#having read about Aegons dream

[philomaela]

I actually think you can read something very interesting about Rhaenys and Aegon through the details we get of Rhaena and Aegon the uncrowned. That is, Rhaena was a lesbian who preferred the company of female favorites and nevertheless was not opposed to marrying her brother and giving him children. We don’t really get a lot of insight into how Aegon the uncrowned felt about his wife’s favorites, but he certainly was happy to have one of those favorites aid him in his war cause.

Imo it puts the stories of Rhaenys surrounding herself with comely male singers in an interesting light. It’s easy to be either be like wow, look at Rhaenys cucking the conqueror or wow such horrible, terrible slander against Aegons beloved queen. Either way, it’s framing Rhaenys potentially having relationships with other men as a transgression against Aegon the conqueror. Which you know… in the society they live in, it would be seen as such. But did Aegon the conqueror necessarily see it that way? I get that Rhaena was a lesbian, there was no worry about illegitimate children there for Aegon the uncrowned, but it doesn’t seem like Aegon the conqueror ever worried about that either? To be honest, it doesn’t seem like he was all that desperate for an heir at all until later in his reign. And in both cases, rumors of impropriety are enough to cause worry.

Idk, it’s funny because I actually don’t think the rumors about Rhaenys hold much water in the book. Like the historian doesn’t even seem that invested in it, it seems pretty obvious that they were working backward from Aenys being considered an “unworthy” heir and trying to find a reason, someone (a woman) to blame. Aegon the uncrowneds early comparisons to the conqueror show that. How can Aenys be illegitimate and his son legitimate?

But I do think, if we look at the rumors and take them at face value, it’s interesting to try and understand if these characters who we don’t really know would have necessarily reacted in a way we expect them to, especially when their private reactions are hidden to us and their public reactions don’t point in that direction.

I think it’s meaningful and beautiful and interesting (and tragic lol, plenty of that too of course lol) that Rhaena compared herself to Visenya. But I think it overlooks Rhaenas whole story to pretend she only has things in common with Visenya. Like Rhaena when she was young certainly had things in common with Rhaenys, no true warrior, loved to fly (flying = freedom), loved to sing.

Granted none of these things are unique to Rhaena and Rhaenys, a lot of Targaryen women love to fly lol. But you know, Rhaenys and Visenya are presented as the blueprints so it is significant for them. Rhaena surrounds herself with female favorites not unlike how Rhaenys surrounded herself with singers, granted the singers served a political purpose but melony piper did aid Rhaenas cause so there was a political aspect there too.

I just think… that Rhaena as she introduced in the story and up until her marriage to Maegor is presented as kind of an answer to the Visenya vs Rhaenys question that the book in universe wants to present with Rhaena vs Alysanne later. We know Visenya and Rhaenys are probably more complicated than hard warrior vs soft queen, but we’re not really allowed to actually see that. We are also presented with the idea that they were created this way (due to us not really knowing their lives), that they were born as these archetypes. Rhaena begins the story with qualities of both Visenya and Rhaenys because people are actually nuanced and complicated.

[dolicekiss]

Apple Of Their Eye

part two here

PAIRING: Dark! Aegon Targaryen X sister!reader X Dark!Aemond Targaryen

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni) incestuous relationship, dark!targaryen brothers, innocent virgin!reader, dubcon, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, handjob, riding, breeding, threesome, kissing, possessive behaviour, nipple play, throat fucking, drunk reader, praise, pretty much the targaryen brothers giving their sister sex lessons and claiming her as theirs.

SYNOPSIS: Being close to both your Targaryen brothers had its own perks. Drinking wine together, going horse riding and reading books. It was all a dream but when Aegon heard the talk of your betrothal, he decided it was finally time to taint you. What you didn’t expect was Aemond walking in on you indulging in your older brother’s sickly pleasures.

Giggles erupted from your lips when your sweet brother, Aegon made a weird face to encourage sweet giggles out of you. His favorite sound in the world, as he liked to address it. Your bond with both your brothers was something never seen before among house Targaryen. Fiercely loyal to each other, defensive and protective. You were the perfect trio of destruction — well, with a honeyed touch of peace.

That was your vital role.

To calm down the blood of the dragons.

You had grown so attached to one another that both your brothers denied the responsibilities of the throne, wishing to spend time with you.

You had to convince Aegon to sit upon the throne and he agreed in one go when his little sister asked for it. How could he not? You were looking up at him with such hopeful, glimmering eyes, those long lashes of yours coating the apple of your cheeks.

He often wondered if his bridled desires would break out of control one moon and find way to you?

Aemond entered the room, hand resting atop his sword as he analyzed the room, which was in shambles. You and Aegon again had enjoyed a pillow fight — pieces of feathers and cotton everywhere in the room. Pale sheets on the floor and wine spilled everywhere.

He was the youngest, yet he felt as though he was the oldest amongst you three. You and Aegon behaved like little children, even when you were younglings. Aegon and you would disturb the council members and pull hilarious pranks on them meanwhile Aemond paid them no mind.

“You two.” His voice put a hold to your giggles, your attention diverting to your brother. Your silky strands — similar to Aemond’s — were a mess. They reached your hips, only at such a young age and Aemond couldn't keep his one eye off the loose strap of your dress over your creamy shoulder.

Aegon smirked to himself, knowing well him and his brother shared their feelings about you.

You smiled at Aemond, a big grin of excitement adorning your soft, delicate features. “Aemond! Come here, have wine with us.”

He shook his head. “I have duties to tend to, sister. You carry on.”

Your lips formed a frown. “But Aemond, I miss you. You rarely ever spend time with Aegon and I. Do we bore you now, do you seek fun in planning war and those boring councils?”

Aegon nodded in agreement and Aemond shook his head, walking closer and taking a seat on the bed with you. Aegon had his head on your lap, staring at you with love sick eyes of a puppy. Your flushed state and rosette cheeks were a vision for Aemond — his callous hands aching to touch you.

“Aemond how can you neglect our beautiful sister here?” Aegon taunted, reaching out to wrap a finger around a strand of your silver hair and curl it. You smiled at him, cheeks round and Aemond swallowed. “I am not neglecting her, I am merely occupied with tending to my duties since no one else will.”

He diverted his one eye to Aegon and the older brother groaned, tugging on the single strand of your hair. You whimpered at the pain, lips puckering into a pout. “Aegon, stop it.”

“You shouldn't trust Aegon so much, sweet sister. He is all but a twat,” Aemond’s words made you turn to him and he looked away from you, not wanting his gaze to linger somewhere below where he was allowed. His own reluctance at being around you proved that he too struggled with the same demons his older brother did.

Aegon sat up now, eyes boring into Aemond’s. “And why shouldn't she? I pay her more mind, more attention than you ever would.”

“I trust him, brother. You should too, he's our king and he cares for me.” You softly spoke.

Your soft soothing voice was like the sun against their cold words. Aemond pondered late at night how their monstrous house got blessed with such a sweet little thing? Repentance was not something that came to house Targaryen — so why were they bestowed with you?

Your kindness, to the maids — the highborn ladies and even the members of the small council made you quite the perfect candidate for queen, especially when the realm loved and adored you. The sweet daughter of Viserys Targaryen, left behind to bring prosperity and love.

“Yeah, she trusts me.” Aegon said, scooting behind you. His chin nestled over the small cup of your shoulder, staring straight ahead with mischief in his gaze. “Don't you, sweet sister?”

You nodded, coyly.

He was almost taunting Aemond, being able to stay this close to you while he was busy with preparing for war. It was not fair, definitely to Aemond it was not. He inhaled a sharp breath as Aegon buried his face in the crook of your neck, accidentally pressing a kiss to your exposed skin. Your body shuddered and you quickly pulled away from him, staring at him in confusion.

Aemond felt a lump form in his throat.

Fuck, you were so innocent. Oblivious to the sick desires of both your brothers.

“Be careful, sister.” Aemond said to you, gesturing towards the other Targaryen brother. “You're too innocent for your own good.”

Then he got up, parting from your chambers, hoping that the next time he enters, he finds you all alone and not with that foolish brother of his. He did not harbor resentment towards Aegon necessarily, but ever since they were children, they fought. For a dragon, for toys and for your attention. It had been a constant battle of who'd bring you the prettiest flower first, who would be first to dance with you at feasts, who's horse you'd sit on and ride.

For everyone else it was draining but you relished the attention you got from your brothers. Enjoying each and every bit of the fight going on for you — only you didn't knew it went beyond the walls of brotherly love and they were horrifyingly obsessed with you.

Aemond had turned down every marriage alliance, not interested in securing the future of the realm if it came at the expense of being far from you. A woman would only act as a wall between the two of you and Aemond did not want any walls. He would gladly crush them, with or without the help of Vhagar.

You prepared another cup of wine to drink but Aegon was called to the council — arranged by the dowager Queen. Crestfallen, you let your brother go as he fixed his attire and departed from your chambers, after leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead.

As soon as Aegon entered the council room, he's greeted with everyone there. Each member and with a scowl on his face, he takes his seat. Evidently upset by having to leave his sister, even though he could go back to her at anytime.

“Your Grace.” Everyone greeted him, standing up and heads low. Aegon gestured them to sit and they obliged, following into their comfortable seats.

Alicent looked at the council members, knowing that the discussion they had come to would eventually upset the King. Everyone was hesitant and Aegon noticed that. He raised a brow, confused. “Are we here to stare at one another? If we are, do excuse me. I have pressing matters to attend to.”

Everyone knew pressing matters meant giving his undivided attention to his little sister.

“In order to secure house frey and gain access and control to the passage in riverrun, we think it would be best to form a marriage alliance with them.” Alicent’s words didn't actually hit Aegon how they were supposed to, as he grinned. “We cannot offer a dragon, we can offer a dragon.”

Assuming the marriage alliance was for Aemond, his younger brother not his little sister. “Great, it is about time Aemond finds himself a pretty bird too.”

He was cheerful. If Aemond was married, he would have your attention all to himself and he became overjoyed with that, a little too fast. Alicent swallowed, exchanging glances with the master of coin and the maester. Her hesitance was in existence because she did not know how maturely her son would handle to the news of sending his only sister away from him.

“Your Grace, the marriage alliance is for your sister, the Princess. House frey has suitors available and the Princess gets to choose with whom she wishes to ma—”

Aegon’s palms slammed down against the wooden table, rising up from the table. His gaze searing and his lips quivering from the sheer courage of Tyland Lannister’s, to marry his sister off without even inquiring him about it. The fact that they even thought of doing that filled him with a rage so overwhelming, he felt like burning the whole small council to the ground.

“That is my sister you're speaking of.” He reminded them. “I will have your fucking tongue for even suggesting to get her married off in the first place.”

The whole council flinched at the King’s outburst. Alicent had expected it to be a tantrum but this was more than a childish tantrum. The room was elevated with tension as Aegon panted, his body quivering from the rage coursing through his veins.

Alicent took a deep breath. “It is for the best, my King. You need to win this war and the Freys are demanding a dragon which we cannot provide.”

“So you give them my sister, like some fucking piece of coin?” He snapped, turning to her. “She is the princess of house Targaryen, my sister. I will not have you subject her to the same fate as all the other women.”

Aegon dismissed the council, walking out of there. Alicent sighed, holding onto tethered pieces of hope that maybe talking to Aemond about it would be better, since Aegon did consider him his closest blood and best sword. Little did she know she would be riling up another dragon and awakening it.

The next few hours were unbearable for Aegon. He had visited your chambers but you were nowhere to be found and when he asked your maids, he was told you'd gone out to collect flowers for the vase in your room. Countless times both your brothers had told you to either tell them or command the servants to bring you flowers — still you did what you felt.

Upon your return, you found your chambers not deserted. Aegon was there, situated on your bed. Hair a mess, tunic unbuttoned revealing his pale chest. Your brother was disheveled and you couldn't recall the time you two spent together being the cause of this.

So what had happened?

Worried and upset, you dropped the basket filled with flowers by the side of your door and walked over to him. Your purple dress, a match to your purple eyes, flowing behind like the waves of the sea. You sat next to your brother, small hands reaching out to cup his face in them.

“Brother, is everything alright? You seem upset.” You inquired and when Aegon raised his head, you saw just how devasted he appeared.

Devasted and drunk.

Your eyes noticed the cup in his hand, as well as the pitcher on the floor. Something happened at the small council, that much you figured out. But what had happened, now that was for Aegon to tell you.

Though your brother only stared at you, bringing the cup to your lips. “Drink, for me.”

You were in no mood for wine but you still obliged him, parting your lips and consuming the wine. The crimson tainting your lips red as you swallowed it, gulp after gulp. Even for you that was a lot and when you were finished, Aegon refilled the empty cup.

“Drink more.” It was a command.

You frowned. “Did I do something wrong, brother? Is this your way of reprimanding me?”

He stared at you, eyes droopy and full of glimmering lust for you — unbeknownst to you. “I want us to be drunk together, like old times. Please.”

You heard the plea in his voice and nodded, softening at the disheveled state your brother was in. You parted your lips to take sips as Aegon held the cup for you. He pushed it, more and more until the wine had overwhelmed you and drops spilled over your dress, trailing down your chin.

The red had absorbed into the purple but you finished your glass, staring at Aegon after the glass had been tore from your lips.

Aegon moved further into your soft bed, veiled by pellucid pale curtain and you followed, laying next to him. His head found comfort on your chest, a frown so evidently ceasing his features. Confusion had clouded your senses — hoping that your brother might tell you the cause of his distress.

But all he did was lay silently on your chest, feeling the soft plush of your breasts against his cheek.

Aegon swallowed the urge to press his mouth over your pebbles and suck them, burying his face deeper into your breasts. He was a mess and he knew that his mother would go against him, to secure more power and alliances with the other lords.

He could not let it happen.

He mouthed lazily at the chiffon, attempting to take a nipple of yours into his mouth. The purple fabric absorbed the saturation of his saliva, as your brother crossed all the limits between the two of you.

As if there were any to begin with.

“A-Aegon, what are you doing?” You whispered in a breathy gasp when he sucked on your peaked nipple through the cotton, his other hand moving to provide your other breast with attention.

Your back arched slightly and your breath quickened as your brother’s hands moved down to the laces which held your dress together. As drunk as you were, you still knew this was wrong yet had no control whatsoever of the situation. Once your laces were loosened enough, Aegon tugged at the sleeve of your dress and unveiled your breast.

“Brother, this is inappropriate. You're under the influence of wine, we should not—”

Aegon looked up at you with the softest look on his face, akin to a puppy. He switched his attention to the unattended breast of yours which he had uncovered, suckling on the nipple, fingers rolling the soaked one in between them. Your soft lips were parted and made the prettiest little sounds of pleasure foreign to you.

“I'm your brother, sister. If I don't deserve to have you like this when who does? Those fucking house frey suitors?” He snapped, voice fallen to a few octaves. Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, not being able to understand what he was insinuating with his words.

Your brows scrunched and your crinkles formed on your nose. “H-House frey, Aegon?”

He chose silence.

Aegon moved to lean up against the bed, his unbuttoned tunic revealing his bare chest beneath his small clothes. You watched him, your silver hair a mess — cascading beautifully down your shoulders and narrow back. Aegon patted his lap, a silent order for you to sit on it but you could only blink innocently.

Having no regards of such matters.

“Crawl to me, sister.”

You nodded, as puzzled as you were, slithering to settle yourself over your brother's lap. Both hands on his chest as your thighs sat over each side of his waist, looking down at him. This was all new to you but you were not complaining.

His hand extended to grasp your chin, pulling your face closer to him. He could see everything, all the subtle features which made you all the more beautiful. The mole neath your left eye, the way your pupils enlarged whenever you locked eyes with him, how your pretty lips quivered. “Today I will teach you how to make your brothers the happiest. You wish to learn, don't you sister?”

You eagerly nodded.

Aegon grinned. “Kiss me, my little dove.”

You obliged, pressing a kiss to his cheek and Aegon released a chuckle. In complete awe of the naivety you possessed. “Here, sister. This will make me and Aemond the happiest.”

You were hesitant with it but still leaned your head, pressing a subtle, feather light kiss to Aegon’s lips. His hunger was far from satiated as he stared at you with a hooded gaze, his blood heating up at the feel of your lips against his. He was over the moon with only a peck, he could only imagine the power of a proper liplock.

“Did I do good? Was that okay, brother?”

Aegon shook his head. “No, little dove. You have to do more, kiss more of my lips. Try to suck on them, yeah?”

You puffed out your cheeks, irritated at your own incompetence at making your brother happy. Still, you kissed him once more but this time like a baby bird trying to eat it's food with untrained beaks, you tried to suck on Aegon’s lips. Closing them around his upper lip, your saliva glossing his lips. Aegon’s cock stirred awake in his breeches at how inexperienced you truly were. An innocent girl getting ruined by her brother.

You closed your eyes, focusing at the task at hand. Aegon reached for your nape, locking it in place as he finally kissed you back. Soft kiss of yours evolved into something harsher, something more passionate and you whimpered, your endeavor to retreat declined by your brother. Your small hands nestled over his chest — trying to push him but it only strengthened the kiss, Aegon trying to drown in the sweet nectar.

“Open your mouth, little dove.” Your endeavor to speak was mistaken as consent by your brother, his tongue running over the edge of your perfect teeth — making way to your tongue. He wrapped around the wet muscle and began to suck on it, the saliva dripping from your mouth and slipping into his. Light headed you had become due to the vigorous kiss and how your brother dominated your mouth with his tongue.

Aegon soon broke the kiss and allowed you a few moments of air, staring at how swollen your lips had become. He had tasted you and it only fuelled his desire more for you. To claim you and never let anyone else's sight fall upon you. Heart fluttering at being the first man ever to put his cock inside you.

“This is what good sisters do for their brothers.” He said to you, his hands rested on your thighs and thumbs swiping across the pale skin. “You're such a good girl, my Princess. You'd do anything for your King, won't you?”

You nodded your head impatiently, doe eyes looking into your brother's purple ones. Chest falling and rising, sharp intakes of breath breaking through the silence. Aegon smiled and that was the biggest achievement for you, ever. He lifted one hand from your thigh, taking your small hand into his. Aegon loved how your petite hand disappeared into his — a perfect size you were for him.

He wondered in that very moment how you'd look taking Aemond’s cock into your small mouth, considering he was bigger than the both of you. Taller, toned from the constant training of wielding a sword. The thought of both of them taking you at once riled him up like nothing else.

Aegon brought your hand to his crotch, laying it over it. Your coy eyes widened. “B-Brother.”

“Unlace my trousers, sister.” Albeit it was an order, his tone was soft. You had never seen such a dark look in your sweet brother's eyes, violets always glimmering with excitement and happiness.

You were hesitant at first, reluctance dripping from the way your shivering fingers pulled at the soft laces which tightened his trousers. Aegon watched with a curious gaze, knowing very well he was about to defile his little sister and ruin the innocence she so wholeheartedly showcased. It almost made him sad but this was necessary, to wed you to him. Or even Aemond.

He couldn't care less who you married as long as it was one of them.

With bated breath, you loosened his trousers and then looked at him for further instructions.

“Pull out my cock, sister. You should feel something hard, that is my cock.” Your silver lashes fluttered, fingers getting to work. The second you felt something hard, skin but rigid — you grasped it to free it. Aegon hissed upon your cold touch and you retreated, feeling bad.

He was quick to reach for you. “No, no. Do not worry, for I am fine. You shall continue.”

So you did, given the reassurance, your gaze focusing on the unclothed cock of your sweet brother. Aegon reached for your hand and wrapped it around his own cock with your neath it. “I need you to move your hand, sister. Pursue my actions, this will truly please me.”

Aegon began to move his hand in slow, sensual strokes and you followed. The more you touched him, the more he lost his composure. Little sounds falling from his parted lips and his hand fell to the side over his thigh — letting you take the lead. You picked up your pace, hand undulating over his throbbing length.

Palm stained with his precum, you used it to slick his twitching cock and then moved your fingers up. A shuddered gasp of fulfillment slipping from Aegon’s mouth upon that accident. You smiled, in victory and pressed the pad of your thumb deeper into his little hole. Watching as more of the pale liquid spurted out.

The more you stared at it, the prettier you found it — shade darker than the rest of him and cock head the same pink as his agape lips. Varicose veins, a deeper hue of purple than the ones of your irises embedded in neath the flesh.

Eyes sparkling at the thought of touching Aemond in the same way, getting to see such an intimate part of him. You wished he was here, to be able to do this for him would be a great blessing.

Your mouth watered the more you gazed at your brother's glistening cock head. Without paying much mind to it, you leaned lower and closed your lips around it. Aegon’s eyes immediately snapped open when he felt the warmth your mouth provided and stared down at you.

“Oh, Gods.” He groaned, almost a whine. “Who taught you this, my sister? Have you engaged in such acts before?”

You quickly backed away, shaking your head with a guilt ridden face. “No, Aegon. I am so very sorry if this was something I was not supposed to do. I promise I have never done this before, I promise. I swea—”

“Hey,” Aegon whispered, caressing your face with his large hand. “I believe you. You see I do not wish for you to get involved like this with someone else. It is only right if you do it with me, and Aemond.”

You nodded your head understandingly. “I would love for you to continue, my little dove but right now I need something more. Could you give it to me, my sweet girl?”

“Yes, brother. Anything my King wants.” You smiled, lips shimmering with his residual and Aegon’s cock twitched.

He pulled you on his lap once more, hands on your waist. Then the pair dropped lower to your bare thighs and Aegon bunched up your dress, revealing your unclothed, bare pink cunt. You were never too fond of wearing small clothes under your dresses — summer of Westeros unbearable for a delicate thing like you.

He licked his lips deliciously.

“Just as you touched me, I have the full right to touch you too. You understand?” You nodded like an obedient student, stomach churning in anticipation for your brother's next move.

Aegon pulled you closer rather harshly by your thighs and your shoulders went slumped, feeling his head brush against your pearl. Your eyes widening at the electrifying contact. “I need to do this in order to make my cock fit inside you, so be a good girl and let me, okay?”

“Yes, brother.” You whispered, stomach fluttering in anticipation.

Aegon’s fingers moved to your cunt, running in the center of your soaked folds. He found it amusing how you had no idea of the pleasures taken between a man and a woman yet your body had reacted like this, cunt drenched and wet. He knew your maidenhead was still intact, after all he rarely ever let you be in the presence of someone else.

If Aegon was occupied, it would be Aemond who would linger around you like a new born shadow.

They knew how innocent you were, how fucking naive and monsters lurked in the red keep. You needed their protection more than the people of the realm. Careless they were about the iron throne, Aegon wished to fuck you on it before properly ascending it.

“Oh.” Your eyes slightly rolled back at the way your brother caressed your folds, pinching your pink pearl. “You've got such a beautiful cunt, my sister. I am sure you will put it to good use to make your brothers happy, won't you, little dove?”

Eager you were to please them.

They had brought you everything, anything your heart had ever desired. Allowed you to ride their dragons with them, brought you the most beautiful gifts from the north and drowned you in lannister gold. Both brothers even went as far as getting you jewelry from Dorne since Aemond caught you complimenting a dornish necklace.

Aemon’s thumb prodded at your bud, swirling it around, watching how your face contorted in pleasure. Lids fluttering shut and head thrown back, fingernails digging into your brother's chest. You were a fucking sight, all disheveled. With his other hand, he entered a finger into you and your pleasure-clad face evolved into one of pain.

“Ow,” you complained at the sting of being stretched out. “Aegon, that hurts.”

“I know, my Princess but you mustn't rush. I will bring you pleasure soon, it is a promise.”

You believed him, waiting out the sting as Aegon fully sunk his finger into you. Driving it in and out of you, all the while rubbing your swollen attention seeking bud. Your expressions were the prettiest, the most breathtaking and he questioned himself why did he not do this earlier?

Just what was stopping him back?

He was the fucking King, goddamnit. He could have you whenever he wanted and you would give yourself up to him, everytime. Just like right now how you were serving yourself up to him on a silver platter like those animals during feasts.

“Brother, oh my god. This feels weird, I feel weird.” You whimpered, hips moving on their own accord over your brother's fingers and Aegon licked his lips, furthermore sinking his canines into his lower lip.

Aegon added another without warning and you whined out, a loud one which made him reach over and press his palm over your lips, sealing them shut. “As much as I absolutely adore your sounds, we should not let anyone find out.”

You nodded, and Aegon removed his hand, letting you breathe. You decided to keep it blow but everytime Aegon would move his finger inside you and you would feel it run at your gummy unclaimed walls, little whimpers would escape you. Feeling his fingers curve up and rotate, hitting into a spongy spot of which’s existence you too were unaware of, you cried out.

Aegon smiled.

That was enough preparing.

Aegon pulled out and you gasped when he brought his lips to his mouth, sucking on your sweet arousal.

He wanted to take you on your back but that was how he took his whores. He would never let them sit on top of his thighs and look at him like this — all dolled up yet disheveled. You were his sister, the apple of his fucking eye and Aegon was not going to take you like some whores.

They existed to keep his sick desires for you at bay, but he knew after this, he would not be needing them anymore.

“This is going to hurt, sister but worry not, I assure you I am right here. It shall feel better soon, just like with my fingers.” His comforting words and soft tone helped with your trepidation — allowing your brother to raise your hips and align his cock with your drenched hole.

Aegon allowed you to sink down on him and when his head breached your entrance, a sting worse than before spread like a virus, consuming your whole being. Your eyes welled up with tears and your lips quivered, a brusque tremor awakening in your petite hands. He was quick to come to your rescue, holding both your hands and leading the pair to his nape, making you latch onto him for support.

“Here, hold me. As tight as you can, my little dove and carefully slide down. Be careful and gentle, alright? No rush here.” He continuously comforted, guiding you and you nodded, inhaling a deep and brief breath.

Then you sunk more, his girth expanding your hole. Little movement and reassuring words from your brother helped you take the entirety of his cock and when your ass finally met his thighs, Aegon groaned. You felt his cock twitch inside you and your hold around his nape tightened. The pain was throbbing and hot — consuming your whole being but the fact you were so full with your brother's cock, contempt, you let out a drunk giggle.

Short on breath but still, you smiled at Aegon.

While you two descended deeper into forbidden pleasures, Aemond had gotten free time to come see you.

After intense sword training and back and forth of sharing strategies of the war with Ser Criston Cole, Aemond had found his feet switching route — bringing you to the hallway where your chambers were located. As he walked, with each step, he felt extreme excitement build up in his stomach. Finally having enough time to spare you a visit and get drunk, bask in your presence.

He hoped that Aegon would not be there as he wanted you all to himself, especially for tonight.

Upon opening the door to your chambers, the view before him left him astonished and there were rarely many things that left Aemond Targaryen astonished. He was quick to close the doors, not wishing for anyone to come across the Princess’ bed chambers and witness such sin.

His hands formed into fists — how you sat on top of Aegon, hips oscillating in a sensual manner. Too sensual for someone as innocent as you and he knew Aegon had managed to ruin and defile the only pure thing about house Targaryen. Yet fucking again. You two were so indulged and far gone in your pleasures that Aemond’s presence was barely noticed.

But then Aegon caught his brother's tall figure by the door.

“Oh brother, welcome.” He called out, although it was more of a moan and you turned to look at Aemond.

Your cunt tightened at Aegon when gaze laid over your brother, the one you missed the most since he barely had time to spare. Aegon let out a hoarse chuckle, shaking his head at his brother. “You will not fucking believe it but our sister's cunt became more tight upon seeing you.”

Aemond’s teeth gritted. “Mittys, that is our sister.” (Fool)

“Do not pretend as if you have not wished to do this more than I have.” He voiced it out, hand pressing into your waist. You whimpered as Aegon made you move on his cock and by now the pain had subsided, pleasure coming in to take control. You began to roll your hips over his thighs, eyes locked with Aemond.

You needed him too, your eyes screamed for him to come closer and as if you had telepathically communicated, Aemond sauntered towards the bed.

You whined when Aegon pushed his hips up, breaching furthermore of your cunt. “Aemond.”

Aegon was inside you but you were moaning for Aemond and the older brother did not even find it upsetting. Rather his cock hardened even more — if possible, hearing you whine and ache for your younger brother with such need. He did not mind sharing you with Aemond, as long as he could have his fill of you too.

“A-Aegon said I could make you both happier like this. I want to, I love you. You're my brothers.” You expressed your profound love for them, nodding your head as Aemond slipped of his leather gloves. He tossed them aside and reached for your hair, taking a strand and curling it around his finger. His nose catching a whiff of the perfumes and oils you were basking in, yet the natural scent of roses was enough to drive him fucking crazy.

He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your bare shoulder. Eye following the stretch mark trailing down to your breasts and the stretched flesh made him realize that you had grown. You were not a little girl anymore but you were still their little sister. Your rosy nipples were peaked — demanding attention and Aemond hissed.

His own cock bulging against his leather slacks and Aegon saw it.

Aegon moved inside you, thrusting up and you lost composure. Lips breaking apart to let out the most feminine sounds, silver strands glued on a perspired forehead as Aemond watched you bounce on his brother's cock with vigor. Your fingernails had dug into Aegon’s nape and tears sat beautifully like pearls in your waterline.

It was evident that you were sensitive, nothing like the common whores.

“Does she not look fucking beautiful, bouncing on her big brother's cock like that?”

Aemond wanted to punch Aegon but he was not wrong. You did look celestial, out of this world with how you bounced up and down on his cock, trying to desperately please him.

Aegon rolled his eyes at Aemond. “Are you only going to just watch? I have taught her things, with her hand and mouth. Be a dear and show him, sister.”

Like a trained puppy, you were quick to oblige, hands extended to work gracefully over Aemond’s leather slacks. You undid them, pulling at the leather and he watched how eager and desperate you were. Hands moving with a significant tremor.

“Aemond,” he raised his eye from your hands to your face. “may I please have you in my mouth?”

If the offer had crawled to him on its fucking fours with the most precious doe eyes, who was he to deny? He, too was a man at the end and had perpetually craved you the same as Aegon. Only he was subtle with his desires.

“Yes, my sweet sister.” Aemond whispered, staring at you. His consent made you flourish like the moonlight, bright and glowing right in his face.

Aegon decided it would be better to switch positions and he pulled out, bringing you on all your fours and giving space to Aemond against the bed headboard. He shifted, sprawled out before you, leather slacks and small clothes long gone. In the process, Aegon had stripped himself bare too but the brothers wanted you to not remove the dress.

Just how easily they had access to you despite the dress, it enticed them.

With Aemond’s cock in your hand, you came to a conclusion that his was the prettiest. It was longer than Aegon’s but had almost the same girth. Protruding veins embedded inside the pale skin, his balls hot and throbbing with an ache. You looked up at him and smiled and all Aemond could do was return it and fucking melt.

“Aemond, remove your eye patch. I want to see you whole.” You voiced out your desires and he reached for the eye patch, sliding it off and tossing it aside. The sapphire sparkled like crazy in his eye and you had always found it to be the most coolest and breathtaking thing about Aemond.

Having less of a part than the others did not make him less human too.

Though he appeared more like a god. The fire from the fireplace casting a soft golden glow over both brothers, leaving them heated with pent up desires.

Aegon had already pummeled his cock back into you, not after witnessing the blood staining his length. Testament of your chasity staining him fully and his wanton for you only grew more. You pressed a little kiss to Aemond’s tip — watching him with your deer like purple eyes and he hissed, hand moving to interview with your silver strands.

Eventually you wrapped your lips around his head, slowly taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth while using your hand to stroke the rest which failed to fit. All while Aegon drove himself deeper inside your sweet, innocent cunt, drawing pathetic little whines out of you.

Aemond groaned, fingers tightening around your roots when the vibrations from your moans sent waves of electricity straight into his loins. You choked when he breached your throat, sputtering around him. Drool and cum glistening around your mouth. Your younger brother sighed pleasure, primary focus of his one eye.

“Messy little girl,” he taunted, the fluids dripping from your chin.

Aegon nestled his cock over and over into your sweet spot, urging you to reach your peak and unravel. “L-Look at her. So fucking obedient and pliant. I want to watch her stomach swell up with my babe. That way mother won't try to marry her off to someone else, some fucking riverrun lord.”

Aemond’s attention snapped to his brother's words, and Aegon only nodded. Letting him know that they were close to losing their sister but not anymore. The sweet dove was tainted, used and claimed. Even if their mother tried to marry her off, she was already tainted by her brothers and no lord would want her. That pleased both Aemond and Aegon.

“Gods, what a blessing you are.” Aemond praised you, highly, palm pressing deeper on your head, encouraging you to take him deeper and you did. His head sliding into the confines of your tight, wet throat. “Perfect little girl, a cocksleeve.”

With each thrust from Aegon, your body moved forward against Aemond’s. A sweaty mess of pleasure and bodied you three were but that did not matter. Aegon felt his peak near, tethering onto it and soon he finished inside you after delivering harsh, potent stutters of hips into you. Your cunt tightened, sucking him in, like a vice.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned. “Like that, little dove, take me in, all of me. Milk me fucking dry, let me breed you so you carry my silver haired children.”

Aemond didn't mind his brother having you first and defiling you, since he pretty sure had your throat first. You were theirs and that's all that mattered. Gagging sounds reverberated in the room along with strong sounds of skin slapping against skin. Your peak danced around too, and when Aemond fucked his cock harshly into your throat, you squeezed around Aegon’s cock and came all over. Tears splurging out, making a mess on your face.

Your whole body twitching from the intense climax. Thighs shaking and sensitivity heightened. Followed by your release, Aemond pursued. Release spurts of white into your mouth, spending fully inside you. Yet he did not unhand you, holding your head in place to fuck his hot load into your mouth.

Once he was done, he pulled out and grasped your chin, peeking inside. “Swallow it whole, Princess.”

And you did. Gulping down the remnants of his spend.

Your head, tired from being in one position, laid right on Aemond’s bare thigh. Aegon was still inside you and when he pulled out, he saw your gaping hole spurt out his white residual. Parts that failed to reach your womb but it did not matter. He would breed you over and over again until you were to end up with his child.

Or Aemond’s.

As long as it was a silver haired babe.

“A-Are you happy now?” You asked, a question for both of your brothers and Aemond nodded his head, running his slim fingers in your hair.

Aegon crawled upto you, laying next to Aemond. A subtle smile playing at his lips, eyes hooded and body weary from all the hard work. “Very happy, little dove. We could not have asked for a better sister.”

Your pale flushed skin reddened as Aemond moved you, bringing you closer to his chest and wrapping his arms around you. Aegon admired the two of you, pleased with the fucked up dynamics of his family. This was a pleasure he could not have found or ever would find in the bed of a whore. You were the apple of their eye and they could not let you go, even if it meant restoring to such methods.

Your hands cupped your younger brother's face, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

Aemond had expected it to be a gentle peck but it grew needy and hasty, exactly how Aegon had taught you. Your lips suckling on his like a babe, trying to pry his mouth open and meet your tongue with his. You seemed addicted, desperate to kiss your younger brother the same way you had kissed your older. The kiss grew heated as Aemond opened his lips, finally taking control and dominating your mouth.

You whimpered, and Aemond could taste the residual of his orgasm. It did not phase him as he continued relishing in the sweet kiss, feeling your cunt beginning to rut against his already hardening cock.

When you broke the kiss, Aemond admired you before shifting his attention to Aegon who had a nasty grin on his face. “You're responsible for this.”

“Proudly. Only had to teach her once and look at how she's already sucking on your lips like it's a fucking cock.” He cheered, reaching over to pinch your cheeks. You giggled and hugged your younger brother, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

The three of you did not leave your chambers that night while the whole of red keep searched endlessly for the sword, the King and the maiden.

[floatyflowers]

Dark!House of The Dragon Men x Reader

You tried to balance your relationship with the greens and blacks despite being Rhaenyra's daughter.

And it worked.

With Aegon II Targaryen

Both of you are close in age, as you are older then Jace.

Aegon found himself falling for you, due to many factors, not only because you are beautiful.

You are kind, intelligent, and most importantly YOU LISTEN to him.

Both of you spend too much time together with or without your mothers knowledge.

The only time he stood up to his mother is when she spoke about you in a horrid manner, calling you a bastard.

"If you dare speak about her like that ever again, I will go and inform father!"

He later on becomes your betrothed by Viserys' order to unite the house.

With Aemond Targaryen

You never mocked him like his brother and your siblings.

In fact, you became his friend and shared his interest in reading books.

The only one in house Targaryen that he felt connected to is you.

Sometimes you would sneak into his chamber in the middle of the night though the hidden passages to just chat.

So, it's hard for your Targaryen uncle not to fall for you, he even looked past your legitimacy.

You literally stood by his side when Luke took his eye and comforted him.

But hearing your engagement to his older brother made his blood boil, and he took an oath to steal you away.

Especially after claiming Vhagar, he realized he now has the ability to burn down anyone who he finds as a threat to his affection towards you.

"Don't worry, I will protect you, dear niece"

With Jacearys Velaryon

He respects and loves you dearly, you are his role model.

That is why he started to bully Aemond when he saw you pay attention to the silver haired Targaryen more than him.

When puberty hit him, he began to slowly develop feelings for you.

And what increased those feelings is that he heard his mother mention something about marrying you to him.

But all his dreams came crashing down when Viserys' announced that you would wed Aegon.

And when you actually did marry Aegon, and after years where Viserys' held a feast, Jace tried to convince you to return to Dragonstone with him.

The night he got in a fight with Aegon he let out all his fury, even if he promised to behave.

"Annual your marriage to him and marry me instead"

With Ser Criston Cole (Platonic)

He is your biological father.

And he knows that, so unlike his bad treatment towards your mother and siblings, he treated you kindly.

At the age of ten he revealed to you that he is your real father.

At first you didn't believe him, but as you grew older you did begin to realize the truth.

Instead of avoiding him, you decided to be friendly and call him 'father' when you both are alone.

One time, one of the servants accidentally spilled soup on you.

The next day that servant was found dead.

"I'm your father before being the Queen's sworn sword"

With Gwayne Hightower

He flirted with you before your wedding not realizing that you are his nephew's bride.

Gwayne hates Rhaenyra, but the thought of you being her daughter left him in disbelief.

You are nothing like your mother.

Everything about you scream honor, virtue and kindness.

Gwayne even tried to convince you to runaway before it's too late.

"You still have time to not marry Aegon"

Indeed, it's awful to say that about his nephew.

But he cares about your well-being more than Aegon's happiness.

And it really shows during the war.

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 3

Summary: after that night, no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no one believes you. You're done. You want to quit being his therapist but you still haven't seen the worst part...

Warning: paranoia, abuse, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

It had been days since that night—days since the dead doves, the blood on the walls, the police visit to the Targaryen home. Days since Y/N last felt normal.

Now, the walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the light of day. The once-cozy space was now a prison, suffocating her with silence, except for the incessant scratching at the back of her mind. The feeling of being watched, of not being alone. Every creak, every whisper of wind against the windows made her jump.

She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Her body felt weak, and her mind was clouded in a haze of paranoia. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale and blotchy. Dark circles framed her eyes—eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the room, always expecting him. Expecting Aegon to appear from the shadows. She had stopped showering, afraid that if she closed her eyes for even a second, he’d be there when she opened them. Her reflection in the mirror was foreign, ghostly, a stranger trapped in a body consumed by terror.

And her boyfriend…he was tired. More than tired. He was done.

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, you have to stop this," he snapped, his voice breaking the silence like glass shattering on the floor. He stood in the kitchen, staring at her with a mix of frustration and pity, while she sat at the edge of the couch, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"You don’t believe me. You never believe me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from days of crying, of pleading. "I saw him. It was him. I know it was him." Her eyes were wild, flicking toward the corners of the room as though Aegon might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

Jacob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we've been over this a thousand times. The cops checked him out. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he did anything. No evidence, no signs, nothing. He’s just some guy going through a rough time, and you're his therapist. You’ve taken this too far."

She flinched at his words, the sting of them sinking into her chest. "No…you don’t get it. You don’t see him like I do. He’s dangerous. I’m not safe. He knows where I live. He wants me." Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word a desperate plea for him to understand.

But he didn’t. He was tired of this, of her, of everything.

"You're obsessed, Y/N. Obsessed with this guy. You spend all your time thinking about him, talking about him, dreaming up this whole fucking scenario in your head like you're the main character of some horror movie. But this isn't a movie—this is real life, and you're making shit up!" His voice grew louder, angrier with every word, his patience long gone.

Y/N shook her head, her body trembling. "I'm not making it up. You have to believe me—please. I’m not crazy. I’m not—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration. "You’re fucking crazy, Y/N! Years of being a therapist have finally caught up with you. You’ve absorbed all the bullshit from your patients, and now you’re projecting it onto this guy. Aegon didn’t do anything to you—he’s just some poor bastard who had the misfortune of being assigned to you."

Her stomach lurched at his words. The pain of his accusation was worse than anything she’d felt before. It was like a knife twisting inside her, carving out the last remnants of hope she’d clung to. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice broken, fragile. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

Jacob slammed his hand on the counter, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Then why are you acting like it? Why can’t you just let this go? You're ruining your life—our life—because you’re so fixated on this guy. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep, you’re a fucking mess, Y/N! I can't keep doing this! Every time I try to help you, you just spiral deeper into this delusion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely felt them. "I’m not delusional," she repeated, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

"Yes, you are!" He shouted, stepping closer, his face red with anger. "You’re making this shit up because you’re obsessed with him. Admit it! You’re obsessed with Aegon. You’ve let him get into your head, and now you’re the one who’s losing it."

"No!" she cried, her voice raw. "I’m not obsessed with him! I don’t care about him like that! I’m scared—he’s going to hurt me! I know he is!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, give me a break. You’ve been so wrapped up in this guy, you probably want him to do something, just so you can play the victim. Just so you can have some sick thrill of being the center of his attention. It’s pathetic, Y/N."

His words felt like a slap in the face, each one tearing at her like claws. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe that this was happening—that he was saying these things to her. The one person who was supposed to protect her, to believe her, had turned against her.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "I can’t keep pretending that you're okay, because you're not. You need help. Professional help. Maybe you should check yourself into a fucking psych ward, because right now, you’re acting like a fucking lunatic."

Her breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to spin around her, her vision blurring with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you say that to me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the conversation. "Because it's the truth. And deep down, you know it. You're spiraling, Y/N. And I’m not going to stand here and let you drag me down with you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. She felt as though the world had collapsed around her, the last piece of her sanity slipping away.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’m crazy…then just go. Leave me."

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger still simmering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

And for the first time in days, the silence felt more dangerous than ever.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights. She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days, and each missed call had sent her deeper into a pit of despair. But today was different. Today was the day she would finally face Aegon.

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair, her fingers trembling with every stroke. Her reflection looked haggard—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale and sickly. She barely recognized herself, but she needed to pull it together. She had to pull it together.

"He’s just a man," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "Just a man… I’m in control. I have to be in control. I can’t let him win."

Her eyes flickered toward the closet. She needed to choose something to wear, something that made her feel strong, confident. Something that would hide how utterly broken she felt inside.

She reached for a black turtleneck, one of the few pieces of clothing that didn’t feel too vulnerable, too exposed. The fabric clung to her body in a way that was both comforting and suffocating, but she convinced herself it was armor. Something to shield her from the weight of Aegon’s gaze. She paired it with dark jeans and boots, feeling the weight of each step as she slipped them on.

"It’s just another session," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I’m going to confront him. I’m going to tell him it’s over. He can’t do this to me anymore."

She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of the person she used to be. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You're not crazy," she told herself, her voice stronger this time. "He’s messing with you, but you can stop this. You can end this. Just get through today, and then you’re done. You’ll quit. You’ll never have to see him again."

Her heart raced at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but she forced herself to breathe.

"In and out," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Just…in and out. You can do this. You have to do this."

She tried to picture how it would go. She’d walk into the room, sit across from him like she always did, but this time, she wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t let his twisted words sink into her skin like poison.

"I’m the therapist," she reminded herself, pacing back and forth now, her boots tapping against the hardwood floor. "I’m the one in control. He’s just a patient. He’s just…" She trailed off, the image of Aegon’s wide eyes and the way he had silently told her to shut up flashing in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. "No, no… Don’t think about that. You’re stronger than this. You’re not scared of him. You can quit. You can walk away."

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She stared at them, willing them to be steady. "Breathe," she muttered, forcing another deep breath into her lungs. "Just breathe."

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, the weight grounding her for a moment. "You’ve got this," she whispered one last time, trying to convince herself.

But as she headed for the door, the creeping sense of dread wrapped around her, cold and suffocating.

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the door, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the knot of anger in her chest only grew tighter. She gripped the edge of her desk, her fingers turning white. She was done with Aegon. Done with his games, his manipulations, his stalking. Today, she was ready to confront him—she was ready to make him understand that she wasn’t going to be his victim anymore.

The memory of the dead doves, the blood, still haunted her. Every night, she barely slept, feeling like his eyes were on her, even when she knew she was alone. And yet, despite all of it, he had gotten away with it. He had made her look crazy, gaslighted her in front of the police and her boyfriend, made her question her own reality. But not anymore. Today, she was taking control. Today, she would end it.

Her jaw clenched as she imagined him walking through the door, with that smug, twisted grin. Her mind raced with the confrontation she had been playing over and over in her head. She would scream at him, shout at him until he admitted what he had done. Until he finally stopped pretending to be some innocent victim.

The minutes dragged on, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the clock. And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Aegon stepped in, but something was different. He wasn’t the man she was used to seeing—there was no smirk, no defiance. He looked… broken. Shattered.

Her eyes widened in shock. His face was a mess of bruises, swollen and discolored, with dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, stained with dirt and blood. He walked with a limp, his steps small and hesitant, like every movement hurt him. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him, shaking as they fidgeted against each other. He kept his head down, glancing around the room like a trapped animal, flinching at every noise, every movement.

Y/N blinked, completely taken aback. This wasn’t the Aegon she knew—the arrogant, unhinged man who had stalked her, terrorized her. No, this was something else, something… disturbing. He looked like someone who had been run over, like life had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he stood there, fearful and fragile.

For a split second, she felt something almost like pity creep into her chest. But then she remembered who he was. What he had done. And the anger surged back to the forefront.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, eyes darting around, avoiding her gaze. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

She slammed her hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Aegon!" she snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing now?"

At the sound of her raised voice, Aegon jumped, visibly flinching. His body curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his shoulders hunching as his knees gave way. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a scared child.

Y/N’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion and a creeping sense of dread. "Aegon, what the hell is going on?" she asked again, but this time her voice was quieter, uncertain.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he started muttering under his breath, his voice shaky and broken. "What’s the matter?" he whispered, his words barely audible. "What’s the matter, Aegon?"

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to… himself? His voice trembled as he repeated the words, like a broken record. "What’s the matter, Aegon? No. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here. Come on. What’s the matter?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist as the phrases spilled out of his mouth over and over again, each repetition more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t Aegon’s voice. It was someone else’s, echoing through his broken mind.

She watched in horror as he hugged his knees tighter, his entire body trembling. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Aegon. See? That wasn’t bad," he whispered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "That wasn’t bad. That wasn’t bad."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some act, some manipulation. Aegon had been abused—horribly, painfully, to the point where his mind had fractured. And now, as he sat on the floor, shaking and crying, he was reliving it. Over and over again.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him like this. She had never imagined this side of him—the scared, broken side. The side that had been hurt so deeply that he could only repeat the words of his abuser like a mantra.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Part of her still hated him—still wanted to scream at him, to blame him for everything. But another part of her… felt something else. Something terrifying and sad.

She knelt down beside him, her voice soft and hesitant. "Aegon…"

He didn’t respond, just kept rocking back and forth, his tears falling faster now.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "See? That wasn’t bad."

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Aegon," she said softly, "I’m not going to hurt you either. It’s okay."

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too far gone, lost in whatever memory had taken over his mind. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide and terrified, as if he were seeing something she couldn’t.

She reached out slowly, carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, his whole body recoiling, but she didn’t pull away.

"Aegon," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady. "It’s okay. You’re safe here."

But he wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with whatever had broken him, not with the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Come here. Come on, what’s the matter, Aegon? No, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever had done this to him—whoever had hurt him—had left a mark that ran deeper than anything she could understand.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t dealing with just a stalker or a psychopath. Aegon was something much darker, much more broken than she had ever imagined.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the fear out of her voice. "Aegon," she said quietly, "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid."

But as his sobs grew louder, as he curled tighter into himself, Y/N knew that nothing she said could reach him.

The real Aegon—the one who had tormented her, who had done horrible things—was still there, somewhere. But so was this… this terrified boy, trapped in his own mind.

And she didn’t know which one scared her more.

Y/N swallowed down the terror rising in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached out to softly pet Aegon’s head. At first, he flinched, his body jerking away from her touch. But then, as if something clicked in his broken mind, he looked up at her—really looked—and his tear-streaked eyes seemed to recognize her for the first time. His lips trembled as he whispered her name, broken, like a child.

“Y/N…”

Before she could react, he clung to her, his body collapsing into her lap, his head pressed against her chest. He sobbed quietly, his whole body shaking, his hands clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She froze for a moment, completely caught off guard, but then instinct took over, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. His tears soaked through her clothes, and she could feel the tremors in his frail, battered form.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay, Aegon. You’re safe now.”

His sobs eventually began to quiet, his breathing slowing as she rocked him gently, her voice soft in his ear. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long time, they stayed like that—her holding him, him clinging to her like a lifeline. The moments stretched into eternity, and Y/N could feel his grip slowly loosen as the storm inside him settled. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he refused to meet her gaze, his head turning away as he tried to wipe at the tears that continued to fall.

“Aegon…” she began softly, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight, struggling to control the tears still running down his face.

“Aegon, please…” she pressed, her voice gentle but firm. “You have to tell me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but then he muttered something, barely audible. “I… I hate it. When she… when my mother does horrible things to me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. His mother? She had always known that Aegon’s relationship with his family was fraught, but this? There was something darker here, something that had broken him in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s okay,” Aegon continued, his voice shaking. “Because I love her. And that’s what matters, right?”

“No Aegon–”

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N," Aegon said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost childlike. "I was angry that night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched you."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Aegon…"

He turned to her then, his bloodshot eyes wide and full of sincerity. "You can hit me, you know. I won’t stop you. You were so angry, I could see it. You can hit me if it makes you feel better."

Y/N’s blood ran cold. "What? No, Aegon, I’m not—"

"You can," he repeated, almost eagerly. "It’s okay. You’re mad at me. You can hit me." He smiled then, a soft, unnerving smile that made her stomach churn. "I won’t even flinch. I promise."

"Aegon, that’s not—"

“You can beat me if it makes you feel better,” he continued, his voice unnervingly soft, as though he were offering her a gift. “It’s okay. I’ll let you do it. I deserve it, right?”

The pit in Y/N’s stomach twisted. His words, his tone—it was as if he was trying to convince himself, not her. Like he was rationalizing the abuse he had endured.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re like me,” he whispered.

Her body tensed at his words. “What… what do you mean?”

He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, still not fully meeting her eyes. ��Even though your boyfriend hurt you… you still think about him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She felt the fear creeping back in—the terror that had been gnawing at her ever since the day the dead doves appeared at her door. The stalker. The horror. It was all coming back.

Aegon finally looked up at her, his eyes glittering with something dark, something sinister. “You love him… don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the air thick with a suffocating dread.

Aegon’s lips twisted into a smile—that smile. The one she had seen before, the one that sent chills down her spine.

“I hate him,” Aegon said softly, his voice dripping with venom. “I hate the way he treats you. The way he talks to you. Hurts you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse quickening, her mind racing, trying to piece together what he was saying—what he was implying.

“Do you know,” Aegon asked, his tone disturbingly calm, “why he hasn’t answered your calls?”

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days. He had stormed out after their last argument, refusing to answer her desperate calls or texts. She had been terrified, worried sick about him—about what he was thinking, about whether he’d come back. But now, sitting here, listening to Aegon, that fear morphed into something far worse.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Her entire body went cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something inhuman, something evil. He didn’t answer directly—he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her everything.

He leaned back, his voice light and playful now, like they were discussing a joke. “Did you open the gift I left for you?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Gift? What gift? She hadn’t seen anything—hadn’t thought about it. But then, the morning came flooding back to her. The moment she had left the house, her mind too wrapped up in her terror and paranoia to notice anything out of place.

Her blood ran cold as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. The gift. What if it wasn’t just some harmless object? What if it was—

No. No, no, no.

She stood up so fast that she almost tripped, her eyes wide with panic. Aegon was laughing now—a soft, eerie laugh that filled the room, the sound making her skin crawl.

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, his voice mocking. “You really should check your door more carefully in the mornings.”

Her mind was spinning, her heart racing. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here—not with him, not with his laughter ringing in her ears, the sick grin spreading across his bruised face.

She grabbed her keys from the desk, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. Aegon was still sitting there, watching her with that horrifying smile, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“You’ll thank me later,” he called after her as she bolted for the door.

Her mind was screaming, her heart pounding in her chest as she tore through the office, slamming the door behind her. His laughter echoed in her ears, following her down the hallway, filling her with a terror so deep she could barely breathe.

And as she ran, the only thought in her mind was the horrifying possibility of what she would find when she opened that gift.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[misswynters]

Jacaerys Velaryon as your husband: headcanon

[note | might have some sensual undertones as my aemond headcanon. most fluffy just like his hair <3

similar | aemond | aegon | cregan | daeron | gwayne

He always wakes up early and insists on waking you up with a kiss on the forehead, followed by a gentle "Good morning, my love." He believes starting the day together sets the tone for a happy marriage.

He loves spending time with you, whether it’s flying on dragonback, practicing sword fighting, or reading in the library. He finds joy in sharing these moments and often surprises you with new books or small gifts related to your interests.

While he's not the best cook, Jacaerys loves trying out new recipes with you. The kitchen often becomes a place of laughter and fun, with him playfully stealing kisses while you both work on making a meal together.

He is incredibly protective of you. He ensures you are safe and feels secure at all times. His protective nature isn’t overbearing but rather comforting, making you feel cherished and loved.

He is very affectionate, always holding your hand, placing a hand on the small of your back, or brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. He believes in showing his love through small, constant gestures.

He is a great listener. No matter how busy he is, he always makes time to listen to your thoughts, dreams, and worries. He offers advice when needed but knows when to just be there for you.

He loves surprising you with spontaneous dates. Whether it’s a picnic by the sea, a midnight dragon ride, or a quiet evening under the stars, he always finds new ways to keep the romance alive.

He supports your ambitions and dreams wholeheartedly. He encourages you to pursue your passions and stands by you through any challenges, offering his unwavering support and love.

He is devoted to family. He dreams of having children with you and often talks about the future, imagining what your life together will be like. His eyes light up when he speaks about the possibility of a family. (would want 3 kids)

Life with him is never boring. He loves adventure and ensures you both experience the wonders of the world together. From exploring new lands to discovering hidden places, every moment with him is an exciting journey.

He makes it a point to remind you daily how much he loves and appreciates you. Whether it’s through words, actions, or little notes left around the house, he ensures you never forget how cherished you are.

Jace is an avid cuddler. He loves holding you close, especially at night. He believes there’s nothing more comforting than falling asleep in each other’s arms, knowing you are both safe and loved.

He believes in having shared goals and dreams. He often sits with you to discuss your future together, planning and setting goals that both of you can work towards, ensuring your lives are always intertwined.

Jace values emotional intimacy and works hard to maintain a deep connection with you. He is open about his feelings and encourages you to be the same, fostering a relationship built on trust and understanding.

Jace loves celebrating milestones, both big and small. From anniversaries to personal achievements, he ensures every special moment is celebrated, creating beautiful memories together.

Above all, he treats you with kindness and respect. He believes in mutual respect and ensures that your relationship is built on a foundation of love, trust, and understanding.

He takes his time exploring every inch of your body, his touches both tender and deliberate. His hands are gentle but firm, learning your responses and adjusting his movements to bring you the utmost pleasure.

When you both get intimate, he loves to whisper sweet nothings and his deepest desires into your ear. His breath against your skin adds to the sensation, making every word and sigh feel intensely personal and charged.

During your intimate moments, he moves with a rhythmic pace that leaves you begging for more. His movements are in sync with your own, creating a fluid, harmonious experience that makes you feel full.

Taglist: @benjicotblckwood @beebeechaos @spn-obession

banner: @cafekitsune

[novaursa]

The Silent Pyre

- Summary: It was a rainy night when Blood and Cheese came to deliver you your half-sister’s message; a son for a son.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. Aegon and the reader have four children, the oldest son named Aeron, a daughter, Daena, and twin boys, Vaelon and Baelon. These events happen after Twin Fires and before The Fire That Binds Us. For full chronological order of these works visit my blog. The list is pinned on the top. Or, you can read it as a one-shot. Anonymous user inquired about these events, and I've decided to post it and share it with you all, it has been stashed away for too long in my file graveyard.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (no adult content, but there are graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 5 133

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The night is heavy with the scent of rain, the coolness of autumn seeping into the stones of the Red Keep. The fire in Helaena’s chamber casts long shadows across the walls, flickering as the wind howls faintly outside. You stand by the door, the weight of your crown pressing down upon you as you gaze at your younger sister. Her pale hair gleams like moonlight as she kneels by her children’s cradle, whispering a soft lullaby. Her voice is a quiet, fragile thing, a melody that seems almost too delicate for the world that surrounds you both.

“Helaena,” you murmur, stepping closer. She lifts her head, her violet eyes distant and unfocused, as though she is seeing something far beyond the chamber walls.

“Y/N,” she replies, a small, distracted smile gracing her lips. “Goodnight. May the Seven bless your dreams.”

“And yours, sister.” You reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sleep well.”

With one last glance at her serene face, you turn and leave the room, pulling the door shut softly behind you. The corridor outside is eerily silent, the usual clamor of the servants and guards muted, as if the Keep itself holds its breath.

As you walk through the darkened halls, a sense of unease begins to coil in your chest. The silence feels unnatural, like the calm before a storm. The rain patters against the windows, a steady rhythm that should be soothing, but instead heightens your anxiety. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, the chill of the stone floors seeping through your slippers.

Your thoughts drift to Aegon, waiting for you in your shared bedchamber. You picture him sprawled across the large bed, his platinum blond hair tousled, perhaps with a goblet of wine in hand. There is comfort in the thought of him, of the warmth of his body against yours, but it does little to dispel the growing dread that gnaws at your insides.

As you approach the nursery, the unease sharpens into fear. You pause, your hand hovering over the door. The sound of something crashing softly from within reaches your ears—a faint, almost imperceptible noise, but enough to send your heart racing. The shadows behind the door shift, moving in ways that shadows should not.

You swallow, forcing down the rising panic. Your children are in there, your precious sons and daughter. Steeling yourself, you push the door open slowly, trying to remain as silent as possible.

The scene before you is one pulled from the darkest of nightmares. The warm, cozy nursery is cast in a pall of terror. Your eyes first find your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, bound and gagged on the floor, her eyes wide with a terror that you have never seen before. She struggles against her bindings, her muffled cries like the wail of a ghost in the suffocating silence.

But it is the two men in the center of the room who capture your attention—the one holding your eldest son, Aeron, in his arms, a cruel knife pressed to his throat, while the other stands nearby, his presence looming and sinister. Your son is awake, tears streaking down his face, his small body trembling in fear.

“Do not scream,” the man holding your son whispers, his voice low and threatening. “Or the boy dies.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a wave of nausea rising within you as the reality of the situation crashes down. You force yourself to remain calm, to not give in to the terror clawing at your heart.

“What do you want?” you manage to say, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

“Vengeance,” the other man—Cheese, they will call him, from his size and the rat-like cunning in his eyes—replies coldly. “For son's blood has been spilled. Now, it is your blood that must pay.”

You take a step forward, and the knife digs deeper into Aeron’s tender skin, a small whimper escaping his lips. Your entire body tenses, every instinct screaming at you to protect your child, but you are powerless, bound by the threat that hangs over him like a blade.

“Let my son go,” you plead, your voice cracking. “Please. He is but a child.”

Cheese’s grin is twisted, devoid of mercy. “A choice, Your Grace. You must choose one of your sons. Two to live, and one to die.”

The words hit you like a blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the world spinning as the horror of what they ask becomes clear. They want you to condemn one of your children to death. To choose between your sons.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I cannot.”

“You must,” the man holding Aeron insists, his voice a menacing growl. “Or we kill them all three.”

You look between your sons, your heart shattering into pieces. Aeron, your eldest, so brave despite his fear, his wide eyes pleading silently for you to save him. And twin boys, Vaelon and Baelon, still asleep in their cribs, blissfully unaware of the nightmare unfolding around them.

Tears blur your vision, the anguish of the choice tearing at your soul. You cannot do this. You cannot be the one to decide who lives and who dies. But their lives, three of them, hang in the balance, and the choice is yours to make.

“Please,” you beg once more, though you know it is futile. “Do not make me choose.”

Cheese steps closer, his breath foul as he leans in. “Choose, Queen Y/N. Or your precious children will all die, and it will be on your head.”

The weight of your crown feels like a curse as you stand there, trembling, the choice before you too terrible to comprehend. Your hands are shaking, your heart breaking, as the words begin to form on your lips, but they can't leave them.

The world narrows to the unbearable choice before you, every second stretching into an eternity. You stand frozen, the screams of your heart drowned out by the silence that has gripped your throat. Aeron, your firstborn, stares at you with wide, tear-filled eyes, pleading for a salvation you know you cannot grant him. And there, in their cribs, laid Vaelon and Baelon, so small, so unaware, their chest rising and falling peacefully with each breath.

It is the smaller and younger twin’s innocence, his lack of awareness, that seals your fate. If he must die, let it be without knowing fear. Let him slip from this world in the safety of his dreams.

Your decision comes not from cruelty, but from a twisted, desperate kind of mercy.

“Vaelon,” you whisper, your voice a broken thing. “Take him.”

The words taste like ash on your tongue, a confession of the darkest sin. The man holding Aeron grins, his eyes alight with a sadistic satisfaction. But even as the choice leaves your lips, a cold realization claws at the back of your mind—this was never meant to end well. They were never going to let Aeron live.

You see it happen almost in slow motion, the knife glinting in the dim light as it draws across your eldest son’s throat. The sound that escapes him is a choked gasp, eyes widening in pain and betrayal as the blood wells and spills down his neck.

“No!” The word tears from your throat as you lunge forward, but it is too late. The man has already sliced deeper, crimson blooming like a terrible flower. Yet, Aeron is not yet gone. The blade catches as the man’s hand slips, and in that moment of weakness, Alicent—your mother—finds her strength.

With a fury you have never seen, she throws herself against the man holding Aeron, her bound body knocking him off balance. He stumbles, the knife digging deeper but freeing your son from his grasp. Aeron falls to the floor, clutching at his bleeding throat, his small hands stained red.

A scream of pure, primal rage rips from your chest as you hurl yourself at the man, the world around you narrowing to a singular purpose: kill him. You grab for the knife, your hands slick with Aeron’s blood, and wrest it from his grasp. The man struggles against you, but your desperation lends you strength. With a wild, desperate thrust, you drive the blade into his side, feeling the give of flesh and bone as it sinks in.

He gasps, a wet, gurgling sound, eyes wide in shock as he stumbles backward, clutching at the wound. You pull the knife free and stab again, and again, each strike fueled by the agony that has consumed you. Blood splatters across your face, warm and sickening, but you do not stop until he falls, lifeless, to the floor.

In the chaos, you do not notice Cheese until it is too late. He has turned his attention to one of the twins, to Vaelon, your youngest, the one you had chosen to condemn. As your daughter, Daena, screams—a piercing, heart-rending sound that echoes through the nursery—Cheese moves swiftly, seizing the smaller boy from his crib.

“No! Please!” you cry out, scrambling to your feet, but your voice is drowned by the sheer panic that has overtaken you. You are too far, too slow. Vaelon’s eyes flutter open, confusion and fear flickering across his tiny face as the knife flashes once more.

And then it is done. The light fades from Vaelon’s eyes as his small body crumples to the floor, lifeless. 

A silence falls over the room, broken only by the sound of your daughter’s sobs, Baelon’s baby gurglings and the ragged breaths of Alicent, who is desperately pressing her hands against Aeron’s wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Aeron!” You rush to him, dropping to your knees beside him. His eyes are glazed with pain, his breathing shallow and labored. The wound is deep, but he is alive, clinging to life by the barest thread.

Cheese is panicking now, his eyes darting around the room as if realizing for the first time the gravity of what they have done. The plan, whatever it was, has gone horribly wrong. He looks at the bodies—the man you killed, Vaelon’s small, lifeless form—and he falters, unsure of his next move.

“You will die for this,” you hiss, every word trembling with a deadly promise. “You will not leave this room alive.”

Cheese takes a step back, fear flashing in his eyes, but before he can act, you move. Fueled by a mother’s wrath and the madness of grief, you surge forward, the bloodied knife still clutched in your hand. He tries to fend you off, but he is no match for the fury that drives you. With a wild, savage strike, you plunge the knife into his chest.

He gasps, a final breath escaping his lips as his eyes go wide, then glassy. He collapses to the floor, joining his fallen companion in death.

You stand there, panting, covered in the blood of your children’s murderers, and of your children themselves. Your hands shake as you drop the knife, the sound of it clattering to the floor barely registering in your mind.

“Y/N,” Alicent calls out, her voice trembling. “Aeron needs you.”

You blink, the fog of rage lifting just enough for you to focus on your son. You drop to your knees beside him, your hands finding his, trying to staunch the flow of blood with trembling fingers.

“Stay with me, my love,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Stay with me. Please.”

Alicent is beside you, pressing her hands down on the wound with all her might. “He’s strong,” she says, though her voice wavers. “He will survive this.”

You nod, though your heart is breaking. You dare not look at Vaelon’s still form, his twin, Baelon, now wide awake in his crib, or at your daughter, Daena, who is now curled into a ball in the corner, sobbing for her brothers. You can only focus on Aeron, on keeping him alive, as the horror of what has happened sinks into your soul.

The night is no longer just cold and rainy; it has become a night of death and despair, one that will haunt you until your last breath. But you will not let it claim Aeron. Not him, too.

And as the dawn begins to break, casting pale light over the carnage, you hold your son close, praying to the Seven to spare him. To spare at least one of your children, as the taste of your own choice, the bitterness of it, poisons your every breath.

Aegon sits in the dim light of your shared bedchamber, his goblet of wine resting lazily in his hand. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls, but the warmth it offers does little to chase away the chill of the autumn night. He sighs, his thoughts drifting to you, knowing that you will join him soon. The bond you share, forged not only by blood but by a deep, consuming love, is one that neither of you can escape, nor would you wish to. Sleep eludes him without you by his side, as it always has since you were children. 

He takes another sip of the wine, waiting for the familiar sound of your footsteps approaching. The thought of the night ahead, of holding you close, offers a comfort that softens the weariness in his bones.

But then, a scream pierces the stillness of the night—a scream that he recognizes instantly as belonging to your daughter. It is followed by your voice, raw with anguish, echoing down the corridors.

The goblet slips from his hand, clattering to the floor as he leaps to his feet. The wine spills across the stone, forgotten as dread seizes him. He knows something is terribly wrong. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushes to the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Your Grace!” one of the Kingsguard calls as they fall into step behind him, but Aegon doesn’t respond. The only thought in his mind is to reach you, to reach his children.

He tears down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone, until he reaches the nursery. The door is ajar, shadows flickering ominously in the light from the hallway. The scent of copper fills his nostrils before he even crosses the threshold, a scent that chills him to the core.

He bursts into the room, but in his haste, he doesn’t notice the slickness beneath his feet until it’s too late. His foot slips on the blood that pools on the floor, and he stumbles, barely catching himself on the doorframe before he can fall.

For a moment, everything seems to slow. He looks down at the blood smeared across the floor, the vivid red of it stark against the stone. And then he sees the scene before him, a tableau of horror that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Two men lie dead on the floor, their bodies twisted in death, blood oozing from fatal wounds. But it is not them that hold his attention; it is the small, lifeless form of Vaelon, his infant son, lying not far from them, his throat cruelly slit. Aegon’s heart seizes, his vision blurring with tears that he fights to hold back.

“No… no, no…” The words are barely a whisper as he staggers forward, his mind unable to fully comprehend the sight before him.

But there is more—your mother, Alicent, is on the floor, her hands pressed desperately against Aeron’s throat, trying to stem the flow of blood. And there you are, kneeling beside your eldest son, your hands covered in blood, your face a mask of desperation and despair as you try to keep him alive.

“Y/N!” Aegon chokes out your name as he rushes to you, his voice filled with fear and anguish. “What… what happened?”

You look up at him, your eyes red and swollen from crying, and the sight of you breaks something deep within him. “Aegon… they… they killed Vaelon,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “They tried to kill Aeron… we… I couldn’t stop them…”

Aegon falls to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uselessly over Aeron, unsure of what to do. He can see the life fading from his eldest son’s eyes, the pale skin, the way his breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. Aegon feels a crushing sense of helplessness, something he has never experienced with such intensity before.

“Aeron, my boy… stay with us,” Aegon pleads, his voice thick with emotion as he brushes a trembling hand over Aeron’s hair. “Stay with us, please…”

Alicent looks up at her son, her own eyes filled with tears, though she fights to keep them at bay. “We need to stop the bleeding, Aegon. If we don’t… if we don’t…”

“I know,” Aegon says, though his voice is strangled. He tears a strip of cloth from his sleeve, pressing it to Aeron’s wound with a firm but gentle hand. “Stay with me, Aeron. You’re strong. You can fight this.”

But even as he says the words, he feels the cold dread settle in his chest, knowing that the wound is too deep, that his son’s life is slipping away with every passing moment. 

You lean into Aegon, your body shaking with sobs as you press your bloodstained hands over his, trying to help, trying to do something—anything—to save your child. But the blood keeps coming, seeping through your fingers, staining the floor beneath you.

“Please… please…” you whisper, over and over, your voice breaking with each word. “Don’t take him from us…”

Aegon pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you even as he continues to press down on Aeron’s wound. He can feel your pain, your sorrow, as if it were his own, and in that moment, he knows that this night will haunt both of you for the rest of your lives.

The Kingsguard finally arrive, swords drawn, their faces pale as they take in the scene before them. But there is nothing they can do; the threat is already gone, the deed already done. All they can do is stand there, silent and grim, as the horror of what has happened sinks in.

“Get a maester!” Aegon commands, his voice rising with desperate urgency. “Now!”

One of the guards rushes off without a word, the others standing watch as if expecting another attack, though it is clear that the danger has passed. Aegon looks down at Aeron, his heart breaking as he watches the light in his son’s eyes flicker and fade.

“Stay with us, Aeron,” he whispers again, but the words sound hollow, empty, even to his own ears.

Alicent, her hands still pressed against the wound, glances at you, her eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it seems to swallow the room whole. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice thick with grief, “he’s… he’s still fighting. But we need to prepare ourselves… we need to…”

“No!” You cry out, shaking your head violently. “No, he’s going to survive. He has to. He’s strong. Please, Aegon, tell her… tell her he’s going to survive.”

Aegon swallows hard, trying to keep the tears at bay as he looks at you, seeing the hope in your eyes, fragile and desperate. “He’s strong,” he agrees, his voice trembling. “He’s a dragon. He’ll survive this.”

But even as he says the words, he knows that they are more for your sake than for his own. He knows the truth, as much as he hates it, as much as it tears at his very soul.

And then, as if in response to your pleas, Aeron’s breathing hitches, a faint, ragged sound that sends a jolt of hope through your heart. But Aegon sees the truth in the way his son’s eyes begin to flutter shut, the way his small body goes limp beneath your hands.

“No, no, stay with us, please…” you sob, your voice breaking completely as you try to shake him awake, as if you can keep him from slipping away just by sheer will alone.

Aegon pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him, his own tears falling freely now. “Y/N… he’s…”

But before he can finish, the maester arrives, pushing his way into the room with a satchel of supplies. He takes one look at Aeron and immediately sets to work, but Aegon can see it in his eyes—the resignation, the grim acceptance of what is to come.

Aegon watches as the maester tries to stem the bleeding, his hands moving quickly, efficiently, but it is clear that he is fighting a losing battle. You cling to Aegon, your tears soaking into his tunic as you watch, your breath catching in your throat every time Aeron’s breathing falters.

Minutes pass, each one stretching into an eternity, until finally, Orwyle pulls back, his face pale and drawn. He looks up at Aegon, then at you, and shakes his head, his expression filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he says quietly. “There’s… there’s nothing more I can do.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you cry out, your hands trembling as you reach for Aeron, as if you can somehow pull him back from the brink.

“No… no, please, no…” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you cradle your son’s head in your lap, your fingers brushing through his hair.

Aegon feels his heart shatter completely as he watches you, as he sees the light finally fade from Aeron’s eyes, his small body going still in your arms. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but hold you as you break down completely.

The days following the brutal attack on your family pass in a haze of grief and despair. The Red Keep is draped in a suffocating silence, its once lively halls now cold and empty, as though the life has been drained from its very walls. The horror of that night lingers in every corner, every shadow, a constant reminder of the blood that was spilled and the lives that were lost.

Your remaining children, Daena and Baelon, are kept under the strictest watch by the Kingsguard. No less than two knights are stationed outside their chambers at all times, and they are never left alone, not even for a moment. The memory of what happened to their brothers hangs over the nursery like a dark cloud, and every sound, every creak of the floorboards, sends a fresh wave of terror through the household.

But it is you, their mother, who is most affected. The grief has hollowed you out, leaving you a mere shadow of the woman you once were. You spend your days in a state of numbness, your heart shattered beyond repair. Nothing and no one can console you, not even Aegon, who tries desperately to reach you, to bring you back from the edge of the abyss into which you have fallen. But his attempts are in vain. You are inconsolable, broken beyond words.

Aegon himself is a man consumed by fury. The fire of his rage burns hotter with each passing day, fueled by the sheer injustice of what has happened. He holds a small council meeting in the dead of night, summoning only those he trusts—or at least, those whose loyalties he can control.

In the dimly lit council chamber, Aegon sits at the head of the table, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are white. His eyes are bloodshot, his face drawn and pale from lack of sleep. The tension in the room is palpable, every man present feeling the weight of the King’s anger pressing down on them like a physical force.

Around the table sit Otto Hightower, his face a mask of stern concern; Ser Criston Cole, his expression grim and unyielding; Lord Larys Strong, who watches the proceedings with his usual calculating gaze; Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, his fingers tapping nervously on the table; Lord Tayland Lannister, the Master of Ships, who remains unusually quiet; and Grand Maester Orwyle, who sits with his hands folded, his eyes downcast.

Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, a low, seething growl that sends a shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. “How did this happen?” he demands, his eyes blazing with fury as he looks from one man to the next. “How did two men infiltrate the heart of the Red Keep, murder my sons, and nearly take the life of my other children without anyone knowing? Where were the guards? Where was the protection I was promised?”

Otto is the first to speak, his voice calm but firm. “Your Grace, we are all grieved by this tragedy, but rest assured, we are investigating every possible lead. The guards who were on duty that night have been questioned, and those found negligent will be dealt with severely.”

“Dealt with severely?” Aegon echoes, his voice rising with incredulity. “My sons are dead, and you speak of discipline as if that can undo what has been done! This was not just negligence—this was treason, betrayal of the highest order!”

Ser Criston Cole, ever the loyal sword, speaks next, his tone as hard as steel. “Your Grace, the Kingsguard were stationed as ordered, but the enemy was cunning. They knew exactly where to strike, and when. We are searching for any who might have aided them from within the Keep.”

Aegon glares at him, his anger still simmering. “You should have been there, Ser Criston. You should have been protecting my family, as you swore to do.”

Criston bows his head, accepting the rebuke without argument. “I failed you, my king, and I will bear that burden until the day I die.”

Larys Strong, who has remained silent until now, leans forward slightly, his voice smooth and unhurried as he speaks. “Your Grace, the men who did this were not acting alone. This attack was meticulously planned, designed to strike at the heart of your family and weaken your claim. There is but one who stands to gain the most from such an act of terror.”

Aegon’s eyes narrow as he fixes his gaze on Larys. “Speak plainly, Lord Strong. Who do you accuse?”

Larys meets Aegon’s gaze without flinching, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. “Rhaenyra Targaryen, and her husband, Daemon. They are the ones behind this atrocity. They seek to undermine your rule, to sow chaos and discord within the realm, so that Rhaenyra might usurp your throne.”

Aegon’s breath hitches at the mention of his half-sister’s name. His hatred for her is no secret, but to hear that she might be responsible for the deaths of his sons sends a fresh wave of fury coursing through him. “You have proof of this?” he demands, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

Larys inclines his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “The men who committed the murders—the butcher and the rat catcher—are known associates of Daemon Targaryen. They were hired by him to carry out this heinous act. The gold they were paid with was traced back to Rhaenyra’s supporters in King’s Landing. This was not just an act of violence—it was a message. Response to the death of Lucerys Velaryon by the hand of Prince Aemond.”

Aegon’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into the wood of the table. “A message? They dare to send me a message by murdering my sons? Two innocent boys?”

“Yes,” Larys replies, his voice as cold as ice. “They wish to show that you are vulnerable, that your rule can be challenged. They wish to provoke you into rash action, to draw you into a conflict that will weaken your position.”

“Rash action?” Aegon scoffs, his anger flaring anew. “They think they can provoke me? They think I will sit idly by while they murder my children?”

“Your Grace,” Otto interjects, his voice measured. “We must be careful. If we move too quickly, without proof, we risk turning the realm against us. Rhaenyra still has many supporters. We must gather our strength, consolidate our power, and then strike when the time is right.”

But Aegon is beyond reason, his grief and rage too great to be tempered by caution. “I will not wait!” he snarls, slamming his fist on the table. “They have taken from me what I hold most dear, and I will make them pay for it, tenfold! If Rhaenyra wants war, then war she shall have!”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, each man aware of the storm that is about to be unleashed. Aegon’s wrath is a dangerous thing, and they know that nothing they say will dissuade him from the course he has set.

Grand Maester Orwyle finally speaks, his voice soft but insistent. “Your Grace, the lives of your remaining children—Princess Daena and Prince Baelon—must be your foremost concern. They are the future of your house, and they must be protected at all costs.”

Aegon’s expression softens slightly at the mention of his children, the thought of them momentarily piercing through the fog of his anger. He knows that Orwyle is right, that the safety of Daena and Baelon is paramount. But even this knowledge cannot quell the burning desire for vengeance that has taken root in his heart.

“I will protect them,” he says, his voice hardening once more. “But I will not allow this attack to go unanswered. Rhaenyra and Daemon will know the price of crossing me.”

Otto inclines his head, understanding that there is no turning back now. “Then we must prepare for war, Your Grace. We must rally our banners, secure our allies, and strike swiftly and decisively.”

Aegon nods, his jaw set with determination. “Do it. Call the banners, prepare the dragons. We will bring fire and blood to those who dare to defy us.”

The council members rise from their seats, each man knowing that the decisions made this night will plunge the realm into chaos. As they leave the chamber, Aegon remains behind, staring at the bloodstained map of Westeros spread out before him. His thoughts drift to you, to the shattered look in your eyes, to the bodies of his sons lying cold in their graves.

He swears to himself, to the gods, and to the memory of his murdered children that he will not rest until Rhaenyra and Daemon are brought to justice. No matter the cost, no matter the blood that must be spilled, he will have his revenge.

And so, the storm begins to gather, the winds of war stirring in the darkness of the Red Keep.

[desireangel]

Dark Cherry [5] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! Angst!! Aegon is a little shit and doesn't understand boundaries, talk of and allusion to sex, past infidelity, grovelling, Aemond is scared of his emotions, talk of pregnancy and trouble with pregnancy. Talk of miscarriage (not reader's!). Please let me know if I have left anything out!

Author's note: thank you for bearing with me!! I have been busy but my final exam is on the 8th of Nov, and I'm taking a day off from exam prep for my birthday before then, so things should pick up soon on my end. please, once again, let me know your thoughts!

Masterlist

The tea room was silent when he stepped in the next morning. Aemond had been the first to arrive, woken from a shallow sleep at the first stream of sunlight that broke through the curtains. Sleep didn’t come easy to him lately and there was hardly any doubt in his mind as to why. 

It was unlike the Dowager Queen to be late anywhere. Especially when she had been the one to tell him of her plans to discuss certain matters. Embarrassing, really. It was utterly humiliating and pathetic that your marriage had become a problem for more than just yourself and your husband. 

Alicent hadn’t kept him waiting for long and Aemond had barely settled into his seat by the time she had stepped through the door. Greeting her with a stiff nod, Aemond watched as she made herself comfortable, looking ever as poised and elegant as she always did. He wondered if she ever tired of keeping up appearances, even when alone with her own children. 

“Your wife,” she cleared her throat, smoothing out the creases of her dress on her lap. “Aemond, I expected better from you. You are not Aegon; I thought you would be an honourable husband.”

Sucking in a breath, Aemond refused to meet her eye. Only partly out of shame but more so because he knew Alicent could read him better than anyone. She would know his apprehension, she would know his guilt and his shame and all the heartache that came with it. And she would only make it worse. 

Disappointment was all that Aemond could feel from her. It wasn’t new as such. Only, until now he had watched as she stared at Aegon with those eyes. Never himself. In fact, Alicent was nothing if not dismissive when it came to her second son and the feeling of letting his mother down created a whirlpool of uncomfortable sensations in his stomach. 

Wary of his own failure and unsure of how to receive her chagrin, Aemond locked his jaw and kept his head held high. 

“Did you call for me so that you could scold me, mother? For not having a perfect marriage–as if yours was?”

Alicent frowned at him. “You already know I am disappointed. But this is getting out of hand. People gossip–”

“Let them,” he turned away. “I don’t care for it.”

“You should. At least for the dignity of your wife and the threat of scandal on the entire family,” Alicent spoke clearly, with confidence and with reprimand. It was the tone she had only ever used on Aegon and Aemond felt a bubbling of distaste to be on the receiving end of it. “People are questioning your union. Give them a reason not to.”

He scoffed, annoyed at being pestered on something that was already making him lose his stability and his clarity. It had his head falling back and he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “What scheme are you preparing now, mother?”

A look of regret and sadness washed over Alicent’s features and she stood, walking around the table to take a seat beside Aemond on the settee that he sat on. She reached for hands with a tenderness that he had not felt from her in years and it almost made him wretch from the agonizing unfamiliarity. He watched Alicent collect her thoughts, her eyes flitting across his face. 

“You must give her a child, Aemond–” 

A knock from the guard at the door, followed by an announcement of your arrival had them turning to face you at the door. Alicent sighed, wondering how Aemond would take to hearing what she had to say in your presence but greeted you softly and invited you to sit down. 

Aemond couldn’t help himself. His gaze followed your every move and his chest tightened uncomfortably when he noticed how you avoided even looking in his direction. Knowing her son better than anyone would credit her for, Alicent saw the longing and regret in the furrow of his eyebrows and the pursing of his lips. It seemed as if he was a young boy again, desperately yearning for the affection she did not know how to properly give him. 

The seat just across from where mother and son sat was empty and you let yourself settle into it, apologising for interrupting them mid conversation and for arriving late. “You wanted to discuss something with us, Your Grace?”

“Yes,” Alicent didn’t let go of Aemond’s hand. The air grew tense and she cleared her throat before speaking, worried glances shared back and forth from you to Aemond. “I am not here to counsel your marriage but it has been several months. I have discussed the matter of your childlessness with Aegon and some other Councilmen.”

Struggling to find the words to say, you were thankful that Aemond had spoken first. It was exactly what you had expected to hear from her. It was surprising she hadn’t said it sooner. You wondered what exactly Aegon had to say about it but quickly realised that she probably only mentioned the King’s name for formality’s sake. 

With tense shoulders and his gaze locked on you as you continued to avoid meeting his eye, Aemond’s voice was a calm contrast to his frustration. “I understand what my duty is, mother, but we are in the midst of a war. A pregnant wife followed by a new child would be untimely and impractical.”

Hoping you didn’t take his words to mean something that they did not, Aemond refused to look away from you, watching as you frowned. “If my husband does not wish for me to carry a child, Your Grace, I cannot force one upon him.”

At the tense silence that followed, you finally met Aemond’s gaze. A silent challenge that he understood as clear as day. He shifted, turning to his mother with an indifferent expression.

A child. Aemond wished for children of his own to love and adore; he wished to be the father he never had. For the first time since the wedding, Aemond could imagine making you a mother and being made a father by you. It was a sweet thought that had something stirring underneath his skin. 

What he had said was exactly what he believed and there was no hidden meaning to his words. He wasn’t making excuses and it was truly just the worst possible time to bring a baby into the world. But from the way your face had fallen, Aemond cursed himself to dragonfire for speaking as he had. 

“It is difficult,” Alicent sighed. “And I hate to burden the both of you. But if you have not yet come to be with child and it continues like this, I am afraid we will have to look to other options. You may be the second son, Aemond, but we still need the security of your heir.”

Alicent didn’t mean to be insensitive in reminding Aemond of his standing. She knew he was ambitious and being born second will forever torment him. But she was never good at weaving her affection for her children into her words. 

“Other options?” you asked. Instantly, from the pitiful look that Alicent gave you, you wished you had stayed silent. 

Somehow, Aemond hadn’t thought about that. He waited for Alicent to respond. 

You could see the way that your mother-in-law looked at you. With pity and an unspoken apology. She had spoken to you only two nights prior yet it felt like the conversation had never happened. Not with how she silenced any talk of Alys within the walls of the Keep and not with how she had all but avoided you ever since. 

It was easy for them to disregard everyone else. Those who were not born being given and served. You were the daughter of a lowly lord and there was no peasantry in your childhood but it was nothing compared to how pretentious and entitled the lords and ladies of the court could be. You supposed it was only a matter of time before they noticed the weakness your marriage had become for you and pounced upon it at first chance. 

Aegon, who had sauntered into the tea room with heavy steps, sat down in the chair beside you. He grinned at the suffocating tension. “Before anyone complains of my tardiness, I apologise for it. A… restless night lends me to later mornings. You would understand brother, had you been tending to your wife as your duties would call for.”

A hum and a glare was all Aemond had for his brother. It was pointless that Aegon would even be present for the makeshift Council meeting that this had become. 

Ignoring Aegon further than the slight bow of your head in greeting, you faced the Queen without letting your head drop. “What do you mean by other options, Your Grace?”

There was nothing that could have made it easier for Alicent to say it but she reached out and squeezed Aemond’s bicep in an attempt to comfort him through the ultimatum she was giving him. 

“There are grounds to annul the marriage,” Alicent was almost whispering. “Since you have not yet come to be with child. And word that your marriage was never consummated has been travelling through the halls.”

A lie. Your marriage had most definitely been consummated but you assumed that should the King wish it, it would be as easy as his signature and his word to have everyone convinced. “You’ll have me cast out?”

Aemond was stiff as he shook his head. A surprise to you; you figured it would have made sense for him to take his out where it was presented to him. But instead, when you finally met his eye, he was glowing with a quiet anger. 

“Absolutely not,” he grunted. “We will try for a child. In any circumstances, I will not have my marriage annulled. I will not dishonour my wife in entertaining such a suggestion, mother.”

As if he hadn’t already dishonoured his wife. You wanted to scratch him for saying that but he had taken a stand for you and you had to appreciate that for what it was. 

Aegon snickered from his seat beside you. “There are other ladies who may bare you a child with more ease, brother.”

“I wish to do it,” you muttered, barely giving Aegon more than a sideways glance before you focused your attention on Aemond. He was not pleased, that much was obvious. “We will try–I wish to have a child.”

Laughter from the right side of you, loud and obnoxious. “With a husband who is repulsed by you? There are many Lords who–”

Aemond stood, one hand instinctively moving to rest on the handle of the dagger strapped to his side and the other tightly balled into a fist. He wouldn’t use the weapon but it was a natural response for him to rest his hand there. Risking a glance your way, Aemond felt nauseous at the fallen look on your face. “Enough, Aegon. Mind your tongue.”

Alicent looked dejected, her eyes flitting between her sons before returning to you. “It must be this way. If your body cannot take to pregnancy, then we must find someo–”

“And if it is me? If it is my body that fails to create a child even if you force another wife upon me?” Aemond turned to you, scowling when Aegon rested a comforting hand on your back. You gently shifted so that he wasn’t touching you.

“It is not you.” 

A deep frown and a glance at the walls was enough to know Aemond had shared in your thoughts. It was most definitely him - just not in the way he was making it seem. It was Aemond who had not sought out your intimacy enough to give your womb the chance to bear fruit in the first place. 

“We cannot know that for sure, mother.”

“Well,” Aegon ignored the pleading look that his mother sent him. “If your seed could take with Alys Rivers then you are surely not the problem, Aemond.”

In the silence you could hear Aemond draw in a long breath. He looked to you first, seemingly as shocked as you were in that moment, shaking his head when you straightened in your seat. There was a panic in his eye, a pink flush on his cheek as he swallowed his nerves. 

The room felt a little like it was spinning, and an emptiness grew as you took a moment to understand Aegon’s words. When the King placed a hand daringly on your leg as if he were comforting you, you didn’t even think before pushing it away. You looked to Aemond, who watched you blink away an onslaught of tears but you refused to drop your head, no matter the shame and humiliation that prickled under your skin. 

There was a waver in your voice when you spoke, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “She is with child?”

“It is not possible,” Aemond was quick to respond. “I did not-we did not-”

“You didn’t fuck her, brother?” If he weren’t the King, Aegon worried Aemond would have murdered him. “Because that is not what I have heard.”

Alicent pinched at the bridge of her nose, grimacing at the vulgarity with which he freely spoke. “Leave, Aegon.”

He protested meagerly before a sharp look from the Dowager Queen had him sulking his way out of the room. You watched him leave, slightly perturbed at the way he was provoking Aemond, rubbing it in his face (and by extension, yours) that he had enjoyed the strain in your marriage without having to speak it. That he had enjoyed you because of Aemond’s shortfalls.

“She cannot be with child,” Aemond took his brother’s empty seat, placing his hand on your arm, holding you almost desperately. “And if she is then it is not mine. I have not laid with her in such a way.”

When you pulled away from him, you noticed him visibly shrink back. He knew you would not believe his truth but he needed you to. The mistakes had been made, and Aemond would undo them if he could. Only, there was no changing things now. And he would carry the burden of his adultery until his last breath but he would find a way to give you all the stars in the sky and all the cherries that blossomed if it meant you would give him another chance.

“Alys is no longer carrying a child,” Alicent clarified. “The servants spoke of her pregnancy. Before your marriage existed and before she had first returned to Harrenhal. She spoke of the child being yours but it did not survive in her womb.”

Before your marriage existed. 

It still left a bitter taste in your mouth. “Does she remain at the Red Keep?”

“She is in the servants quarters,” Aemond answers, carefully. “I will send her away. It should bring you some peace.”

Nodding silently, you ignored how certain he was of her whereabouts and returned your attention to Alicent as she focused on her son with a pitiful look. You knew little about Aemond but you knew that if he understood her pity, he would hate it. “We will do our best, Your Grace.”

Awkwardly, Alicent stood and collected herself. “I have also arranged for the servants to shift your things to Aemond’s chambers. Perhaps it may help to stay closer to one another.”

Aemond grimaced. Had it really come down to his mother having to take such actions? He felt sick. If he had known the option was there, he would have arranged for it himself. The look on your face, however, told him you wouldn’t have accepted it. But you couldn’t argue with Alicent. Instead, you let out a breath and nodded with a smile that barely reached your cheeks. 

The evening came by quickly. You had reluctantly been sorting through your belongings as they were shifted, helping the serving staff to place your things without disturbing Aemond’s too much. 

A feast to welcome the Lord Pennrose, whom you had never even heard of, was being set as you organised your dresses, fitting them into the wardrobe that had been moved to sit beside Aemond’s. The maids who had been tasked to do so were hesitant to let you help but you had insisted that anything was better than spending the time listening to tiresome Ladies drone on about gossip and pester you about your personal affairs.  The task was something that helped clear your mind and keep you distracted from the worry in your chest at the thought of the Queen’s kindly worded threat.

This was all you had. And if your marriage were to be annulled, it would be the end of not only your dignity but your chances at a secure life. 

Your stomach had been churning without break since you had understood the extent of Alys and Aemond’s past relationship. And while she had been pregnant with his child before you had even met Aemond, it filled you with a sorrow you could not explain. A jealousy for she had been carrying his child, as you were chastised for being unable to do. It was all the more difficult knowing the child had not made it through to birth, something you were ashamed to admit a small part of you was relieved at. 

You willed that part of you away, instead focusing on the fact that it was not you who had failed to do your duty. But it was your husband, who had refused to give you a fair chance to even try.

A knock at the door and Ser Tunsley had entered to inform you of the King’s presence. You sighed. Aegon was forever trouble and you were of half a mind to think that you had only encouraged his flame of indecency and immaturity by letting him into your mouth. 

He was brazen, to continue seeking you out after Aemond’s wrath had left him clutching his stones and waddling for days. 

Aegon let out a whistle, his eyes running over the expanse of the room, lingering on the empty chests that had been used to carry your garments into Aemond’s chambers. “My brother is an imbecile. If it takes instruction for him to let such a comely wife into his bed then he is truly senseless.”

“Why are you here, Aegon? We are unaccompanied.”

“I’m quite sure that if you were my wife,” he grinned, coming to stand directly in front of where you sat perched on the edge of the bed. Aegon let the backs of his fingers glide across your cheek, chuckling when you pushed his hand away with a glare. “You would be kept full with my seed. No matter. Should Aemond’s not take, mine would suffice.”

Swallowing thickly, you shifted so that your back was facing him. From where you had sat, your face was almost in line with his pelvis and you wondered if Aegon truly believed you would indulge him in such a way once more. “Do you not have responsibilities to tend to, my King?”

“No one would be any wiser,” he ignored your question. “Silver-haired, violet-eyed babes. Not even Aemond would know.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Your Grace. I would be more of a sinner in the eyes of the Seven,” you reasoned. “And I do not wish to–”

With a laugh, Aegon fell backwards onto Aemond’s bed. The mattress dipped under your leg from his weight. He reached out, pulling at your arm and grunting when you refused to move. “That is not how you felt when you let me enjoy that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“It was a mistake.” Feeling sick, you stood abruptly. “If you would take your leave, my King, perhaps I may rest before tonight’s feast.”

“Lies.”

“My husband will not be pleased to know that you are here and we are alone-”

“No, he would not be pleased.” Aegon rolled his eyes. “I have paid the price for that once already.”

Provocation came naturally to Aegon. In fact, you were half convinced that he revelled in it. Truthfully, he was well aware of how he would trigger Aemond’s anger. But it was so fun for Aegon to push and push, knowing that his brother could not subject him to anything of consequence merely because of the crown that sat atop his head. 

Somehow, Aegon had moved so swiftly that you had barely noticed until he was standing in front of you. There was a perpetual mischief in his eyes and a boyish lust that had you stepping back, only to fall onto the bed once again. He bent forward, resting his hands on the mattress, fists curling around the linens that were at either side of you. 

You gasped. “Do not.”

His breath reeked of wine. It wasn’t surprising. Aegon glanced over his shoulder, looking to the door before his face fell to the space beside yours. His lips ghosted over your cheek, as if he were choosing not to press them to your skin and you moved to push him away, releasing a relieved sigh when Aegon grunted and stumbled away. 

“I see,” he straightened with a toothy grin that almost made you feel sick. “You have regained your loyalty to your husband. A shame-”

The sound of the door shutting interrupted Aegon before he could finish his sentence. Your heart dropped and when your gaze met your husband’s eye from where you sat, dishevelled and hardly looking the part of innocence, you shook your head quietly, hoping he would understand. Aemond’s jaw ticked in response and he faced Aegon, squaring his shoulders and letting his hand rest on the dagger in a wordless threat. 

He had entered so silently that neither of you had noticed his presence. Aegon cleared his throat, jutting his chin upwards. “Not to worry, dear brother. I have not defiled your wife agai–”

“Get out, Aegon.” Aemond was eerily composed but the challenge in his stance gave away his anger. “There are Lords of the Council looking for their King.”

With a huff, Aegon stalked towards where the Prince stood. “I was merely offering a favour should you fail her once more. A Targaryen heir is a Targaryen heir regardless of whom it came from, no?”

It turned Aemond’s stomach. He’d had enough of these games but Aegon, despite how Aemond had just seen you refuse him, wouldn’t relent in his chase for Aemond’s humiliation. Forever taunted by his brother to no end, he wondered just how he could excuse himself for cutting Aegon’s tongue from him. Or even his cock, as Aemond had already considered such a punishment the last time he had caught Aegon alone with you.

Aemond was ashamed to admit that a part of him feared you would take Aegon for what he was offering. In the way you had turned to Aegon to satiate your desires when he was too much of an arrogant fool to push aside his ego. He had no right to hold any anger at you; not when he had first done the same to you. But it ate him up from the inside out and Aemond was certain he would not have peace from it any time soon.

Narrowing his eye, Aemond’s hand flew out to grab the collar of Aegon’s tunic. He hissed out his words, his anger seeping through his threat. “You will not bother my wife anymore, Aegon. Or you will bleed for it. Do you understand?”

“I could have you whipped for threatening me. Or worse.”

Aemond was unphased. “Do you understand?”

His calm, stoic resolve was transparent and Aegon was of enough sense to understand that it only made Aemond far deadlier. So with a grunt of acknowledgment, Aegon jerked away and nodded, barely throwing you a sideways glance before he was gone. 

When the two of you were left alone, Aemond let out a long breath, moving to take a seat beside you. His shoulders were taught and you noticed the stiffness with which he moved, betraying the emotions he was so accustomed to keeping under a tight lid.

“He is an idiot,” you murmured. “A witless fool.”

Your husband let out what sounded almost like a laugh. “I cannot argue with that. Are you alright?”

A storm of guilt and disgust waged in your stomach. The idea of your tryst with Aegon was unnerving and you wondered where your repugnance was for the King only one week ago. He was a bully, a cad and he had little shame in how he behaved with you. 

“I am fine,” you answered. The two of you sat at the edge of his bed, facing forward. Husband and wife, shoulder to shoulder but still somehow worlds apart. “But it is bothering you. Nothing untoward happened. He only spoke with me.”

It was an invasion of your space. And it was a bit frightening the way that Aegon had no regard for the boundaries of your privacy nor the boundaries of decency and honour. But it would only anger Aemond more to tell him of this. And you were sure that Aegon would back off under both his brother’s threat and your rejection.

Alys and her lost child had plagued your mind since you had left the tea room. And when you looked at Aemond, you can see it had done the same to him. But when Aemond looked at you, he was upset and he was insecure and you could see it all in the way he locked himself up and gave you a simple nod. 

A pang of concern had you hesitantly reaching a hand for his. “I know there is distance between us. But I meant it when I said that there would be no more of those games. If that is what bothers you.”

When you finally turned to really see him, to take in the colour of his eye that reminded you of the violets that bloomed in the gardens back home. Aemond was a master of hiding himself away behind masks but he let his distress seep through the cracks, his eye holding thousands of unspoken apologies and fears. 

Ten seconds must have passed as you simply tried to make sense of what you were seeing, to figure him out. Because Aemond may always know exactly what to say when faced by Lords and Ladies of title about matters of politics and philosophy but he was always clueless as to how to look at you and speak the truth of what he wishes you knew. 

It was all inside of him. The way Aemond’s heart had pounded so hard when he had first met you that it terrified him into seclusion, or the way he failed to keep protecting himself from the threat he became to himself because of how he craved affection. 

At first it was easy to ignore, when Aemond refused to spend any longer by your side than appearances required of him. When he came to your bed, forcing himself not to enjoy you as his beautiful, tempting wife while he spilled inside you as was required of him. Or when he wished to show you all the ways your body could fall apart only to be pieced back together by him and nobody else but bit his tongue and resisted the urge instead. 

But there came an almost unrecognisable point when Aemond just could not do it anymore. Not when you had decided that you needed more from him and had shown him how you wanted him. Only for him to panic and take it as a challenge, bring Alys back to frighten you away and tempt you even more. 

Control was all Aemond had known over his own emotions and even those of the people around him who were becoming easier for him to manipulate how he pleased. But it was slipping through his fingers and when Aemond was alone at night, nothing other than his own hand and imagination, his mind was entirely under your control and you had no clue of it. 

Feeling scared and out of his depth was nothing new to Aemond. But this was different. This time, he couldn’t escape it and in trying so hard to run away from it, he had only created a cesspool of fucked up mistakes for which the consequences were all too much for him to handle. 

The biggest problem of them all was that Aemond wanted to explain. He wanted to tell you that for you, there was a fire inside him that he once wished to quell but he no longer wanted to put it out. A flame that Aemond had become desperate to be consumed by. And that he could see you were burning in the same way for him and he wanted to protect that blaze so that it would continue to grow until it consumed you too. 

Aemond didn’t know how to tell you. He didn’t know how to make you understand. 

He didn’t know how to make you realise that he was sorry. That he would do whatever it took to gain back your affection; if he ever had it to begin with. 

If it meant sharing all of himself with you, Aemond would learn how to do it. If it meant having you by his side at every hour of the day and every hour of the night, Aemond would do it. If it meant giving you a child, Aemond would give you many. If it meant giving you whatever you wished to wear or to eat, Aemond would dress you and feed you with his own hands. If it meant having Alys dead, Aemond would hold the dagger himself. 

“I regret all the pain and humiliation I have caused you,” he murmured. Aemond brought his hand to your cheek, dropping to kneel at your lap, grazing the knuckles of his fingers across your soft skin. “I would change everything if I could. I regret it.”

Aemond could no longer hide behind all the confidence, all the teasing and the feigned indifference. But he didn’t know why the words were so painful. The truth lay heavy at the end of his tongue but his lips wouldn’t let it pass. 

I am sorry. 

You shivered under his gentle touch. “If you are sorry, you must say it. And you must mean it. There is much pain to overcome.”

There was a flash of something untold in his expression. The way Aemond looked at you, as if he were begging you to understand that it was so difficult for him to give in, had you reaching for him, sliding down so that you could be level with him. You couldn’t have resisted the unexplainable force that pulled you to your husband, as if you would choke and suffocate on the feelings that balled up in your throat if you were not close to him.

Hands cradling his face, your fingertips brushed against the strap of his eyepatch. Aemond’s lips parted in a silent gasp, growing rigid under your touch and when you looked at him, asking him without saying the words, he knew he needed to let you see him for how he is. Honestly and willingly. So Aemond nodded, eyebrows furrowed as his good eye gently shut. 

“It is more than just the pressure to create an heir. I want to put this agony behind us Aemond,” you said, leaning forward so that your forehead was pressed against his. Each exhale of Aemond’s breath mixed with yours, warm and inviting as you held him softly. “I want to be the only one for you. I want us to be secure. I want us to have a family. I want you to love me–to try and love me at the very least. But you need to let me know if you are truly sorry so that I may find it within myself to forgive you.”

Rich, deep blue caught the light of the lamps, glimmering when you removed the leather that covered the sapphire in place of an eye. It was a beautiful shade and it was pretty against the tone of his skin and the silver of his hair. You had seen it from afar by accident but here, Aemond was closer to you than he had ever been. Vulnerable and honest, his heart aching just as yours did. The sharp inhale and quiver of his lip sent a sharp sadness to your gut. 

Aemond’s moved ever so slightly against your own with his heavy breaths. You let your fingers trace the bottom of his scar, a small, hesitant smile finding your lips as you spoke. “You are beautiful Aemond. Truly. You never need to hide your true self from me.”

Words that meant more than just what they were. 

“I am-” Aemond’s words caught and he swallowed as he opened his eye to hold your gaze. “I am sorry, my love.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, shuddering as he gently nudged forward, his lips so close to yours that you could feel an anticipatory tickle. “I am sorry too. We can work on forgiving each other together.”

“You never needed my forgiveness,” Aemond’s lips touched yours so lightly it may well have been a breeze from the open window. “I am yours in every which way, even in your pain and regret. In my own, as well. I can only show you how I will treasure you as I should have from the moment I first kissed your knuckles. And if it takes a lifetime to earn your forgiveness then so be it.”

A rush of heat and your lips finally met. For the first time since your wedding, sharing air and reaching to be closer, closer. Aemond’s kiss was heavy, his hands reaching for your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he intended for you to become one with his body. You were dizzied by the passion that he showed you, just from his lips upon yours, greedy and grateful and holding a message that was clearer than it could ever be in spoken word. 

Clutching at the back of your dress, Aemond’s hands were warm and heavy wherever he touched. You needed more of it, whimpering delicately when his lips pulled back, only to move to the crevice of your neck, leaving hot kisses on your skin that had you shuddering from the lingering sensation. 

Groaning, Aemond pulled back only as far as necessary to respond to the knock at the door, pulling you up swiftly and running a tender hand across your hair to put it back in place. You were flustered, chest heaving and eyes wide, looking at him in a way that had Aemond’s blood rushing to his cock. Gods, you were beautiful like this and he thought of how he wished to see this form of you for the rest of his life. 

It was your maids at the door, blushing profusely as they reminded you of the feast that they had returned to prepare you for. You sighed, stepping away from your husband, who had turned swiftly to place his eyepatch back on. Aemond’s grin didn’t falter when he stepped away to give you some privacy and you thought briefly about how his smile may be your favourite sight in the world. 

Relief and excitement and a little bit of dread overcame you. It would not be an easy road ahead, but you realised that if you both tried then perhaps this was a step towards a new direction. One in which you could feel the passion and the possibility of love simmering underneath the healing you had left to do. At least now, you hoped, you would have your husband by your side.

tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen @happinessinthebeing

[ceoofglytchell]

Bittersweet

Summary: A few days after Rooks Rest Aegon awakes craving for comfort, hoping to find his mother at his bedside to soothe his pain, but he finds you caring for him instead.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Maid!Reader

Word count: 1603 words

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort (a little), talks of Aegon’s injuries, mild thoughts of wanting to die, no mention of Y/N

Notes: My first fanfic yayyyyy 🥳💛 Feedback and criticism is always appreciated! English is not my native language btw.

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Aegon awoke to the faint chime of birds, the distant tolling of bells on the hour, and footsteps on the cold stone floor of the Red Keep, which sounded very close to where he was laying in his bed. His fingers twitched in the direction he could hear the footsteps and he blinked his eyes open, but all he saw at first was blurry and dark. However, it was only his right eye that he could see out of, his left eye instead was crusted over and would not even open no matter how hard he tried.

A cold breeze brushed his bare shoulder, which was half wrapped in bandages, and another faint rustle sounded to his left. The king tried to turn his head in that direction to see who the person was in his chambers while he was still overcome by sleep and weakened by his injuries, but as soon as the left side of his face hit the pillow he winced and a whimper of pain escaped him. His wounds were still fresh, too fresh to move in any way without causing him pain.

A whisper - or was it just a muffled voice? - sounded from right next to him and he blinked again, hoping that his good eye would finally adjust to the surroundings and the light and he could finally catch a glimpse of the person bustling around beside him.

Aegon wondered who it was that was coming to visit him. Part of him wanted it to be his mother. He wished to see her face, to see her finally look at him with something other than contempt and disgust, but with the motherly care he had always longed for but never received. However, the small rational part of him already said that it was probably one of the maesters, changing his bandages or giving him more Milk of the Poppy.

What he had not expected, however, was to see someone he had never seen before, a new face - you.

Dressed in the dark, simple robes of a maid, with long, wavy hair flowing down your shoulders, you stood bent over a table, reading the text that Maester Orwyle had written about the king's injuries. Even just standing there and reading, with the rays of sunlight falling into the chambers through the open windows of the balcony caressing your face, you were breathtaking. If he didn't know better, he would think you were a spitting image of the Maiden.

"Water...please," he croaked, his throat so dry he thought he was going to choke. He just wished that everything would go back to how it was.

Your gaze immediately turned to him and an expression of compassion appeared on your delicate face. You had known him for years, watching him from afar and dreaming about him. You had seen him avoid his sister-wife, sneak out into the city to have fun with whores and drown himself in alcohol, while you hoped that his amethyst colored eyes would fall on you one day. That dream had now come true...but at what cost?

"Of course, Your Grace. One moment." Your voice was sweet as honey and as soft as a blanket he wanted to hide under. With his vision still slightly cloudy, the wounded king watched as you quickly hurried to a small table and returned with a small cup that he recognized as it was how he had been given his medicine for the past few days, but he was grateful for it as the pain of his burns would otherwise become unbearable. One wrong move and he would be doubled over in pain again, crying out for help.

"Here, slowly." You carefully brought the small cup of water to his lips as you leaned down towards him and he took the opportunity to get a better look at you, while letting the cold liquid soothe the dryness in his throat.

Aegon would never have thought a mere servant could be so pretty. He had seen beautiful ladies of noble birth, beautiful dancers and sometimes beautiful whores, but you were nothing like that and yet you made his heart beat faster. Who were you?

As you let the cup sink again and then placed it on his nightstand next to the bed, you gave him the hint of a smile. Before, he wouldn't have noticed, his gaze would have remained on other parts of your body that would have made his thoughts circle, but now after everything that had happened, he began to pay attention to little things. He hadn't seen his brother's betrayal coming due to his ignorance and his blind trust in his close blood. That would not happen a second time.

"How are you this morning?" the maid asked him in a gentle voice before you sat down in the chair that was next to his left side of the bed and examined him with curious eyes. He found that he liked your gaze and the way you spoke. If only you had met before all this... before he became a burnt and disgusting cripple.

A slight chuckle escaped him at your question, but it immediately turned into another coughing fit, which made his chest burn and he felt as if he were on fire again, when the wounds were already healing. In fact, a scab was slowly starting to form, but with it came the pus and the itching, and he was certainly not looking forward to that. No, actually he would rather die. Anything was better than this.

"According to the circumstances," he finally answered you, whereupon your brows furrowed in confusion.

"What does that mean?"

By the gods, you were so gentle, soft-spoken, and patient as you looked at him with those big doe eyes of yours, waiting for him to tell you how he truly felt. You would probably jump up and go fetch the maesters if he even hinted that he was in any pain. If only you had met him earlier, before all this.

"What do you think?" He probably sounded a little too dismissive, as your gaze left him for a split second and you looked instead at your lap, which was covered by a dirty brown apron tied around your waist. You would be better off not to deal with him or being here to tend to him. He didn't deserve your gentle hands and kind smile, even if he craved it and the comfort that came with it.

"I think you are not well, my king. I think you are in pain," you finally answered him, running your palms over your knees as if they were clammy with nervousness. But why should you be nervous? Had he given you any reason to be? Aegon had rarely felt so conflicted, because on the one hand he wanted you to leave and never come back so that the Stranger's shadow would not fall over you and your family - if you had one - but at the same time he wanted to be closer to you, to feel your warmth and to feel how you cared for him.

How soft your skin would be if he ran his hands over it, your lips... he was loosing himself in you and he couldn't do anything about it. Well, he had nothing better to do anyway in the state he was in.

"Yes... Yes, I am in pain."

"Should I get Maester Orwyle?" you asked, already jumping up to your feet, ready to run out of the room to get help. You were too good for this world, it seemed.

"No!" Aegon tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his side, forcing him to fall back onto his pillows, gasping and whimpering. "No maesters, please... just you."

You blinked in confusion and looked at him for a moment like a lost puppy - or like Sunfyre when he wanted to cuddle - your hand already hovering over the bronze doorknob, but instead of leaving, you listened to him and came back. Aegon had expected you to sit back down on the chair, but certainly not that you would sit down next to him on the bed and brush a silver strand of hair from his forehead. The contact of your fingertips on his pale skin caused any tension to leave his body and his eyelids fluttered at the gentle contact. You were so perfect it was unnatural. Were you even real? Or were you just a fragment of his imagination? He knew naught and perhaps he did not even wish to find out either.

The mattress was soft as you settled down next to him. You didn't lie down, because that would certainly be crossing a line, but you sat by his side and looked down at his weak form. He looked so helpless. Helpless, vulnerable and... somehow also very lonely and sad. You didn't want him to be sad and in any kind of pain, no, it was his smile that you wanted to see, but this time it would be directed at you. Perhaps you wouldn't see it today, let alone tomorrow or next week, but someday. Some day he would smile at you honestly and happily and you would return it. But for that to happen, his wounds would have to heal and the war would have to be won - or he would have to flee to some other place instead where things would be better. You wished that for him, genuinely.

"Shhh, don't worry. I will take care of you, Aegon."

His hand found yours and the corners of his lips twitched into a small, grateful smile. Perhaps all of this was not so bad.

How bittersweet life could be sometimes.

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[flowerandblood]

Sacrifices (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, virginity loss, oral sex, smut, fluff, sexual tension, obsession ]

[ description: Finally, after months of waiting, his beloved, younger sister becomes his wife. The task that awaits him as an older brother is not to cause her pain during the beautiful act in which they will finally become one. ]

Part 4 (the last) of the Appearances, it can be read as standalone story.

My other works: Masterlist

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"Don't be afraid, hāedar (little sister)."

This was easier said than done.

The day of their nuptials, although it was the fulfilment of their dreams and hopes, was also a time full of terror and humiliation for them.

Aegon made sure to speak his thoughts aloud about how his younger brother would not be able to please his sister and that it was him she should give her wedding night to.

"With one eye, he won't even know where to put it." Aegon sneered, taking a deep sip from his cup. Their mother gave him a quick, rebuking glance.

"Aegon. That is enough."

The humiliation he felt burned his loins like fire, however, what really frightened him was her pale face, her hands clenched on her beautiful green dress, the field flowers pinned into her hair.

She looked so beautiful and innocent that he was afraid to touch her, barely brushing her tiny, delicate hands as they danced.

He hated courtly courtesy, and the steps he had to take to the rhythm of the music seemed forced and clumsy, yet he was doing it for her, just for her.

Although it was their wedding day, she was sad and tired.

To his joy, with the help of his mother, he managed to dissuade his brother and his friends from participating in their intimate act. When the chamber door closed behind them, they were left alone.

He was relieved when her body clung to his: it was not a gesture of desire, but of fear and uncertainty, as if she had been waiting for hours and could not do it because it would be indecent behaviour.

Embracing her husband.

She was his wife.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She muttered, sinking into his linen white shirt, her body covered only by her nightgown.

His arms involuntarily embraced her petite figure, sinking her face into his chest, her scent, her closeness making him feel a pleasant warmth in his stomach.

"I'm here. No one's going to hurt you." He whispered, his full lips placing a loud, soft kiss on the top of her head.

Gods, how he loved her.

Her, only her.

Love was a weakness and he knew it, and she was the only person he wanted and needed to be vulnerable in front of.

"Are you afraid?" She asked involuntarily, looking up at him with her big, dark eyes that she had inherited from their mother.

His broad hand rose to her plump cheek and stroked her skin with his thumb, looking at her with his lips parted, feeling a squeeze in his heart.

What should he answer?

What if she thought he was weak, that Aegon was right?

That he wouldn't be able to please her?

"What do you mean?" He muttered, looking into the depths of her dark, shining eyes.

"Have you ever lain with a woman? Before our betrothal. You can tell me, I'll understand." She whispered in a trembling voice, and he swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

He didn't know if it was a good idea to tell her, but he didn't want to begin their marriage with a lie.

"I did, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Once. It was Aegon's idea, not mine. On my thirteenth Name Day." He choked out with difficulty, feeling shame and fear at the thought that she might have rejected him, found him disgusting, unworthy of her affection.

She nodded, to his surprise looking as if she felt relieved, her trembling hand found his, their fingers intertwined in a soft, tender embrace.

"You promised me that from this day to the end of your days you would be mine alone." She whispered, and he nodded, feeling his erection swell and pulse in his breeches at her words, reminding him of the vow they had made to each other in the Great Sept.

"Yes, sweet sister. I am yours and you are mine." He sighed, leaning over her, in some natural, simple reflex, letting their lips cling to each other in a soft, warm kiss.

They both purred with contentment, carefully grasping each other's cheeks in their hands, stroking the skin of their faces with their fingers, letting their wet, rough tongues lick tentatively with the quiet click of their saliva.

"– ah – mmm –" She hummed as one of his arms hugged her waist, forcing her body to slam against his, his impatient cock pushing against her belly.

"– can you feel it, hāedar? –" He exhaled, looking down between their bodies, watching the bulge under the material of his breeches pressing against her body. "– can you feel what you're doing to me? – how much I crave to feel you? –"

She looked at him with a hazy, dreamy, hot gaze from which he felt a squeeze in his lower abdomen, her glistening, puffy lips parted wide.

"– I want it, brother – make it feel good –" She whispered, and he needed no more encouragement. She squealed in surprise, throwing her arms around his shoulders as he lifted her up, holding her beneath her buttocks, walking with her towards their large marital bed now standing in his chamber.

"– easy, little one – easy –" He murmured with a smile, touched by her innocent, involuntary behaviour, in the candlelight seeing how much her cheeks had blushed with emotion.

"– will it hurt, Aemond? – mum said it would –" She muttered as he laid her down on the soft, clean bedding, apparently revealing to him at last the reason for her sadness and anxiety all day.

He sighed heavily, climbing onto the bed, reading dozens of books before their wedding just to make sure he did everything he could to spare her suffering.

"– there's a thin wall inside you that I'm going to have to break – during this moment, you'll be able to feel discomfort and sting, but when it's behind us, I swear you'll feel nothing but pleasure –" He whispered in a trembling voice, spreading her thighs in front of him, letting the material of her nightgown expose her bare thighs.

She blinked, looking at him in disbelief, surprised, apparently, by his extensive knowledge on the subject, and breathed out quietly, as if trying to relax.

"– we'll start with what's familiar to you – we need to make you wet and willing for your brother – hm? –" He murmured, cocking his head, trailing his hands from her knees to her thighs. She nodded quickly, wriggling impatiently, clearly now more excited than frightened, shivering on her skin in the places where he ran his palms.

A sweet sigh of surprise left her lips as he drew her closer to him and leaned in, sinking his face into her heat: her folds were pink and swollen, soft and tender as silk. His sister smelled of bath, of fragrant oils and herself, of her own sweat – he murmured at the thought, the tip of his tongue running over her small, swollen bud, making her fingers clench in his hair, her head thrown back.

"– lēkia –" She mewled, rolling her hips back and forth, impatient, wanting more and harder. He, however, decided to take his time and explore her womanhood, the space around her pearl, her tight slit, which he teased with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue.

He felt the taste of her moisture on his tongue and grinned under his breath as he listened to her moans, feeling her body writhing before him in convulsions, his fingers digging warningly into the plush structure of her thigh.

"– lay still –" He hissed, finally forcing his tongue between her fleshy, hot walls, licking and rubbing the small spot just above her opening, teasing her bud with his nose, all swollen from his caresses.

"– Aemond – Aemond, Aemond, Aemond –" She sobbed in front of him, chasing her peak, but he knew he couldn't let her come.

Not yet.

He stopped his treatments and raised himself up on his elbows, looking at her with satisfaction, wiping his face with his hand. Her long, dark hair was spread around her head, her lips parted wide in a heavy breath, her gaze hot and full of desire.

"– I want more – husband –" She mumbled, and he sighed and nodded, sliding the material of his breeches lower, releasing his hard, long manhood, dripping from his precum.

Husband.

"– show me your breasts, sweet wife –" He commanded, and she drew in a loud breath and quickly slid the material of her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her bare chest to him.

Something about her appearance, about how different she was from Madam, aroused him even more – her plump breasts with their sweet, hard nipples were more girlish, more innocent, more lovely.

His.

His hand squeezed his swollen cock at the base with sure, quick jerks as he leaned in, sinking and clamping his mouth on her little nipple, beginning to suck involuntarily as if he were a baby.

He had never heard her let out a similar moan before, so helpless and loud, her hands immediately pressed his face closer to her breast as if she wanted to melt into one with him.

"– b-brother – what are you – ah –" She mewled and shuddered as he directed the thick head of his cock against her leaking, hot slit and began to slowly push.

She gasped, throwing her head back, clearly not having known a similar sensation in her entire life – he opened her with difficulty and was met with resistance, her moan of discomfort telling him that this was the moment.

He released her breast and lifted himself up on his arm higher, to her face, wanting to look into her eyes, his nose pressed against her cheek.

"– I need to push harder now – this might hurt a little – spread your thighs wider – yes, just like that – ready? –" He asked and she nodded, her eyes big with desire and terror.

He cradled her head to the hollow of his neck, slid out a little and with one sure thrust hit something deep inside her, from which she cried out loudly and squealed in pain, her fingers tightening on the material of his shirt.

Fuck, he hadn't made it.

He had to do it again, harder.

"– just one more time – one more time and it will be over –" He whispered in a trembling voice, her walls almost painfully tight against his cock, clenching in panic.

He grasped her buttocks in his hands, pulling them apart with her whine of discomfort, and with one violent thrust he finally broke deeper into her warm interior. He felt her burst into sobs, her legs quivering all over in his embrace, her fingers clenched painfully hard against his skin.

"– stop – don't move – don't move –" She mumbled pleadingly, and he froze motionless, panting heavily, feeling the sting in his heart, for some reason feeling like crying himself. His lips placed warm, tender kisses on her temple and cheek, his broad hand simply stroking her hair, wanting to reassure her.

"– I know, I'm so sorry – I know I promised it would be easier – but the worst is behind us –" He promised, and she swallowed heavily, feeling how hard his erection pulsed inside her.

"– it still hurts –" She confessed, and he nodded.

"– we'll wait until it stops – we'll just embrace and kiss until the discomfort passes – hm? –" He asked in a shaky voice, afraid that she would reject him now, tell him to stop, that she didn't want to see him, that she would never let him touch her again.

She, however, nodded and looked at him with a trusting and affectionate gaze from which his lips, swollen with desire, melted with hers into one. They kissed loudly and unashamedly, their tongues dancing with each other deep in their throats, fighting for dominance, their hands stroking their hair and bodies.

Indeed, he felt her walls stop pressing so hard against him, her breathing calmed, tears of fear stopped flowing down her face. Tentatively, he slid deeper into her, and she only sighed, combing through his hair, without however uttering a word.

"– may I? –" He asked in a quivering voice, feeling his cock about to explode with desire. She looked up at him, her lips parted sweetly, her face all red from emotion and tears.

"– yes – just – be gentle – She mumbled, and he pressed his forehead against hers, with a low groan slowly and firmly sliding all the way into her. He looked at her face, at her eyelashes glistening from her tears, at her sweet red lips, and thought he had to do this to her.

"– sister –" He exhaled and began to pound into her, shyly and shallowly at first, thinking only of how tight, warm, wet she was, that he was just taking her maidenhood and her, what was rightfully his from the day she was born.

"– brother –" She muttered, throwing her head back, clearly feeling the opposite of discomfort at the moment.

"– 'm going to accelerate now –" He whispered, gripping her hips in his hands, imposing a sharp, fast rhythm on her, slamming into her the way he'd always dreamed of doing, the loud slaps of their skin building his way to fulfilment.

She moaned loudly, throwing her legs over his back, her hands on his neck pressed him closer, wanting to unite with him, to become one as they were always meant to be. They kissed passionately and deeply, then again and again as her hips began to rock, seeking a shared rhythm with him, her sweet little cunt began to squeeze him, soaking him all over.

"– ñuhon (mine) –" He exhaled between the aggressive, sticky, slick dance of their teeth and tongues, their bodies entwined in an aggressive, close embrace like a vine.

"– aōhon (yours) – iksan aōhon, lēkia (I'm yours, big brother), oh fuck, fuck, fuck! –" She cursed far too sweetly and innocently, throwing her head back in euphoria, going before his eyes through the kind of release she had never before experienced in his presence, the great wet spot under their buttocks making him lick his lips lustfully.

"– that's right – I intend to fulfil my duty to you as a husband every day, ābrazȳrys (wife) – ah – fuck, yes –" He sighed, feeling a tightening in his stones, only to feel a wonderful, stunning relief a moment later and finally fill her with his seed, as he had always been destined to do.

"– gods –" He exhaled, falling on top of her, their hands clenched on their bodies, refusing to let go, their breaths hitched and heavy, full of fulfilment.

"– I want to see you bare, valzȳrys (husband) –" She mumbled out in shame, and he hummed, for some reason pleased with her request.

At the thought that he hadn't discouraged her from their intimacy, that she wanted it as much as he did.

As he pulled off his shirt and breeches she slipped off the material of her nightgown, remaining unashamedly naked before him, sweet, beautiful, his.

His little sister.

He drew her to him, placing tender, loud kisses full of affection on her bare skin, her nimble fingers pulling at the ribbon material at the back of his head, releasing the front strands of his hair.

He looked at her and smiled, thinking with pride that he was her husband and she was his wife, that every night from that day until his death she would spend at his side, in his bed, bearing his children, his inheritance.

They clung to each other like little children, sinking into each other's embrace, stroking each other's naked bodies, kissing the skin of each other's sweaty faces, red with emotion, knowing that no one would ever separate them again.

Before the face of men and gods, they were one.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Daemon's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Daemon Targaryen x Snow!Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, reader is Lord Rickon Stark's bastard daughter, canon divergence, angst, violence, blood, war, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved

Though you were his wife by law, you were not by heart.

It did not hurt you, at least not anymore. You understood your place. You understood your duty; your duty was to your house, to your family, to him.

This was how you found yourself in the crosshairs of peril.

Daemon had been lost for days on end. He'd not given word ever since his proclamation to seize Harrenhal for the Queen— for his niece, his beloved niece. You knew why he was so eager to act. He so badly wanted to win Rhaenyra's favor.

They had not seen eye to eye lately, and one could say it was your fault. You were getting in the middle of their relationship, you, his wife. It felt as though there was not a soul in Westeros who did not know of their relations, and yet even in that blatant shame, not once did you ever bring it up to your husband.

Not once.

Why?

Because he saved you when you were wed. You had been promised to an old lord known to be a wife beater. You were told that it was the best match you would ever get, but then you caught the interest of the prince of Dragonstone, even if for a fleeting moment.

You thought that what you had was akin to desire, if not love, but it seems he only married you to spite someone that truly stoked such a thing within him. And now, you were sent to the North to remind your half brother of House Stark's pledge to that person, to Queen Rhaenyra. Your kin did not take kindly to that. But it was not Cregan that found offence in your appearance, but his men, some five of them.

Daemon dreams about this in Harrenhal. He dreams of five direwolves pulling you apart, limb from limb. He wakes up in a cold sweat because of it. When he rouses with word that a raven came telling of the conditions of his wife, he did not need to read its contents to be inspired to saddle Caraxes.

He makes his dragon land inside Winterfell and demands, "WHERE IS MY WIFE?!"

Cregan runs and meets him once he dismounted, leading him to your room.

His expression falls when he sees you. You were badly cut and beaten. You looked like you were ready to greet the Stranger. He grabs Cregan by his furs and hisses, "where are the men that did this?"

"I've sent them to the Wall," Stark raises a hand, indicating he did not want to fight.

"The Wall?" he shoves him away, "their heads should be on a sp-"

"They are my men. I will do with them as-"

"They outnumbered and ambushed my wife! You think they deserve the honor of keeping their heads?!"

Daemon was about to draw Dark Sister, until he heard a soft voice call his name. He turns to you, catching the way you stirred, and immediately comes to your side.

You weakly reach out a hand and he takes it. He is warm, a complete opposite to you. You feel lethargic but you manage to pull your lips into a semblance of a smile. You whisper, "you've come."

Your husband stares at you. He clutches your hand in both of his.

You rub his skin with your thumb.

He shakes his head, "I will exact your injuries of your attackers. They will regret the day they left their mothers' cunts."

You no longer have the energy to respond. You weakly smile at him before closing your eyes.

He stays with you until you fall asleep. He stay with you until he is told your eyes would no longer open again. He had to be subdued before he killed the maester that announced the news.

Cregan could do little to stop the prince and Caraxes from flying off to the Wall. He all but threatened to burn the whole of it down if your attackers did not come forth. And when they do, Daemon tells them to fight him or be fed to his dragon.

And so the fools attacked him, and were slain, and were fed to his dragon anyway. He flies back to Harrenhal after, and you haunt him in his dreams.

[myladysapphire]

Butterfly kisses

Heleana has always had a special bond with her maid.

word count: 1,067

CW: MDI 18+, smut, fluff, love confessions, fingering, oral sex (f reciving), not proofread!

Heleana Tragaryen x handmaid!reader

Masterlist

“Did you know, Butterflies taste with their feet?” You asked, as Heleana embroidered a butterfly. She looked up to you a big smile on her face, she loved that you took on her interests. Though a maid, you seemed more devoted to her than anyone. You were with her nearly every second, you woke her, delivered her meals, dressed her, read to her. You were her closest friend, her children loved you and her husband was jealous of you. Why you did not know, perhaps it was the longing gazes she would send you whenever she was in another’s company, or how the second her husband left she would call for you to comfort her.

“I did” she smiled, “they also have six legs.” She spoke, patting the seat next to her, inviting you to sit down.

You smiled, “I did not know that my Princess.”

My. She loved when you said it, it was so different to how others would say it, where there were formalities, yours was… it was if you were saying she was yours.

She looked over to you, you were both on her settee, your bodies so close, you could her Heleana’s heartbeat, and as she turned to face you, your faces so close your breaths became one.

You and she were always like this, so close you were almost entwined, she loved your touch, craved it. She hated the touch of others and yet with you she prayed you would touch her more. It seemed they were almost always at the edge, the other waiting for the other to make a move, to finally grab the others neck and pull it in for a kiss, and as Heleana moved closer, her eye lashes caressing your cheeks in sweet kisses, you both knew to be called a butterfly kiss.

You moved your head, not to retreat, but to move closer, your lips hovering before finally touching.

The kiss was sweet, perfect. It wasn’t heated but still passionate, it was what you had both dreamt about for so long, and as your tongue sweeping her lips, begging for entrance, Heleana let out the softest, prettiest moan, opening her mouth and allowing their tongues to dance. Heleana lent back, allowing you to crawl over her, your hand going to her waist, and her legs wrapping around your waist.

The kiss grew more heated, the pair, moaning and painting into each other’s mouth as they grinded against each other.

You pulled back, breathing shallow as you took in Heleana’s form, “I have been wating for this for so long” you breath, before moving to stand.

Heleana whined in protest “so have I” as she reached her arms out to you.

You walked back towards her bed, beckoning her to you, a gleeful smile gracing her face as she skipped over.

 She was quick to sit in your lap, taking you once more in a passionate kiss, your hands reached to her back, beginning to untie the places you had lovably laced this morning.

She pulled back slightly, whispering “I love you” against your lips.

You smiled, kissing her softly, “ I love you” she smiled, “I have loved you since the moment I saw you”

“as have I,I have longed for your touch, dreamed of it as i-“

You cut her off. “so have I, my love.”  Gods had you, every night you came with her name on your lips, your fingers stretching your cunt, as you imagined yourself tasting her and fucking her with her fingers, felling her, sucking marks into places only you and Aegon would see, imagining the look on Aegon’s face as he realised his wife had felt more pleasure at the hands of a maid than he could ever give to her.

Her dress now undone, fell from her body, settling around her waist, leaving her in a near see through chemise.

“gods” you moaned; a sight you see regularly but now you can finally enjoy it. And enjoy it you did.

Moving from her lips to her neck and now enclosing around the fabric around her nipple.

You wanted to be gentle, and slow and take her in, but from the sweet moans that feel from her lips at the simple touch, she quickly flipped them, pulling the rest of Heleana dress down and taking her own off, though unlike Heleana she did not. She was bare before her, and as Heleana’s back hit the bed, she gasped at the sight of your body, to the sight of your breasts and your cunt, you were wet, and from the look on Helena’s face the sight of you made her even wetter herself.

“please” she begged, moving to take of her chemise, leaving her also bare.

“gods” you groaned once more she was perfection.

She spread her legs, presenting her heat to you, groaning as you saw how wet she was, you licked her lips, craving her taste.

You quickly fell you knees, your head buying itself between her thighs.

Licking up her slit she moaned so loudly you knew the guards could here, and gods you hoped they did.

As you licked up her wetness, you slowly mad you away to her clit, giving quickly small licks to it, making Heleana moan and grip your head.

You slowly moved one of your hands, that was gripping her down, to her heat, slowly working one of her fingers into her, sucking on her clit as she did so, causing her to moan even louder.

You could feel Heleana’s cunt tighten around your fingers, her peak approaching.

Her moans grew louder, her hands tightening on your neck as she finally peaked. She had never felt such pleasure. Aegon had never remotely made her feel this way and her fingers had never brought her as much pleasure as you were right now.

“gods” she moaned, lying back on the bed, her breathing erratic as she tried to catch her breath, “that was amazing” she sighed, her arms lazily reaching fro you, as you collapsed beside her, holding you to her.

She turned to you, her eyes questioning “can I?”

You laughed “I would love you too my love, but not to night, tonight I simply wish to sleep with you in my arms.”

You kissed her gently, as you wrapped your arms around her and you both drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog@apollonshootafar@zillahvathek@flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99

to be added to taglist

[dragonseeds]

do you think dany knew what she was doing when she hatched her dragons or was it just an accident?

oh yes i think she knew exactly what she was doing. the magic in her blood and the eggs and the fire was speaking to her, coming through in her dragon dreams—especially that last fever dream after her miscarriage. i think she knew it was possible before because she could feel the eggs stirring and the magic waking up (and she was already connecting with drogon and drawing strength from him), but it was mirri maz duur who actually taught her how to do it.

i love that what she’s actually doing is never explicitly stated, yet everything she’s doing saying and thinking gives her away. like she swears to jorah she doesn’t intend to die with drogo, she directly compares herself to aegon, she places the eggs on the pyre and tells mirri maz duur that she’s going to take her life because only death can pay for life, etc., but the closest dany ever comes to directly saying it is when it’s done and the last dragon is about to hatch:

like calling herself mother of dragons and then calling them her children is unequivocal, but before that grrm’s building the suspense and creating this heady wild momentum. it feels very similar to reading her wake the dragon fever dream, and provides such a great insight into her character. the space in the narrative where she doesn’t acknowledge what she’s doing or exactly why she’s doing it is where the magic lives, and it also gives her a place to hide any lingering uncertainty or fear, while still making it clear that she understands what’s happening: that she is in fact making it happen.

but like speaking of accidents, i’m obsessed with the difference between dany’s success and egg’s flop tragedy. she uses her husband’s funeral pyre, the husband whose life she traded her son’s for, to wake the dragons (including herself) and creates life from death. aegon v tried to hatch dragon eggs during rhaegar’s birth (the child he and jaehaerys ii traded rhaella’s happiness and agency for) and instead made a pyre of summerhall and most of his family. rhaegar was the last dragon, born in fire, and now it’s her—but it was always her and he always had to die. “the face within was her own.” crazy. insane.

i’m sure people have pointed this out before, but the magic here always makes me think of this line from the last unicorn: “real magic can never be made by offering up someone else’s liver. you must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.” grrm’s use of magic is very similar, just as the unicorn and dany are similar, and i think it’s very possible that other attempts to hatch dragons in the past failed in part because whoever was trying didn’t understand this (and also because they were a. men and b. not daenerys lol). magic has a price, and it’s always high. this is one of the hardest lessons dany has to learn, and she thanks mirri maz duur for it in the end, because she understands that it had to be her own child, her womb, her husband, her sun and his fire that’s really hers burning someone’s life away—and this whole time, the entire book up until this point, she’s been cracking open like the moon, like the eggs on the pyre, and then she joins them in the fire.

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader - part ii

wc: 4.6k

summary: you search for answers on why aegon is here, and find you rather enjoy his company

cw: f!reader, aegon the cringefail king, kinda just a lot of hanging out, a little make out session, aegon almost pushes toward dubcon advances but he's quickly stopped

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You hardly sleep a wink that first night with Aegon in your flat. You’re too worried about him, and the carpet in the living room. You’re still not an expert on history, but you’re quite sure that vodka hadn’t been invented yet when Aegon was supposed to be alive. If it had, Westeros hadn’t yet set up any trade routes beyond the Bone Mountains. You still remember your first vodka hangover, even if you don’t quite remember the night that preceded it, and it was not a good time. Aegon is in for something of a shock if he hasn’t drowned in his own vomit– cheap as your vodka is, it’s a lot stronger than that piss water from the Arbour the historians all say he drank.

You rise from your bed with your alarm, not snoozing it as you usually do and instead going to go check on Aegon. Thankfully, he’s right where you left him and alive and well, if his open-mouth snoring is any indication. He’s splayed out on your couch, legs falling over the side and bottle of water you’d made up for him spilled on the floor. Hells, at least it’s only water he spilled. 

Leaving him to sleep a moment longer, you pad into the kitchen and rummage around for the electrolyte tablets you keep for this exact scenario. Well– maybe not this exactly. Usually it’s reserved for your own hangovers, not for when the time travelling king of Westeros has broken into your drink cabinet and passed out on your couch. But close enough. You make up a drink for him, deciding he can cope with the orange flavour even if he doesn’t like it and come back over, setting the glass loudly down on the coffee table and waking Aegon with a jolt. 

He almost falls from the couch, gasping and throwing his hands over his ears. “Get out!” He demands, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Five more minutes!”

“Not your chambermaid, Aegon,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “Drink this. And no, yesterday wasn't a fever dream, you’re still in the future.”

Part of you had hoped yesterday's events were a weird dream of your own. 

Aegon cracks his eyes open, taking in the sight of you slowly before he groans and presses his fists hard into his eye sockets. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “My head…”

“Yeah,” you say, picking the glass back up and holding it out to him. “Straight vodka will do that to you. Drink.”

He lowers his hands and eyes you suspiciously as he reaches for the glass, sniffing it. You roll your eyes. He’ll drink from a random bottle he finds in your home but not something you’re offering to him?

“It'll make you feel better,” you say. “It's orange flavoured.”

“Well, that makes it alright then,” he grumbles, taking a slow sip and moving to sit upright. “If I’m getting poisoned, at least the poison tastes like oranges.”

You make your way over to the kitchen and fish around your cupboards for instant coffee as Aegon makes a noise of confusion.

“Why is it-” he stops, brows furrowed as he looks for the word. “Bubbles?”

“Oh,” you say, looking back at him while you clutch the Garfield mug you found at the thrift a few months ago. You lean over to put the kettle on, sighing as you realise how much of modern life you’re going to have to explain to Aegon. You wonder how much of it can be avoided, skirted around so you don't have to explain the entire industrial revolution to him. “Yeah, it’s fizzy. It’s not poison, just science.”

Aegon stares at you indignantly. “Are you a witch?”

“Gods, it’s not a magic potion, Aegon. Why can’t you just accept that we’ve made a bit of progress in the last thousand years? Things are different, that doesn’t make it magic. Just drink it, it’ll help you feel better.”

Aegon takes a slow sip, lips turning down as he seems to decide he likes it well enough. You turn your back to him and scoop a spoonful of the coffee into your mug, wondering what you’re going to do with him. You’ll have to call out of work, at least for today. You don’t trust him to be left alone; Gods know where he’ll end up, if he’ll contract some disease his immune system isn’t ready for or get hit by a car as he so nearly did yesterday. You hear him groan softly and turn back to see him leaning back on the sofa and sipping slowly at the drink.

You suppose he probably wants your attention, but you withhold it until you’ve taken the first sip of your coffee. It tastes as shit as you expect instant coffee to taste. Gods, you need to buy a proper coffee machine. You make your way back over to him, sitting down on the other end of the sofa. 

“Ready to talk yet?” You ask him. 

Aegon grunts, rubbing at his temple. “Quietly,” he mumbles. “I had hoped yesterday might be a dream.”

“Me too,” you say, sipping slowly at your coffee. “I’ll be frank with you, Aegon, I don’t know what to do with you.”

Aegon scoffs, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. You’d tell him to take them down, but it’s not exactly a nice coffee table. You can see him staring at the plastic dragon figure on the TV unit. The bags under his eyes are so heavy. “That often seems to be the case,” he says, leaning forward slowly and picking up the dragon. It’s a small one, red and gold. “I wonder how this feels for Sunfyre…”

“Sunfyre was your dragon, right?” You ask, voice still quiet as he requested.

He nods, frowning as he moves the hard plastic wing of the toy. “He’s a fine beast,” he says. “Should he think me dead?”

“I wouldn't know,” you say. “Aegon, I think we need to get you home.”

Aegon goes quiet, almost as though he knows, somehow, that a grizzly fate awaits him in his own time. But he nods. “Yes,” he agrees. “How?”

“No idea. We’ll need to go to the library.”

He looks over at you, setting the dragon down and raising an eyebrow. “So you really can read?”

“Really really,” you say with a slight smile. “We peasants have been literate for centuries. I’ll make you some breakfast and then we can go.”

Aegon leans back again, watching you with wonder as you go back to the kitchen. “You know, I thought we might teach the smallfolk to read,” he says. “I think after the war I’ll bring it up.”

You glance over at him and smile. “Maybe you will.”

“They like me, I think,” Aegon says. “The smallfolk. Aegon the Magnanimous.”

You raise an eyebrow, pulling down a box of cereal. “Kind of lame.”

Aegon sighs. “Yes. We are working on it.”

Once Aegon has eaten his fill of your off brand cereal (which he decides he hates) you get him up and lead him out of the house. Aegon still seems fascinated with the world outside. 

“I suppose it does still look like King’s Landing,” he says, staring up at the buildings around him. He refuses to look at the cars, and you can’t blame him. You can’t imagine they’d be an easy thing to process right off the bat. Still, he’s going to have to deal with it when you get onto the bus. 

You stop at the bus stop with him, pulling out your phone to check when it’ll arrive. You can feel Aegon staring at you, you glance up, seeing that confused look on his face. You put the phone away. “Bus’ll be here in five minutes.”

He nods, but doesn’t ask what a bus is. “It is strange,” he says. “It looks so different, but much the same.”

You nod, offering him a small smile. “A lot of it is heritage protected, so it can’t be altered. We’ve expanded a lot, so all the outer city is newer, but this is the centre.”

“This is Flea Bottom, right?”

You smile, laughing a bit. “Yeah, it is. They called it Flea Bottom back then too?”

Aegon nods, sniffing the air. “It doesn’t smell so badly these days, but the buildings are the same.”

“Yeah, well, rent’s cheapest here. There was some government initiative to clean it up. Or gentrify it. The university bought out a bunch of the flats for student accommodation, it was the best I could afford.”

“This… university, it is like the Citadel?”

You nod. “Citadel’s a university too, but yes.”

“No, the Citadel is the Citadel,” he says, scoffing. 

“Okay, it’s a university now. Certainly not one I can afford,” you huff, reminded of the rejected scholarship you’d applied for. You suppose it wouldn’t have helped– rent in Oldtown is something else entirely. You crane your neck to spot the bus, seeing it coming close enough to flag it down. Aegon immediately steps behind you, eyeing the huge vehicle warily. You reach back, gently taking his hand and squeezing it without thinking. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Just trust me and follow me.”

You feel Aegon’s breath falter, and somehow you know he’s staring at your hand in his. You gently lead him up the step and ask the bus driver to tap on for two. The busdriver raises an eyebrow at Aegon, but nods and lets you on. You scan your card, leading Aegon up to a seat by the back.

Aegon sits down, frowning at the interior. “This is like a wheelhouse. But with no horse. And uglier.”

“They’re not really made for style,” you tell him. 

He nods, looking at you again. He glances down at your hands, still intertwined. When you notice, you begin to pull away with the thought that he doesn’t like it. But Aegon only holds you tighter. You meet his eyes and find something desperate in them, a silent begging for you not to let go. Strange. But you oblige. 

“So,” you say softly. “Can you tell me what you last remember?”

Aegon exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and glancing between you and the window. He settles on watching the world pass by, no doubt faster than any wheelhouse could carry him. He must decide he trusts you enough. 

“It was nothing,” he tells you, leaning his forehead against the window. “I was with my favourites. Drinking, talking. Discussing my sobriquet. Everything after that is nothing. I didn’t even go to sleep. It is as though I blinked, and I was in the street. Then I met you.”

“Well that's…” You purse your lips, leaning back in the bus seat. “Nondescript. You weren't doing anything out of the ordinary? Not fucking with any ancient rocks? Weirwood trees?”

“No,” he says, sliding his gaze toward you. “I was on the throne, in the Keep.”

None of this helps. You scratch at your chin as you try to make sense of any of it. You pull your phone from your pocket, opening the browser and typing in – dreading the targeted ads you’re inadvertently signing yourself up to get – ‘accidental time travel firsthand account.’

Aegon peers over, watching the screen with fascination as you scroll past various untrustworthy conspiracy sites. 

“Do you suppose perhaps Rhaenyra paid a witch to curse me?”

“Why would she do that?”

Aegon's lips pull down in a pouty frown. “Well, my brother did kill her son.”

“Yeah, well, that'll do it,” you sigh, closing your phone and leaning back in your seat. You glance out the window, watching the city go by. The people milling about the street go by so quickly you cannot see their faces. However strange a day anyone thinks they may be having, it cannot be more than yours. 

“Witches. Woods witches. Weirwood, maybe,” you murmur, tilting your head this way and that. “Even if you weren't directly fucking with any, there's one in the Keep’s godswood. I went on a tour when I first moved here.”

“A tour…?”

“It's as good a place to start as any. Weirwood, woods witches, and rock formations. The library will have plenty on it.”

You get off the bus at the campus library soon after. The university sits upon Visenya’s hill behind the sept, which you’ve never really bothered to enter. It’s a strange thing, living in such a city rather than visiting it. Apart from your dead boring tour of the Red Keep, you've never visited the tourist traps. Growing up in the Riverlands, you never once visited any of the old castles. You always thought you might see more of King’s Landing when you came. Perhaps you would if you could, but you find you rarely have the time between study and work. 

As you ascend the steps with Aegon in tow, he stops and turns, gazing across the city. You glance back at him, following his gaze up Aegon’s High Hill, where the Red Keep sits. You stop in your footsteps, coming back down toward him. 

“You okay?” You venture. 

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just odd, I suppose. It looks the same.”

“Lots of it still does, I guess. The dragonpit is still there too.”

You nod your head to the other end of the city, pointing him to the ruins of the building. 

Aegon pales. “It's… what happened to it?”

“Time,” you murmur. In part because it's true, but also because you don't know why it's in ruins. You’ve never been that far up the hill. You’ve never had it in you to wonder. 

“I don't believe you.”

You look over at him, and an intense purple gaze meets yours. You scoff. “I think I’m getting used to you not believing me,” you say. “Come on.”

You continue up the stairs and Aegon follows after a moment. “You really won't tell me what happened to the dragonpit?”

“No. Because I don't know. It's been like that for centuries, as far as I’m aware. And even if I did know, I feel like there has to be some sort of rule against it.”

“Against what?”

“Against telling you about the future!”

“What? But I’m already here! If the Gods didn't want me to know about the future I wouldn't be here!”

You purse your lips. He makes a good point, but still. “Well all the movies say it's bad. What if I send you back and you change things, and make it so I cease to exist? And I can’t tell you anyway because I don't know, so don't worry about it.”

“You know, I don't understand half the things you say,” Aegon says as you push the door to the library open, gesturing for him to enter first. 

“Likewise.”

Once inside, you make your way up to the librarian’s desk, the older woman immediately perking up with your presence. You smile at her. 

“Hi, um, I’m after pretty much anything you have on weirwood trees, woods witches, and, uh, like rock formations–”

“And any scrolls you have on Aegon the Second, thank you.”

“No.”

You look back at Aegon, who pouts at being denied. You imagine he’s not used to that.  

“Don't worry yourself with the Aegon stuff,” you say, looking back at the librarian sheepishly. “He's uh… easily distracted.”

The librarian smiles anyway, putting her glasses on the end of her nose and leaning into her computer. “Let me see what I can find you.”

A few minutes later, Aegon and yourself are seated at a secluded table surrounded by soft chairs and lit by dusty sunlight, tucked away between bookshelves only matched in age by Aegon. Old books and new are scattered across the table, and Aegon marvels at the shining pages of a new textbook, thumbing at the photographs of Harrenhal. 

“Can I see that one?” You ask, holding your hands out for it. Aegon slides it across. He folds his arms on the table, leaning forward and resting his chin on his arms. 

“Do you do this often?” He asks. “Seems dreadfully dull.”

You shake your head. “Not as often as I ought to.”

“I assume this is what my father did all day,” he grumbles, thumbing at the worn cover of a book on the Old Gods. “Before he, you know.”

“Died?”

“No,” he says. “Well, yes. But I think his soul left long before his body gave out.”

You nod, unsure what to say. From what you can gather, Aegon didn't have much of a relationship with his father. You’re not sure if it's wise to pry. You’re not sure what you’d say if you did. 

Aegon begins to make a clicking sound with his mouth as you flick through the pages. 

“You could help,” you say after a moment. 

“You want me to read?” He scoffs. “Your magical little drink didn't work that well. I just wish we had a bard or something.”

“A bard,” you repeat, voice flat. You roll your eyes, fishing into your pocket for your phone. He watches you with curiosity as you set the phone down and begin playing something at low volume. As soon as the song begins, he jolts upright and leans forward. He snatches up the phone, turning it over in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. It’s some old synth song, something you remember watching your parents dance to when they’d have their friends over on the weekend and drink late into the night. 

“Incredible,” Aegon murmurs. “How do you look at dusty books when you have this thing? Bards and scrolls at your fingertips.”

“I’m actually trying to get my screentime down,” you say sheepishly. “It’s uh… it’s pretty rough.”

Aegon gives you a quizzical glance before he’s distracted by your screen lighting up. He seems quite entertained by your lock screen and is silent for a few moments. You turn your gaze back to the books, resting your temple on your fist. 

Your phone buzzes after a moment, and you glance at it only momentarily before you school yourself back toward the books. You’ve been trying to stop being so trained by your phone.

“Messages. Jeyne– and there’s a little drawing of what I suppose is a seashell –” You bolt upright as Aegon begins reading out the message. You try to snatch it from him, but he moves it out of your reach. “I just got YiTish dick – Seven Hells, then there’s more of these drawings, they look to be peaches? – freaky as everyone says.”

You stare, stunned into silence, at Aegon as he processes what he’s just read, looking at you with a wicked sort of grin. He sets the phone down, now playing some modern house music you barely remember adding to your playlist. 

“I’m to understand this is some sort of raven, yes?”

“Yes,” you say. Gods, what else could you even say to that? Your former roommate was never the most couth person, and you were never her biggest fan. But even though she’s disappeared to the other side of the world, you’re still subject to her unprompted oversharing. 

“This Jeyne is quite something.”

“Yep,” you mumble, managing to grab your phone back. “How about we wrap this up for today? I’m suddenly craving YiTish food.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aegon snickers. You realise that this may be the first time you’ve seen him smile, however wry and mocking it may be. It’s a lovely expression, but one you suspect he doesn’t wear very often. 

“Come on,” you say, picking up several of the books. “Grab a few. We’re taking them back. But I’m borrowing this weirwood tree one.”

Aegon groans in protest, but gathers up the remaining books to balance in his arms. Once you’ve borrowed the book and created a list of the others, you escape the dusty library into the waning sunlight.

Aegon is a chatterbox when you’re on the bus again, and as you order the both of you some YiTish food. Clearly his hangover’s worn off. You smile apologetically at the young girl behind the counter as you take the bags of food. You shoot Aegon a look in hopes of shutting him up, but you have no such luck. The walk back up to your flat is accompanied by the sound of Aegon's voice. 

When you get inside, he finally stops. Now that you’re in private, he wishes no longer to speak? You glance back at him with a raised eyebrow, but he's watching you unpack the food. 

“I got you sweet and sour pork,” you tell him, handing him the little box and a fork. “Should be free enough of any major allergens… if not, Jeyne left behind an epipen.”

“I’m growing quite tired of asking you what things mean,” he says, opening up the box and sniffing at it. He pulls his lips down but doesn't look to actually be frowning. 

You grab your own food, moving to sit down on your worn sofa and beckoning for Aegon to join you. “I’m guessing your time doesn't have YiTish food,” you say. 

He huffs, nodding as he sits down and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. You’d tell him to knock that off if you had a nicer coffee table, but as it is – a piece of shit wooden box with shaky wheels on the bottom – you don't bother. “Not by far.”

“I’m not sure how authentic this is,” you say, poking your chopsticks into the box and searching for a nice crunchy bit of cabbage. “But it's cheap, and has never done me wrong.”

Aegon takes a tentative bite, and you watch as his face twists in curious acceptance of the new flavours. It’s… Gods, well, it's sort of cute. 

“I like it. I think,” he remarks, taking another bite and leaning back comfortably. “Much has changed.”

You nod, glancing out of the window at the city lights. How had it looked all those years ago? How has the skylike changed? Brightened?

“You say you can't tell me what you know about my life,” Aegon says slowly. You nod, opening your mouth to sigh and tell him again that you won't budge, only he stops you. “I’m not going to ask. I only want to make sense of your world. And what remains of mine.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Okay. Well, I’ll try.”

Aegon nods, looking down contemplatively. “Hm… the Dothraki?”

Not… exactly where you expected him to start. “Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “They're still around. They're kind of baller, actually. Like they gained all the modern stuff but still live nomadically.”

“Are they still so… brutal?”

“Oh, no,” you say. “Really kind of a peaceful state now. Jeyne reckons she'll be heading to the Sea after YiTi.”

Aegon nods slowly. “This Jeyne girl is quite something. She used to live with you?”

You nod. “Yeah. We were assigned the same flat… I can’t say I ever really liked her much, but she was tolerable.”

“And she… left? Escaped? “

“Mhm. Decided she was unfulfilled by higher education and fucked of to YiTi to ‘find herself.’ Alright for some, I guess.”

Aegon stares at you in silence for a moment, smiling ever so slightly. “You speak in such a strange and wonderful way,” he murmurs. 

You can't help but smile. He has a nice smile about him. You suspect it's not an expression he uses much, at least not in a real, involuntary way. 

“So do you,” you say softly. He’s… goodness, he’s beautiful in this light. You know you shouldn't think that. 

(But then, why shouldn't you? He's a grown man, he’s sober, what’s stopping you? Responsibility? Expectation? You’re not certain.)

He must see the budding conflict on your face because he reaches out to touch your cheek. He lifts his thumb up, pressing it between your eyebrows to smooth out the crease there. “Why the frown?”

You smile wryly at him. “Just thinking,” you tell him as he sets his food down. 

“Of course. You do a lot of that, don't you?”

You huff a soft laugh. “Too much.”

He shifts closer, and you find yourself less and less willing to stop him with every second. “Take a break from thinking,” he says, leaning forward and catching your lips in a kiss before you can respond. 

There's a moment of hesitation, the briefest second where you contemplate pulling away. You should. The last thing you should be doing is letting Aegon entangle himself with you. He's misplaced in time, practically a stranger. Not to mention married.

(Unhappily, and to his sister, but all the same.)

But the moment passes. And you let him. And you lean into him and return the favour. Encouraged by your response, Aegon shifts closer and grabs at your waist, trying to pull you closer. 

It happens fast, he doesn't seem to want to waste time building up to a point before he's shoving his tongue into your mouth and crashing his teeth against yours. 

“Aegon,” you murmur. He only grunts in protest, continuing his advances. “Aegon, slow down.”

Aegon huffs as he pulls away just a fraction, hands groping a little too harshly at your hips. “What for?”

You frown at him, gently pushing him away. He relents, but begins to scowl. You place your hands firmly on his shoulders. “There's no need to rush,” you say quietly.

You realise then that Aegon is used to taking. He is used to taking what he needs and not bothering with any sort of lead-up beyond unrefined kissing. He surges forward to kiss you again but you place your hand in his face and shove him away. 

He cries your name indignantly, unused to being denied either. 

“Sit down,” you say firmly, shoving him back onto the sofa cushion. “And stay.”

Aegon looks stunned, but readily obeys. He leans back against the cushions and watches you warily as you shift closer to him, throwing your leg over his lap so you straddle him. Aegon seems almost afraid to touch you all of a sudden, so you take his hands and place them gently on your hips. 

Should you be encouraging this? Absolutely not. But some touch starved little sect of your brain has staged a coup on your good sense, so here you are. 

“Have you never done this before?” You ask him softly. 

“Been ridden?” He scoffs. “Of course I have.”

“No,” you say. “I’m not riding you. Have you ever just made out with someone for a little while?”

Averting his eyes, Aegon shakes his head. 

“That’s okay,” you murmur, catching his lips in a gentle kiss that seems to startle him. You place your hands on his chest, closing your eyes as you kiss him again. He’s hesitant now, unsure. But you press on, sucking gently at his lip before slowly, gently, sliding your tongue into his mouth and dragging it over the flat of his. Aegon makes a soft noise of shock, hands grasping a little harder at the soft of your hips.

Before, he hadn’t seemed to know what to do with his tongue in your mouth except to have it shoved in there, desperate to have some sort of dominance over your mouth. You can tell he’s still fighting the urge to take over, but he sits nicely for you, only gently pushing back against your tongue. He seems to rather enjoy the feeling of not being in charge, of simply being guided. Not told what to do, not commanded, just… treated gently. 

After a while, you gently pull away, your thumb brushing over his wet bottom lip. “Do you want to keep going?” You ask, though you know you shouldn’t.

Aegon looks up at you with dilated eyes, pupils almost sparkling as he blinks slowly. Almost dazed. “I’d like to keep doing this. It’s nice.”

You smile, gently pecking his lips and nodding. “Okay,” you whisper. “We can keep doing this.”

You decide your research can wait. It’ll still be there tomorrow. 

[drmaddict]

Bunny Prince

Summary: When Aegon tangles with a playful sorcerer, his life is turned upside down for once. It was nice that his wife still loved him, but how was he supposed to be any kind of respectable as a bunny-prince?

Word count: 2.261

Warnings: fluff, mentions of smut (mostly humping), use of (y/n)

Inspiredby this: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGde3RFYN/

Aegon acts before he thinks. Always had. His impulse control was simply non-existent. But he was lucky that his wife usually took care of that by now. She distracted him or stopped him. She made sure that he calmed down and was busy enough, not to do anything stupid.

Alicent was so happy about this, that she made sure that her new daughter-in-law's every wish was read from her lips.

But even she had her limits. At some point, Aegon was without her. No matter how much he became attached to her and sought her closeness.

At some point, like today for example, his friends dragged him back to flee bottom. Where he drank. Not exactly a little. Where he partied. Not exactly quiet. Where he messed with someone. Someone who had his own sense of humour. With a sorcerer, that is.

The very same one looked at Aegon, who was drunkenly mocking him, and playfully tapped him on the nose.

"Don't worry little bunny. I know exactly what you are." He smacked the heel of his hand against Aegon's forehead. He staggered back. His head suddenly went completely blank. His companions caught him. He hung limply in their arms.

"Let's show the world what you really are. Because it's definitely not a dragon." The sorcerer laughed and blew a powder in Aegon's face. "Sweet dreams."

No one knew what they could do. The maesters realised immediately, that this wasn't their job and the priests didn't even know such a thing was possible.

(Y/n) sat next to her husband on the bed and looked at him, as he looked at himself in a mirror in shock.

"I can never be around people again.", he whispered in shock.

"Aegon it's not-"

"I'm going to be a laughing stock!", he groaned and threw the mirror away.

She stroked his back reassuringly. "You're still the prince."

"I have bunny ears (y/n)! Bunny ears!", he shouted.

She couldn't deny it. The long ears were impossible to miss. They stuck out towards the back. (Y/n) vividly remembered that this was a sign of stress.

"And I love you anyway.", she said simply and kissed him on the nose.

He grimaced slightly, but immediately refrained from doing so, as he suspected it would only make him look more like a bunny. Annoyed, he fell back into bed.

"Ow!", he groaned as he landed wrong on one of his new ears.

"At least you'd have time to attend to your studies now.", Aemond jested, just as (Y/n) entered the room.

Aegon tried to ignore him. And yet, annoyed, he reached for a goblet of wine. He had barely put it to his lips when he threw it away, grimacing and holding his nose.

"What's wrong?", (Y/n) asked immediately, alarmed.

Aegon shook his head, as if trying to shake something off. "It burns.", he whimpered.

"The wine?"

He nodded.

They heard Aemond laugh. "Is your little nose too sensitive?"

Aegon's gaze darkened. Suddenly he stomped one foot on the ground with full force. Shocked, Aegon looked at his own foot.

"Aemond, we'll see you later.", said (Y/n), who saw how upset Aegon looked.

He just kept laughing.

"Get out!" shouted Aegon. Stomping his foot again.

(Y/n) went to Aemond and quickly pulled him out of the room. It was nice to finally see him laugh, but this really wasn't the best situation for it. She closed the door and turned back to Aegon. He was already curled up on the bed with his hands over his eyes. His body was shaken by little sobs.

She pulled his head onto her lap. Carefully positioning his ears in a comfortable position.

"Shh."

"I'm pathetic."

(Y/n) waited patiently in her chambers for Aegon. She had all but urged him to fly out with Sunfyre. The two needed each other. It would help him m, to feel more like himself again. He had withdrawn. Since Aemond had surprised him, he hadn't let anyone but (Y/n) and his mother see him.

Time with his dragon was what he needed now.

He had hidden his hair, and therefore his ears, under a cap when he had left the room. That had been several hours ago now. Here and there she saw Sunfyre flying over the rooftops of the city, performing playful loops and turns. She smiled.

Aegon came through the door to her in a better mood and kissed her briefly on the lips. He grabbed some of his clothes and was on his way out again.

"Where are you going?", she asked, confused. First you couldn't get him out of the room and now he didn't want to stay?

"I stink of dragon. I'm going for a bath."

"You usually bathe here."

"I'll be right back."

"Aegon... What's wrong?"

"I just want to bathe alone, like always!", he groaned, annoyed, and pushed his foot into the floor again. He groaned in annoyance and rolled his eyes at this new reflex.

She nodded. She didn't want to push him any further. "I'm sorry. Of course. You're right." She didn't want to spoil his good mood right away.

He nodded and disappeared, probably into his private room.

When he returned, he hesitantly sat down next to her. "You're sad.", he realised.

She sighed. "It's okay.", she smiled bravely. "It's just...," she started. "Well, since we've been married, there hasn't been a day when you haven't walked around this room shamelessly naked. You've never fussed with those robes... You never holed yourself up on the other side of the bed. You liked to bathe here and let me wash your hair." She looked at his worried face. "I understand that all this is weighing on you, but... I miss you, too.", she confessed quietly.

Aegon pressed his lips together and nodded in understanding. He reached for her hand.

"I don't exactly feel... well, like a husband, at the moment.", he confessed, looking down at the floor in embarrassment. "I just tried to hide, what I can hide."

She looked at him in irritation.

He sighed. "I don't know, if we'll ever find a solution to this dilemma... All right."

He stood up and turned his back to her.

"Aegon?"

"I forbid you to laugh.", he pressed out and unfastened the cloth belt around his robe.

The fabric fell down his back. She gently scrutinised the muscles beneath the milky skin. Her gaze travelled downwards, where she expected to see his rump, strong from dragon riding, but before she got there, she saw something else.

She blinked in surprise. A fluffy puff. A cosy, fluffy puff in the same silvery white as his hair.

Aegon looked over his shoulder. When he saw her staring, he immediately turned round.

"No! Wait! I just... wasn't expecting this."

He threw the robe back on.

"It's cute.", she blurted out.

"I'm not cute!", Aegon insisted and stomped to his feet. "This stupid leg!", he grumbled, ruffling his hair.

"Hey. Hey. Hey." (Y/n) placated him immediately. She pushed him onto the armchair and simply sat on his lap. She stroked his hair. "You're still Prince Aegon. The dragon rider with the strongest bond to a dragon that there ever was." She kissed his forehead. "We'll find a solution to everything else."

Aegon dropped his forehead to the crook of her neck. "Couldn't that damned sorcerer have chosen a more frightening animal?"

"Shh." She kissed the crown of his head. "No one needs to know but me."

"I love you.", he murmured.

"I love you.", she replied.

"Aegon?!"

He sat up jerkily as she nudged him roughly.

He wiped his eyes and, as he had been doing lately, his nose. A quirk that (Y/n) usually found simply endearing.

"What?", he grumbled.

"What do you mean? What?", she huffed. "I thought you were dead!"

He looked at her in astonishment. "I was just asleep."

"And you couldn't be woken up. Were you even breathing? Because it certainly didn't look like it. If you ever do this to me again-"

She felt his lips gently on hers. "I'm fine.", he said simply.

She took a deep breath. "I was scared, okay? Who knows what this spell will do in the long run."

Aegon grumbled. "I thought we knew that by now."

"Now don't be like that." She stroked his head between the ears. He immediately closed his eyes with pleasure. Over the last month, he had adopted more and more of the behaviour of a bunny. He had hyperactive phases. Even more than usual. For half an hour, he was a storm on two legs and would dismantle, albeit accidentally, almost everything in his path and then just fall over and sleep. Sometimes he would lovingly push (Y/n) to get her attention. He enjoyed nothing more than having his ears gently stroked by her. His puff wiggled when he was excited. He munched. He munched his food like a rabbit.

His already high sex drive was boosted to such an extent, that (Y/n) could no longer keep up. By now, whenever he could, he simply lay on top of her and rubbed against her leg, while she read and scratched his head, until he came often enough to fall asleep.

And now, apparently, he slept like the dead.

"You know what I mean.", she grumbled.

He lolled onto the bed. "It's all right.", he mumbled, then suddenly stood up.

Without warning, he put his nose in the crook of her neck and sniffed.

"What are you doing?", she asked in astonishment.

He only let out a pleasurable hum.

He walked in circles around her. He looked at her mischievously, then jumped towards her and knocked them both over so that they landed on the bed.

"I need you.", he whimpered, his eyes suddenly glazed over.

"Aegon?"

"Please." He bit the back of her neck lightly. Sniffed her hair. Licked her skin. "I need you.", he whispered again.

(Y/n) had an inkling of what was to come. But nothing could prepare her for the hours that followed.

Aegon lay absolutely still next to her. He had simply fallen over like a sack.

Hours, the whole night, he had... rammed. There was no other way to put it. He had taken her. Quickly and easily. Over and over and over again. She had got her money's worth, but at some point she had to change things. She had offered him her hand, until even that was sore and he simply rubbed against her leg again. He hadn't been able to form a single word. He lay on top of her. He drooled unhindered against her shoulder, where he had buried himself. Panting, moaning, whimpering. Until at some point he suddenly collapsed and fell asleep.

Now, the next morning, (Y/n) could hardly move. Everything hurt. She was sore and wanted to bathe in ointment when there was a knock at the door. She sighed in annoyance.

She pulled the sheets over herself and at least enough over Aegon's rump to cover his puff.

"What?", she called out.

Someone from the Kingsguard came into the room, saw their condition and immediately turned round. "The... The sorcerer has been found.", he explained. "He is willing to release the spell." He bowed with his eyes closed and left the room.

(Y/n) slapped Aegon awake. The gentle way wasn't going to work anyway.

"What?", the mumbled.

"They found the sorcerer. Get dressed."

They went into a smaller chamber. Aegon made sure to hide his head under a hood.

When they entered the room, the sorcerer was already waiting for them with a grin.

"Hello bunny, how are you?", he grinned. Aegon's foot stomped on the floor. He groaned in annoyance. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but PLEASE undo it."

The sorcerer grinned. "No problem."

He blew a powder in Aegon's face and watched with a smile as he lost consciousness. He didn't bother to help (Y/n) try to catch him.

Aegon recovered after less than a minute of unconsciousness. He grabbed his hair. Not rabbit ears. Normal human ears. His hand shot to his rump. Thank the gods. No puff.

The sorcerer grinned. "All you have to do is ask. If you don't mind my asking." He gestured in the direction of the door.

Aegon simply waved it off and continued to run his hands over his ears.

"Not so fast." Aemond stepped out from a corner. "You attacked a member of the royal family and for that-"

A blast of powder hit him square in the face. No one caught him as he went down.

The sorcerer held out a pouch to Aegon.

"Decide for yourself, when he will be redeemed. I'm leaving the city.", he said casually.

Aegon didn't have the heart to do anything but nod. "Thank you?"

The sorcerer nodded, bowed to (Y/n) and walked away.

They looked back at Aemond.

"Are those whiskers?", asked (Y/n), surprised.

Aegon looked at his little brother. "With ears and a tail to match.", he grinned.

(Y/n) looked at him reprovingly.

"Oh come on.", he sighed

"One week. No longer."

"A month. I had to endure it longer."

"Two weeks. Thats my last word.", she said.

"Fine."

Aemond on the floor opened his eyes, looking sly. Something came out of his throat that sounded almost like the mewing of a kitten.

"This will be the best two weeks of my life.", Aegon grinned.

(Y/n) sighed. "Gods help us."

[wxstros]

dream a little dream of me - aegon & aemond targaryen

summary: There were many things you regretted doing; drinking milk on a hot day, letting your dickwad of a boyfriend lie to your face... and creating a dr after reading a dark romance and subconsciously modelling traits after morally grey men; because unlike Wanda Maximoff, they followed you to the real world.

warnings: morally grey characters. dark themes. typical targc*st. jace was supposed to be the love interest but aha! smut. cursing. oral.

pairings: aemond targaryen x reader, aegon targaryen x reader.

notes: this is probably an prologue or a synopsis or a test chapter one! just had to write it so the plot isn't lost!!

"Dōna mandia.." Aegon whispers, brushing a ghost of a kiss on your own; his breathing was slow, as if savoring your closeness, "let me drink wine from your lips alone." he uttered in a low voice, making a noise from the back of his throat as your lips part, wispy lashes brushing against his cheeks as you trembled beneath his fingers.

"Such a jumpy little thing, aren't you?" Aemond tuts, a hint of a smile on his lips. "We barely touched you and still..." your breath was caught in your throat at the feeling of his kisses on your neck; his arms wounding atightly around your waist, fingers splayed around your stomach.

You could hardly breathe from their seeking, probing touches, let alone move when they pinned you inbetween them. Your throat closed up and you struggled to breathe when Aemond's fingers breached your nightwear, his forefinger brushing against your folds, "Is this for us, dōna mandia? Our sweet sister, dripping... aching to be fucked by her own blood." He mocked, repeating your own words with disdain.

Aegon smirked, cupping your face with a firm grip, "What? That strong bastard not doing it for you? Do you regret choosing him already?" you whimpered as Aemond thrust a finger into you; slipping in with ease from your own wetness. You hated how your body reacts to their proximity, and their damn, filthy words! You were both humiliated and aroused. Ashamed and.. unbelievably turned on. Fuck. Wasn't this ironic? For all your unspoken convictions, when it came down to it, weren't you as weak and pliant in their arms? Your only consolation was weak; this was merely a fantasy. A fantasy. A fanta....

"Fuck!" Your cry was genuine, as you felt Aegon's lips suckling on your pearl; lapping up at your cunt with invigorated will, while Aemond worked in tandem, thrusting in and out of your sloppy cunt.

"Cry out, mandia. Louder. Let the servants hear you!" Aemond coos, nipping at a sensitive spot in your neck. Your breath came out ragged, leaning most of your weight behind Aemond, as his brother lifted your leg to his shoulder, opening you more to his mouth. Your eyes were half lidded from pleasure... a distant ringing echoing in the back of your head... an anxious purr... a clamor and a yelp escaped your parted lips as he flattens his tongue on your core—

You jolted awake, scrambling to turn off your screaming alarm, and cursing altogether. You didn't know wether to thank the alarm rang when it did, or be frustrated from being sexually frustrated. It was merely a dream, of sorts, yet you felt the uncomfortable heat inbetween your legs as if it was real.

Forget about it, you muttered to yourself. You hadn't planned for the plot to go south, when you'd imagined it; it was supposed to be wholesome, and sweet, a sort of fix it for your own relaxation. Something to comfort yourself as the series completely tore down any sort a happy ending for your favorite characters on television.

But as it stands, just like in the series, you had little control over what your characters did; it was as if they have their own free will, and desires independent from what you had thought them as. They could hold conversations properly, engage in witty banter, flirt— you were incredibly baffled when the first hint of attraction had come to light with your so called brothers.

Nevertheless, you chalked it off to circumstances. They were unloved; neglected and lost with the expectations of many before their shoulders. It was natural they would hold on to affection and tenderness without any sort of ill motive; it was human nature to seek love, afterall.

But your designs were clearly intended for Rhaenyra's oldest son... how come, there was a side plot, in the realization of your love story with Jacaerys? Was there some manual, you should have read when constructing a desired reality? You thought it was more on feelings!

Shrugging off the night's exciting festivity, you rose from your bed, and took to the shower as swift as you could. You still had classes to attend, assignments, papers to write... dreaming was a stress relief, so you shouldn't think about it as deeply as you should. You couldn't dwell on it with normal, society accepted, morals. It wasn't real.

And the Targaryen brothers? Fucking easy on the eyes. Who can blame you from deviating from the plot? You would climb them like a tree, surely.

You had to laud the whole casting team for casting such delicious villains. Ewan Mitchell and Tom Glynn-Carney are so gorgeous, you could cry.

You dressed for the day, skipping breakfast, as you were already too late, and leaving your dorms to attend to the real world..