue continued to loosen.
He grabbed hold of his cock, directing it to your slit. Gwayne kept his hand on the lower half of length to restrain himself, lest he lost all control. His tip breached your walls, reaching only far enough to feel your heat. “Just this much, and I promise when I return we will have so much more,” he panted into your ear. His thrusts were shallow, though some threatened to reach deeper, farther into your warmth. He alternated between rubbing and breaching, an assaulting tease to your senses.
You moaned his name like a prayer. Devoted pleading. Your grip on the back of his neck was grounding, keeping his head from floating to the heavens to be here with you. You were all over him, from your hands in his hair, your lips on his jaw down to your juices that coated his cock.
It was too late for him, he realized. To try and outrun a dragon’s fire was a futile attempt, and all he could do was welcome it with resignation. How ever could he deny himself this bliss? How could he deny you?
He came as his cockhead snagged on your folds once more, painting your mound with his pearly seed. Barely catching his breath, your hand on his shoulder ordered him to his knees. Like a devotee, the Hightower kneeled before you, descending his mouth onto your cunny. His own spend was salty as it coated his tongue, mixed with the sticky sweet nectar of your maiden core. The sight of his reds in between your thighs was a heavenly sight, and you could only pray to have him like this until the end of your days.
You were nearing your precipice, evident by the grinding of your hips against his face. With a thumb on your pearl and his tongue dipping in and out of your cunt, you came with a cry. Your uncle slurped up your release like a man starved, groaning against your mound.
When he had returned to his feet, Gwayne’s lips glistened with your essence. Breathless, you bit back a smile, but as his own flushed lips widened, a giggle bubbled from your chest. Your uncle chuckled, planting a small kiss to your forehead before taking you into his arms.
“How I’ve missed you, little red.”
“Why does it have a skirt?”
You poked the ornate metal decorating the horse, confused at such attire. It even had a matching mask on its head, and you wondered if the poor thing could even see.
“Tis armor. To ensure my royal steed is kept safe and no harm comes to it, and by extension, me, gods willing,” Gwayne explained, busied by the preparations of the move. Your uncle leaned closer to your ear, the distance between you tethering on violating propriety. “So I may find my way back to you.”
He was clad in his armor, silver steel paired by velvet Hightower green. He looked exquisite. If you were a lesser woman, there was no telling what you would have done right then and there, in the middle of the Keep’s courtyard. You regarded him with a dark gaze, uncaring of hiding your desire despite your mother and the Hand standing only a few paces away.
Your chest was heavy with dread. A worrying nagging in your head growing harder to ignore. Their journey was sure to be hard, and who knows what else they were to face other than harsh terrain. What if there were dragons? What were he to do to defend himself from such fire? You would beg your brother to let you fly with them, but the fucker barely spared a second of his day for you.
The prospect of losing Gwayne was daunting enough to drive you mad, yet there was little you could do. He could see it in your face, could feel the fear emanating from your anxious form as you watched him prepare. “Will you be careful?” you asked quietly.
He gave you a downturned smile, heart swelling. “I will, little red, I promise,” he replied. His vow did little to quench your apprehension, evident in the way you looked at anywhere but him. The knight took hold of your elbow, giving you a comforting squeeze. “And when I return, we could tell your mother,” he vowed.
Your orbs were bright in surprise as you looked up at him, making Gwayne smile. The passing of a stableboy reminded you of your surroundings, making you huddle closer to him. “You don’t jest?” you whispered.
“Never about you,” he responded, sincerity clear in his voice. He took hold of your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. “I shall win the king his army, and ask for his blessing. Until then, wait for me, my sweetling.”
The ground thumped as the knights marched out of the city’s gates. They made for a menacing sight, a symbol for the war that was starting to brew. As you stood with your mother, you uttered a silent prayer. You hoped the gods would hear you now, would let Gwayne find his way back to you.
#bella writes ✍️#gwayne hightower x reader#gwayne hightower#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#freddie fox
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┏ Like real people do 2. ┐
Aemond Targaryen x wife!daemon’s daughter reader
⋆˚࿔ read part 1 here ˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆
summary: blood and cheese, where daemon [the best dad (satire)] also orders for his daughter smuggled back to him, violent aftermath
an: there is no brothel Aemond subplot involved
word count: 5.2k
warnings: blood and cheese, canon violence, violence, daddy issues being mocked, arguments, once again blood and cheese
The war was afoot, degeneracies increasing, treacherous plans and endless councils. Amidst all of that y/n still found time to pay Haelena a visit as frequently as she could. Both of them had found impeccable friends in each other and the twins were always a delight. Striding through the halls of red keep, prodding her head inside with a soft knock on the queen's doors which were wide open as it is, "look!" y/n entered with a wide smile on her face. Twirling around she showed Haelena the dress she wore, it was a dress Haelena had embroidered for her with special spiders and other custom animals. Haelena had remarked on y/n's elegantly plain dresses, the edges could all use embroidery and y/n was more than glad to let Haelena design on her dress. "You made it so much better, the small bugs in blue thread it’s so beautifully assembled-" before she could comment more on the beauty of her queen sister's embroidery she was there to showcase, y/n was under attack of her niece and nephew, "why good morrow to you two!" she giggled as the two tugged at her dress for consecutive raise-me-ups.
"I am very glad!" Haelena said offering her a smile as she scanned those designs, Haelena was warmly elated that y/n chose to wore the dress she had embroidered and the fact that she let her do it in the first place.
"You must teach me your ways" y/n commented whilst actively engaging with jaehaerys and jaehaera, she couldn't carry both the babies at the same time but she was trying to entertain them regardless, the two were latched to their auntie's knees like monkeys.
"I could always make you more, save you the time!" Haelena offered instead, she tried to distract whichever one of the children with a toy but both were way too smitten with their ever so busy aunt, now that she had the council she spent supposedly lesser time with the twins.
"That too would be so convenient!" Y/n said, Jaehaera was raised on her back, making mischief with her aunt as she tried to close her eyes with her tiny hands from behind. Both the twins laughing as she did so, regardless y/n laughed along trying to maintain her balance the best.
"That is enough..." Haelena trailed off in amusement as she helped Jaehaera off of y/n's back. The babe did not let go before whining about it, jaehaerys still tugging at his aunt's dress to get her to bend down so he could talk.
"It's alright" let out a small chuckle y/n's attention was caught down to the little heir pulling at her dress, for her to bend to his level. "Yes little prince?" She asked, attentive to her nephew's whims and demands.
"You said you were going to read to me" Jaeherys reminded her in a rather witty sense, having a sense of one upping her since she forgot about it.
"Oh did I now?" She paused for a second trying to remember when exactly was the reading session arranged for.
"Yes! The-the one with the fox and the-crows...where you do the voice!" The little prince was soon to remind her of which exact story they had left off from. He liked it better when his auntie read it to him than the wet nurses or his mum because she often did those giddy voices and the stories she read in were more entertaining than the ones with septa.
"Gods I must have forgotten" she said in a somewhat melodramatic tone to make the child think she took their reading session as a serious matter, "I have got some work on my hands at the moment but I assure you I will come continue the story-"
"When!" Jaeherys whined with a sort of tired expression given the delay in his story.
"Tonight." She answered genuinely, "Right after dinner!"
"Do you promise?" He asked wanting to take her aunty's word for proper surety.
"I promise." She said holding his tiny hands in hers giving them a gentle squeeze to assure him of her promise. Kissing both her niece and nephew on the forehead as she stood up, in attempt to take her peace Haelena stopped her.
"Are you not afraid?" Asked her sister in law with a tense look on her face, like those times when she would be out of it. As if she spoke another language and saw other things. "When the stones call you back?"
"What...what stones?" She asked, at first y/n thought Haelena was referring to some palace. Could this be in correlation to something with the council, is what y/n presumed.
"The stones. They will call you back!" Haelena gripped her elbows tighter, to emphasise the gravity of the situation she felt. "They'll take you away!"
"Nobody is taking anyone away..." y/n trailed off, shaking her head slightly as she ran her hand down Haelena's in a soothing way. "We are all safe here and there is nothing to be scared of. I promise you. I am not going anywhere." She assured her. Y/n assumed that it would worry Haelena to lose the best friend she had in herself if she were to go back because of the war waging. In her father's name perhaps, her worry was not unsolicited but y/n was sure her father's was a house not hers that is even before her marriage with Aemond.
Haelena could never seem to get her point across for some reason, she couldn't digest her wearies in a coherent way herself so she nodded with a small smile. The restlessness still consistent within her as y/n took her leave. Ever since the intimate moment with Aemond, their relationship had grown rather awkward. Aemond was closed off as always, unable to convey his infatuation. Awkward in this area, the young lovers found it difficult to navigate through a conversation. Bristling fingers through glasses, stealing glances, speaking out their love in small gestures.
That did not account for the fact that the council matters too seeped into the newlywed's marital bliss phase. Aemond too had a seat now, on the king's word. He would attend those meetings and at times the two would have drastically counter opinions. His lady wife, she would sit in the same line of seats after the hand and his mother. Speaking their minds against him, just as they had intended for her. A council within the council. "All you do is account for grand sire and mother, no such thoughts of your own. A mere puppet." Aemond scoffed as they were currently in a conversation in their chambers reflecting to that day's council meeting.
The day was at its end and as was y/n, end of her wits. His bickering was just what she needed, "And you?" she said in a tone more accusatory than his, rightfully so "all you add to the discussions is the warpath Ser Criston weaves."
"I stand for it, you just chew out what the council within the council spews" he scoffed, coming out harsher than intended but now this had become usual."I know you informed the hand of my meetings with Cole."
"Didn't do it as a snitch, had you asked me I would have told you I informed the hand." Y/n said trying to counter his condescending remarks. She wasn't a 'puppet' how he implied "Just because I do not agree with you doesn't make me a puppet to those with better judgment than yours."
"Better judgment than mine?" He let out a low huff finding it absurd that she believed Otto and his mother had a better judgment over the war than his, "you think writing to other castles, pleading, awaiting their help whilst we have three large dragons is a better judgement?"
"And what? What do you plan to do with the dragons? Burn all those against us?" She asked him growing agitated having this conversation again, "You are in favour of a lot of unnecessary bloodshed-"
"It is necessary. To make an example, to lay out a path." Aemond interrupted her, taking in a small breath "Raise your banners or watch them burn. This is what the blacks are already set to implement whilst we sit hand on hand sending out messengers!"
"You want to create a sense of fright! That is all you will accomplish with burning houses." She said in an assertive tone as she crossed her arms. This is what Ser Criston had told him too, the words struck him a small remembrance.
"Are you eavesdropping my meetings with Cole?" He questioned, as the reference resembled similar words to Cole's. Cole didn't exactly have the same notion as his wife but the words were vaguely same.
"You sit right across this room" she gestured to the adjoining room after their bedchamber. The small opening after their room led to the table against the wall where Cole and Aemond had their meetings, "The meetings you have after you assume I'm asleep, as it is too loud enough for me to not eavesdrop or be able to sleep."
"Of course" he couldn't help but roll his eyes, "You must have told the hand about it word for word yes? Like a parrot"
"Don't think of yourself too highly, your conversations are rather predictable even to those who aren't present" she replied. He wasn't wrong that she informed the hand about it but she took accountability for that.
"At least my conversations hold a spine" in two strides he reached the table she was leaning on to pour himself a glass of wine, "Unlike yours, but well that is what was intended for you" he shrugged.
For a moment, y/n sighed shutting her eyes "What are you implying?" She asked trying to maintain a calm composure because she was aware he would have words that would make antagonise her.
"You know, why you are in the council in the first place" he said in casual harshness. "Otto needed someone to voice his opinions like the righteous little lady that you are."
"I am on the council because of the seat I have inherited through my father." Y/n referred to the original conversation for her being on the council, he wasn't even part of that decision yet acted like he knew better than anyone. Smugly sipping his wine as he set his cup aside, the inherent smirk on his face irritated her to no end.
"You are claiming the father's seat who didn't even want to claim you?" He scoffed, Aemond could attest for the fact that he did not hate her in full surety. Rather fond of her too, but he was fond of his lady wife. The soft lover he did not knew he needed, big eyes that held love for everything they were laid upon. Tenderness and warmth seeping out the cracks of her which would mend the hollow cracks in him but it was the council member in her, otto's silent weapon which he could not stand.
In the process of wanting to get back at righteous council member he couldn't stand he truly hurt the daughter that begged for her world to sun, tears brimmed her eyes and she could not help it. She struck him across the face, the nerve of him. Shattered the home she thought she might finally have. He simply flinched at her action, his eyes widened a bit not at her gesture but at her tears. Registering her tears before the slap she landed her, at loss of words. "Leave." She spoke with a shuddered breath, couldn't even meet his eyes. Feeling stripped of the hope and pride she spent days building. Y/n had never raised a hand to anyone, that didn’t exactly harm Aemond in any way still the gesture in itself made her feel ugly after a moment’s silence marinated the interaction.
Without saying a word Aemond did leave, he didn't want to retaliate with her in any way. Because in that very moment both of them took a misstep and he did not want that moment to last longer. In a few strides he was out of their chambers. Y/n gripped the table to steady herself as the tears streamed down her face, a restlessness made home within her chest as she took heavy breaths.
The weight of all her despair was so heavy, at times she would just shut them in case and shove them deep inside her heart and inside her mind so she wouldn't have to face them in retrospect. It all just felt so inescapable, how she begged to be her father's daughter and how she was rejected the whole time. Now, farther away from him, bit by bit being at peace with the people she now surrounded herself with. Even in such state of distress she didn't feel alone any longer, she even felt loved. As far stretched as it sounded she even felt at ease with Aemond and he shattered all of it with just one sentence.
She lost the track of time since the moments of Aemond walking out as she just stood there falling apart, but when she felt some footsteps behind her she wiped her tears trying to compose herself. If there was anything she learned from her father it was that, nobody ever cared how much you fall apart so don't give them a reason to hold against you. Daemon always hated weeping children. Quickly she wiped her tears, she wouldn't want Aemond to think of her weak in these times. With a deep sigh she turned to face the footsteps she assumed was Aemond.
Apparently it wasn't. "Yes?" She asked with furrowed brows to the stranger who just walked into the room, not even a knock or an announcement like the guards or servants. The man wasn't even dressed like a guard or a servant. She stood alarmed taking a step further into the table as the man forwarded towards here without a word. "Guard-" she tried to yell as loud as she could but the man grabbed her head in a swift motion and shoved her into the table's edge. As if to knock her unconscious.
"Not another word or I kill you." Blood said with his hands around her neck, about to choke her as she struggled against him. Trying to grasp against his hands on her, trying to suffocate her she kicked her legs. Tried to scream regardless of his warning. With an extreme distaste for her, obviously, in blood's eyes the princess wasn't even worth so much and too much trouble to smuggle out. "Your daddy wants you back."
-
By the time the guards did find the princess, in the hallways, she was already half unconscious. Immediately rescued into the safest place in the keep, the council. Retrieved but not at all unharmed. The council was already set into course for the subject of the young prince when Larys walked in with y/n. He had previously informed her of what had happened with her nephew, his passing it hadn't really struck her yet given she could barely process all that had happened.
Queen alicent gasped as she stood up quickly running to y/n's side, all the bruises on her face, open cuts and bleeding out the torn sleeves in her dress. "Gods..." she exclaimed in horror as she helped her onto her seat. "What happened to her?" She asked Lord Larys.
"The guards found the intruder, trying to smuggle the princess out of the keep. A gold cloak known for his brutal nature, found with her, having inflicted his brutality upon her and...the prince's head, in a sack." He briefed the council as they all listened to him, everyone else but the king at loss of words. As Lord Larys left alicent was still tending to y/n, cooing at her, she seemed to be in a half conscious state.
"I am alright" she muttered to her mother in law as Alicent nodded but held her hand in hers to provide her whatever consolation she could. Just the sight of having suffered such assault sent the queen into a huge distress. Weakly holding her hand back as if to steady herself into this nightmare. When Lord Larys told her of Jahaerys's tragedy she did not believe it at all. She was confidently positive there must be some mistake in his information because that would not be possible at all.
If it wasn't for Aegon screeching in the background, y/n couldn't make out if she was actually awake in this very moment. The ringing in her ears still hadn't gone out and she wished that she would perish with that same ringing if it were to happen because living through this seemed so difficult. No way to navigate, circumstance so heavy she felt paralysed to meet anyone's face. Aegon was screeching as he wept for his son, blind with rage to kill the man found guilty for the crime. The member advised otherwise saying the king has a lot of enemies and they don't know for sure whose hand it could be.
"I suppose you are right..." Aegon trailed off slowly pacing down the table back to his seat, with an accusatory demeanour towards everyone else "it could be anyone of you, in this room."
A small silence fell, strengthening the tension and grief in the room as y/n just stared at the empty seat beside her. That very morning, just the day prior, where her nephew sat. Then Aemond after him, empty now. "It was Daemon." She declared of what she knew for sure, first time in her life she referred to Daemon with his first name instead of her father. After everything that he did, every misery she endured at the hands of her father, what happened now made her want to be distanced and foreign from him as much as she could. "His doing." She breathed and looked at the council, the drained colour on everyone's face she just registered-it was blinding her. "The man—the gold cloak" she continue, "trying to get a hold of me, h-he—he said 'your daddy wants you back.'" Repeating the words sent a chill down her spine as if she was in that very moment again, she still felt those hands on her, suffocating and heavy. A disgusting play in the mix. “That man came here, on Daemon’s order.”
The rest were comprehending that still, how a man could be so crude not only killing a child but having his own assaulted and kidnapped back home like this? " In one sense, as we determine what happened and...if we in the keep are still in peril. In another sense of course...it doesn't matter." Otto said and looked at Y/n. The princess surely did not seem to understand the hand's implication.
However Lord Tyland did so, "You mean to blame Rhaenyra." He said in a beat. "Tell the realm she had done this." Tyland spoke out Otto's implication.
"I'll have the realm told nothing! We were assaulted within our own walls, within our own beds!" Aegon spoke up almost immediately "Y/n, my brother's wife! The fucking princess almost beaten unconscious—being smuggled out?" He emphasised on the word brother, enraged even for his sister in law and the lack of his brother's presence when it must have mattered the most. "I will not be seen as weak!"
"You are already seen as weak aegon." Otto replied once again sending the king into a manic breakdown as he threw around more cups and vases. Otto theorised about how important it was to name Rhaenyra as a cruel person. Killer of infants, despite of whose direct orders those were. The narrative would be what they made.
"You would change, the blood that is on daemon's hand just to spite Rhaenyra." Y/n questioned, red eyes and characteristically on the verge of tears since she walked in here. Alicent found it so hard to look at her face, the cuts and bruises, poor thing. The heavy torment inside her head must be unimaginable, Alicent thought whilst holding y/n's hand a bit tighter. It felt like one of those moments when she was just a child, so many years ago. She would recall, the girl child was such a loner, always speaking in short words that is if spoken to. The shy little girl, who would just sit in a corner and colour or read. So much like her Aemond yet so different. When they would be in public settings, too many people, she would meekly hold Alicent's hand. Amongst all those unfamiliar faces. Little y/n just deemed Alicent familiar, comfortable. What was so wholesome years ago held such horror now. Alicent holding the lady's hand to provide her comfort her words won't be able to, the protection she could not. "Why won't you paint that man for the monster that he is?!" Y/n spoke as her voice broke, it felt unfair. Daemon not being held accountable yet again.
"Because, Daemon isn't the pretender to the throne. He would be the king consort. Banners are being declared for Rhaenyra, not in his name." Otto explained, to his preference narrative was just a useful toy. One name here or there did not make a difference.
"That is unfair." She said shaking her head, tears brimmed her eyes, taking in short breaths. In all these council meetings she did not speak up against Otto considering him respectable and more learned yet today, "how can you keep on accounting for him...again and again?!" Y/n asked but she was begging in agony. "Y-You were here. Always present. And you never did anything—all his heinous crimes! You always had the opportunity to hold him responsible and you did nothing!" She exclaimed, not being able to help herself as she thought back to a conversation at this very table. A conversation she must not have been there for, but the hand would have.
"It is perhaps your shock and grief speaking for you." Otto replied, not moved by the young lady's accusations at all. "I for one, do not understand your place of reference"
"When he murdered my mother!" Y/n said, growing more and more restless with her speech. Otto must be right, it was all the piled up grief inside of her speaking for her in this very moment but she could not let the monster that was her father be off the hook again, "You could've held a proper council, had him pay for what he did and we wouldn't be seeing this day today! We have that chance now and yet again you would rather Rhaenyra take the blame for his barbarism!"
Otto felt silent for a moment, the girl's rage was justified to the extent of him having no answer for her but he knew to trust his wit more, "I cannot undo...my regrets. I assure you I hold a lot of remorse in having a part in letting daemon go from daemon to the rogue prince and now this...monster. But if we don't do this, he would become king consort. The word consort is a feeble adjective." What he said was supposed to make sense to y/n but she could not see past the rage and need for vengeance she held against her father. Looking away, she wiped her tears. "A funeral progress. Let them see the child. Let them look upon the works of this pretender to the throne." Otto proposed once y/n was assuming-ly settled.
"Father" Alicent said with weary and concerned eyes, such tragedy being shouted out as a public funeral procession sounded so vain.
"My king..." Otto waited for Aegon's presumedly understood voice.
"No..." Aegon answered firmly "I will not have my little son's body dragged through the street like a dead dog." As he said that y/n felt nearly faint. To this very moment she did not accept that the child had passed.
"Not dragged, honoured." Otto corrected. "Escorted to the dragon pits to be burned as a Targaryen prince!" Otto went on and on about how he loved his grandson, his heart was in the right place with the grief yet the path he set was in accordance with the warpath. Just plots and schemes. Falling silent, paralysed y/n looked down to her lap. She refused to even register this conversation because it meant registering the fact that a darling child, Jahaerys...was gone.
Aegon couldn't stomach this proposal which came as an already arranged firm announcement either, looking around the room nobody said a word against the hand's plan. "You would say nothing?!" He demanded of y/n, why won't somebody help this mad notion. "Your dear nephew, have you nothing to add?" He was almost begging, hoping she would get the hand to change his mind for this funeral procession. She didn't, y/n just looked up at Aegon and then Alicent, tears in her eyes which just didn't seem to stop flowing. "Mother." Aegon called out when y/n couldn't speak up.
Leaving y/n's side Alicent walk's up to aegon, "the hand sets a difficult path, my darling. But it might be the right one." She told her inconsolable soul.
"Let the silent sisters ready the prince for his final journey." Otto said without waiting a moment for the king or anyone to come forth with opposition "And riding behind him, his mother the queen, the princess and the queen dowager."
"No, I do not wish to be spectacle." Alicent opposed instantly, the weariness and fright in y/n's eyes speaking the same "Especially y/n, not in this state. She can barely talk-stand, she has been terrorised. You can't simply—"
"The realm must see the sorrow of the crown. A sorrow best expressed through its gentle souls." Otto said followed by alicent sighing, then he looked at the side to y/n, "We need to display our heavily victimised as well" he said, the bleeding wounds on her face seemed like little trophies of sympathy to Otto. "I think you'll all agree the king himself must be spared."
-
A deafening silence lingered within Aemond, he had been out, sharpening out his swords, practising. Fucking practising on jute bags when he should've been there. Y/n was in Alicent's chambers because she could not walk into her own, couldn't even take in the sight of it. The thrashed furniture, from her struggling against the intruding gold cloak. The...the sack. In which he had stored the boy's head. Where the man had placed it in her chamber, at the entrance, it had created a circular stain of blood. Jahaerys's blood. She could not even think about the room within those four walls without picturing the insidious crime. She sat on the floor against the bed, windows open and soft white light of the day seeping in yet to y/n it still felt like a night of hailstorm. She didn't even look up to the footsteps of the stride coming inside the room, Aemond. He walked to her, kneeling down to the floor to her level.
Aemond was drenched with so much guilt in his heart, he felt pathetic to even breathe the same air as his lady wife. She had her face turned away from him, he could just see the small cuts on her face, the torn dress, still seeping out dried blood, her weary stature. It was all mortifying in the first place. He was so livid, with himself, with the intruder. Even with Larys, who informed him about the happenings at the last. By the time he rushed back inside the council was already done with. He had nothing he could say to y/n, no way of consoling her either.
It's not as if she would want to be consoled by him too, the emotional support he would want to offer her walked out with him when he walked out after their fight the previous night. With the disturbing things that had happened with her, she had almost forgotten the words he said. She couldn't even remember why she was crying before it all, that sick with grief. Aemond gently held her chin, hesitantly afraid she would turn him away. She had every right to do so. She didn't move him away, had no energy to do so. His heart sank as he saw the blood streaked stitches, poorly done and most of her wounds left untreated. "Why are these open?" He asked her softly, referring to her wounds, "Where are the maesters?"
"The hand, has asked for these to be left raw as they were planted." Y/n briefed him, her voice was so wavering, all that crying. "He means for them to be displayed for the funeral procession...so the realm can see" y/n scoffed softly as she repeated otto's exact words.
"You don't have to go." Aemond told her in a firm way, sure that he could get the hand to change his mind whether he liked it or not because y/n's comfort was his priority.
"No..." she trailed off, in agreement refraining to look at him her voice held no emotion. "But I do. I have to." She continued "Wouldn't want Haelena to be alone"
"Mother would be with her." Aemond added taking her hands in his softly, finally getting her to react to his presence as she looked down upon his gesture. Apparently to take her hands out of his grasp.
"But then I would be alone here..." She trailed off, a hint of frustration and fright in her tone. "I don't want to be alone."
"I would be with you, y/n." Aemond cooed softly fixing the loose strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he leant forward. “You won’t be alone.”
"I find myself unable to put faith in you, Aemond." She breathed looking down, she felt like a cornered animal, just so scared and full of distrust. "...in your assurance. I'd rather not."
Aemond had nothing he could say to that. She did not trust the integrity of his principles and rightfully so. He knew he had broken that trust of security within her. "My heart, I apologise for the distress I have caused you. I did not mean any of it" he told her but the heaviness in his heart told him his words would change nothing. She couldn't talk either, bursting into tears and her stitches seemed to hurt because her face moved but she was so much numbed to the physical pain in comparison to how she felt inside. Aemond could just offer her his embrace in this time and that is what he did. Enlacing her into her arms, rubbing her back in soothing circles her let her cry into his chest. "They will pay for this." He muttered softly as he continued to hold her. Even with the pain he made her feel, the distrust and hurt she felt just in seeing Aemond could not let her turn away the familiarity of his comfort. His was the only comfort she had ever known.
-
Once again clarifying that the brothel subplot is absolutely NON EXISTENT in this fic Aemond Targaryen is a lot of things but not a cheater <333
Pls let know what you think about this + added to the tg list🫧
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🏷️ @love-is-a-dagger @daddzawa @1109002 @void21 @annedub @teapartydreams @batmans-love @ih8books @oopsdownloadedrumblragain-blog @aemondwhoresworld @unsweetenedpeatea @immyowndefender @aleemendoza2425-blog @vane282-blog @atargaryenlover @targaryenswhxre @sabii5 @vibescanner @darylandbethfanforever9
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I'll crawl home to her
Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Summary: Tales of Aemond's love for you.
A/N: In Ewan's words; the only thing that can beat Aemond is love. If you like this story, you'll like my ongoing series too. ;)
Masterlist
Aemond loves you behind closed doors.
He loves you with the way his pinky hooks around yours under the tables, during supper and council meetings.
He loves you with subtle looks and barely there smiles across rooms filled with people where he can only see you.
He loves you when he comes back tasting of heartache and guilt, with raindrops or tears staining his cold skin and clothes clinging to his body. When he stumbles into your room whispering sins against your embrace only for you to kiss the words, kiss his cheeks, kiss his scar, kiss the tears away. He clings to your body, your nightgown nearly ripping with his desperation.
But it's alright, because there's only you and him and the soft light of the candles in your room. It's alright because you cradle his head, fingertips burying between wet silver locks. It's alright because you whisper forgiveness into his ears, even if he feels undeserving.
And maybe war is now inevitable, but for a fraction of a moment, Aemond feels entirely at peace.
He loves you when you watch him from afar and notice the stiffness of his shoulders, the tapping of his fingers on the table. And then you'll find an excuse to call his name and get him away from the crowds, asking for some help with something mundane. You lace your fingers together, loose and yet so present. You take a familiar route through a lone hallway, you open the doors to the library hidden away in the confines of the Keep, pull him in, and close it again.
Aemond falls to you, his forehead is leaning against yours, his eye is closed, and he can breathe. You feel like fresh air. He nuzzles his nose to yours before asking for a kiss, it's all timid and bashful, he's not sure how to love yet, all he knows is that he feels it, insistent and warm; all-consuming.
But you hold his cheeks, you guide him, you teach him. Your fingers are in his hair and your soft lips touch the corner of his mouth; all delicate and devoted, Aemond doesn't know what to do with this much love, he might crumble.
His hands are around you, all over, and he's almost afraid to hurt you; even if you promise time and time again that he could never. Aemond sighs against your lips, and it sounds a lot like; "I am yours."
He loves you because there is no need for words with you. When he holds himself back from going to you all day—between planning for a war he's fighting alone and hearing his own mother talk of him as if he were a monster—the arrival of the night feels like a reprieve. It's the moment he waits for the most, for he can lay down his armor.
Aemond walks by the garden, picking up a single blue flower. He hides it away as he walks to your chambers, no one needs to know—even if everyone already knows anyway. He gives you the blue flower, with pink on his cheeks; he feels like a young boy in love—perhaps he is.
You kiss him, sweet and soft and tasting like the blueberries you stole from the kitchen earlier. And Aemond could cry, because if he has you, he's not alone.
You're the one who takes off his eyepatch, and then his coat, and his pants, and pulls loose his hair—you brush your lips over his shoulders when you do it, and he knows no one could love him the way you do. There's nothing sexual about it even if you're the muse of all his desires. He simply lays with you in bed, his head on your chest, and you trace the outlines of his body as you speak about your day. There are goosebumps on his skin, and he loves to hear you speak, about anything and everything, it soothes his troubled soul.
It's quiet, and Aemond falls asleep with the feeling of you braiding his hair. It'll be a little curly in parts when morning comes. He never minds it.
And he loves you with the way he won't be able to speak the three words. But he'll trace and kiss them on your skin every single night. And you understand, because you always say them back.
He loves you because of the way you sometimes hold the tip of his fingers with yours behind your backs.
He loves you with the way he'll threaten death to anyone who looks at you wrong.
He loves you with the way he could burn the whole world and yet not let a single flame touch your skin.
He loves you because you'll kiss his lips even if he tastes of blood and war.
He loves you because you'll hold his pieces together when everyone else is trying to tear him apart.
He loves you because even in the darkest of days, you're always there in the end.
He loves you because even if you exchange nothing but glances when amidst other people, you'll embrace his very soul in private.
He loves you because you wait with bathed breath when he takes Vhagar to the skies, and never think twice about mounting on a horse to gallop towards the woods outside of King's Landing when you spot the dragon's large silhouette bringing him back.
You jump from the white horse, Aemond jumps from Vhagar, and you meet each other in the middle. He holds you close in a needy embrace, as if each minute could be the last. And when you pull back, you don't ask questions or make demands, you simply run your thumbs over his cheekbones and breathe easiness into his skin. The feeling of you is always like coming home.
Amidst a world of war, you're a safe haven.
He loves you because you are the one who taught him what love feels like.
Aemond loves you behind closed doors. Wholly, truly, passionately. And with all of him that no one else is allowed to see.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚
Aemond's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3
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#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond one eye#aemond fanfiction#aemond imagine#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#aemond x you#aemond x fem!reader#imagine#fanfic#angst#fluff#aemond targaryen x reader#my story#aemond one eye x reader
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broken
pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader
summary: you are aemond targaryen’s wife, married for love in a union that defied the cold traditions of westeros. just days after giving birth to your first child, a son named daeron, a raven arrives bearing a letter from alys rivers.
warnings: angst, themes of betrayal, postpartum vulnerability and exhaustion, heartbreak and doubt in a romantic relationship, no physical violence, but intense emotional conflict.
author notes: do you guys want a part 2? also… would you forgive him? personally, i wouldn’t, i’d take my babe and leave. but what do you think?
your body still ached from the birth, a quiet soreness that lingered beneath your skin, but there was a warmth too, a fierce love for the babe you’d brought into the world, little daeron slept in his cradle beside you, his tiny chest rising and falling with soft, shallow breaths. he was only four days old, a perfect blend of you and aemond with your gentle features and his sharp targaryen silver hair. aemond had been there, holding your hand through the long hours, whispering promises of a future for the three of you. his love had always felt like a steady flame, unyielding and true.
you were propped against the pillows, tracing daeron’s little fingers with your own, when the door opened. aemond stepped in, his long stride quieter than usual, as if he feared waking the babe.
his eyepatch was off, something he only did with you and the sapphire in its place glinted faintly.
“you should be resting,”
he said, warm voice, crossing to sit beside you on the bed. he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender.
“i will,”
you murmured, offering a tired smile.
“he’s been fussy. i think he misses you.”
aemond’s lips quirked upward, and he leaned down to press a kiss to daeron’s forehead, then yours.
“i’ve missed you both,”
he said, settling beside you. for a moment, it was perfect, the quiet, the closeness, the family you’d dreamed of.
then came the knock. a servant entered, bowing low, a small scroll clutched in her hand.
“my prince, my lady, a raven came for you,”
she said, placing it on the table before slipping out.
you frowned, a letters for you were rare, especially now, when all of westeros knew you’d just given birth.
aemond’s brow furrowed.
“who’s it from?”
he asked, but there was a tightness in his voice, a shadow you didn’t catch at first.
“i don’t know,”
you said, reaching for it.
the wax seal was plain, unmarked, and your fingers hesitated as you broke it. the parchment unrolled, and as your eyes skimmed the words, the warmth in the room slowly drained away. your breath caught, sharp and painful, and you read it again, silently, to be sure. then, with a voice that shook despite your efforts, you read it aloud.
“to the lady targaryen, wife of aemond,
i am alys rivers, a woman of the riverlands. i write with a heavy heart, for i know the joy you must feel with your newborn child. yet i cannot keep silent. your husband and i shared a night together, months past, when he rode through my lands. he spoke of you even then, of his love for you, but the gods saw fit to leave me with a piece of him. i carry his child, soon to be born. i seek no claim on his heart, only acknowledgment of what is true. i leave my fate to you, trusting in the kindness your house is known for. may the old gods and the new watch over you and your babe.
in humility,
alys rivers”
the words heavy as a storm cloud. the parchment slipped from your hands, fluttering to the floor, and you stared at it, numb. aemond didn’t move, didn’t speak, his silence louder than any confession. you turned to him, searching his face the face you’d loved, trusted, clung to through every trial. his eye was fixed on the floor, his jaw tight, and that alone cracked something inside you.
“when?”
your voice was a whisper, fragile and raw.
“when did this happen?”
he swallowed hard, still not meeting your gaze.
“before daeron,” he said, barely audible.
“during the campaign in the riverlands. it was once. a mistake.”
a mistake. you pressed a hand to your chest, as if you could stop the ache spreading there.
“you never told me,”
you said, louder now, though your throat burned.
“i gave you everything, aemond, my heart, my trust, this child and you kept this from me?”
aemond finally looked at you, and the guilt in his eye was a blade twisting deeper.
“i didn’t want to hurt you,”
he said, reaching for your hand. you jerked it away, the motion instinctive, and his face fell.
“it was nothing, i swear it. i love you. i’ve only ever loved you.”
“then why does she write to me?”
your voice broke, tears stinging your eyes.
“why does she carry your child, aemond? how am i supposed to believe you when i’m lying here, still bleeding from giving you a son, and she’s out there with another?”
he flinched, as if your words had struck him, and maybe they had.
“i don’t know what she wants,”
he said, desperation creeping in.
“i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t—”
the room spun, the exhaustion of childbirth and the weight of this betrayal crashing over you like a wave. your family was known for kindness, for strength and you’d borne pain with grace, faced every challenge with a steady heart.
but this? this felt like a wound you couldn’t mend.
daeron stirred in his cradle, a soft whimper breaking the silence, and you moved to him instinctively, lifting him into your arms. you held him close, tears slipping down your cheeks as you looked at aemond.
“i thought we were different,” you whispered.
“i thought your love was mine alone.”
“it is,”
he said, standing now, his voice rough with emotion.
“gods, it is. i’ll write to her, send her away, anything you want.”
“what i want?” you laughed, bitter and broken.
“i wanted a husband who didn’t lie to me. i wanted to believe you when you said i was enough.”
you rocked daeron gently, his cries quieting, but your own storm raged on.
“she’s asking for my kindness, aemond. my mercy. how do i give that when i feel like i’m falling apart?”
he stepped closer, hesitant, his hand hovering near your shoulder.
“i’ll spend my life making this right,”
he said, voice cracking.
“i swear it on daeron, on you, on everything i am.”
you didn’t answer.
you couldn’t.
the letter lay on the floor, a cruel reminder of the crack in the life you’d built. your heart, so full of love for him just hours ago, now ached with doubt. you looked down at daeron, then at aemond, and the question burned in your chest.
could you forgive this? could you still believe in him?
again?
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Devout Worshiper
Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader
Rating: E (EXPLICIT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)
Warnings: Explicit sex! This is literally pure smut.
Word count: About 3.3k
Synopsis: The Prince Regent expresses his carnal desire and devotion to you atop the Iron Throne.
Author’s note: We were robbed! I can't believe they never showed us Aemond sitting on the Iron Throne or wearing a crown! So anyway I tried to fix it with this fic- please accept my humble offering.
I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Here's the link to my Aemond Masterlist if you want to check out my other stories! Also my requests are open, please send me some more!!
It was long after the moon rose and the knocking on your chamber door was loud and insistent. It made you nervous, and as you opened the door your confusion only grew.
A kingsguard stood in your doorway.
“My lady, the Prince Regent requests your presence in the throne room.” He said sternly, making it clear it was more of a demand than a request.
Prince Regent?
Trepidation filled you, but you only nodded demurely and followed his lead.
You flinched as thunder cracked loud enough to hurt your ears. Flashes of lightning lit your way through the halls of the Red Keep as rain poured.
The kingsguard opened the door to the throne room and gestured for you to enter. He did not follow you, only closed the door behind you, sealing you in.
Lightning flashed again and you saw the Prince Regent where he lounged on the iron throne. His long silver hair practically shimmered in the low light, his legs were spread, and his gaze was heart stoppingly intimidating.
Your heart skipped a beat, but for a completely different reason.
“Aemond,” you breathed out, walking forward again so eagerly you nearly tripped over your own feet.
You heard that he and Vhagar had returned to King’s Landing after the battle, but hadn't seen him yet. He looked good, completely himself, not a scratch on him and not a hair out of place. You were so relieved.
He murmured your name too, strong unidentified
emotion behind the syllables.
As you beheld your childhood best friend, he looked the same, but something about him was completely changed. Perhaps it had something to do with the conqueror’s crown that rested upon his brow.
You stopped walking as you reached the bottom of the stairs of the throne.
“What-“
”Aegon was grievously harmed in the battle, I have been named Prince Regent while he heals,” he explained.
You nodded, you had heard the King was hurt.
“And you, are you alright?”
He smiled crookedly and nodded.
You stared up at him, for the first time in your life uncertain about what to say to your childhood companion. The circumstances of this conversation were far different than any other time you spoke to him.
He beckoned you forward, and feeling jittery you
tentatively made your way up the steps of the iron throne.
As you reached him, relief overcame you and you laid your hand on his cheek.
“I’m so glad you’ve returned unharmed. I was so worried for you. I don’t know what I would do if-“
He shushed you gently as he placed a large hand on your waist and pulled you closer to him, leading you to stand between his spread legs.
You knew that none of this was proper.
“I am here,” he murmured and nuzzled his face into your hand.
Your heart thumped harder as you tried to pull your hand away, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and prevented you, instead running his nose gently across your skin, invoking goosebumps.
He took a deep breath as his nose reached your wrist and let out a soft groan.
Your knees threatened to buckle.
You should pull away. Walk away. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. You were betrothed to another man. He was betrothed to a woman who was not you.
“I thought of nothing but your scent throughout the battle, of returning home to you and smelling you once more,” he said, his voice low and deep, before he pressed his lips to your wrist.
“Aemond,” you protested weakly.
“Claiming you as mine,” he continued, trailing his lips further up your arm, pushing away the fabric in search of your skin.
“It is a sin,” you protested.
About a year ago Queen Alicent caught you and Aemond in a passionate kiss, it was not the first kiss between the two of you, and reprimanded you both sharply. Reminded you both that your maidenhood must remain intact and that developing feelings for one another was folly as it was highly likely you would both be betrothed to others.
Her words were sharp and you took them to heart. You did your best to squash your feelings for Aemond and treat him only as a friend.
But feelings that strong don’t merely disappear… and it seemed Aemond’s desire for you remained as fiery as ever.
“Nothing between you and I could ever be a sin. We were made for each other,” he said urgently, his lips now reaching the skin revealed by your collar as he pulled you even closer.
Your breath hitched in your throat.
“We are betrothed to marry others,” you said even as you whined at the feel of his lips against your throat.
“Fuck that,” he said as he bit down on the most sensitive part of your neck.
Your grip on his shoulder tightened even as you plunged your other hand in his hair at the back of his head and held him closer, tighter, never wanting to be apart from him again.
He chuckled darkly and licked up your throat to your jaw.
“Aemond,” you panted and he pulled back enough to look you in the eye, one hand slipping to caress the side of your face.
“You are mine,” he growled.
You whimpered.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“I’m yours,” you breathed out.
You stared into his violet gaze, overwhelmed by the emotion you beheld.
“And I am yours,” he said.
“And you are mine,” you repeated.
You weren’t sure who moved first, but his lips crashed into yours, and it was like coming up for air. You couldn’t breathe without him, hadn’t been able to breathe properly in a year, and now in his arms with his lips covering yours, your breaths came properly.
He pulled back all too soon, and said, “We will say our vows again on the morrow in the sept. I am Prince Regent now, I sit upon the Iron Throne, no one can deny us. You will be mine for the rest of our lives.”
The crack in your heart that has festered over the last year healed over instantly and you scrambled upon his lap as you kissed him once more.
As your tongue tangled with his and you both gripped one another tighter, as he held you closer than you’d ever been held.
‘Finally, finally, finally’ your heart and soul sang. He let out a cocky chuckle and you realized you’d said the words out loud.
He pulled your legs apart, spreading them as you settled more comfortably on his lap, your dress no longer a barrier between the two of you as his tongue flicked against yours.
Heat ran up your spine as the taste of him filled your mouth, as your blood pounded through your veins, as he somehow managed to pull you even closer- practically crushing you against him.
His hand ran up from your waist, his palm enveloping and gently squeezing your breast, and an erotic moan escaped from your lips, spilling into his mouth.
He pulled your mouth closer, tangling his tongue with yours as he moaned back. His fingers began to tug at the laces of your bodice, and you pulled back with a small gasp.
“Aemond,” you whispered in concern, looking back to make sure you were well and truly alone.
“I ordered them to leave us be and guard the doors. No one will interrupt us,” he reassured as he tugged again at the tie covering your heaving bosom.
Your breasts spilled from your dress as you stared into his eye. You reached around his head and unbuckled the eyepatch, letting it fall to the side, rendering him bare too as the sapphire eye glittered- a reflection of the flashing lightning.
His gaze dropped to your chest, and with hands on your waist he led you to move your hips, grinding down on his hardened length.
Your whimper turned into a gasp as his lips left hot opened mouthed kisses that trailed from the hollow of your throat to your breasts.
As his mouth enveloped your nipple, his tongue swirled on the sensitive bud and you let out a breathy, “Oh!”. You continued to grind down on him, your breaths quickening as heat filled your core.
His thumb flicked your other nipple as he suckled and moaned. The crown on his head slid down on his forehead for the third time, getting in his way and irritating him. He yanked it off his brow and placed it on your head before returning his attention to your breasts.
Your head fell back and you moaned wantonly at the eroticism of the action. His hands yanked at your skirts, rucking them up enough that his long warm fingers met the sensitive skin of your upper thighs.
You shivered at his touch even as a bead of sweat dripped down your spine in the cold throne room.
Never, you’d never been touched in such a way, never been worshiped in such a way, never had the love of your life fully expressed his devotion to you. And when his fingers slipped into your slick and lust swollen cunt, you knew you’d be his until the day you died.
Those fingers teased and rubbed, finding their way to the pinpoint of your pleasure and you gasped so loud it echoed throughout the room.
He hummed in approval, his lips quirking into a smirk as he looked up at you and you yanked on his hair pulling him into another heated kiss.
His finger, that damned finger, swirled around your clit and you bit his lip.
He hissed your name and sunk a finger inside your desperate cunt. This, this was heaven. Fuck the gods and religion, you were his and he was yours and nothing else mattered.
He slipped another finger inside you, pumping them in and out gently and you moaned as you clenched around those perfect fingers.
“You’re perfect like this,” he groaned and you whined once more at the praise and with the flick of his thumb against your clit you gasped his name.
His breaths came heavier as he watched you near your peak, the pupil in his eye lust blown, and the type of adoration in his gaze you’d always yearned for from him.
Heat coiled in your core, your heartbeat pounded throughout your whole body, and with a moan of his name you came harder than your own fingers had ever brought you.
His lips were on yours, consuming and devouring you hungrily, swallowing the sounds of pleasure from your lips that only he could elicit.
Your desire for him did not diminish, no you needed him somehow even more now. You wiggled your hand between the two of you and ran your hand across his hardened cock.
He moaned into your mouth, and feeling emboldened, you began to attempt to free it from his tight pants. He chuckled, placed a kiss on your jaw and took mercy on you, and assisted you.
You wrapped your hand around his hardened length, trepidation filling you at the size of him, and you looked back up at his face with a shaky breath, suddenly feeling bashful at your lack of experience.
Doubt flickered in your mind, what if you couldn’t please him? What if-
His lips were on yours once again, he kissed you with a steadfastness that reminded you that this was in no way meaningless, this was Aemond - your best friend- expressing his love for you.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured in your ear as he trailed his lips across your throat. His large hand wrapped around your much smaller one and guided you to wrap your hand around his cock.
You whimpered in desire as he continued to guide you to stroke his throbbing length. He led you to twist your wrist, showed you where to grip tighter, guided you to pump his cock up and down until he was groaning.
He let go of your hand, and you continued to pleasure him, feeling more powerful than ever before as you held the cock of the Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, as he again dipped his head and encapsulated your nipple in his warm wet mouth.
You both whimpered in pleasure, and as you ran your other hand through his silver tresses, pulling his head closer into your chest, you felt that there was nothing better in this life than this.
Until he lifted his head once more, his eye wide and filled with love, and you crushed your lips into his.
His hand met yours once more, brushing yours away, and he guided his cock to the entrance of your sopping cunt as you settled your hips over his once more.
Your breaths came heavier as he said, “You are mine.”
“I’m yours,” you responded, nodding and following his guidance as you began to sink your hips down on his throbbing cock.
You winced slightly at the stretch, but he ran a hand up and down your back, pulled you closer to him- your chest crushing against his, and dripped honeyed reassurances in your ear.
”You can fit me, my love. You were made for me,” he said.
Your heart burned for him, and with his grip on your hip you managed to take him completely inside your soaked cunt.
The frantic feeling in both of you eased as you sat on his lap, stuffed full of him, and felt complete in a way you never had before.
Your hands ran across his chest, up his shoulders and down to his biceps, gripping the corded muscle you found everywhere. In tandem, he ran his hands up and down your curves, gripping the flesh he found, until his hands enveloped your ass.
He gripped your ass and led you to shift your hips, grinding down on him in a circular motion. You let out a breathy, “oh!” The feel of him inside of you as you shifted, moving in an erotic way you’d never moved before, threatened to overcome you.
“You are perfect,” he reassured and you clenched down on him, causing you both to moan.
When you were ready, he then guided you to lift your hips up until his cock was almost completely out of your cunt, then you sunk back all the way down, sucking him inside your desperate hole, becoming his in a way that was irreversible.
“Aemond,” you gasped as you repeated the action, continuing to let him guide you. You finally learned how good it felt to be full, to be so full of him you realized how empty and aching for him you’d felt for years.
His grip tight on you, stuffed full of his cock, as his teeth bit down on your neck, you’d never felt so alive- so free.
And so you found a rhythm, bounding up and down on his cock, bringing you both pleasure unlike any other.
With his hands on your hips, your pace quickened, and one of your hands slipped from his shoulder, looking for more leverage and you cut yourself on a blade of the throne.
You yanked your hand back with a gasp, ceasing your motions atop him, and he looked at you wide eyed.
“What is it?” He asked and you placed your hand in his. He surveyed the small cut on your finger, you both realized it was small, barely more than a papercut really, you were lucky, and then he brought your hand to his lips.
You blinked in surprise as he enveloped your finger in his mouth, lips parting and tongue licking the blood off it.
You stared at him in shock for one moment, two, then three…. long enough that his expression became bashful, before you crushed your lips into his, pillaging his mouth with your tongue, desperate to taste yourself inside his mouth.
He moaned as his hand on the back of your neck pulled you closer, and then you were both moving again.
You felt blissful, stretched out in such a wonderful way, and desperate for anything he threw at you.
“Made for me,” he breathed out once again against your lips.
“You’re mine,” you replied as you ground down on him.
He huffed out something between a chuckle and a moan, and with a tight grip of your hips, he said, “I am yours until the day I die.”
He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust inside you, and with that he took control from you. You gave it to him gladly, and held onto his shoulders, tangled your fingers in his hair as he thrust up inside you at a pace that kept you from breathing properly.
There was a spot inside you, that you’d explored before with your fingers, but never once had you felt like this as his cock hit that spot repeatedly. Your toes curled and you whined his name in a high pitched voice you didn’t even recognize as your own.
“For so long I dreamed of what noises I could pull from your lips. Mmmm… the real thing is so much better than anything I could have imagined,” he purred in your ear.
Your only possible response was a gasp and clenching on his thick length as your mind had separated from your body, there was only him and the pleasure his body provided yours.
His muttered words in high valyrian, sweet promises of devotion as he continued to fill you. He filled your body, your heart, your soul, and the only expression of devotion you could return was to come on his cock.
With a moan and a squelch you gushed around him and he gasped, holding you tighter, somehow increasing his pace- the intensity of his thrusts as he followed you over the edge.
With one final push inside your cunt, he climaxed inside you, filling you with his come, and it was all you could do to kiss him, sloppily and desperate, as he marked you as his.
You rested your head in his shoulder, breathing him in as you both came down and attempted to slow your heart rates.
He tattooed his name against your being as he pressed his lips to any bare skin he could reach.
“I love you,” you whispered, completely baring yourself to him, feeling more vulnerable than ever before, despite your state of undress, despite the fact that he was still inside you.
“I have loved you for as long as I have known what love is, and I will continue to do so until I am ashes in the wind,” he swore, pulling back to meet your gaze.
You could only wrap your arms tighter around him and hold him.
Eventually, he disentangled the two of you, but swatted your hands away as you attempted to retie your bodice.
“I never said I was done with you,” he growled.
A shiver ran down your sweat slicked spine.
You merely let him lead you to stand, watched as he tucked himself back into his pants, then he led you to sit on the iron throne.
“Aemond,” you protested, but he merely shook his head at you, took a step back, and stared at you.
There was desire, possessiveness, and feral satisfaction in his eye as he looked you up and down in your disheveled state that he caused.
You could only imagine how you looked, sprawled on a throne you had no right to sit on, your breasts spilling from your dress, your hair disheveled, and a Targaryen crown crooked utop your head.
But the Prince Regent only kneeled before you.
Any doubts of his allegiance, any doubts in him flew away like feathers in the wind as Aemond Targaryen knelt before you, bowed his silver head, then lifted your skirts and spread your legs.
His groan was drowned out by your loud gasp as he began to feast on you.
Aemond ruined you and made you anew in the throne room that night, and at dawn the next morning he brought you to the sept and made good on his promise to marry you.
Damn the consequences and opinions of others, before all the gods Aemond Targaryen declared his devotion to you above all.
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x reader
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being the targtower’s youngest sister would include…
pairings: platonic!alicent hightower x daughter!reader, platonic!aegon targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!helaena targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!aemond targaryen x sister!reader
synopsis: what it’s like to be the youngest daughter of the green queen.
includes: reader being the only somewhat normal targtower, i went overboard on aegon’s are we surprised, might be ooc, sorry for how short alicent’s is i wasn’t feeling much inspo for her
a/n: one of my favorite things about alicent’s dynamic with her children is that they all represent a part of her: aegon, being used for politics, helaena, her innocence that she used to have, and aemond, her rage and thirst for power. so i decided to have reader represent alicent’s devotion to her family and her “duty”. hotd is so weird abt character ages so for my sanity aegon is 20, helaena is 18, aemond is 17, and reader is 16 in this. forget daeron pls
Alicent
Alicent has incredibly complicated relationships with her children. They are mirrors of her anguish, but her blood nonetheless. She will protect you and your siblings with her life, if necessary, but she also cannot look you in the eye without a pit of guilt settling in her stomach.
She feels nauseous when Viserys has you betrothed to a Lord from the Crownlands, but apart of her is satisfied with the match, though only because it means you will be allowed to stay in the Red Keep instead of leaving her.
She is just as gentle as she is with Helaena as she is with you. You are one of the only good things that have come from her. She cherishes you. When word of your pregnancy spreads through the Keep, Alicent orders an abundance of maternity gowns for you from Myr. She will always, without fail, offer you a guiding hand when going up large sets of stairs.
By all means, she is not a perfect mother, but she does what she can. She gifts you lots of her own accessories, like the hairnet she wore during Aegon’s second nameday celebration. Helaena is her “dearest love”, and you are her “sweetness.”
Trying to include you in her own private matters is one of the only ways she can spend time with you. She takes you to the Sept with her when she can, though her eyes are always averted from you.
That is one of the other strange things you’ve noticed about your mother; she can never make eye contact with you. Perhaps it is because you are with child just as she was at your age.
When the time comes, she cannot be by your side to hold your hand while you give birth. It’s improper. But she is overjoyed that both you and your son are healthy.
— “You have done well, my sweetness,” Your mother whispers, voice soft and melancholic and warm. Grand Maester Orwyle, bless him, had propped you up on great plush pillows after you’d finished your labors. He’d quietly congratulated you and helped you get comfortable in your bed, then had left you to rest.
She sits on the edge of your mattress, right by your side, thumb gingerly tracing your cheek. The forest green she’s clad in brings out the auburn of her hair. “The babe is a beautiful one. A handsome son for the realm. I am… proud of you.”
Articulating her thoughts has never been her strong point. It is the hour of the owl now. The only sounds you can hear are the padding of raindrops against the tall windows in your chambers and the crackling of the hearth.
“Aegon’s birth came quick for me as well,” She mutters, almost to herself. Peculiarly, she clings to the little ways you are alike to one another; they are fading as the days pass by. Her brows furrow as her mind begins to race.
Your firstborn sons’ births had come with ease. You were both married off far too early in your lives. In girlhood, you had both favored naive stories of brave knights and pretty ladies and romance. You both committed yourself to duty to further the family—
She stops the list she’s making in her head there. Far more resolutely than before, as if putting a wall around herself again, she kisses your forehead and retracts into herself.
“I shall leave you be. Good night.”
Aegon
For Aegon, news of a new sibling is unsurprising. It’s the same old thing to see his mother waddling around the castle, belly swollen. He’s a little indifferent when you’re born.
As a teen, though, Aegon is certainly the type to smack you a bit too hard in the training yard and then shush you, begging for you to hit him just as hard before you wail too loud and one of your mother’s handmaidens hear and alert her of it.
It makes him feel shameful, the first time you see him drunk, stinking of the whores of Flea Bottom and sweat. You promise to not tell anyone of it, if he, in exchange, does not do it again. He still does. You still do not tell.
After the events of Driftmark, you are the one to cut his hair short. Seeing Aemond bloody and bruised had frightened you, caused you to weep in front of the crowd in the great hall, and you’d tearfully asked Aegon if you could sleep in his bed together that night. He forces you to help him trim his waves the next morning as “repayment”, though he did not actually mind it.
You grow closer as you become older. To Aegon, you are the only one who has a semblance of faith in him; your mother was constantly repulsed by him, as was your grandsire and own father. Aemond had given up on him a long, long time ago, and Helaena focused on the children far more.
On his better days, Aegon likes to fly on your dragons together. Seeing you windswept and almost free is strangely satisfying for him; he misses when you both hadn’t been burdened by what your parents had put on you. In the dead of night, he likes to imagine what life would have been like if he hadn’t been forced to marry Helaena, and you your “fat, old husband”, as he put it.
Speaking of, he’d made a great fuss at your wedding. That was the angriest he’d ever saw you; he’d drunk himself half to death at the celebration afterward, made a fool of himself when he got into a fist fight with one of your husband’s brothers. Even the bards had stopped singing to stare at the spectacle. You’d almost lost your voice that night from how loud you’d yelled at him, asking when he’d ever think of anyone but himself, cheeks flushed from deep embarrassment.
“You know of my apprehension when it comes to large events such as these, and yet you cannot steel yourself for one night for my sake? What will you do when Jaehaera is married? Light the castle aflame?”
(You do not know the reason he’d done such a thing was to make such a big scene your consummation ceremony would be an afterthought. That, and the fact he was drunk and angry.)
Some part of him feels guilty when you get pregnant. He knows, deep down, that he had no part in it, and he could not control your fate, no matter if his efforts were weak or strong. But he was still your elder brother, was he not?
One day, while you sit in a rocking chair and he plays with the twins in their nursery, you tell him, “I should like for my son to be like you.” Aegon says, quietly, that yours will be better than he ever was, with you as his mother. He vanishes back into the Street of Silk soon after that.
One of his best qualities is being able to make light of anything, and he does just that after your labors, laughing at how disheveled you are and kissing your forehead. It’s hard not to laugh with him.
Days later, at his coronation, you are the first he looks to for approval, after your mother. The subtle nod you give him makes him wonder how you would’ve reacted if he had been successful in running to Essos. He hopes neither Aemond or Cole told you of what he’d said.
After becoming king, Aegon grows to value your input more and more. On his council, he feels you are the only one to genuinely listen to his concerns and thoughts when it comes to winning the war, and so he ignores the disapproving looks the men around him give him when you come to the meetings.
He does not mention your dragon when discussing battle plans, almost seems to ignore it when Lord Jasper brings you up; your dragon is great and strong, and he knows he will have to utilize you one day, but he refuses to think of it until it’s absolutely necessary. His mind has already been spoiled by what he has seen in brothels and taverns, and he imagines it will only further be by the sights of war. Aegon will do everything he can to avoid what happened to him happening to you.
The assassins Daemon hired infiltrate the Red Keep. They kill his son, leave with his head in a sack. Aegon rages and drinks and rages. He will not allow even you to see his tears, but he cannot stop them from soaking the cloth of your dress when you hug him tenderly, as if afraid he’ll slip through your hands like sand.
Bile floods into his mouth when Otto suggests wheeling his son’s body through the city to secure the approval of the smallfolk. The image of you insisting on going instead of his mother is burned into his brain. “If you will force Helaena, then at least spare Mother and allow me to go,” You’d begged. It does nothing.
As foolish as he can be, Aegon is also not one to forget what others have done for him. You were the only one who’d taken his side against your grandfather. He is glad he was not forced to marry you, glad that he did not force you to a brothel as he did Aemond; he is glad that he has not ruined you.
Aegon’s visits to your child become less and less frequent. He loves the boy dearly, like he’s his own, but he cannot stand to look at him. It’s only a reminder of what happened to his little Jaehaerys.
Rook’s Rest destroys him. He does not even need to tell you that it was Aemond who did it, you just seem to know. There is no way for him to verbalize that he is listening to you while he is in his milk-of-the-poppy induced coma, but he does appreciate the stories you tell him while sitting at his bedside.
He specifically forbids you from looking at him while the Maesters change out his bandages, but he’ll allow you to sit on the other end of his bed with your back to him and hold his unburnt hand while they do so.
— “I feel a monster,” He admits to you one night while you light a candle on the stand next to his bed. You’re clad in a warm nightgown; many whisper that winter is coming, and it’s hard not to notice with how cold the breezes have been lately.
“Why is that?”
“You know why.”
You can’t even fight the scoff that comes from you, and you turn back to him with a frown etched deeply into your face. “You should not. You are king.”
Aegon rolls his eyes. “That did not stop our cunt of a brother from burning me like the Conqueror did Harrenhal.”
Huffing, you smooth out your dress, then walk to the other side of the bed and slowly crawl on. You’re careful not to move around too much, so as to not cause him any more injury, and sit next to him, back against the headboard. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. His eyes are slightly glossy when they meet yours.
He takes a sharp breath. “…If it had been my decision, I would have named you regent.”
You laugh incredulously at that, shaking your head. “They set aside Mother for Aemond. They would have forced you to do the same.”
Aegon raises his remaining silver brow. “I am not as feeble and weak-minded as Father. I speak truly. It is you I trust the most.”
Helaena
Helaena is perhaps the least expressive out of all of your siblings, but even she felt happy when Mother’s babe had come a girl.
She does genuinely appreciate that you do not judge her and make fun of her behind her back; she has never felt like she has been able to fit in with her ladies-in-waiting.
As mature as she is, Helaena does like to indulge girlishly sometimes; she enjoys matching her gowns with you, as well as hairstyles and (light, so as to not overstimulate her) jewelry.
Observant and introspective, Helaena also has a great memory. If you tell her you’ve had a fascination with direwolves as of late, or have particularly enjoyed reading about Valyrian history, suddenly the dresses she gifts you will subtly be embroidered with subtle little wolf icons or ancient Valyrian imagery. She is very thoughtful.
Unbeknownst to most, she also gives very good advice. There have only been a handful of times her council has not helped you. Wise and empathetic, she is, and she is always willing to listen to you explain your troubles while she plays with one of her bugs.
It pains her to see you inflicted with the same fate as she was; married off to a man you had no love for, forced to be his incubator. Just as it was during Aegon’s coronation, her head is bowed at your wedding. She does not want to look at your doom.
Despite this, she is perhaps the most supportive of you during your pregnancy; she likes suggesting names for the babe as well as crafting him little clothes for him to wear when he is born.
Although you do not understand her prophecies, it does quell her anxieties a bit that you at least listen to them instead of dismissing them like all else do.
When noise gets to be too much for her, you are the first to cover her ears with your hands, guiding her to the lush gardens of the Keep to breathe. You are the only person she has a likeness of boundaries with; when she does not want to be touched, you leave her be. It’s why you are the sibling she is fondest of.
Her hand immediately flies to grasp yours when Meleys erupts from the boards at Aegon’s coronation. The look on her face had confused you. She’d appeared fearful, but simultaneously also put at ease, as if she’d known that this was going to happen.
After Blood and Cheese, she cannot find rest at night. She takes to pacing about the Red Keep, almost looking like a ghost; pale and silver and paranoid. Despite the fact that it distracts you from your own slumber, you insist on her staying in your chambers with you. She still paces, never sleeps. Some nights you even walk with her around the castle.
— “This one will not live,” She blurts out randomly, interrupting you from one of your tangents, confusing you. She never interrupts you, always listens to whatever your qualms are for the day without complaint.
“What?”
You feel like you’re about to burst; partly from the grand lamb you had for your midday meal and from how heavy the babe in your belly feels. She seems surprised that the words had actually come out of her mouth.
She pushes her face closer to the fly she has somehow managed to capture in her palm, a perturbed glint in her eye. “I do not think this one will survive.”
You decide to indulge her, tilting your head to the side from where you sit across from her, lounging on a velvet sofa. “Why is that?”
“The art of the spider is subtle. It shall trap another in its web.”
(Later that day, you can only wonder if she was speaking of Lord Vaemond after he’d been beheaded by Prince Daemon from behind.)
Aemond
Aemond can barely remember the day you were born, much less the day a celebration had been held for Mother’s pregnancy.
Alike to his siblings, Aemond is not one to forget what you did for him when you were children; how you always offered to take him on rides on your dragon before he’d claimed Vhagar, how you were the only one uninvolved in the “pink dread” incident, how you cried for him after he lost his eye.
After the loss of his eye, Aemond begins to put a wall around himself. Unfortunately, that does include you. Before Driftmark, you were closest with him, but afterward, you had slowly drifted toward Aegon; nevertheless, he shows his affection for you in his own way.
However, he does keep the little gifts you’ve given him over the years safely hidden in his chambers, away from the eyes of curious maids and servants, like the eyepatch you’d embroidered a little Vhagar in in the weeks after his eye was cut out.
When Vaemond’s head is cut off, Aemond immediately places a hand on the pommel of his sword, lest Daemon himself attack you next. When he becomes regent, he is the one who orders you to be given a sworn protector. He is the one who’d help you learn Valyrian when you struggled, even after all your lessons.
Aemond never, never shows much affection to anyone in the family publicly, but he doesn’t mind it if you place a hand on his forearm or his own hand. He prefers it if you keep things like cheek or forehead kisses private in the sanctity of your or his own room.
In his immediate family, you are perhaps the most normal of all, which does make him seek out your company the most. The mornings after he seeks out Madame Sylvi’s assistance are the mornings he spends the most time with you. The shame of it all almost eats him alive, and you are a welcome distraction.
Additionally, the one-eyed prince does genuinely appreciate how you show your devotion to the family, though of course he’d never verbalize it. Almost every training yard session he has, you sit on the balcony, embroidering a dress or two while he swings his sword at Criston’s morningstar.
Your wedding to some old Crownlands lord was a memorable one, mostly because of when Aegon had pinned your new brother-by-law to a table and began beating him senselessly. Aemond was the one who had pried him off, mercilessly tugging him by the collar of his doublet away from the man.
You become pregnant quick. Aemond says that when your son is born, he will bring him to meet Vhagar himself, stating that a “new Targaryen babe should learn the ways of his predecessors”.
As the moons pass by, the Maesters order you to bedrest. Your elder brother likes to visit during his free time, sometimes bringing a book with him to read or nothing, just to converse with you quietly. You are the only “quiet” Aemond has ever known.
When Rhaenys bursts through the boards at Aegon’s coronation, Aemond’s palm finds your wrist, gently grasping it with his long fingers.
Just as your mother does, you begin to shun Aemond after Luke’s murder. It does not make him resent you as much as it does Alicent, but it does make him spiral a bit quicker.
Many a time have you slept in Aemond or Aegon’s bed because of nightmares. The only time he’s ever slept in yours was the night Aegon had found him in the brothel with Sylvi. You had not been awake when he’d crawled into bed with you, just laying beside you and shutting his eye. He makes sure to leave before you wake. Aemond does not know that you were quite aware of his presence, but had chosen not to say anything. If Aemond of all people had decided to find sleep in your bed, something awful must’ve happened. Why take that moment of respite from him?
He knows that you know he burned Aegon, but he does not ever bring it up in a conversation with you, much less acknowledge it. However, Aemond is observant. He notices the fearful glint in your eye when he is around you, now, but this is what he has always wanted, has he not? To rule?
— Aemond is with you the morn after Blood and Cheese, standing in one of the Red Keep’s balconies as you watch the wagon carrying your mother and Helaena depart. Your eyes are sunken in from crying, cheeks swollen; you wear a veil of mourning yourself, though there is no crown settled on your head. The way you lean over the railing to peer at the ground, the way your back is hunched, the way you grieve so openly.. it does not befit a princess. It does not befit someone from the Targaryen family, someone who is supposed to use honeyed words and cunning tricks to protect themself from the environment of King’s Landing.
You sniffle. “Where were you?”
Aemond’s eye goes wide. A deep pit was already settled in his stomach, but it only seems to get worse at your questioning. Even his throat seems to tighten up, make it impossible for him to even choke out an answer.
“When news of… the boy spread,” You begin, “I went to find you myself. But you were not in your chambers, nor in the library. Where were you?”
“Patrolling.” It’s an obvious lie. He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, jaw clenching immediately. There was no use in patrolling at night, when he could barely see anything. His hand unconsciously squeezes the stone railing.
He’s ready to leave with haste when you nod to yourself, face blank and detached from reality. “…I won’t tell anyone,” You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Wherever you were.”
#house of the dragon x reader#platonic hotd x reader#hotd x reader#team green x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen x you#aegon the elder x reader#aegon the usurper x reader#hotd angst#house of the dragon angst#alicent hightower x reader#alicent hightower x you#helaena targaryen x reader#helaena the dreamer x reader#helaena targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye x reader#aemond the kinslayer x reader
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cradling constellations // jace x reader
when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.
whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. —emily brontë

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man. word count; 15k+ (oops) notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors! requests; are open !

the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.
you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.
after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.
jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.
in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.
away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.
it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.
rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.
and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.
for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.

going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea.
your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.
silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.
silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.
your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.
but, to you, flying is freedom.
there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.
silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.
“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”
she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.
a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.
you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.
long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.
a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.
but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.
vermax.
and jacaerys.
your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.
she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.
the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.
eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.
“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.
you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.
you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.
despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.
you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.
you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.
“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”
it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”
“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”
for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.
you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.
“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.
he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”
you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.
“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”
you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.
he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”
“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.
you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.
he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.
“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”
you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.
he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.
oh.
oh.
you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.
you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.
“jace…”
“brother! there you are!”
luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.
“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”
“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.
“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”
the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.
in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”
luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.
“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.
it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.
“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.
“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”
luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.
“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.
well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.

jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.
after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.
king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.
he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.
you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.
you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.
he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.
you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.
heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.
it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.
he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.
“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.
his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.
he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.

the feast has started by the time jace arrives.
his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.
you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.
as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.
luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.
it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.
it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.
his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.
it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.
the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.
he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.
he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.
his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.
perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.

“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”
jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.
“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.
he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.
you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.
it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.
jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.
gods, i want him.
the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.
“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.
“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.
he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.
you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.
of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.
you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.
jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.
you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.
“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.
you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”
jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”
you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.
“is there something on my face, princess?”
jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.
“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”
his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.
“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”
jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.
“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”
you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.
oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.

jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.
he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.
when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.
the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.
for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.
because you are avoiding him.
yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.
jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.
he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.
perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty.
he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy.
it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.
he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.
so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.
“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”
“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.
“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.
“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”
his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.
“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.
he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.
you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.
“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.
your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”
“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.
you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.
“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”
wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.
you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.
“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”
he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”
your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”
he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.
“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”
“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"
“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”
you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.
he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.
“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.
“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”

you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.
he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.
he’s in love with you (!).
it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?
but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.
only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.
you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.
the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.
he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.
he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.
you are finally, blissfully, alone.
you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.
“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”
he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.
it’s always been him.
you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.
“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”
he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”
he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.
“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.
he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.
“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.
arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.
one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.
“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.
“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”
“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.
“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.
“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.
he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”
his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.
but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.
“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.
when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.
“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”
it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.
���look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”
“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”
he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.
“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”
his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.
“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.
“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.
jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.
he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.
he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.
he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.
“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.
“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”
with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.
your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.
“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”
he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.
“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”
you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.
you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.
“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.
emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.
“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.
“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”
“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”
you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.
“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.
“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”
you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.
“fuck, jacaerys—”
he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.
“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”
your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.
with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.
your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.
jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.
“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.
“fine.”
you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.
“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.
you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.
his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.
the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.
he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.
“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”
it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.
“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”
he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.
“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”
understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.
“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”
jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.
“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”
you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.
you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.
you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.
“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.
“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”
jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.
you love him. he loves you.
there’s nothing else that matters.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon smut#jacaerys velaryon imagine#jacaerys velaryon fanfic#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys smut#hotd#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#jacaerys targaryen#jace velaryon#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys targaryen smut#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys targaryen imagine#jacaerys targaryen fanfic#my writing
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Metanoia ;
Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader
>> Chapter I : The Beginning.
Summary: "Be careful what you wish for" is what everyone says, you realise that you should've taken them seriously when you find yourself reincarnated as a character in the show who never existed.
WARNINGS: CANON TYPICAL INCEST, CONTAINS SPOILERS OF F&B, S1 AND S2, reader's appearance isn't described, only the fact that she is a strong, you can imagine her however you like, the picture used in the header is only to capture the feel of the story. A/N: divider credits to @cafekitsune
masterlist // next
“Jesus Christ, fuck this show, fuck everything, what the fuck is wrong with the writing?” You exclaim in annoyance after witnessing the scene that was supposed to be heavily impactful be butchered.
“That is the most anticlimactic death scene I've ever witnessed, this has to be a joke.” You furiously ramble. You decided to give House of The Dragon a try after your friend had recommended it, the show currently has released three seasons, with the fourth season in production, you thoroughly enjoyed season one and decided to binge all the seasons.
However, everything started to go downhill from season two, yet you still decided to watch for the sake of your favourite characters, daemon and aemond, only to witness the battle that was supposed to be intense and stressful get finished in the span of two minutes.
You stared at the screen, rolling your eyes in annoyance as you witnessed Aemond falling into the lake along with Vhagar, Daemon was knocked off Caraxes too and fell to his death.
They wrapped up the battle in mere moments, which made you angry as you were so hyped up to see them fight.
“Ugh, I never hated a show more than this, waste of my time, they did season one so well, what happened to rest? I did not expect this.” You sigh in frustration, feeling like you just wasted your time.
“If only… If only I ever get a chance, I'd change entire plot and script because fuck this.” You lay down on your sofa, staring at the ceiling, the show still playing in the background. You recollected the entire plot in your head, thinking of every moment in the show, trying to come up with an easy solution.
“If only they had married Jace to Helaena, it would have been peaceful.. Or at least if they had an older daughter married to Aegon or Aemond.” You mumble, but then shake your head, “What am I saying? Things still would've been complicated anyway.” You wonder in disbelief at your own words.
You yawned loudly, stretching out your limbs and blinking your eyes rapidly, your vision began to get blurry and you sighed in content, finally willingly wanting to sleep after you forced yourself to stay up all night to binge the series.
Your vision darkened slowly as you closed your eyelids, head spinning as you took slow breaths of air, cool breeze brushes past your cheeks and before you know it, you're slowly succumbing into slumber.
You blink your eyes open, realising you fell asleep, you sigh stirring on the soft sheets, entangling them between your legs.
Soft sheets?
Your sofa doesn't have any sheets.
You quickly blink again, taking the note of a translucent veil hanging from above, surrounding the bed you're in, creating a curtain around your bed.
Why were you in bed?
You sit up looking around, taking in your surroundings, your eyes widening in fear as you don't recognize this room at all, ancient tapestries, brown wooden furniture, and the source of light being only from the candle.
Have you been kidnapped?
You look down at your body, noticing you are in a white nightgown instead of the shorts you fell asleep in. Your heart begins to race and you panic, unable to understand where you are or how you got there. You steady your breathing, wondering if someone kidnapped you to play a role in a mediaeval film of theirs? But why would anyone do that?
The sound of metal clanking harshly against the floor and a small scream made your head turn the direction it came from, the liquid in the decanter spilling out rapidly as the person behind the fallen cutlery stood in shock.
“The princess is conscious!” She yells loudly before turning around and running out of the room in a hurry.
Princess?
Is this a prank?
You barely have any moment to think when you hear the sound of multiple footsteps coming from outside to your direction, you could almost feel the ground rumbling, noting that everyone was rushing to this room.
You push the veil to the side and stand up, getting out the bed and examining your surroundings, looking at the sigils and the paintings. All of this looked familiar somehow.
A small gasp echoed through the room, coming from the entrance, which made you turn around to take a look at who was in the room once again. Your eyes widened at the sight.
A lady with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes stood in front of you, someone who resembled Rhaenyra and next to her stood Jace and Luke breathing heavily, looking at you in shock.
Did the house of the dragon cast kidnap you to play a prank on you?
That sounds too unreasonable.
“Oh my sweet daughter!” Rhaenyra rushes over to you, embracing you tightly, tears flow down her cheeks as she peppers you with kisses “I-i i cannot believe this, you finally woke up after many years.” She sobs, you look at her questioningly. “Sister.” Jacaerys speaks up, coming to you and joining the embrace of you and Rhaenyra, Luke joins in as well.
“We missed you.” Jace says and you stare at all of them confused.
This has to be a joke.
They notice the expression on your face and their faces immediately drop, “Your grace, the princess woke up after many years, she might not be able to recognise you.” The maester chimes in, Rhaenyra nods, sniffling yet understanding your condition.
“Emma? Is this a joke?” You question, referring to the actor of Rhaenyra, “I’m not Aemma darling, she is your grandmother.” Rhaenyra corrects you. “I think she must be confusing the names of everyone due to her hazy memory.” The maester tries explaining, you sigh.
Yeah this must be a dream.
You shake your head gently and immediately slap yourself to wake yourself up.
“Ouch!” You yell in pain, cupping the cheek you slapped yourself on, Rhaenyra is mortified and the guards rush in and hold your arms back so you don't further hurt yourself.
This is not a dream.
You can’t feel pain in your dreams and you will wake up right before impact.
You look at Rhaenyra’s face, she is as real as a living person, standing right in front of you.
She looks just like Emma. of course, after all Rhaenyra is indeed played by them.
But this is not them.
She is not Emma
You can feel the vibe, it's very different.
You’ve met Emma before in costume, yet they did not give off the vibes as what Rhaenyra is giving off right now, after all, when you met them; it was just a show, but now it's your reality.
Did you die in your world?
You’ve definitely transmigrated into this show, but as who?
Did Rhaenyra ever have a daughter? You knew she didn't.
“Mirror, get me a mirror.” You ask and they look at you questioningly, your form begins to shake as the realisation is too overwhelming, there are many questions in your mind, “Please!” You cry, and immediately a servant moves and rushes over with a mirror.
Your eyes widen.
It's you.
You had not become someone else, but you remained as yourself. “What is my name?” You ask, “Y/N.” Rhaenyra replies. Your mind begins to spin, you are in another world as yourself, you have not possessed anyone else, which means your body must’ve disappeared from your world.
You try to stay calm in this situation, breathing heavily, “You are?” You ask, wanting to reconfirm, you watch as Rhaenyra's face crumples into that of a sad face, probably feeling hurt that her own daughter doesn't recognise her.
“I'm your mother, you are my eldest daughter, they—” She points at Jace, Luke and Joffrey, “—are your younger siblings.” You turn towards them.
You nod, pretending to play the part while you figure out everything. “I'm sorry, I do not remember.” You apologise and Rhaenyra shakes her head, “It is alright, you have been unconscious since the past six years, this is better than losing my daughter.” She replies.
“Six years… Did I fall unconscious after Aemond lost his eye?” You think out loud and Rhaenyra looks at you in shock, “You remember him?” She asks and you clear your throat, “It's hazy, my memory.” You answer back.
“Your grace, the event was probably traumatic for her, hence why she can remember it in parts.” The maester explains it to Rhaenyra, you mentally thank the maester for covering up for you always.
You noticed how they were all dressed up, looked as if they were about to leave but their plans were cut short, and you recognize this gown of Rhaenyra.
It was the gown she wore when she left for King's Landing, in order to settle the matter of Luke's right to driftmark. “You guys were departing somewhere?” You ask, wanting to really confirm it, “Hm? Huh, Yes, We were about to leave for King's Landing.” Jacaerys answers your question.
“Can I tag along?” You blurt the question.
“.. Tag along?” Lucerys repeats your words in confusion, your language confusing him.
“I mean to say, can I come along?” You ask the question in a proper manner, Rhaenyra shakes her head, “No- you've just woken up, you might still be weak- I cannot risk-”
“Mother! I am perfectly fine!” You cut her off, breaking free from the guards hands and running around the room, doing jumping jacks, showing her that you aren't weak and are perfectly capable of physical activity.
Rhaenyra watches in shock, seeing you move like this but she chuckles, shaking her head in comic disbelief, “I guess she has not changed after all.” The maester comments which makes Jace and Luke smile.
“Very well, Pack the princess’ belongings, and get her ready for departure, we will depart two days later.” Rhaenyra orders the maids and you smile at her.
“But mother, I do not have many dresses—”
“You do, I had them tailored every year, whenever you grew, hoping that you would wake up.” She replies softly and you just then realise how Rhaenyra loves her children.
“The maesters said that you might not ever wake up, and that your body will be stunted from growth, yet… I'm glad their predictions never came true.” She smiles gently at you, you smile back.
The maids come in with a bath as everyone leaves, some of them begin packing your belongings. You notice how your body doesn't look how a person in a coma state should be looking especially in the mediaeval times, but instead you seem to be well taken care of, treated as if you were alive.
The maids quickly finish your bath and dress you up, you have to pretend to get used to this atmosphere and era even though you're highly uncomfortable, the mere thought of having servants made you feel bad.
And with that, the night fell, you couldn't sleep thinking about how you're going to deal with everything, could you really prevent war from happening? It happens due to a misunderstanding in the show right? What if the misunderstanding doesn't occur? Your mind was filled with such thoughts through the whole night.
In King's Landing.
“My queen, Rhaenyra, has sent a letter saying that their arrival will be delayed further.” The master sums up the contents of the letter in the council room, in front of Aemond who had been called by Alicent for an urgent matter.
“Why so?” Alicent asks, furrowing her brows.
“Princess Y/N had woken up from her unconscious state.”
An ear piercing shattering sound of glass is heard through the entire room, when turned to look at the origin, It is known that Aemond had dropped the wine glass he was drinking from.
“Y/N is awake?” Aemond asks the maester.
“Yes my prince.” The maester replies.
Aemond's heart begins to pound in his chest loudly, his mind spiralling at the thought of you finally waking up all these years later.
“Please excuse me.” Aemond gets up from the chair, excusing himself from the council and leaving the room, his brain occupied with the thoughts of you.
There wasn't a day where Aemond hadn't thought of you, he would at least think about you once a day- the news of you waking up from unconsciousness made the adrenaline in his body rush.
He felt like a hungry snake that had been starved for many years who at last found a prey to feast on, he felt like a drought-stricken land finally receiving rainfall, he felt like a garden void of any flowers which started to bloom once again.
He was thrilled.
He reminisces of the fond memories you both shared, he could never ever forget them, smiling at the thought of you.
He wondered if you had changed or remained the same.
Whatever it was, he couldn't wait.
He couldn't wait to receive you.
#; metanoia !#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen fanfic#reader insert#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond kinslayer#aemond one eye
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The crown.
Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader
Summary: the reader must attend the coronation of her mother's usurper. At least Aemond eases the blow.
A/n: this is so short but too long to be a drabble so 🤷♀️
Masterlist
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She stood next to Aemond. Not confident, as he was. Not nervous, as Helaena was. Not arrogant as Otto.
She wasn't like any of them, really.
How could she be, she was a Velaryon.
She was married to Aemond when they were both five and ten. It was Rhaenyra's idea. She wished to bridge the gap between the families.
And the two grew to love each other well.
But like all marriages, there came strife.
Like Aegon usurping the throne.
So there they stood, watching as Aegon walked through the crowd to be coronated.
Aemond looked to his wife, his fingers reaching to brush hers. His voice was soft in her ear, "Please pretend to be joyful. At least give me that."
She turned her face to him, their breaths mixing. "You'd have me lie?"
He hummed. "I'll not see what happens to you if you do not. I will not allow it."
…
She opened her eyes, cringing when the light from the window blinded her.
Giving a light yawn, she stretched and sat up in the bed.
Aemond had already left.
It was not uncommon. His favorite time to spar was the morning.
She waited a while, frowning when her handmaiden never came in to help her dress.
She stood on shaky legs and moved to the door.
Locked.
She shook in vigorously. "Ser Erryk?!"
No response.
She banged her fist on the door. "Please."
She stepped back, growing frustrated. "I am locked inside!"
"Ser Erryk?"
"Aemond?"
"Please! Take me to my husband!"
She finally sighed and tried one last effort, placing her hand gently on the door, "I do not know what I have done. Please."
When nothing came, she huffed and moved to dress herself.
…
"What?" Aemond asked lowly.
"The Princess, your grace. She has been calling for you."
He shrugged. "Why? She can come to me. She knows that."
"Her door has been locked, my prince."
His gaze hardened. "You've locked her inside our chambers?"
"By the Hand's command, my prince," Ser Erryk said. His eyes held remorse.
"Why was I not made aware of this?" Aemond growled. "She is my wife. If she is of any consequence, it should be mine! If she wishes out of her room, bring her to me."
"Yes, Prince Aemond."
…
Aemond spent the next hour holding her as she wept.
Her grandsire gone. Her mother's right taken from her.
And this poor girl was stuck in the midst of it all.
"You and I both know… V…Viserys did not… want this," she cried into his chest.
He hummed in thought. "No. But it does not change its coming."
"Your family sees no reason," she sniffled.
"Hey," he warned lowly as he cupped her cheeks to force her to look at him. "Our family. You must be more Hightower than Velaryon now."
"I hold none of your mother's blood in me, Aemond."
"If you stay a Velaryon, you will not last. You are married to me. You have my name. You have my titles. You have everything."
"I have you. I shall make that enough, dear husband."
…
She felt tears form in her eyes as the crown was placed on Aegon's head.
The crowd cheered, but she saw nothing.
A rubble stirred through the ground and the silver hair siblings all gazed at one another in confusion.
Rhaenys and Meleys emerged from below the boards, causing a shake to move though the building.
Gasps and screams were heard.
Aemond's eye widened, and he immediately was on guard.
Alicent moved to Aegon, shielding him from the dragon's jaws.
In turn, Ser Criston shifted himself between the dowager queen and Helaena, ready to interfere anywhere he needed to.
But only when Meleys turned her head did Aemond move.
He grabbed his wife's wrist in a desperate grip, pulling her behind him as his other hand was held near his sword.
They watched as Rhaenys and Alicent stared at one another, waiting for the other to make a move first.
Meleys reared back, preparing herself to attack.
When her great jaws opened and they believed fire would escape from it, Aemond turned completely to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist and the other holding her head against him. He was intent on shielding her from the horrors that laid on the other side of his body.
But when a mighty roar came from the dragon instead, Aemond relaxed slightly. His hands remained, but his body was eased.
He turned when Meleys finished. His eye met Rhaenys'. It was clear she was thinking about something. Not something, someone.
His wife stood behind him still, her eyes peeking over his sturdy shoulders.
Rhaenys tilted her head at the sight of the two of them, mourning the loss of Rhaeynra's daughter to the Hightowers.
And Meleys flew away.
Aemond let out a breath, pulling her head to him to kiss the crown of it.
...........................................
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Choices - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

Summary : you were tired of being just a shadow, after that night something inside you changed. the choice you made that night changed your entire life.
After that night — the night you found yourself once again in Aegon’s arms, wrapped in his warmth until the break of dawn — you made a decision. No longer would you allow yourself to be consumed by the ache Aemond had caused. The pain had festered for too long, and you were done being a prisoner to it.
As you stepped out of Aegon’s chambers that morning, the castle corridors seemed quieter than usual, though you knew it was only an illusion. Eyes followed you. Servants, guards, and courtiers glanced your way, some pretending to be preoccupied while others stared openly, their gazes sharp with judgment or curiosity. Their whispers echoed softly behind you, low murmurs carrying words you didn’t care to hear.
But you didn’t falter. You kept your head high, spine straight, and your steps measured with purpose. The faint smirk on your lips was barely noticeable, but it was there — a silent defiance. Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them think whatever they pleased. For the first time in a long while, you felt in control. You had spent too long chasing affection from a man who refused to see you. Now, they would all see you.
The light fabric of your gown swayed gently as you walked, the cool morning air brushing against your skin. You could still feel the warmth of Aegon’s touch lingering on you, like an invisible armor shielding you from their stares. Your heart didn’t ache this morning — not for Aemond, not for anyone.
As you approached the main hall, you saw Alicent at the end of the corridor. Her eyes met yours, narrowing with a look you knew well: suspicion. Her gaze flickered to the way your hair was still slightly tousled, the faint mark barely hidden beneath the neckline of your gown. Her lips pressed into a firm line, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to. Her silence was its own form of disapproval.
But you didn’t slow down. You walked past her with that same unshaken grace, ignoring the weight of her gaze on your back. You had made your choice, and you wouldn’t apologize for it. Let them all watch. Let them all whisper. None of them had ever truly seen you before. But now, they would.
You were in your chamber, brushing through your silver hair in front of the mirror, the soft glow of the morning sun spilling through the window. The air was calm, the gentle chirping of birds outside offering a rare sense of peace. You adjusted the neckline of your gown, letting it rest just right on your shoulders. But that peace was short-lived.
The sound of your chamber door being thrown open echoed through the room, making you flinch. The handle slammed against the stone wall with a loud clang, and as you whipped your head around, your heart froze. There he stood — Aemond. His face was a mask of fury, his single eye sharp and burning like wildfire. He didn’t wear his eyepatch, and the sapphire in his empty socket caught the morning light, making it gleam with an eerie brilliance. His chest rose and fell with the weight of his breathing, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had turned white.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze bore into you like a blade, unwavering and filled with rage that simmered just beneath the surface. It wasn’t the cold indifference you’d grown used to — no, this was something much more dangerous.
“You think I wouldn’t hear it?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey. “The whispers. The stares. Do you know what they’re saying?” His voice grew louder with each word, his tone sharp as steel.
You didn’t respond, your jaw tightening as you kept your ground. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to look away. Let him rage, you thought. Let him see that I am no longer his to break.
He took another step forward, his gaze never leaving you. His lips curled into something caught between a snarl and a sneer. “They’re saying you left his chamber this morning.” His words came slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the taste of them — as if saying it out loud made it more real. His eye narrowed, his gaze raking over you as if searching for evidence of your betrayal.
“Say something,” he demanded, his voice sharp like a crack of thunder. “Deny it. Dare to lie to me.”
You exhaled slowly, straightening your posture. You felt the warmth of defiance rise in your chest. No longer would you tremble beneath his gaze. No longer would you be the one left unseen, unloved. If he wanted the truth, you would give it to him.
Your eyes met his with quiet, unyielding strength. “Why should I?” you asked, your voice steady and clear. “It seems you’ve already decided what to believe.”
His nostrils flared, and for a moment, his eye darted to your neck. You knew what he saw — the faint mark that lingered just above your collarbone. His lips pressed into a hard line, his chest heaving. His gaze lingered on that spot for far too long before his eye snapped back to yours.
“Is this how you get back at me?” he snarled, stepping even closer, his face inches from yours now. “Him?” He said it like a curse, filled with disgust. His breath was hot, his presence overwhelming. “You’d disgrace yourself — disgrace me — just to prove a point?”
Your eyes narrowed, your lips curling into a bitter smile. “Disgrace you?” you repeated softly, as if tasting the words yourself. You tilted your head slightly, letting him see the mark more clearly, daring him to look at it. “You speak of disgrace, husband, but tell me —” Your voice was quieter now but sharp as a blade. “Was it not disgrace when you left me for her?”
The words hit him like a slap. His eye widened for a moment before it narrowed into a glare more dangerous than before. His jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching as he clenched his teeth. You saw it — that flicker of guilt, that fleeting moment of realization. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by pride and rage.
“You forget your place,” he said coldly, his voice like ice.
You raised your chin, your gaze never leaving his. “No, Aemond,” you said firmly. “I’ve only just found it.”
Silence hung between you like a drawn sword, sharp and dangerous. His breathing was heavy, his gaze wild with emotions he refused to name. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cower. For the first time, you stood as his equal — no, more than that. You were beyond him now.
Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel, his black cloak whipping behind him as he stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut, the echo reverberating through the stone walls. You exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from your body, your heart still pounding like a war drum.
Your gaze shifted to the mirror. You stared at yourself for a long moment, fingers brushing over the faint mark on your neck. Slowly, your lips curved into a small, victorious smile. Let him rage. Let him burn. He had his chance, and he threw it away.
You stepped into your mother’s chambers, the air thick with tension. Alicent stood in the center of the room, her face hard with disapproval, eyes sharp like the edge of a dagger. Her arms were crossed, her fingers tapping slowly against her sleeve — a silent warning you knew all too well.
Beside her stood her. Your sister. Helaena. Her soft, distant gaze remained fixed on the floor, fingers nervously twisting together. She looked as innocent as ever, unbothered, unaware of the weight of it all. But to you, she was a symbol of everything you had lost. Every unspoken word. Every stolen glance. Every moment of your husband’s love that was never yours to begin with.
“Sit,” Alicent commanded, her voice firm, unyielding. You knew better than to refuse. Slowly, you walked toward the chair across from her and sat, keeping your back straight, head held high. If she wanted to scold you, she would have to see that you were no child to be lectured.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Alicent’s voice was low but sharp, every syllable cutting through the silence. Her eyes bore into you, searching for a hint of shame. “The entire Keep is whispering about you. About him.” Her lips curled with distaste at the mention. “Do you think this is how a princess behaves? Do you think this is how a wife honors her vows?”
You kept your gaze on her, unblinking. “Did he honor his?” you asked, your voice quiet but unyielding. “Did he honor me, Mother, when he left me to wither in the shadow of another woman? Did he honor me when he sought solace in her arms instead of mine?"
Alicent’s face stiffened, her nostrils flaring as if you’d struck her. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing with warning. “Watch your tongue,” she hissed. “You are his wife. It is not your place to question him. It is your duty to endure.”
“Endure?” You let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I have endured, Mother. I have endured his indifference, his silence, and his loyalty to someone who was never his to love. And you expect me to endure it forever?” Your eyes flickered to Helaena, still quiet, still absent in her own mind. “Is that what you taught her too?”
“Enough!” Alicent’s voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and final. “Do not speak of your sister in this.”
But you didn’t stop. Not now. Your eyes locked on Helaena, and for the first time, she met your gaze. There was no malice in her eyes, only confusion, and somehow that made it worse. “You took him from me,” you said, voice laced with quiet fury. “You didn’t even know you were doing it, did you?” You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Do you know now?”
“Stop this,” Alicent snapped, stepping between you and Helaena. “Do not blame her for your failures.” Her voice was colder now, laced with disgust. “I raised you to be better than this — to be better than your selfishness. Do you think Aegon cares for you? Do you think that boy sees you as anything more than his next distraction?”
Your heart twisted, but you didn’t let it show. You had already asked yourself those questions, lying awake at night in the stillness of Aegon’s chambers. You had seen the shadows of doubt creeping into your mind. But here, before Alicent’s judgmental gaze, you wouldn’t break. You couldn’t.
“At least he sees me, Mother,” you whispered, eyes narrowing into slits. “At least he doesn’t pretend I’m invisible.”
Alicent stepped forward, her face inches from yours now. Her gaze was fierce, unrelenting. “He will ruin you,” she said with quiet fury, her voice deadly calm. “And when he’s done, when he grows bored, you will be left with nothing. No husband, no name, and no place in this world.” She leaned in, eyes hard as steel. “Is that what you want? To be nothing?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes burning with unshed tears, but you did not let them fall. “I was already nothing to him,” you said softly, each word hitting like a blow. “At least now, I am seen.”
Alicent’s face twisted in disappointment, her lips pressing into a thin, angry line. She shook her head slowly, eyes filled with something like pity. “You are lost,” she whispered, stepping back from you as if you were something tainted. “And you will regret this.”
“Perhaps,” you replied, rising to your feet, your heart pounding but your voice unwavering. “But at least I will regret it on my terms.”
You turned to leave, walking past Helaena without sparing her another glance. She didn’t stop you. She never did. And as you left, you heard Alicent’s voice behind you, cold and sharp as ever.
“Don’t come to me when he casts you aside,” she said, her tone final, like a judge passing sentence.
You didn’t turn back. Let her think she had won. Let them all think that. You had nothing left to lose.
You walked along the garden path, your gaze soft as you watched your daughter chase after a butterfly. Her tiny feet padded across the grass, her giggles filling the air with a melody sweeter than any song. Her silver hair shimmered in the dappled sunlight, her little hands reaching for the butterfly that danced just out of her grasp.
A smile tugged at your lips. Moments like these felt like fleeting dreams, too delicate to last but too precious to forget. The weight of everything else seemed lighter here, where only the sun, the breeze, and your daughter’s joy existed.
From the far end of the garden, you noticed a figure approaching. His familiar, unhurried stride was impossible to miss. Aegon. He walked with his usual air of mischief, hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on you with a knowing grin.
“Look at her,” he called as he drew closer, tilting his head toward your daughter. “Chasing dreams she’ll never catch.” His tone was playful, but his eyes lingered on you a moment too long.
“She doesn’t know that yet,” you replied, watching your daughter spin in circles, trying to catch the butterfly as it fluttered just beyond her reach. “Let her believe she can.”
Aegon’s grin widened at that. “Spoken like a mother.”
By the time he reached you, your daughter had already noticed him. Her eyes lit up, and she abandoned her chase, running toward him with all the speed her little legs could muster. “Uncle Aegon!” she cried, her voice high and delighted.
“Little dragon!” he laughed, crouching down just in time to catch her in his arms. He lifted her with ease, spinning her around, her giggles turning into shrieks of joy. “Higher? Higher, you say?” he teased, his voice loud with mock surprise.
“Higher, Uncle! Higher!” she squealed, her arms stretched toward the sky as if she could touch the clouds.
Aegon obliged, hoisting her even higher, spinning her in wide circles that had her squealing with glee. His laughter mixed with hers, louder and freer than you’d heard in a long while. It was so genuine, so unburdened, that you felt your heart tighten.
He finally set her down, but she refused to let go of him, her small hands clutching his tunic as she leaned her head against his chest. He glanced at you, his breathing slightly uneven from the effort, his smile quieter now.
“Looks like I’ve been claimed,” he said, his voice laced with affection as he ruffled her silver hair. “Can’t say I mind.”
You chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You’ve always been her favorite.”
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to you with something sharper, something unspoken. “Am I?” he murmured, his gaze lingering on yours just a moment too long.
Before you could respond, your daughter tugged at his sleeve. “Again, Uncle Aegon!” she pleaded, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
“Again?” he repeated, feigning exhaustion as he let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’ll be the death of me, little dragon.” But despite his words, he crouched down once more, letting her climb onto his back like a rider claiming a dragon.
“Ready?” he asked, glancing back at her.
“Fly, dragon, fly!” she declared, her small fists clinging to his tunic like reins.
With a grunt of effort and a laugh on his lips, Aegon straightened, carrying her on his back as he jogged around the garden, her squeals of joy trailing behind them.
You watched them, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite name. For once, everything felt… simple. No whispers. No stares. No burdens too heavy to carry. Just laughter, sunlight, and the sound of your daughter’s happiness echoing through the garden.
You and Aegon walked side by side through the corridors of the Red Keep, his arms steady as he carried your daughter. Her little hands clung to his collar as she leaned her head on his shoulder, her soft giggles filling the silent hall. You couldn’t help but smile, your gaze fixed on them — your heart lighter than it had been in days.
The faint echoes of whispers followed you. Maids glanced from behind pillars, guards exchanged quick looks, and noblewomen passing by slowed their steps, eyes lingering with curiosity and judgment. The weight of their stares was a familiar burden, but today, you chose to ignore it. Their words, their gossip, their assumptions — none of it mattered.
“Look at her,” Aegon chuckled, glancing at your daughter in his arms. “Falling asleep on me after all that excitement. Typical little dragon.”
“She knows where it’s safe,” you replied softly, your eyes shifting from your daughter’s peaceful face to his. He gave you a grin, one that was far too self-assured, as if he knew exactly what you meant.
His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, everything else fell away — the murmurs, the stares, the weight of expectation. It was just the three of you walking down a corridor that had once felt so suffocating but now seemed less so.
But not all eyes were so easily ignored.
From the shadows ahead, you felt it — the cold, sharp gaze of Aemond. His presence was unmistakable. He stood at the end of the corridor, his hands behind his back, his posture rigid. His one eye, the one that mattered, was locked on you. No — not just you. His gaze shifted to Aegon, to your daughter nestled against him, then back to you.
You felt the weight of his stare like a blade pressed against your back, sharp and unforgiving. It begged for your attention, demanded it. But you didn’t look at him. Not this time.
You tilted your chin higher, your smile never faltering as you turned back to Aegon. He noticed, of course. Aegon always noticed. His grin grew wider, bolder, as if daring Aemond to act.
“Don’t look back,” Aegon muttered low enough for only you to hear, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “He hates it when he’s ignored.”
You bit back a laugh, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “Good,” you whispered back.
With that, you continued forward, side by side with Aegon, ignoring the burn of Aemond’s gaze like it was nothing more than a chill in the air. And for the first time, you didn’t feel small. You felt seen.
As you walked past him, Aemond’s hand shot out and gripped your wrist with unyielding strength. You gasped, jerking back, but his grip was like iron.
“Aemond, let me go,” you hissed, twisting your arm, but it was useless. His one eye burned with something wild and furious.
“No.” His voice was low, dangerous, like the calm before a storm. He yanked you forward, pulling you along the corridor.
“Aemond!” Aegon’s voice echoed from behind, sharp and commanding. You glanced back, heart pounding, seeing Aegon striding toward you with purpose. “Let her go!”
Aemond didn’t stop. His fingers dug into your wrist, his pace steady and unrelenting. You stumbled to keep up with him, barely able to keep your footing. The cold stone walls of the Red Keep blurred as you moved past them.
“Aemond, stop!” you snapped, your voice sharp and defiant, but he didn’t even flinch. The guards and maids in the corridor turned away, their eyes averted, unwilling to intervene. No one ever did.
When you reached his chamber door, he shoved it open with one hand and dragged you inside. The door slammed shut behind you with a deafening thud, the finality of it making your chest tighten. He released you with a forceful push, and you stumbled back, clutching your wrist, your heart pounding like a drum.
Your breath was ragged, your eyes sharp with fury as you glared at him. “What is wrong with you?” you spat, your voice sharp with disbelief. “You have no right to—”
“No right?” Aemond’s voice was eerily calm, his words cutting like a blade. “I am your husband. I have every right.” He began to pace in front of you like a predator stalking its prey. His eye, sharp as ever, never left you.
“You are a fool if you think you still have that right,” you hissed, your eyes narrowing with defiance.
His head snapped toward you at that, his jaw tightening as his nostrils flared. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low and icy.
But you were done being careful. The weight of everything came crashing down on you. Your chest felt tight, but your resolve had never been stronger. You stepped forward, your voice unwavering as you met his furious gaze head-on.
“Don’t you dare talk to me about rights, Aemond,” you seethed, fists clenched at your sides. “Not after what I heard last night. You have no right to be angry. No right to drag me here like some possession. No right to demand anything from me — not after you crawled into her bed.”
Aemond froze.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The only sound in the room was the distant crackling of the fire. His face went still, too still, the flickering flames casting shadows that made him look almost inhuman.
He turned slowly, his gaze locked on you now with a dangerous intensity. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice tight and controlled.
You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t lie to me, Aemond. I heard you. Your voice. Her voice.” Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall. “I stood at the door, Aemond. I heard you.”
His eye flickered, his mask cracking for a split second before he composed himself. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice quieter now, but there was no apology in it. Only pride.
“Don’t insult me,” you bit back, your eyes stinging with the betrayal that burned in your chest. “Don’t stand there and pretend it meant nothing. Don’t stand there and act as if I’m blind. I am not her, Aemond. I never will be.” Your voice cracked on the last word, but you lifted your chin, defiance blazing in your eyes.
He took a step toward you, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No. You do not get to touch me. Not after this.”
He tilted his head, his eye narrowing as if studying you in a new light. His lips pressed into a thin line. “So this is why you’ve been running to Aegon?” he sneered, his voice low and cutting. “You think he’ll love you? You think he can give you what I can’t?”
“At least Aegon sees me,” you shot back, taking a step forward. Your breath was shallow, your heart racing, but you didn’t stop. “At least he doesn’t pretend I’m someone else when he touches me.”
Aemond’s face twisted into something raw, something dangerously close to pain. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his breathing heavy.
“He will ruin you,” Aemond said, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “He will ruin you, and you will come crawling back."
“Then I’ll ruin myself,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but unwavering. You stepped past him, your gaze fixed on the door. “But I will never crawl back to you.”
You didn’t look back as you walked away, your hands trembling but your heart steady. The heavy thud of the door echoed behind you, but it didn’t scare you this time. For the first time, you felt free.
It had been a month since the night that drove you further away from Aemond. The distance between you two had grown into an unspoken chasm. You no longer sought his gaze, and he no longer reached for you. Instead, you found solace in Aegon and your daughter. Aegon was always by your side — in the gardens, at meals, and even during the quiet hours of the night when the world outside seemed to forget you existed.
Your mother, Alicent, watched you closely. Her disapproving gaze followed you wherever you went. She didn’t need to say it aloud — her silence was louder than any scolding. Her subtle warnings were clear: Stop this behavior. Fall in line. Do your duty as a wife. But how could you, when your husband’s heart had never belonged to you?
Then the news came.
The whispers spread through the halls of the Red Keep like wildfire. Servants murmured it as they passed, and the nobles whispered it behind raised goblets of wine. Princess Helaena is with child.
Your heart clenched in your chest. You stopped breathing for a moment, and then it all clicked into place.
It wasn’t Aegon’s.
You knew it the second you heard it. Your blood ran cold, and your mind filled with images you had tried so hard to bury. The sounds you heard that night outside Helaena’s door, the low whispers, the soft creak of the bed, and the unmistakable voice of him. Aemond.
It had been him all along.
Aegon had been with you that night amd the night after, his arms around you, his voice reminding you that you were seen, that you were wanted. There was no doubt in your mind that the child Helaena carried was not Aegon’s. It was Aemond’s. Your husband. Your own husband had betrayed you in the most devastating way.
Rage, sadness, and something else — something colder — coiled in your chest. You always knew, didn’t you? Helaena had always been the one he adored. You had seen it at every family supper, every glance he cast her way, every moment he chose to sit beside her instead of you. He had always been hers. You had been nothing but a shadow of her, a stand-in for what he truly desired.
The realization left you hollow. You could feel it gnawing at the edges of your mind. But this time, you refused to cry. You refused to let him break you again. Your gaze hardened, your breathing steadied, and you lifted your head.
If he wants her, he can have her.
But you would not be silent. You would not be small. You had your daughter. You had Aegon, and perhaps that was enough. Let them whisper. Let them stare. Let your mother scowl. You had already endured enough heartbreak to last a lifetime, and you would not give them the satisfaction of watching you shatter.
Not this time.
You walked hurriedly toward your husband’s chambers, your heart pounding in your chest. The cold stone floor of the Red Keep echoed beneath your feet, every step filled with purpose. Tonight, it ends. Tonight, we face the truth.
Reaching his door, you didn’t bother to knock. You pushed it open with enough force to make it creak loudly, the sound echoing through the room. The warm glow of the fire bathed everything in flickering amber light.
There he was.
Aemond sat by the fire, his long silver hair untied, cascading over his shoulders like a silk curtain. He looked different like this — younger, perhaps even vulnerable. His blue eye, the one that had always cut through you like a blade, was locked on the flames. The sapphire in his other eye socket shimmered faintly in the dim glow. He hadn’t bothered to wear his eye patch tonight.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn to face you. He knew you were there. He always knows when you’re there.
“Have you come to accuse me again?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was something brittle beneath it. “Or is it more of your petty rebellion for everyone to see?”
His words were like arrows aimed at your heart, but you refused to let them hit their mark. You stepped further into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft but firm click.
“You know why I’m here, Aemond.” Your voice was steady, colder than the sea on a winter’s morning. “We are going to end this tonight. No more pretending.”
He let out a bitter laugh, tilting his head back to rest against the chair. His eye finally moved to you, sharp as ever, full of cold fire. “Pretending? Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. His gaze never left you. “Careful, wife. You may not like the answers you receive.”
Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. He dares to play coy? After everything?
“I heard you that night, Aemond,” you said, each word like a stone thrown into a still pond. The silence that followed rippled with tension. “I heard you with her.”
He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t even blink.
Instead, he tilted his head to the side, regarding you with that same calculating stare he always gave his enemies on the battlefield.
“So, you’ve decided to play the victim now?” he said, his tone sharp and mocking. “You, who spent your nights in Aegon’s arms while our daughter slept alone?” His voice was louder now, filled with venom. “Do you think I don’t hear the whispers? Do you think I don’t see the marks he leaves on you?”
Your breath caught in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. You refused to be the one to break. Not this time.
“Don’t you dare twist this on me, Aemond,” you snapped, stepping forward, your eyes blazing with fury. “I did not betray you first.” You pointed at him, your voice growing louder, stronger. “I was yours. All of me was yours. I waited. I hoped. I endured. While you sat there, loving her.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “Do not speak to me of betrayal when you gave me nothing but scraps.”
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing. His fingers twitched like he was moments away from lashing out, but he held himself still.
“You are a fool,” he hissed. “You think love is something that is given freely, something that is owed to you. It is not. I gave you my name. I gave you a child.”
“You gave me nothing but pain!” you shot back, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to wipe them away. “You gave her everything, and you left me to rot.”
He stood then, slow and deliberate, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you as he approached. He stopped just before you, his gaze bearing down on you like the weight of a thousand swords.
“And yet,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, “you keep coming back.”
The words were like a blade to your chest. Your breath hitched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You looked up at him, eyes filled with all the hurt, all the rage, all the love that had twisted into something cruel and unrecognizable.
“Not anymore,” you said, voice hoarse but firm. “This is the last time, Aemond. You can have her, have all of her. I won’t fight for someone who never fought for me.”
His face remained a mask of stone, but his eye flickered with something. Regret? Doubt? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.
You stepped back, heart pounding like a war drum. Your hands felt cold, but you didn’t let them shake. With one last glance at him, you turned toward the door.
“Don’t you dare to walk away from me,” he growled, his voice rough like thunder in the distance.
But you didn’t stop.
Not this time.
You reached for the door handle, and his voice came again, softer but no less sharp.
“If you leave now, you don’t come back.”
You froze for a moment, letting his words sink in. Slowly, you turned your head just enough to look at him from the corner of your eye. You met his gaze, unflinching, steady as the tide.
“I already left, Aemond,” you said quietly. “You just never noticed.”
And with that, you opened the door and walked away.
Before you could get far from his chamber, you heard the sharp, hurried sound of footsteps behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you didn’t stop walking.
Then, a strong hand seized your wrist.
“Aemond—” you gasped, turning your head just as he yanked you back with enough force to make you stumble. Your back hit his chest, and his grip on your wrist tightened like an iron shackle.
“Let me go,” you hissed, twisting your arm to free yourself, but his hold didn’t budge. His fingers dug into your skin, firm but not painful — not yet.
“Not until you listen,” he growled, his breath warm against the side of your face. His voice was low, sharp, and dangerous, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. He pulled you back into his chamber, slamming the door shut behind him with his free hand.
“Listen?” you spat, yanking at his grip again. “I have done nothing but listen, Aemond! I listened to your silence. I listened to your lies. I listened when you let me hear you with her!” Your voice cracked with raw emotion, but you didn’t care.
He spun you around, and for a moment, you were face-to-face with him. His eye burned with barely restrained fury, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin, angry line.
“Say it,” he said through gritted teeth, his eye locked on yours with a heat so intense it could burn. “Say what you’re truly angry about.”
You shook your head, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to give him that satisfaction. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” you bit out, chest heaving with barely restrained emotion.
“I want to hear you say it,” he demanded, his voice harder now, like steel striking steel. His eye flickered with something wild, something desperate. “Say it.”
“You want me to say it?” you shouted, slamming your free hand against his chest, though he didn’t flinch. “Fine. I’m angry because you chose her! Her! I was your wife! I am your wife! And you betrayed me!”
Your breath was ragged, each word like a piece of you breaking off, shattering on the stone floor.
“And you think I betrayed you first,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “But you left me long before I ever went to Aegon. You left me alone, Aemond. Alone.”
His face twisted, lips parting as if to argue, but no words came. For the first time, he looked lost. His grip on your wrist loosened just slightly, but he didn’t let you go.
“I never left you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, as if that was supposed to be enough. As if words could undo everything.
“Liar,” you whispered, tears now falling freely. “If you didn’t leave me, why was I always alone?”
Silence. His face, his cold, perfect mask, cracked for just a moment. He opened his mouth, but nothing came. No excuses. No lies. Nothing.
His silence was louder than any confession.
You felt your heart break all over again.
“Let me go, Aemond,” you said quietly, not as a demand but as a plea. Your eyes, red with unshed tears, met his. “Please.”
His fingers hovered for a moment longer, as if unsure whether to hold on tighter or finally let go. Then, slowly, his hand slipped from your wrist. The warmth of his touch faded, replaced by the cold air of the room.
He didn’t stop you this time as you turned around.
He didn’t follow when you opened the door.
And he didn’t say a word when you walked away.
You ran toward your chamber, tears streaming down your face like an endless river. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat louder than the last, fueled by a storm of anger, hurt, and betrayal.
Reaching your door, you shoved it open with trembling hands. The wood banged against the wall, but you didn’t care.
Then you stopped.
Your mother, was already there. She stood in the center of the room, her eyes immediately locking onto yours. Her expression shifted from calm patience to sharp concern the moment she saw your tear-streaked face and heaving chest.
“What’s wrong?” she asked urgently, stepping forward, her voice laced with worry. Her gaze scanned you from head to toe, searching for an injury or any sign of what might have happened.
Your chest heaved with a sob, and you didn’t hesitate. You threw yourself into her arms, wrapping yourself around her like a child seeking shelter from a storm. Her warmth enveloped you instantly. Her hands pressed firmly against your back, one of them cradling the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.
“Mother,” you gasped between sobs, “he’s gone too far this time.”
Alicent stiffened at your words. Her arms remained around you, but you could feel the shift in her. Her breathing slowed, her posture grew more rigid.
“What did he do?” she asked softly, but there was no softness in her tone — only cold, sharp control. The same control she always used when the world demanded more from her than she could bear.
You shook your head against her shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric of her gown. “He—” your voice cracked, thick with emotion. “He betrayed me again, Mother. I heard him. I heard him with her.”
Alicent’s breath hitched, and her fingers stilled in your hair. Her jaw tensed against your temple, and for a moment, she didn’t speak. You felt it before you heard it — the cold, quiet fury settling into her frame.
“Helaena,” she muttered, her voice so low you barely caught it. Her grip on you tightened. “I warned him. I warned him.”
You pulled back slightly, wiping at your face with shaking hands. “He doesn’t care, Mother,” you said bitterly, eyes filled with pain and exhaustion. “No matter what I do, he always goes back to her.” Your voice broke again, and fresh tears welled in your eyes. “Am I not enough?”
“Don’t say that,” Alicent said firmly, cupping your face in her hands. She tilted your head up so you had no choice but to meet her gaze. Her eyes, filled with a mix of heartbreak and fierce protectiveness, bore into yours. “You are more than enough. Do you hear me?”
You nodded weakly, but doubt still clung to your heart like thorns.
Her gaze hardened, her lips pressed into a thin line. “If he cannot see it, then he is a fool,” she said with quiet conviction. “And I will not let my daughter be broken by a fool.”
Her words settled over you like a balm, momentarily easing the ache in your chest. Alicent pulled you back into her embrace, holding you tighter than before. For the first time in a long while, you felt like someone was on your side.
You continued to cry in your mother’s arms, your body trembling with the weight of everything you had endured. Her fingers stroked your hair in slow, soothing motions, the same way she had done when you were a child afraid of the dark. But this darkness was far more suffocating.
“I’m sorry,” Alicent whispered, her voice strained with guilt. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her hand resting firmly against your back. “I should have listened to you. I should have seen it.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I failed you.”
Her words only made you cry harder, the release of all your unspoken hurt pouring out at once. You clutched at her gown like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.
“Tell me,” she said softly, voice steady but laced with desperation. She pulled back just enough to see your face, her eyes scanning yours with fierce determination. “Tell me what I can do to make it right. Anything, my sweet girl. Anything.”
You sniffled, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks, and for a moment, you hesitated. The weight of the words you were about to speak hung heavy in the air. But you had thought about this for too long, dreamed of it too often to stop now. Your lips parted, and your voice, though hoarse from crying, came out clear and unwavering.
“End it,” you said, looking her directly in the eyes. “End my marriage to Aemond.”
Alicent’s eyes widened in shock. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she said nothing. Her gaze searched yours, as though hoping she had misunderstood. But there was no mistaking the resolve in your face.
“You want me to… annul your marriage?” she asked cautiously, as if testing the weight of the words on her tongue.
You nodded firmly, your eyes unyielding despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. “Yes,” you said, your voice stronger now. “I don’t want to be his wife anymore, Mother. I’ve given him everything, and he’s given me nothing but pain. He doesn’t love me. He never did.” Your eyes hardened, your jaw set. “And I won’t waste another day of my life waiting for him to see me.”
Alicent’s face twisted with conflict. She glanced away, her brows furrowed in deep thought. Annulment was not a simple thing, not for people of your station. It would bring scandal, whispers, and questions from every corner of the court. And yet, none of that seemed to matter to you anymore.
“I know it won’t be easy,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you asked me what you could do to make it right, Mother. This is how.”
Alicent’s eyes returned to yours. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes shining with the same fierce love and protection she’d always given her children. Slowly, she nodded.
“If this is what you truly want,” she said slowly, her voice heavy with certainty, “then I will make it so.”
Relief washed over you like a wave, and for the first time in so long, you felt as if you could breathe again. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around her once more, your tears now a mixture of grief and hope.
“Thank you,” you whispered against her shoulder, your voice muffled but full of meaning. “Thank you, Mother.”
Alicent held you tighter, her resolve hardening like steel. “No one will hurt you again, my love,” she vowed softly. “Not him. Not anyone.”
You stood by the window, eyes distant as you gazed at the horizon. The cool breeze brushed against your face, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from Blackwater Bay. The world outside felt vast, free — a freedom you had been denied for far too long.
The creak of your chamber door broke the stillness. You didn’t turn, already knowing who it was. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, the soft thud of his boots on the stone floor echoing in the quiet room.
“Should I be worried?” Aegon’s voice came from behind you, light and teasing as always, but there was something gentler in his tone this time. “You look ready to fly away.”
You glanced over your shoulder at him. He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly as he studied you. His violet eyes weren’t hazy with drink for once — they were sharp, clear, and focused entirely on you.
“I’m not flying anywhere,” you murmured, turning back toward the window. “Not yet.”
Aegon stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. His footsteps grew closer until he stood beside you, his gaze following yours out to the sea. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken hanging heavily in the air.
“Mother told me,” he said quietly, his eyes flickering toward you. “About the annulment.”
You stiffened slightly but didn’t look at him. “Did she?”
He nodded, leaning forward, his forearms resting on the windowsill. His gaze was distant now, his smile faint but knowing. “She did,” he said, his voice unusually serious. “About time, I’d say.”
A dry laugh escaped you, short and bitter. “It won’t be easy,” you muttered, your fingers lightly tracing the cool stone of the window ledge. “There will be questions. Judgments.”
“Let them judge,” Aegon replied, his tone sharp with defiance. “They’ve judged me my entire life, and I’m still here.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes warmer now, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You’ll be here too.”
You finally looked at him, really looked at him. There was no mockery in his eyes, no smirk on his lips. Just quiet understanding. It was rare for him to be this sincere, but when he was, it struck you more deeply than you cared to admit.
“I’m tired, Aegon,” you confessed softly, your voice barely a whisper. “Tired of fighting. Tired of hurting.” Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers clasped tightly in front of you. “I just want peace.”
Aegon reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours before fully taking your hand in his. His grip was firm, grounding, but not forceful. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your temple.
“Then let me help you,” he said, his voice so low it was almost a plea. “Let me give you peace, even if it’s only for a little while.”
Your breath caught in your throat. You glanced up at him, and for a moment, all you could see was the boy he had once been — reckless, wild, but always searching for something more. He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But he had always seen you.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth seep into you. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. For once, you didn’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.
For once, you felt safe.
You froze in his embrace, your breath hitching in your chest. The words hung in the air like a spell, heavy and inescapable.
“I love you,” Aegon whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the quiet hum of the wind outside. “More than a brother should. More than I ever should.”
Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, chaotic rhythm that drowned out every other sound. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes — those sharp, tired violet eyes — were locked on you, unguarded in a way you had never seen before.
“Don’t,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “Don’t say things you can’t take back.”
“I won’t,” he replied without hesitation, his gaze unwavering. His hands remained on your waist, gentle but firm, as if afraid you might run. “I’ve held it back for too long. Lying to you, to myself, pretending it was just brotherly affection.” He shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “But I’m done pretending.”
You shook your head slowly, stepping back, but he didn’t let go of you completely. Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “This is madness, Aegon,” you said, your voice cracking. “They already think the worst of me. If they knew about this—”
“Let them,” he cut in, his voice sharper this time, his eyes blazing with defiance. “They’ve called me worse. Drunk. Useless. A failure.” He took a step forward, closing the distance again, his face inches from yours. “But you — you’re mine. You always have been.”
Tears stung your eyes, a mix of anger, confusion, and something far more dangerous. “I’m not yours, Aegon,” you said, though your voice was weaker than you’d intended. “I belong to no one.”
His gaze softened, his hands sliding down to your wrists, holding them gently. “No,” he agreed, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “But if you ever wanted to be, I’d never let you doubt it. Not like him.”
You flinched, his words cutting deeper than any blade. He didn’t have to say Aemond’s name for you to know who he meant. The memory of betrayal burned fresh in your mind — the nights you had waited for Aemond, the cold emptiness of his absence, the hollow pain of knowing he had chosen someone else.
Aegon saw it all. He always had.
“I’m not him,” Aegon murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I won’t leave you wanting.” His thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “I won’t make you beg for love that’s already yours.”
You closed your eyes tightly, tears falling freely now. The weight of it all — the betrayal, the loneliness, the anger — came crashing down on you. But with it, there was something else, something you had tried so hard to deny.
Warmth. Safety. Him.
Your hands slowly unclenched against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. Your breathing was shallow, uneven, your mind at war with your heart. For so long, you had fought to keep your dignity, your pride. But for once, you just wanted to feel loved.
You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t push. He just waited. No smirking. No taunting. Just him.
“Aegon…” you whispered, barely a breath.
“Say it,” he urged gently, his voice raw, desperate, yet patient. “Say you don’t want me, and I’ll walk away. I swear it.”
Silence filled the space between you, the only sound the unsteady beating of two hearts. Your lips parted, but no words came. Your hands slowly tightened in his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
You didn’t say it. You couldn’t.
Because it wasn’t true.
His eyes flickered with something between relief and disbelief, his breath shaky as if he had been holding it for far too long. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.
And when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t harsh or wild. It was soft, steady, and certain — a promise, not a demand. His hands cupped your face with the gentleness of someone holding something fragile and precious. You felt the heat of him, the certainty of him, and for once, you didn’t feel like you had to fight for it.
You just felt loved.
Days passed, and you remained in the quiet solitude of your chambers. The weight of everything — betrayal, heartbreak, and uncertainty — settled heavily on your heart. The walls felt both like a shield and a prison.
Your daughter’s laughter was the only light in your days. She would run into your room, her little feet pattering against the cold stone floor as she climbed onto your bed, babbling about butterflies, flowers, and whatever small adventure she’d had that morning. Her warmth reminded you that not everything was lost.
Sometimes, your mother would visit. Her presence was quieter now, less judgmental, as if she’d finally realized how much she had failed to see. She wouldn’t always speak, just sit beside you, her fingers brushing through your hair like she used to when you were a child. No words were needed in those moments.
And then, there was Aegon.
He came more often than anyone else. Sometimes he brought wine, other times small trinkets for your daughter. His visits were loud and unbothered, like a storm forcing its way into your still, quiet world. He would joke, tease, and try to make you laugh, though he rarely succeeded. But his persistence never wavered.
He never asked for anything. Never demanded. He just stayed.
But they never came.
Helaena never knocked on your door. Not even once. Perhaps it was guilt, or perhaps she simply didn’t care. Aemond’s absence, however, was a deeper wound. For a time, you had waited for the sound of his footsteps, the familiar thud of his boots against the stone. You hated yourself for it. Hated that part of you still wanted an explanation, an apology — anything.
But it never came.
Then, one morning, the whispers reached you. The servants spoke quietly as they passed your door. You overheard their hushed words about Aegon going to the Queen. Demanding that his marriage to Helaena be annulled.
“She’s with child,” one of them had said. “The Queen won’t allow it. It’s already too late.”
Your breath caught in your chest. You knew it wasn’t Aegon’s child. It couldn’t be. He had been with you. Every night, every moment since that fateful night, he had been with you.
The truth settled over you like a weight you couldn’t lift. It was Aemond’s.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown, nails digging into your palms. You thought you had buried that pain. You thought you had buried him. But hearing it spoken aloud, knowing that his betrayal had consequences beyond your own suffering — it shattered something inside you.
When Aegon arrived later that day, he found you standing by the window, staring out at the gardens below. Your expression was distant, hollow. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the fire place, arms crossed, watching you quietly.
Aemond stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with sharp, controlled breaths. His single eye burned with fury, the flames of his rage barely contained. Behind him, your mother’s voice called his name, sharp with warning, but he didn’t move. His gaze was locked on you — on you and Aegon.
You rose slowly from your seat, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Aegon remained seated, his eyes narrowing with lazy defiance as he tilted his head back, watching Aemond like one watches a beast deciding whether to lunge.
“Aemond,” your mother’s voice came again, firmer now, closer. “Don’t.”
But he didn’t listen. His gaze flickered to Aegon, his lip curling in disgust, then back to you. “So this is what you’ve become?” he hissed, his voice low but dangerous, like a snake coiling to strike. “Parading yourself like some… common whore in the arms of our brother?”
Your breath caught in your throat, rage and disbelief mixing into something sharp and searing. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.
“You dare speak of shame to me?” you shot back, your voice trembling not with fear but with barely restrained fury. “After what you’ve done with her? After you betrayed me for Helaena?” You stepped forward, your eyes locked with his, daring him to deny it. “Don’t speak to me of dignity, Aemond. You lost the right to judge me.”
Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye narrowing to a slit. He took a step forward, his movements slow, predatory. “Helaena is the mother of my brother’s children,” he said coldly, each word measured like the swing of a blade. “She is my sister, my blood. I have only ever done my duty to her.”
“Duty?” you laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. “Is that what you call it now? Did duty drive you to her bed? Did duty make you hold her the way you never held me?” Your voice broke, and you hated it, hated the crack of vulnerability that slipped through. “Don’t speak to me of duty, Aemond.”
Behind him, Alicent stepped into view, her face pale with shock and shame. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She glanced between you and Aemond as if realizing, for the first time, the full weight of what had been broken.
“That’s enough,” your mother’s voice was hard, the voice of a queen. “Both of you.” She stepped between you and Aemond, placing a hand on his chest, forcing him to step back. “You have done enough damage, Aemond.” Her eyes met his with cold finality. “Leave.”
But he didn’t move. His gaze shifted, not to Alicent, but to you. His eye softened, his lips parting like he was about to say something — something important, something he hadn’t said before. But then his gaze shifted to Aegon.
Aegon, who hadn’t moved from his seat, watching it all with a calm, arrogant grin. Slowly, he raised his cup to Aemond in a silent toast, his eyes glinting with mischief and triumph.
That was it.
Aemond’s mask of control shattered.
With a snarl, he lunged toward Aegon, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him out of his seat. Aegon laughed, even as he was shoved against the wall, his grin unfaltering.
“Hit me, brother,” Aegon taunted, his voice low, his eyes wild with challenge. “Hit me like you want to. Hit me, and watch what happens next.”
“Stop it!” Alicent’s voice rang out, her hands trying to pull Aemond back, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Is this why you wanted your marriage annulled, brother?” Aemond growled through clenched teeth, his face inches from Aegon’s. “So you could claim her for yourself? She’s mine. Mine!”
You stepped forward, voice sharp and clear as steel. “I am not yours, Aemond. Not anymore.”
His grip on Aegon faltered for just a moment. Slowly, he turned his head to you, his breathing harsh and uneven. For a heartbeat, he looked at you not with rage, but with something closer to pain. His lips pressed into a hard line, and his eye searched yours like he was looking for something that had already been lost.
“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “You are mine. You have always been mine.”
Your heart twisted, but your resolve didn’t waver. You shook your head slowly, stepping back, putting distance between you.
“Not anymore,” you said, voice steady, final. “I belong to no one but myself.”
Aemond’s gaze flickered with something raw, something close to heartbreak. He looked to your mother, his eye silently pleading for her to stop you, to do something. But Alicent lowered her gaze, her fingers brushing her forehead like she carried the weight of every mistake that had led to this moment.
Your heart pounded in your chest as you pulled your hand from Aemond’s grip, but he caught it again, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. His eye was wild, filled with something raw — desperation, regret, and anger all at once.
“Please,” he said, his voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” His fingers tightened around your wrist, and his breathing grew heavier. “I can fix it. I can fix everything."
You shook your head, your eyes filled with hurt, but your resolve did not waver. “It’s already done, Aemond,” you said, voice steady despite the storm in your heart. “The marriage is annulled. There’s nothing left to fix."
Aemond’s gaze flickered to your mother, searching her face for some sign that it wasn’t true. “Mother,” he breathed, his voice filled with disbelief. “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you wouldn’t do this to me.”
Alicent’s face was a mask of quiet sorrow. Her eyes, though filled with love, held none of the mercy he sought. “It is done, Aemond,” she said softly, her voice heavy with the weight of her choice. “I will not see her suffer any longer.”
The words struck him like a blade. His grip on your wrist faltered for a moment, but he didn’t let go. His eye darted back to you, filled with panic now, as if he were drowning and you were his only lifeline.
“No,” he muttered, shaking his head like he could deny the reality of it. “No, you’re mine. You promised me. You vowed before the gods.” His breathing grew shallow, his face twisted with something far too close to heartbreak. “You belong to me.”
Your chest ached, but not with love — with the weight of everything that had been broken. You took a breath and met his gaze with unwavering strength. “I belonged to you, Aemond. But not anymore.” You pulled your arm back, trying to free yourself from his grip, but his fingers only dug in deeper.
“Don’t do this,” he hissed, his voice low and filled with warning. “You don’t get to walk away from me. You are mine.”
“Let her go, brother,” Aegon’s voice cut through the tension, sharper than steel. He stepped forward, eyes locked on Aemond, his grin gone, his usual air of indifference replaced with quiet menace. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
Aemond’s gaze flickered to Aegon, his face twisting with rage. “This is your doing, isn’t it?” he snarled, his grip on you tightening like a vice. “You’ve poisoned her against me.”
“You did that yourself,” Aegon shot back, his eyes narrowing. He moved closer, his steps slow but purposeful. “Let. Her. Go.”
Aemond’s jaw clenched, his whole body tense as if he were a bowstring pulled too tight. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might strike Aegon.
But then Alicent stepped between them, placing a firm hand on Aemond’s chest. “Enough,” she said with all the weight of a queen’s command. “Let her go, Aemond. This is over. Accept it with dignity, or I will see you escorted from this room by force.”
Aemond’s eye darted to Alicent, disbelief flickering across his face. “You would turn against me too?” he asked, his voice cracking with something far too close to a child’s plea for his mother’s love. “For her?”
Alicent’s face softened with sadness, but there was no doubt in her eyes. “For all of us, Aemond,” she said quietly. “Including you.”
His fingers loosened. Slowly, reluctantly, he let go of your wrist, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before falling away completely. He stared at his hand as if it had betrayed him. He turned on his heel, his strides slow but deliberate as he left the room. The heavy sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the silence that followed.
You rubbed your wrist where his grip had left a faint mark, your breathing shallow. Aegon stepped closer, his eyes scanning you with quiet concern. “Are you hurt?” he asked softly, his gaze falling to your wrist.
You shook your head, eyes still on the door. “No,” you whispered, your voice steady but drained of emotion. “Not anymore.”
Alicent stepped forward and cupped your cheek, her eyes filled with guilt and quiet pride. “You were brave,” she said softly, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Braver than I ever was.”
You leaned into her touch for a moment, letting the warmth of her comfort wash over you. But then you straightened, your eyes hardening as you gazed toward the door where Aemond had disappeared.
“I’m done being afraid of him,” you said, your voice sharp as steel. “He can rage, he can threaten, but he will never control me again.”
Aegon’s smile returned, softer this time, tinged with something like pride. He stepped to your side, close enough for his arm to brush against yours. “Well said,” he murmured. “He won’t touch you again. Not while I’m here.”
For the first time in a long time, you believed it.
Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack
#aegon ii targaryen#hotd#hotd imagine#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen#hotd one shot#prince aegon targaryen#aegon ii fanfic#hotd x reader#aegon x reader#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aegon fanfic#aegon targaryen x you#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond
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And the Dragons danced
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader x Daemon Targaryen
Warning: threesom, p in v, m|m, ass play, anal, name calling (whore, slut), incest, cursing, tal of children, talk of pregnancy, breeding kink, absolute filth
Wordcount: 1 926
Summary: Daemon had to keep his promise, but he can still find pleasure and fun in other ways.
A/N: This is a little belated birthday present I made myself.
Night has fallen over the never sleeping city. But the outside noises of King’s Landing were drowned out by the sounds inside one royal chamber. Soft small moans of a woman and the low grunts of a man echoed through the chambers.
Daemon was slouching in a chair in the corner of the bed chamber he shared with his wife. His legs spread wide, a lazy grin on his lips as he watched the scene unfold before him.
His wife wasn't his at first. No, she was a spoil of war. When Rhaenyra took Kings Landing, he took Aemond’s little wife for himself.
A beautiful thing she was. Shy at first. She had feared Rhaenyra’s wrath if she acted on the feelings she slowly developed for Daemon. And she was fiercely loyal, especially to Aemond. So much she had spent more than half of the days praying in the sept.
She still is a very beautiful woman, especially after the birth of their two sons. His nephew was a lucky boy, he thought back then when he first saw her. Now, he could only grin when he remembered she was his too now.
Aemond sat against the headboard. Looking up at his precious wife, holding her hips. Guiding her body to move with his in a slow, sensual rhythm. Her eyes closed, biting her red-painted lips. Head thrown back in ecstasy. Her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall.
He grabbed her hips tighter. Her flesh moulding under his fingers. His print slowly blooming on her skin. His other arm slowly snaked around her body. Pulling her closer to him, impale her deeper on his cock. His arm slung possessively over the small of her back.
He panted into her neck as she rode him. Nuzzling her skin, her scent and her perfume enchanting his senses. His hips bucked up into her with each of her downward thrusts. Her small whimpers spur him on to go deeper, harder. Cause her to squeal more.
Daemon chuckled. Seeing the desperation in his nephew's eye. “Still upset that she gave birth to two of my sons?” He taunted. Knowing how much it annoyed the young prince’s seed had not taken yet in their sweet wife’s womb.
Aemond glared over his wife's shoulder. His grip on her grew more possessive. A small whine escaped her as he hit a special spot deep inside her. He kept hitting it, her body trembling like leaves in the wind.
“It should have been me that filled her womb first. I was her husband first.” He growled. Sounding like a perpetual child instead of the fierce warrior he knew he was. Daemon just snickered, loving how his nephew still got riled up on this.
“Maybe my seed is just superior to yours, nephew,” Daemon smirked lazily. “I am pure-blooded.” He taunted. Hinting at Aemond’s Hightower blood.
His own cock was straining against his breeches. His hand gently palmed it over the fabric of his trousers. Lazily, watching their wife gently move up and down Aemond’s cock.
Daemon had been unfair the second time he filled their wife with his seed. Every time Aemond had filled her, he had taken her two times more. He wanted to tease his nephew.
But Daemon was a man of his word – sometimes. He promised, the next two children would be Aemond’s. And he would keep this promise. Not for Aemond, but for their beloved wife.
But Daemon needed relief. Badly. His cock slowly hurt, His hardness growing and stiffening the longer he watched.
“Turn!” Daemon demanded suddenly. Undressing himself slowly. His fingers lazily unfastening the strings of his breeches. Letting the garment fall to the ground with a thud. He stood there only in his white linen shirt, slowly stroking himself as he stepped closer to the bed.
Their wife turned her head. Her doe eyes watching him hungrily. Daemon's smirk grew. She reached for him, but he shook his head. His tongue clicking as he waved her off. “Not tonight, my dove. I promised our dear Aemond not to touch you until you are with his whelps. And I am a man of my honour.”
Aemond scoffed and rolled his eyes at his uncle’s words. But he complied anyway, flipping them. He was now on top of his sweet wife. His hips continued to thrust into her. Small whimpers and moans of delight escaped her lips.
Daemon could swear he grew even harder by only hearing her small noises. The linen shirt felt too restrictive suddenly. With reckless speed he ripped it off his torso and through it carelessly onto the floor.
He took an oil from the small table in the corner next to the chair he had occupied. Coating two of his fingers in the sticky liquid. “My sweet, I think it's time to relax our Sapphire Prince a bit more. Don't you think? He is so terribly tense all the time. I blame the council meeting today. There was only me and him who were competent enough to come up with better taxes. But I won’t bore you further. You would only dry up from boredom. And your dragons do love your wet cunt so much.” He cooed.
Daemon moved onto the bed. Naked in all his glory. His lazy grin turned predatory. “My dove, would you assist me?”
Their wife nodded gently. Her small hands glided down Aemond’s side. The younger Targaryen shivered as he felt his wife’s nails running down his back.
Daemon played with the puckered hole of his nephew's rear. Grinning as Aemond moved his body back. “Whore.” The Rouge Prince mumbled with a teasing chuckle. Withdrawing for a moment, punishing his nephew.
Daemon's grin darkened when her hands were splayed on Aemond’s bottom, “Thank you, my sweet.”
He watched as Aemond’s hips stilled with the help of their wife, her grip soft yet firm. A groan of protest escaped the young prince’s throat. “Ssh, nephew. Patience."
Aemond whimpered when Daemon gently moved one coated digit inside his rear entrance. His seeing eye closing as he felt Daemon slowly push inside his rear.
“Relax, nephew. You are all tense. I cannot fuck you if you keep resisting.” Daemon cooed softly. Kissing Aemond behind his ear. A gesture he learned from their wife. The younger Targaryen shivered, relaxing more.
Soothing hands gently traced his face. His wife smiling up at him. “How can you still be so soft with all this corruption and depravity around you?” Aemond gently wondered. Looking down at her. He leaned down, kissing her gently. His own stiff member still logged inside of her warmth.
Daemon eased his fingers slowly inside his puckered hole. Stopping whenever he felt Aemond slightly pull away. “Ssh, dear nephew. I am nearly in. With one finger.” He teased.
His words were a threat. And Aemond knew that. He had taken Daemon quite a few times now. Knowing that the older Targaryen’s cock was big. He needed the preparation.
Daemon watched them, a small grin playing on his lips.
He used the opportunity to slowly move around. Hearing the small whimpers of his nephew. His finger slowly moving in and out with an obscene quelching sound. Soon he added another, opening him wider. His fingers scissoring around his steadily relaxing rear.
“Good boy.” Daemon praised him. “Such a good boy. Isn’t he, my dove? I bet his rod is twitching inside you. Don’t fret, I will make him move inside you again soon enough.”
Aemond moaned softl as Daemon hit a spot deep inside him that shot a spark up his spine. Daemon hit it a few more times before he retreated from his hole.
At the loss of contact, Aemond whimpered. “Slut.” Daemon growled, spanking Aemond’s arse cheek a bit harshly. His handprint blooming red on the light skin. The younger Targaryen crying out at the pain. His cock twitching inside their wife. A small moan escaping her lips.
Daemon smirked down at them. Their reaction music in his ears. Seeing the desperation in their wife in her eyes. “Ssh, my sweet. Soon I will give you the pleasure you are owed.”
He grabbed Aemond’s hips and positioned himself behind him. Taking the oil and coating his member throughly. “Brace yourself, nephew. I promised our wife two children born of your seed.”
Daemon slowly surged forward, the head of his member breeching the tight ring of the younger Targaryen.
Aemond whined and whimpered as Daemon slowly and steadily slipped inside of him. His toes curling. His fingers digging into the soft pillow their wife’s head rested on.
After Daemon let Aemond adjust a bit, the elder Targaryen began to move his hips. Groaning softly as his cock slid in and out of Aemond.
“Nearly all the way in. Shit, you are tight. I can’t decide which hole I love to fill more. Your bowls or our wife’s cunny.” Daemon filthily growled.
Aemond glared icily over his shoulder. Too stubborn to admit how good it felt - to feel his uncle’s cock slowly breached his rear with a maddening pace.
The man beneath him bit his lip harshly. The mix of pleasure and pain intoxicating.
A soft touch at his face made him open his eyes. “Stop that, you only hurt yourself.” His wife whispered, freeing his lower lip from his teeth. He kissed her thumb gently. Nearly forgetting he was impaled on Daemon’s member.
She gasped too, making Daemon smirk. “Did I cause him to hit something inside you, my dove?” He did it again. Her eyes rolled into her skull, her legs trembling. “Seems like I get to fuck our wife after all, nephew.” He taunted.
The later slammed harshly inside his nephew’s rear. Hitting a special spot deep inside Aemond.
The young dragon groaned. He fisted the pillow tighter which upon their lovely wife lay.
Daemon sped up. Causing Aemond to move with him. His rigid cock moving inside their wife’s velvety walls. Making her whine and moan in desperation.
“Look at her, dear nephew. How much pleasure we both bring her.” Daemon nuzzled Aemond’s neck lovingly. He had pushed his white hair to the side for better access. Aemond shivered at the small nips on the back of his neck.
“I can feel her trembling. She is so close. Are you close too, zaldrīzos? I can feel your arse clenching. Come on, lēkianna. Come for me. Gift our sweet wife your seed. Let her receive your child.”
With a low groan Aemond emptied himself inside their wife, triggering Their wife’s own peak. Her high-pitched cry echoing through the halls of the Red Keep.
Daemon roared as he came. He held his nephew’s hips still. His grip bruising. His eyes rolling back as he filled Aemond’s hole with his seed.
Both Targaryens collapsed onto the bed. Small groans escaped their wife’s lips as they lay upon her. Their weight causing her difficulty to breath.
After catching their breaths, Daemon dislodged from Aemond’s buttocks. The later groaning lowly. Daemon’s seed slowly trickling out of Aemond’s used hole.
Aemond fell to the other side of their wife. He curled into her side. Gently holding her middle as his head rested upon her breasts. “I hope this time it takes root. I miss her cunt, nephew.” Daemon quietly mumbled, turning to them both. Daemon nuzzled the top of her head softly. Kissing strands of her damp hair.
Aemond chuckled. “I hope so too. I miss being the one humping your arse, valzȳrys.” He replied with a mischievous grin on his lips.
Translations:
Zaldrīzos – little dragon
Lēkianna – nephew (son of my elder brother)
valzȳrys - husband
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And Now You're Here
summary | When the pains of his loss rendered him weak, there was only one thing that could soothe Aemond's pain
pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader
tags | slightly ooc aemond, stubborn aem + stubborn wife, hurt/comfort, mentions of injury and pain, fluff
wordcount | 1k
note | not sure what this is if i'm being honest but i needed something comforting after this week <3
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
Aemond Targaryen was sharply perceptive. With the loss of half his sight, his other senses became acute in their efforts to compensate. He could sense the faintest smells wafting in the room, felt the lightest whisper of a touch on his skin, and heard the quietest clinks, taps, and thumps in the walls of his home. On better days, such abilities would benefit him and his evolution into a sharpened soldier, but today, it irked him.
Five years had come and gone since that cursed night at Driftmark, but the repercussions of what those bastards did to him remained in the pains that coursed through his left socket every so often. It would start as an itch in the scarred cavern, one that would run down the length of his scar, and it would take much of him not to pick at the slashed skin. Then, the throbbing would start, a pulsating drum deep in his temple that would irritate him quickly until the pain would spread, and the swordsman prince would be reduced to an unmoving, suffering stone in his chambers.
With his head leaned onto the back of the settee, Aemond merely sat with his eye closed, taking deep breaths in a futile effort to calm himself. He could feel his hair gently sway with the cool late spring breeze that filtered through the room, a small kindness to aid him in his predicament. The light behind his lid flickered and dimmed with the slow passing of time, a dance of shadows for a boy wounded. At some point in his suffering, he’d begun to make peace with it, had settled his temper into a submission to a pain that would soon pass. That was until the grand old oak doors opened, sending a rush of wind through the vast chambers and disrupting his peace. Aemond clenched his fists yet remained unmoving, too weary to jump to his feet and brandish his dagger at his intruder.
“I thought I made myself clear I was not to be disturbed,” the prince seethed, the venom in his tone a weapon sharp enough. The throbbing in his temple quickened, now a relentless hammering from the meat of his face down to his skull.
“Even by me?”
The voice was honey-sweet, a cooling balm to blanket his dragonfire into smothered smoke. He opened his good eye and craned his neck to look at where you stood with hands clasped at your front and a knowing smile of warmth on those cherry lips. Aemond never smiled even on his good days, but the sight of you was enough to tempt a lift in the corner of his lips.
“Does it hurt?” you asked in concern, to which your husband merely responded with a grunt.
“I’m fine.”
You tutted his name in scolding, getting straight to work by swiftly grabbing the salve he’d kept for times like these, but the pain had him stuck to his seat before he could even attempt to find the jar. He closed his eye once more as his wife scurried about in a whirlwind of skirts, grabbing this and that before plopping by his side with a sigh. “Do you want to take it out, or shall I?” you asked, referring to the glinting sapphire eye on his blind side. Aemond remained unmoving, unwilling, and stubborn.
“I told you I am alright. The pain has started to pass,” he lied, yet betrayed by the evident clenching in his jaw.
“Aemond,” he heard you sigh, equally as stubborn to provide him care. The skin on his left forearm tickled to life with your soft caress, gently squeezing in your urging. “I passed Ser Criston and the halls and wondered how he was back so soon when your training would go past well beyond this hour, and then he told me,” you explained softly.
His breath ran deep as he exhaled through his nose, resolve starting to chip from the warmth on his left side. “I do not need mothering,” he grumbled, finally moving to remove the heavy stone from his socket in reluctant yielding. You merely hummed, wiping off the carved jewel with a clean cloth and setting it aside.
“That is true, but I am not your mother. I am your wife, my prince, and it is my duty to see my husband well cared for, is it not?” you pointed out, pleased with such a wise thought uttered from your pretty lips. He could chuckle at the satisfied look on your face with his acquiescence, subtly turning his head to see you better. Your hands did diligent work to clean the scarred flesh, not a single trace of disgust swimming in your eyes, and it made his chest feel lighter. The cloth was damp and cool against his face when you pressed, a welcome relief from his torment.
The salve came next— a balmy mixture of mint, sage, and some sweet-smelling herbs procured by Orwyle. It didn’t do much in truth, for his lingering pains were but a mystery to even the wisest maester’s expertise, but the cooling poultice was enough to distract him. It helped that your touch was a balm soothing in itself, always so gentle despite his ragged edges. Aemond merely watched in silence while you focused, his brow unfurling from the loosened tension that bound them tight.
“You should’ve called the maester if you were in such pain, my darling,” you frowned. In a comical switch, the one-eyed prince’s lips lifted in an amused smile, lifting his thumb to smooth over the crease between your eyebrows.
“I have no need for him,” Aemond replied. “You’re here.”
His words seemed to please you, pout reversing back into the smile he loved with all of his angry heart. Your kiss on his lips he loved the most, ever so powerful in healing whatever rot had festered deep within his soul. No maester could ever cure him the way you did. To be so blind with the loss of his eye left Aemond cold, half of his world untouched by the blazing sun and left to succumb to darkness, and now you are here, settled into his side with a touch so loving, and he felt it. It was warm when you were here, utterly bright, and Aemond was whole.
#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagines#aemond targaryen smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#hotd x reader
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Chains of Bones: DARK!GODAEMOND X READER
Tags: DARK AEMOND, GREEK MYTHOLOGY INSPIRED AU
🔷Summary: You are a servant working for the goddess Rhaenyra and the God Daemon. You are tasked with protecting the flowers and one day, you find yourself captured by rhaenyra's greatest enemy: Aemond.
🔷Author's note: Dark af.
WARNINGS: Misogny, (no kidding) emotional manpulation, dubcon, body betrayl, vaginal sex (f recv) oral sex (f recev) rough sex, mentions of loss of virginty, emotional gaslighting and gore, blood, and a lot of...BONES.
This is a dead dove
Do not eat it.
(a+ warning)
wordcount:4044 (wow what a nice number)
AU.
Daemon Targaryen’s pov (3th person)
Daemon has never been a patient soul. He is known for his terrible temper, mood swings and violence tendencies whenever he is made to wait. One time he beheaded a servant for not delivering his sword on time. And Daermon will never be a patient soul.
He sits on the dragonstone throne, legs crossed and anxiously eyeing the golden hourglass where more and more sands gather at the bottom. He sighs, displeased. Waiting makes him feel powerless, and being powerless makes him dangerous. The King of the Dragons has never been very forgiving. Not even his wife, the Goddess of the Realms and Lights could teach him that virtue. Nothing would. Not his children, nothing.
Finally, the big stone doors are pushed open. Daemon rises, at long last. He stares right into a empty hallway. He takes out his sword, and carefully approaches the door making sure to watch his back at the same time. When he reaches the doors, he can feel a feint, tiny brush of air as if someone slipped just past him.
And when he turns around, there is a tall, pale, black clothed creature sitting on his throne, arms crossed over the arm seats, wearing a crown made of bones. The creature chuckles at Daemon’s scowl. ‘’My favorite uncle. Please sheath your sword. I don’t wish to harm you.’’ The man says.
Daemon knows how well a duel would end, with them both being immortal beings driven by devine powers. It would be a dumb waste of time to even try to kill Aemond Targaryen. Not when he is wearing the bone crown and still embodies the King of the Underworld. So with great displeasure, Daemon does as he is told. For once.
Pleased, Aemond sinks back further in the big chair, dramatically sighing as he takes in the paintings on the ceiling. Tales of old Valyria and the doom are written up there and he lets out a chuckle as Daemon’s blood pressure only rises and rises. ‘’Am I late?’’ The smirk betrays that he has watched Daemons squirming and impatient pacing for some time. ‘’My apologies. It was a hell of a ride to get here.’’
Daemon rolls his eyes at the overused poor joke. ‘’We know you’ve been troubled with traveling lately.’’ It is true. As King of the Underworld, Aemond cannot leave Hell unattended for too long. It is one of the pesky burdens that comes with the bone crown. Aemond seems to think this a burden too, as he quickly avoids Daemon’s eyes, suddenly looking quite human and even alone.
Aemond pushes himself up from the chair, his tone changing from calm and cheerful to a barely concealed threat. ‘’All thanks to your wife, and your devilspawn. You should’ve had them all whipped or beaten. You are too soft with your little girls.’’ Daemon hides a smirk, barely containing his pride that his daughters of all people got the better of Aemond. He would not beat anyone. He rewarded them. ‘’No matter. There is nothing more they can do to hurt me.’’ He is worried. Aemond does not forgive nor forget.
A silence follows as Aemond slowly approaches Daemon, his good eye staring at the sword, Darksister. It never has left Daemon’s side. Not once. ‘’You look good, Aemond. More…like you used to be.’’ Daemon’s voice is a soft whisper that becomes only softer once he realizes how much more human Aemond looks. No more black and blue bruises under his eyes, no more blood used as make up or bone necklaces and skin cloaks. No. Aemond looks different. Almost like the nephew, Daemon lost so long ago.
Aemond smiles, but its not sincere. Its the smile of the devil, of the darkness that hides deep within him. “Ah, you see, Uncle I have fallen in love.” He proclaims, as he takes a goblet of wine, that he magically made appear on a side table near the throne. There is one for Daemon too. Aemond gestures, inviting Daemon to drink with him.
It would be too good to be true for Daemon. Drinking with his nephew, like they used to. It feels like a trap. Aemond rolls his eye at Daemon’s suspicion. ‘’What good would poisoning you even do to me? I already got all I wanted. All the power I desire.’’ A lie. But one Daemon wants to believe. His wife holds the final piece of power Aemond wants, the Crown of Light. But he can’t have that. Rhaenyra would never willingly hand it over.
Daemon is so caught up in staring at the wine that he only hears Aemond’s words so much later. Love? He breaks his stare, looking at his nephew instead. It would explain Aemond’s change of wardrobe, of his mysterious sudden visit and his cheeks that seem to have a tiny bit of color. It is love. Daemon just never assumed he was capable of love. Not anymore.
And that gives Daemon hope.
Because if Aemond can love, he can be defeated. He can lose the crown and become a mortal once more. Easy as that.
Daemon puts his goblet down, his eyes sparkling with joy and curiosity. "Truly? Such wondrous news. I am glad for you. Tell me, who is the lovely lady?” Whoever captured the heart of Aemond had to be a special girl. A very special girl.
Aemond shrugs in a way that tells Daemon nothing at all and takes another sip of the wine. When he is finished, he licks off his lips. “She makes me very happy. That's all you need to know. I want your permission to take her with me to the underworld. I want her to become my queen and the mother of my children. She will be treated as a goddess and worshiped as she deserves.” It is up to Daemon. Aemond cannot drag any souls to the Underworld. Not without Daemon’s or Rhaenyra’s consent. He needs their power to open the portal. He would otherwise not get anyone back to hell.
“Well, your happiness is important to me. If you are certain, you may take her with you when you go home.” Daemon says, a bit too careless. A bit too stupid. The moment those words are spoken, Aemond cracks his neck, a smirk spreading on his lips, wider than it should. He begins to chuckle, throws his goblet over his shoulder and takes off, sprinting to the big stone doors.
Daemon watches him disappear, but before he leaves, he can hear Aemond’s words. “Thank you, Uncle. I am sure to invite you to our wedding.”
—------------------
You are sitting on your knees, attending the flowers of a dark, black rose. The roses have sprouted out of the ground as mushrooms in fall lately, and the Queen told you to watch them whenever that happened. The flowers are blooming now. You just need to wait on Queen Rhaenyra to return to tell her the good news.
The Queen warned you to never wander into the garden too far, as the other flowers have terrible effects on mortals. Flowers that could make you sleep forever, or turn you into a toad or straight up kill you. A pity. You always liked flowers. But you like living more. So you stay, patiently waiting for the Queen.
The clouds begin to gather as the wind picks up in a strange way that feel too cold for spring, and too brute. It feels like winter itself, wrapping around you, making you shiver as you glance around. There is nothing there. You tell yourself so, at least.
The wind continues blowing, and you watch as the petals of the black roses fall, gathering on a pile on the ground. You take a step back, just for safety. The petals fall on the ground, rise up, and form a circling whirlwind of black, rose petals. And eventually, someone appears in the middle of all the petals. A figure with a skin pale as bones, hair as white as the moon wearing a black cloak, covered in symbols you do not understand.
He looks at you, staring at you as if studying you. You do the same. You take in his terrifying crown, wondering if its made of real bones. You also stare at his nails that have dark, black unnatural ends, where dark magic is clearly gathering ready to be used. ‘’Careful, Petal. It is dangerous at night.’’ He says, smiling at you. You are well aware. It is why you go home whenever it gets dark.
Confident, you laugh.
‘’It is midday, sir.’’ You say, and look up to prove your point. Only to be met with a dark canvas where no star shines, where no moon shimmers. Just absolute darkness.
‘’How-’’ You stutter, quickly shutting yourself up.
‘’Mhm.’’ He smirks, pleased with your confusion. ‘’I can do so many more tricks.’’ He says, approaching you carefully. He snaps his fingers, and in his left hand there is now a beautiful black rose. He sniffs it briefly, before extending it to you, as if to give it. You are careful with accepting. You know all magic comes with a price. Dark magic, the most of all.
‘’I should go back to the palace.’’ You say, refusing to accept the rose. The man chuckles, snaps his fingers again, and you feel a soft breeze near your face. You feel your hair, and notice that he put something in it. Likely the rose.
‘’Gevie.’’ The man mutters, staring at you. You know it is a compliment. Prince Daemon calls his wife, Queen Rhaenyra this regularly. You know well what it means. It should flatter you. But it only scares you. Terrifies you. Because why does that man know the tongue of the Gods?
You don’t re-announce your departure, you just run this time. You feel your feet stop under your legs, and you fall on the stones, scratching your knees and hands on the beautiful mosaic tiles. The man kneels down besides you, staring at your hands. ‘’My poor Petal, let me help you. That wasn’t my intention.’’ He waves his hands over your knees, and you watch as the wounds heal under his touch. You yank your legs away, terrified.
He smiles, calmly. ‘’Well, now that we both understand our positions, I think it is time to make preparations.’’ You don’t speak to him, your mind wandering as you wonder what he could possibly mean. He begins to ramble a bit, you aren’t paying attention. You hear him praise your beauty and your intelligence. At the end he grabs your chin, and gives you a kiss on your lips. Shocked, you pull away.
‘’What do you think you are doing?’’ You yell, in fury. The man backs away, hurt and confusion written in his good eye. You can tell he isn’t used to rejection. Or any of this. His compliments felt sincere but insecure. He is not used to courting anyone.
‘’Claiming my price?’’ He asks, a bit dumbfounded and a bit dry.
Fury burns inside of you. ‘’Your price?!’’ You give him a push against his chest, creating more distance. ‘’I am not sure who you think you are…’’
That causes him to wake up. He smirks, and claps his hands. Darkness spreads further as you back away, terrified. ‘’Let me introduce myself, Petal.’’ Roots deep from the earth, grab your feet, chaining you to the earth as the man smiles.
You somehow know just who he is when you look at your feet. No tree roots are holding you. But skeleton arms. Bones. ‘’I am the King of the Underworld, Lord of Death, bringer of Doom, friend of depression. I am Aemond, I am everything mortals fear.’’ He will kill you. He will tear your soul out.
To hurt Rhaenyra and Daemon.
‘’But you, my love, my Petal…’’ He whispers, touching your face gently. You expect him to take your eye or your sight away. To feel blood and next to feel the sweet embrace of death. But you only feel a soft, kiss on your head.
Aemond smiles, and you realize he kissed you again. ‘’It was predicted, long ago, that you wouldn’t be frightened, Petal. I must say, I never believed in that. Until now. You have already proved to me that the prophecy is no lie. You make my heart beat again. You Petal, are very dear to me.’’ He puts your free hand on his heart, and you are shocked when your hand sinks away in his chest, proving there is no heart. Just a hole.
You open your mouth, screaming.
‘’Queen Rhaenyra!’’ You hope she comes to save you.
He is very quick to silence you.
‘’Petal!’’ He groans, slamming a hand on your mouth. ‘’No. Bad. I don’t want her here.’’ He says, chuckling to hide how truly scared he is of her. ‘’I don’t want the Queen here. If you prove to be obedient, I might invite her to our wedding. But I don’t want her ruining what I worked so hard for.’’ What work?
Aemond takes in your chained down feet and your trembling body. He leans in, kissing you on your lips, before moving to your neck, and your shoulders. ‘’My Petal.’’ He proclaims, as if stating a claim over you and your body. You stubbornly try to break free again. He grins. ‘’No, I won’t let you go, until I have what I want.’’ He wants you.
You feel strange sensations and unfamiliar desires battle deep inside of you as his lips gently suck on your skin, pulling your dress more and more down and open. He takes in your breasts, gasping hungrily as if he’s been without food for days. He begins to kiss your breasts, gently touching them with his long fingers. His nails scratch over your mortal skin, and it slightly burns.
You must stop him. ‘’My lady is powerful. If I were you I won’t do this again or continue.’’ Your voice is pitched, driven by the desire as your head becomes lightheaded.
Aemond scowls, displeased as he stops touching you. “Daemon gave you away to me. He said my happiness is very important to him.” He says. Somehow hearing that Daemon sold you to this monster, breaks your heart. When you lost your own family you had hoped they would take you in. But they betrayed you. Same as your own family. You sob.
‘’Rhaenyr-’’ Your voice suddenly stops. Aemond smiles, kissing you again. and again. and again.
“Sh, my lovely petal. I will speak, you'll be silent and hear what I have to say. For your own sake.” He whispers kissing your cheeks. Tears break free as you whimper, trying to find your You only fight harder. He chuckles, pleased with this development. “Stop it or I'll take away your free will too, my little petal.” he whispers but his voice is as cold as his eyes. You obey, crying silently.
He seems to soften at this, awkwardly patting your back. “There is no reason for sadness. You'll be coming with me. You'll become the Queen of the Underworld. All your wishes will come true and all your enemies will watch you triumph. You'll wear the finest silks and the heaviest crowns, entrusted with the rarest gems. You'll be my queen.”
You don’t want to become his Queen.
‘’Mine.’’ He whispers as he kisses your breasts, softly biting on your nipples, causing you to cry out in pain. He chuckles, the pain of you likely arousing him further. ‘’I am the God of everything that's forbidden, Petal. I can feel your desires, sense your lust to take you in this garden, to take and to take until there's nothing left for me to take.” You moan as he begins to push your final layer of clothing down too, inserting his long fingers inside of you.
You whimper wordlessly. He smiles, undressing himself too. He picks you up by your hips, planting you easily on the stone bench, with your back to his front. “I am your Queen.” You say, unsure where your sentence is going.
Aemond laughs in response, pushing a finger deep inside of you. “Not yet. And I have been waiting for this for some time. I have certain plans that will be upheld. And besides…” He bends you as some animal, on your knees ready to be taken. You are once again feeling his fingers, and feel his lips leave kisses on your back.
You feel trapped.
You begin to whimper again. He kisses you, but his kisses only burn.
“Shh. My love. I've waited so long. And here you are.” he cups your breasts feeling every inch of your skin. “Mine, wet and warm. You'll feel as a delight. I want you to know, Petal. It'll hurt. But that's part of the fun. I'll teach you. How to please me…and yourself.” He promises you as you briefly battle against his strong arms.
“I love you, Petal.” He whispers, before slamming himself inside of you, grabbing you by the hips and taking you on the garden bench. Your cries echo through the night and the garden as pleasure builds, blinding you for a moment. Aemond lets out a deep moan, close to a groan.
You cry out, trying to escape.
Aemond chuckles and takes you again letting out a sigh. “You will not be going anywhere. Be a good sweet girl and take what I'm giving you.” He whispers. ‘’You like it too, Petal. You are going to like it so much.’’ You know you shouldn’t. Your whimpers increase as well as his moans.
The taking becomes aggressive and almost painful, as Aemond’s hunger for you grows. You look back, taking in his silver blonde hair and the crown that is still standing perfectly still on his head. You reach out, to touch his face. He bends you back on the bench, taking you again and again. You cry out, the stones muffling your cries and moans. You hear him chuckle, moan and groan in delight, and finally you hear him scream your name. You freeze up, terrified. You never told anyone that. Your real name. Aemond simply lifts you from the bench, inspecting you with a grin. ‘’Your turn, little Petal.’’ He looks at the bloodied bench. He puts you back on your knees, and this time you are being the one catered to. He kisses you much gentler and tries to not bite you anymore. He is allowing you to touch his hips. But not much more than that. Whenever you try to touch his face, or to kiss him, he recoils, clearly annoyed with your attempts. You are new to this. Maybe that is it. But you aren’t an idiot, and deep down you know Aemond is hiding something.
The moans escape your mouth at some point, pleasure taking hold of you and blocking your anger. Aemond grins, satisfied as you begin to carefully move your back against his front, begging for it slightly. He likes that, touches your legs slightly, rewarding you with a soft kiss that makes you shiver. He pats your legs. Aemond chuckles. “It's good, hm?”
You nod. ‘’Y-yes.’’
He smiles. ‘’I will make you finish, Petal. But I need you to do something first for me.’’ You are curious and worried. You are quickly taken again, to block out the question. To make you stop wondering and worrying.
‘’What?’’ You ask.
‘’I need you to hold my crown. For a moment.’’ Aemond says, surprising you. You reach out to his crown, carefully feeling the bones. Nothing happens. Or, nothing you can see. But something has shifted.
You let go of the crown as Aemond touches your back, rubbing it gently for you and kisses you between your legs. ‘’Now it’s time to give you your reward.’’ You brace yourself as Aemond this time forces you on your back, and spreads your legs. You embrace him, as he violently fucks you on the bench, giving you it his all. He builds and builds your pleasure until finally you implode, crying out. He smiles, and you feel relief and satisfaction. He stops. You are bleeding and a sore mess when he is finished. He is a god, after all.
You sit up, catching your breath as you stare at your ruined dress. Aemond snaps his fingers, and the next moment you are dressed in a beautiful white lace gown. He smiles, admiring his own magic on your skin. ‘’There. That is fit for a Queen. Not those rags you were put in earlier.’’ He declares, feeling your forehead with the back of his hand. He is taking your temperature. Why? He studies your face carefully too.
‘’A Queen needs a crown, don’t you agree?’’ You say, eying the bone crown on his head. You heard the legends. You know what it does. It would make you the new King of the Underworld. Aemond chuckles, condensing as if he caught you in a lie.
You expect him to take your eye or to kill you in a whim. But he does something unspeakable instead. He boops your nose. ‘’Alas, my powers are limited in this world. But I assure you, your coronation is one of the most important things on my mind.’’ You don’t doubt that it is. It sounds as if he somehow has your whole life planned out with him.
‘’I would much rather stay here.’’ You say, clearly. ‘’This was fun but …I am a servant.’’ You hope it's embarrassing for him to love someone so lowly.
Aemond shrugs. ‘’You can still be my servant, if you are into serving. You will just be wearing a crown and making all your enemies bow.’’ He gives you a final chance to join him willingly. You step away.
He shrugs once more, and snaps his fingers, opening a vortex of pure darkness under your feet. The darkness sweeps you away and you know exactly where you are going. The Underworld.
You end up in the throne room, laying on the tiles and deeply in pain. A hand helps you stand, and you look at Aemond’s smug face. He doesn’t seem that charming anymore. You sit up, still wearing the gown he gave you. ‘’My love for you is true, Petal. In time, you will see that. But I don’t want Daemon coming back on his agreement.’’ He tells you, and you are shocked that he even tells you this at all.
‘’Why would Daemon come back on his deal?’’ You ask.
He smiles, avoiding the question. ‘’You are as clever as you are beautiful. One day, you’ll figure it out. But for now, I have many enemies. I don’t want them stealing you away from me.’’
‘’Like you stole me?’’ You reply.
‘’Don’t hurt me, Petal.’’ He dramatically clutches at his chest, and his hand vanishes through the fabric inside of the skin. You roll your eyes, but also can’t help the smile that creeps on your lips.
He snaps his fingers, and a thin necklace made out of bones appears around your neck, weighing you down in ways that almost make you stumble to your knees. He smiles as you stumble, fall to your knees and try to tear the necklace off your neck. ‘’See this as your crown, until I know I can trust you. I don’t trust many people, Petal. So, you have one chance with me. Don’t ruin it. Or I will have to add your lovely bones to my collection.’’ Your face is cupped again and Aemond kisses your lips again, this time freed of all bounds that you had in the upper world. He devours and kisses you at the same time, taking pieces of your soul. You try to fight it and to stop it, but after a while you notice you hunger for him, and even pull him back by the collar of his shirt when he tries to leave. He smiles as an answer. ‘’Welcome home, my Queen.’’ He leaves after that, leaving you alone in the castle.
You try to break the necklace again, and again. And when that does not work, you break into tears and sobs and begin to scream, trying to either free or choke yourself. Eventually, you black out.
A/N USELESS WORLD BUILDING IS HERE
Hello.
As with any fic so tied heavily to lore,
I like to tell you a bit more about the world. So the world is Greek mythology inspired but its also really tied in with demonic things like demons and stuff. ( as i didnt read greek mythology as a kid because and youre gonna laugh ''EW THOSE PEOPLE DID INCEST'' WELL BELLY GUESS WHAT?! XDD'' It is also inspired by OUAT (Once upon a time)’s magic system. (Magic comes with a price, dearie eheheheh) It basically was a unhinged mix of it all. I liked assigning the targaryens with like new goddess thingies because Daemon being the god of dragons it just sounded fun. I wanted him and aemond to have a closer relationship because I think thats great when it all goes to hell:) literally. and the roses. theres a beauty and the beast reference in there too, i feel it. ‘’what of the bones?’’ oh, those. ehm…i dont really know where they came from, and suddenly there were a lot xD when i sat down and edited the fic, Aemond didnt had that power ,..and now he does xD so . xD okay enough rambling bye bye. Let me know what you think. This was my first god aemond Fic xD
#dark aemond#dark aemond x reader#aemond x reader#hotd#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond one eye#hotd x reader#hotd x you#aemond x you#aemond smut#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#hotd x oc#aemond targaryen x reader#Aemondsmut#Smut#god aemond au
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Muña (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: At the start of the Dance of the Dragons, you host a familiar face. But it is not your husband who darkens your doorstep. It is his nephew.
Warnings: Daemon haunting the narrative. Smut. Body image issues, self-esteem issues. Tully! Reader (Reddish undertone hair) Implied mommy issues. Vaginal sex. Breeding kink
A/N: I got no explanation for this. Might end up writing a part 2 if this does well. Pt 2
“THERE IS a dragon at our gates.” One of your guards announces. You get up from your seat, a wave of nausea already beginning to make herself known. You would rather not face your husband. Not today. Not ever, if you are being truthful with yourself.
You have gained weight. The slim figure that you flaunted at sixteen is long gone. There is more weight in your hips and chest, a bit of softness around your middle. You know he will mock you for it.
“Open them.” You order, bracing yourself for the uncomfortable encounter. You can’t bar him entrance to what is his home too, despite him not visiting in years. “Tell him to leave the dragon there. I’ll send it some food.”
The guard bows and exits the room. One of your companions, Lady Whent, starts to pace the hall. She fears what your husband coming here might mean for you. The rumors said he had loudly proclaimed he would deal with you himself.
Your choice to keep the Riverlands out of the war effort is controversial, but predictable. Surely, no one in their right mind thought you would aid your husband install his Queen. Not even him. Not after he had left your shared home and started living in sin with her, shaming you in front of the whole realm. Yet again, no one would have called Daemon Targaryen the epitome of saneness.
You go sit on your throne, placing your embroidery aside. Your tenants are happy enough that you don’t hold court as often as the other lords. And when they are not, they still refuse to bring their problems to you unless absolutely necessary. No one wants to burden their poor lady more.
You wish they did. The days would seem less empty that way, rotting away in this castle, your house’s sigil mocking you from every corner. Family, Duty, Honor, they had promised you. None had come.
The guard comes back. You remain sitting on your throne, the one you hardly use. You intend to receive your husband from a position of power, not allow him to cower you. But when you look at the man next to the guard, your breath catches.
This man is not your husband. This man is not even one of Rhaenyra’s men.
“Lady Tully.” He says, taking a deep bow. Very respectful, which would make you doubt his relation to your husband were it not for the fact he shares his silver hair.
“Prince… Aemond.” You say, looking at his face. It’s your best guess as to his identity, considering he has a green banner and an eye patch. He wears all black, the color of House Targaryen. You stand up, and curtsy.
“My lady.”
“My husband is not here.” You say, hurriedly. It’s your first instinct. You do not want that dragon of his torching your tenants.“You are welcome to check the castle and my lands, but there is no love lost between us. I assure you I am not hiding him.”
“I know.” He answers, lips twitching into a smirk. You find nothing humorous about it, but you do not dare voice it. You do not understand what he is doing here, if not chasing after Daemon. “I understand your people… Resent him.”
“It is not our place to judge.” You say, voice firm. This man is at least ten years your junior, you will not allow him to intimidate you. No matter how he towers over you, no matter how menacing and mean his features seem. He is no Daemon Targaryen, this green boy. Your husband is the only man you had truly feared. “Only the Seven are perfect, and thus, entitled to judge others' actions.”
“Very devout.” Aemond steps closer to you, his smile widening. The way his face contorts, sharp and with too many teeth, reminds you of one of the piscivorous fishes you have seen swimming up the stream during summer. The look in their eyes is the same he sports now, right before they decide to feast on an unaware trout. “Just like us. Seems like we have a lot in common.”
You gulp. You wish you were less easy to intimidate.
“We do?”
“We do. I don’t like your husband either. The tales of his prowess have been overly exaggerated. And I do not think you are too keen on bowing to Rhaenyra, considering your marriage will be annulled.” A pair of his fingers pluck a stray curl from your up do, twirling it between his fingers. The slightly copperish undertones of it glint under the candlelight.
The threat looms in the air, uncontested by you. Both Prince Aemond and you know that Queen Rhaenyra would be dissolving your marriage as you speak, were it not for the fact that your husband and her need your lands and men for her war. Annulment in exchange for your life would be a much less cruel punishment than whatever they are cooking.
If you were a quieter woman, a less brave one, you would accept your fate. You would say your marriage had been unconsummated, that you will aid your new sovereign and your ex-husband in their war. But you won’t leave your people to their tender care. With the privileged position your lands have, they are also in the privileged position to be amongst the first to burn.
You are not so craven as to save your life in exchange for the ones of your subjects. Hence, neutrality. Hoping it will spare you. All of you.
“Do you think I want to still be married to him? After all this?” It is not enough, you see it now. With the green banner inside your hall, with the one eyed prince himself sent to rally you behind their cause. Neutrality won’t save you. You need to resist Daemon, not just sit praying he won’t attack you. The Seven know he has no such qualms.
“Perhaps we can make a widow out of you yet.” Aemond says to you, a hint of a smile making his expression turn even more menacing.
Tasting freedom on the tip of your tongue for the first time in years, you smile back.
YOU ARE on your side, Aemond thrusting into you from behind. His hand envelops your hip, greedily grasping your flesh. His other arm is under your head, serving as a pillow. For once, you are not self-conscious.
How could you be, when he had practically begged for entrance to your bed? He wanted you, and the thought of that was as thrilling as it was foreign. You hadn't broken your marriage vows ever since you took them. No man had dared voice interest, considering who your husband was.
Aemond had to convince you to get you here, and you had fumbled like a maiden every step of the way. You didn’t dare defy Daemon either. Despite your loneliness over the years, you had never taken another to your bed. No matter how tempted you had been.
When you had seen Aemond, you weren’t planning to, either. He was your good nephew, Daemon’s family. It was utterly scandalous, yet here you were.
You weren’t too sure how you had ended up into this predicament, though. One second the two of you had been making plans, your Lord Commander eager to be at his service, and the next, Aemond was crowding you against a wall and kissing you with unparalleled hunger. Your doubts had been quieted by his warm hands and eager mouth, as he forced you to writhe on his arms and try to divest him of his clothes. Perhaps he had carried you to your room then. You can’t remember, you just hope no one saw you.
“Did he fuck you like this?” He mouths at your ear, lightly biting. No matter how much you want to banish the thought of Daemon from your mind, Aemond doesn’t let you. It makes you feel guilty, breaking your self-imposed celibacy with your nephew in law, but he seems to get a secret thrill from it.
You don’t have the heart to tell him Daemon and you have only gone to bed together once. The night of your wedding.
You stay silent. His hand slides over your stomach, down to your mound. A single, long finger, slips through your folds and starts to rub circles on your pearl.
“Did my uncle ever make you peak?” Aemond asks you, still rubbing those maddening circles. You can’t think. All that is on your mind is a cloud of pleasure, warm and shameful. You shouldn’t be in bed with Daemon’s nephew. Nor should you be breaking your vows.
Aemond bites at your nape, sharply. Just like his uncle, he doesn’t take kindly to not being the center of attention.
“I asked you a question.”
“No.” You tell him, closing your eyes. Your face burns with your shame. Perhaps it is the embarrassment at your husband hating your bed so much he never visited It any longer, or perhaps it is the fact that you are breaking a vow you had really believed in. But Aemond doesn’t seem to like it, pressing soft kisses into your shoulder in an attempt to relax you.
“I'll give you one.” He promises, rubbing your pearl. His thrusting slows down, allowing the head of his member to hit deep inside you. “In my bed, you won't want for anything.”
The way he says it startles you. Dark, possessive. As if he doesn’t intend to let you go after one night, as if he intends to keep you.
“I don't belong in your bed.” You moan, trying to resist the pleasure that seems so sinful in your eyes. You clench around him despite it, not wanting him to leave your body. His free hand, the one serving as your pillow, grabs at your hair, the auburn mane as a bracelet in his pale arm. The pain of the tug only heightens your pleasure, making your body soar above the wave that threatens to crash and drag you under on the pools of hedonism.
Never before had you felt like this. In your encounter with your husband, as he huffed and puffed over you, you had only felt a quick pain and a vague feeling of shame. He had focused on his pleasure first, kicking you out of bed as soon as he was done.
But Aemond. Aemond stares at you, proud of how you unravel in his arms. He encourages you to do it, taking great delight in watching you fall apart.
“You do. With your gorgeous hair and your delicious cunt, I won't allow you to go elsewhere. You are a gift from the Mother herself.” He whispers, darkly. “I’ll worship you how you deserve, Muña.”
The last word seems to amuse him greatly, for it prompts a chuckle out of him. It’s an odd sound to hear coming from him. He seemed the kind who took himself too seriously. He licks at the shell of your ear, at your face, slobbering all over you.
It should disgust you, yet you can’t help but sigh in his arms. Surrender tastes cloyingly sweet in your mouth.
“I… Married.” You repeat, trying to get Aemond to see reason. You claw at his hands, trying to stop him from bringing you this overwhelming ecstasy that makes your body tense, and your thighs quiver. Your mind feels foggy, your wit reduced to half whimpers and softly spoken words.
“I'll wed you, and place my son on your belly.” He grins against your nape, contemplating his final triumph against Daemon. “My seed will take, where his never could. He is weak.”
“I am already married.” You repeat, a bit more firmly. Aemond laughs, rubbing at your pearl once more.
“Shhh, quiet. Quiet, Muña.” He whispers, pulling you to lie under him. He enters you in a single thrust, not giving you a moment of respite. You cry out, nails raking down his back. “I'll kill him. He is just an old man.”
You mutter something. Maybe a reply. Your lips move, incoherent, and you are screaming, the wave of pleasure finally crashing and pulling you under.
“That’s a good aunt. Squeeze your tight little cunt for me.” He grins, and you think this is it. The two of you are going to the Seven Hells.
#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x you#prince aemond x you#aemond x you#aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x oc#aemond x original character#aemond x y/n#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd fanfic#hotd#asoiaf fanfic#asoif/got
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For Every Word You Give Me
Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Summary: You’ve always struggled with your stutter, speaking only when you must, trusting only your husband with your voice.
The table stretched long through the hall, glittering with silver and candlelight.
The meat was passed, wine spilt freely, and laughter echoed off stone walls, too loud, too sharp.
You felt small in it all. Always had.
You sat beside Aemond, his hand lightly resting atop yours under the tablecloth.
Your thumb moved slowly across his knuckles, grounding yourself in his calm presence, his heat.
His voice beside you was low and steady, “You look lovely tonight.”
Your lips curled shyly. You whispered back, “Th-thank you.” The words were soft, hesitant.
But he heard you. He always heard you.
Aemond turned his head slightly, a rare softness in his pale eye. “Only I get to hear your voice like that,” he murmured. “I think I’m the luckiest man in all of Westeros.”
You blushed, squeezing his hand beneath the table.
You never spoke much, the stutter made it hard, made you ashamed. You had grown used to silence, to ducking your head.
But with him… you tried. He never looked at you with pity. Only devotion.
Then came Aegon’s voice.
Slurred. Loud. Drunk.
“You know, brother,” he called across the table, “I often wonder if your wife is mute or just terribly slow. The poor girl can barely choke out a sentence without sounding like she’s drowning in her own words.”
Your blood turned to ice.
The table fell quiet. The silence stretched long.
You looked down instantly, cheeks burning, eyes stinging. Your throat ached with humiliation, with all the words you couldn’t say to defend yourself.
Aemond stood up, abruptly. His chair scraped the floor.
“Aegon,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “if you ever speak of her that way again, I will remove your tongue and feed it to Vhagar.”
Aegon scoffed, raising his goblet. “Oh come now, I mean-”
“She is worth a thousand of you,” Aemond snapped. “You are unfit to speak her name.”
You were already moving, tears falling fast as you rushed out of the hall, heart thudding in your ears.
You didn’t want to be seen. Not like this. You hated how weak it made you feel. How small.
You made it to your chambers and closed the door behind you, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. You pressed your back against the wood and covered your mouth to muffle your sobs.
Why did it always hurt like this? Why couldn't you just speak normally?
Minutes passed.
Then the door creaked open.
“Aemond,” you gasped, quickly wiping your face. “Y-you shouldn’t-”
“Stop,” he said gently, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Don’t hide from me.”
You turned your back to him anyway. “I d-don’t… w-want you to see m-me like this.”
His arms wrapped around you from behind, firm and warm. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, his voice low against your skin. “You never have to hide from me.”
You shook your head. “I’m… I’m b-broken.”
“No,” he whispered. “You’re brave. Do you know how much strength it takes to speak when the world gives you reason not to?”
Your voice trembled. “You d-deserve someone b-b-better-”
“I deserve you,” he said, turning you in his arms. His eye searched your face with a mix of fury and reverence. “You, who give me your voice when no one else hears it. You, who I would kill for without hesitation. You are mine. And I am yours.”
Your lip quivered. “You r-really mean that?”
“I swear it on Vhagar’s fire, on my blood, on my love for you,” he whispered, cupping your face. “Speak only to me, if that is what makes you feel safe. I’ll carry your silence for the world, and treasure every word you give me.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks again, not from shame this time, but from relief.
You nodded and leaned into him.
“I l-l-love you,” you whispered, voice fragile as lace.
His breath caught. Then he kissed you, deeply, as if that was the only answer he could ever give.
He pulled you to bed that night and held you until you stopped shaking. You fell asleep in his arms, his hand tangled in yours.
And for the first time in a long time, you dreamed without fear.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
#x reader#fanfiction#x female reader#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon imagines#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd
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