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sourcherryandsprinkles · 8 months ago

Note

How about Aegon or Aemond corrupting jace's twin? Maybe Aegon does the corrupting and Aemond is into her?

The list of morally wrong things in this one is astronomical, but it’s House of the Dragon so it’s okay. Also, this is part 1 (let me know what should happen in the next part!). I wanted to wait until it was fully finished to post, but this is 6k already so I'm splitting it

Warnings: 18+, smut, uncle/niece incest, corruption, fingering, oral (m receiving), non-consensual touch (not by Aegon or Aemond), protective!Aegon,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It all began when a letter from your grandsire arrived at Dragonstone, inviting you to spend summer in King’s Landing. You hadn't seen your grandsire since his fiftieth namedays, which was about two years ago, so you were more than pleased to accept his invitation. The gardens were beautiful in the summer…and you hadn’t seen Haelena in a while.

It was absolutely not in the hopes to see your uncles again.

‘’Are you out of your mind? You’re going straight to the dragons’ den! Have you forgotten how they treated us all these tears we lived there?’’ Jacaerys said, walking into your bedchamber like it was his own.

The news of your summer plans must have reached his ears after his lesson with the Maester.

‘’They’re not horrible people, you just never got along with them,’’ you fired back at your twin brother as you continued packing your bags for tomorrow.

Growing up, your brothers had a few differences with Aegon and Aemond — many stupid fights and a lot of bullying on both ends —, but you never had the same treatment. Mayhaps it was because you were spending more time with Haelena than the boys. Or mayhaps they just took their teasing too seriously.

Jacaerys was not letting it go. ‘’They called you a bastard in your back, like they did Luke and I.’’

The first time you heard the word from Aegon’s mouth, it hurt you. Being a bastard was badly seen. Especially for the children of the heir of the Iron throne. His slur branded your mother as a whore.

Having heard, Jacaerys had come forward, the two pushing and shoving until Ser Criston and Ser Harwin separated them. When informed that a fight had occured in the courtyard between Aegon and Jace, your mother was mad at Jacaerys but also flattered that he had defended her honor.

‘’We both know the truth about our father, Jace,’’ you reminded him, refusing to be blind.

Although you and your brothers were conceived from an infidelity, you didn’t feel shame in being your father’s child. You remembered Ser Harwin being around in King’s Landing and making your mother happy. He was a kind and honorable man. Leanor was rarely ever present.

‘’If the court finds out about our father, I won’t be recognized as heir. They’ll never allow a bastard to sit on the Iron Throne.’’

‘’We’re Targaryens, and that’s all that matters, all you need to sit on the throne,’’ you insisted. ‘’Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing.’’

⁂

At your return from King’s Landing, you’ll be meeting suitors — which you dreaded. That meant that this summer was going to be the last summer before becoming a wife. The thought of getting married made your stomach churn. Marriage was not something that interested you — at all. Like your mother, you would much rather ride your dragon and travel than live in a Lord’s castle and start a family.

Your arrival was announced to the King, who summoned you in the throne room.

He stood from the throne as you approached, a smile spreading across his face. ‘’Ah, there you are,’’ Viserys said warmly, stepping down to meet you. ‘’It's good to see you back in King's Landing.’’

You returned the smile. ‘’Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,’’ you replied respectfully.

‘’You’ve grown,’’ Viserys remarked, his gaze appraising you. ‘’And you inherited your grandmother's beauty.’’

Though you never had the chance to meet Queen Aemma, you knew it was a compliment. The King always spoke fondly of his late wife.

‘’I’ll be ten and eight soon,’’ you informed him.

‘’Already?’’ The King raised an eyebrow and you nodded. ‘’Time flies, doesn’t it? We’ll have a tourney in your and Jacaerys’ honor. My first grand-children turning ten and eight, it deserves to be celebrated.’’

⁂

You changed out of your traveling dress, then went looking for your aunt and uncles.

First, you spotted Aegon soaring overhead on Sunfyre, the golden dragon gleaming in the sunlight. He had gotten so large and beautiful. You’ll have to ask Aegon to ride together next time he goes.

Next, you made your way to the training yard, where you knew Aemond often spent his time. As expected, you found him there, sparring with Ser Criston, his movements swift and precise. He was much better than your brothers at sparring, you mentally noted.

You called his name excitedly as you stepped down the stairs, which you realized was a mistake when he almost got taken down by Ser Criston. You apologized, but Aemond shook his head.

‘’No harm done,’’ he assured you, putting away his sword and walking over to you.

The last time you were in this training yard, you kicked Aemond’s ass. You were only kids, but it was still one of your greatest victories. Sword-fighting was in your blood. With a little bit of training, you would be as great as the boys in this yard.

‘’Can you still hold a sword, Princess?’’

⁂

You and Aemond cleaned up just in time for dinner, where you greeted the Queen and Helaena. They had the same hairstyle, which reminded of you and your mother, Rhaenyra. Children look up to their parents.

After dinner, you, Helaena, Aemond and Aegon retired to the latter’s chamber and spent the evening talking, laughing and eating small cakes and other sweet treats that you had requested from the kitchens.

‘’These pastries are divine,’’ you said, loving the bitter raspberry mixed with the sweetness of the tart. ‘’We don’t have anything like this on Dragonstone.’’ You took another bite, humming at the taste.

Just as you finished your third tart, Aegon stood and excused himself. ‘’It's been wonderful having you here, dear niece, but duty calls.’’

You glanced out the window, noticing the silver glow of the moon and the twinkling stars against the dark sky. ‘’At late hour?’’

Aegon paused for a moment, a confident smirk spreading across his face. ‘’Some duties can only be fulfilled at night,’’ he declared cryptically, his gaze flickering mischievously towards Aemond, who could only shake his head in response.

‘’I wouldn't exactly call it duty,’’ Aemond remarked, trailing off as Aegon interjected with a mischievous grin.

‘’A treat, then,’’ the older prince continued, redirecting his attention to you with a knowing look. ‘’You enjoy pastries. I, however, have a preference for women.’’

Confusion clouded your expression. ‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’Sex,’’ Aegon declared boldly, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Your gaze fell to your feet, color rising in your cheeks. ‘’Oh.’’

Aegon's lips twitched with amusement at your reaction. ‘’Ever had sex, dear niece?’’

‘’Aegon,’’ Aemond interjected, his voice a warning.

You shook your head.

It was a good thing that Helaena had fallen asleep or she would have covered her ears. Sex always made her uncomfortable.

‘’Not even with yourself?’’ Aegon continued.

Confusion struck your face. ‘’Eh, no.’’

‘’You’re missing out.’’

⁂

Every night, you watched from your window as Aegon sneaked out through the secret passageway of the Red Keep. You had discovered these passageways when you were playing hide and seek as kids. Aemond always complained that hiding there was cheating, but you and Aegon did it anyway.

You couldn't help but wonder what was so great about sex that made him go out every night.

One night, you decided to follow him. The curiosity was too much to resist.

You snuck early through the secret passageways and waited for any sign of Aegon's approach. The damp, narrow corridors brought back memories of your childhood games.

Finally, you heard his familiar footsteps echoing down the passage. As he rounded the corner, you stepped out of the shadows.

‘’What is my favorite niece doing here?’’ Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow. He had a dark cloak over his shoulders, covering any signs that could give his identity away in the city.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. ‘’I want to come to the pleasure house with you.’’

Aegon stared at you for a moment, then laughed.

‘’I'm serious, Aegon. I…I want to know about sex.’’ You tried to make your voice confident, knowing Aegon would send you to your chamber if he sensed a sliver of uncertainness.

Taking your hand in his, Aegon led you through the maze of streets and alleys. It was bustling with people. Merchants and artisanal liquor sellers were pushing their beverages at you, almost forcing you to have a taste. Some people were drunk and stumbling about, while some were playing instruments with surprising skill, their melodies blending with the occasional fights breaking out nearby. You could hear obscene sounds from darkened alleys, adding to the chaotic symphony of the night.

It was your first time coming to the city, and the overwhelming sights and sounds made you clung to Aegon, not wishing to get lost.

He came to a stop when you reached a dark wooden door. Aegon pushed it open and pulled you inside.

The stuffy air hit you immediately, making you wrinkle your nose. Aegon took off his hood, but didn’t let go of you. You were under his responsibility tonight. Around you, people lounged around in various states of undress, some lost in laughter, others in more intimate activities that brought a pink tint to your cheeks.

Aegon made a stop to the bar, ordering two cups of wine. One for him, and one for you.

‘’Drink,’’ he said. ‘’It’s nothing like what we have at the Keep, but it'll help you relax.’’

You took the glass and sipped tentatively, the sour taste of the wine making you grimace. He was right about this wine being disgusting. You had to force it down your throat.

‘’What do you do when you come here?’’ you asked, looking around with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Aegon leaned against the bar as he downed the rest of his drink. ‘’I get my cock sucked. Or I fuck some whore. Depends how I’m feeling that night.’’

His bluntness caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks flush. ‘’What of me? How do I…’’ You bit your lip, the words shy on your tongue. ‘’I don’t have a cock.’’

‘’You don’t need a cock for pleasure.’’ Aegon set his empty cup on the bar. ‘’Come with me.’’

You followed him through the mass of people, avoiding touching or being touched by anyone. Some of these people were very handsy and pushy, asking for things you didn’t quite understand.

One the way, a woman approached Aegon, her dress barely clinging to her body. She smiled seductively at him, her eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to him. ‘’Care for some company tonight, my prince?’’ she purred, hoping to make some good money tonight.

Aegon glanced at you, as if gauging your reaction, then back at the woman. ‘’Not tonight.’’

The whore looked at you behind Aegon, giving you a full stare down, and glared. Did she take you for another whore? In your silk dress and jewelry around your neck?

You followed your uncle to a room, gasping in shock when you saw a woman being penetrated by two men. One was standing at her head, her mouth wrapped around him. Spit was dribbling from her mouth, but she didn’t seem to care. And the other was thrusting into her from behind, loud moans leaving their mouths. To your right, a woman with saggy breasts was bouncing on a bearded man’s cock. She craned her head back to kiss her partner, sweat covering both their bodies.

It was not at all what you had expected. No one seemed shy or embarrassed of exposing themself in front of so many people. In fact, they didn’t seem to care at all. They were just there to take what they needed.

‘’Don’t listen to what your Septa told you. Sex is not just for baby-making, sex is for pleasure. For the woman as it is for the man,’’ Aegon purred into your ear as you watched the people around you. ‘’Men find pleasure from their cock.’’ He pointed to a man getting his male part sucked, his head thrown back and moaning. ‘’And women from their cunny.’’ He pointed to two women in a corner, one with her hand between her partner’s legs. She seemed to be feeling great pleasure, you noticed. ‘’Although most people here indulge in penetrative sex, penetration is not necessary for pleasure. You can find that same pleasure — at least similar to — by yourself.’’

‘’I want to try,’’ you stated, wanting to feel the same pleasure as her.

Aegon shook his head. ‘’We’re only here to watch. I’m not letting any of these men get their hands on you.’’

You frowned. ‘’How am I supposed to learn?’’

Aegon motioned for one of the unoccupied whores to come up to him. Her hair was brown and very long. He gave her body a few caresses, then pointed at you as he explained something to her. She nodded in understanding and took your hand, leading you to a corner where a ‘bed’ was not being used.

‘’Larissa is gonna teach you the ways to pleasure,’’ Aegon explained.

⁂

On your return from the brothel, you said a giggly ‘good night’ to Aegon and disappeared inside your chamber, excited to undress and try what Larissa had taught you. You had studied her movements, which had triggered tingly feelings between your legs.

You unlaced your dress and boots, then flopped down on your bed. You opened your legs, exposing your pussy, and took a short moment to look down at it. It was different from Larissa’s. Your hair density was different and you didn’t have the floppy skin she called ‘petals’, but you didn’t think too much of it. All bodies were different, she said.

The cool air of the room made the throbbing between your legs worse. Was this how it was supposed to feel?

Tentatively, you lowered one hand between your legs, right against your throbbing core, and breathlessly gasped when you made contact with your sensitive skin. You threw your head back against the wall and closed your eyes at the new found sensation.

Wetness stuck to your fingers and you pressed harder against your core, causing your eyelashes to flutter. ‘’Ahh.’’

Your fingers traced the seam of your slit, spreading the wetness around. Each touch sent waves of sensation through you, making you want more. Taking it to the next level, you swiped between your folds, causing you to moan as soon as you met your sensitive flesh.

You continued doing so, humming in delight and feeling yourself relax more into the sensations your fingers were bringing. Why had no one told you about this kind of pleasure before? It was much better than eating raspberry tarts.

Another moan slipped past your lips, the tingly feeling between your legs intensifying. You pushed your hips down onto your hand and sighed softly, arching your back from the bed. But it wasn't enough.

Something inside you was tingling.

Finding no better ways to relieve these tingles, you slid your middle finger inside of yourself. Immediately, your walls closed around your finger, warm and wet. It felt strange — and sinful. You began moving it in and out, your mouth opening to form an ‘O’ shape.

‘’Oh Gods…’’

You began pumping your finger in and out a bit faster, thinking it was what you needed, but it did not make the tingles go away. It did feel good, but after a moment, your hand was getting tired and the tingles were growing more intense.

‘’What am I doing wrong?’’ you asked aloud, feeling frustrated.

⁂

On the morrow, after your afternoon tea with Helaena, you knocked on Aegon’s door. He rarely left his chambers during the day — other than for dinner or to ride Sunfire —, so you knew he would be there.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the heavy wooden door. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Aegon in his usual princely attire. His silver hair was tousled, and his eyes had a tired look.

‘’I need your help,’’ you said, not wasting time with formal greetings. ‘’Something seems wrong with my body, I’m afraid…’’

Aegon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. ‘’What do you mean?’’

You hesitated, second thinking if you should be going to him about your intimate problems. After all, Aegon had boy parts, how could he help you? ‘’What Larissa taught me last night, it is not working. I tried, but I cannot…make the tingles go away. My finger is not enough.’’

Aegon's expression shifted from curious to alarmed as he glanced on both sides of the halfway, making sure no one had heard you. If anyone knew of your little escapade into the city, Aegon would be in a lot of trouble.

Then, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter quickly. The room was somber despite the large window dorning over the city, and the bed was unmade. You couldn’t say you were surprised by the latter.

Aegon shut the door behind you, pulling you out of your observation, and turned to face you. ‘’You should be more careful of the matters you speak about outside closed doors. You would be surprised by the number of ill intentioned ears that are waiting for bad whispers in this castle.’’

You nodded, having not thought of that. On Dragonstone, there weren't as many maids or servants. They mostly assisted your mother and the younger children, or busied themselves with cleaning tasks in the lower floors of the castle.

‘’Take a seat,’’ Aegon invited, sitting down in a large velvet chair at the center of the room and gesturing towards a loveseat right across for you. ‘’And tell exactly what you mean by ‘not enough’.’’

You pursed your lips, trying to find the right words. ‘’I do not know how to put it into words… All I know is that when I inserted my finger inside myself, it felt good. But the tingles intensified and my finger wasn’t enough anymore. A-am I broken, Aegon?’’

He laughed quietly at the last remark. ‘’Broken? No. You’re not broken, my darling. You’re simply not doing it quite right. You see, in order to truly satisfy yourself when you’re all alone…a finger simply isn’t enough.’’ Aegon leaned in his seat, speaking closer to you. ‘’Would you like me to show you how to truly do it, properly?’’

You were most certain that you should not be doing this, but going back to the brothel was not a possibility at the moment. It was likely closed during the daytime and, although Helaena was a woman, you doubted she could be of help.

Aegon stood and pulled you with him, guiding you to his bed. ‘’Lay down. Make yourself comfortable.’’

You scooted back until you hit the pillows, glaring at the sheet when your foot got stuck in it. If Aegon would make his bed in the mornings, it would not have happened.

Once you were settled, he pulled your dress up, letting the layers bunch at your hips and pushed your legs apart. You were completely exposed to him, and rather than feeling uncomfortable under your uncle’s gaze, you spread yourself wider, desperate to feel good.

‘’Gods,’’ Aegon growled under his breath. His hand gently rubbed your inner thigh, caressing your soft skin. ‘’You have one magnificent cunny, dear niece.’’ He moved his hand up the inside of your thigh, gently playing with your soft sparse hair there, almost teasingly. ‘’Makes me want to kiss it.’’

You whined, feeling a tinge of shyness at his compliment. ‘’Aegon…’’

‘’I mean it. I’ve seen a lot in my short life, but none ever compared.’’ He pressed his fingers firmly against you, making you mewl from the contact.

It felt different from your own fingers. More pleasurable.

Aegon kept up the circular motions, using a bit more pressure, as he watched your expression flicker with pleasure, your mouth open and eyebrows knitted as a moan slipped from your lips. He began swiping his thumb over your clit and it made you moan so loud anyone who was passing in the hallway must’ve heard.

Your reaction made Aegon chuckle, amused. He brought a finger over your lips, shushing you. ‘’If you do this again, you’re gonna alert one of the maids. We don't want that, do we?’’ He stroked a piece of your hair, looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on.

You shook your head. ‘’I-I’ll be quiet,’’ you promised.

‘’Now, I’m going to put my fingers inside of you,’’ he explained as two fingers slipped down and entered you, sinking between your folds.

You gasped and pushed your hips against Aegon’s hand, realizing this was exactly what you needed. ‘’Ahh, this feels so good.’’

Aegon’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with desire as he felt your hips move against him. ‘’See, nothing is broken. You just needed uncle Aegon’s help.’’ He increased the pace a bit, his fingers moving rapidly as your breath came in short gasps and moans as your mind got lost in the sensations.

Your whole body was on fire, trembling by need as his thumb started rubbing your clit again. You felt the heat inside yourself intensify, you could feel the release you so desperately craved was building.

You whined, grabbing the sheets next to you. ‘’A-Aegon, something feels strange. I think— I think I’m going to pee.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on not wetting the bed. How embarrassing would that be?

‘’You’re not going to pee. Don’t worry.’’ Aegon continued his ministrations. ‘’This is good. This is exactly what you want.’’

‘’No. I’m going to pee, I’m going to—’’ You interrupted yourself as your back arched off the bed as your final release hit you, your hands fisting one of the pillows so hard you almost pierced a hole with your fingernails.

Aegon’s free hand covered your mouth just in time, muffling your cries while you rode out your pleasure on his hand.

⁂

You sat on your vanity chair while servants were cleaning up the aftermath of your bath. Your chamber smelled of lavender oil, which you poured into the water to help get a great night of sleep. The beds were luxurious in the Red Keep, but it lacked the comfort of home.

‘’Will it be all, Princess?’’ your handmaid asked after brushing your freshly washed hair.

You thanked her for her service. ‘’Yes. Thank you, Dyana.’’

‘’I will see you in the morning, Princess.’’

Dyana left your chambers, and you waited for the servants to do the same. You didn't want to press them, but you were impatient to watch them leave.

Once everyone was out, you laid on your bed and pulled up your nightgown.

At supper, you had sat across Aegon and your eyes had fallen on his hand holding his goblet of wine. Precisely his long, thick, and dexterous fingers. You knew it was sinful to have such thoughts during a family meal, but you had been unable to keep yourself from thinking about the intense pleasure Aegon's fingers brought you. You had to clamp your thighs under the table, feeling a needy ache in your cunny.

Your fingertips skimmed over your folds, and you let out a small moan. You've been waiting all evening to do that. Your index finger slipped down to the pearl Aegon touched this afternoon and you made small, soft circles around it. A jolt of pleasure went up your spine. That felt so good. You continued rubbing soft circles, causing arousal to leak down your cunny.

You ceased the attention to your clit and brought your middle finger down to your entrance, spreading your wetness before sinking your finger inside. A sweet moan echoed in the room, but you reminded yourself to be quiet. Always quiet.

Closing your eyes, you imagined Aegon slipping his long, thick fingers deep inside you. Your walls clenched down on your finger, and then you slipped in a second.

‘’Ah, Aegon.’’

Like the night prior, your fingers were too small to reach where you needed. Frowning in frustration, you searched around your chamber for something that resembled a finger. There was a forgotten spoon from when you had tea brought up — too small — and a wooden stick used to roll parchment paper — too big. Lastly, you saw your hairbrush on your vanity. Perfect. The handle of it was smooth, it shouldn’t hurt.

You wiped your fingers on the sheets and got up to grab it. You brought the hairbrush handle down to your cunny and paused. Although you were alone in your chamber, you couldn’t help but worry you would get in trouble if anyone found out about this. Shaking that thought, you cautiously pressed the handle to your hole, and steadily pushed it in. You felt your cunny squeezing and slighting bucking your hips at the brush.

The sensation was foreign, but not unpleasant. As you pressed the handle deeper, you let out a soft gasp, quickly covering your mouth with your free hand to stifle any more sounds. You moved the brush handle gently at first, allowing your body to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion.

Your other hand moved back to your clit, resuming the soft circles that had felt so good before. The combined sensations were intense, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your breath was short and your eyes fluttered closed as you imagined Aegon with you, his fingers instead of the brush.

The handle moved in and out, your movements growing more urgent as tears formed at the corner of your eyes, overwhelmed by pleasure. Your hips rocked against it, whining needily as you felt the pressure building, your muscles tightening as you edged closer to climax. Your walls clenched around the handle, and with one final push, the pleasure overwhelmed you. Your body shook with the force of your orgasm, your back arching off the bed.

You stayed there for a moment, panting and trembling, the handle still inside you. That felt… You couldn’t find any words to describe it.

Slowly, you pulled the hairbrush out, and placed it on the bed. Its handle was coated with your slick but you didn’t bother to clean it, pulling the covers over your body and drifting to sleep.

⁂

‘’Good morrow, Uncle,’’ you greeted, crossing paths with Aemond in the halls of the Red Keep after breaking fast.

Aemond gave you a short nod. ‘’Good morrow, Princess.’’

‘’Are you heading to the dragonpit?’’ you asked, noting the faint scent of smoke clinging to his black leather riding doublet.

‘’No. Returning, actually.’’

A pout formed on your lips, disappointed. ‘’That's unfortunate. I was heading there and hoping we could go together. I would go with Aegon, but he is not a morning person, as you know.’’

‘’We could go in the morrow after breaking fast?’’ Aemond suggested, watching as a smile lit your face.

⁂

Just as you were about to seek servants and ask them to prepare you a bath, Aegon knocked on your door and asked if you wanted to join him for another night in the city. He didn’t have any friends to accompany him, and Aemond was too much of a prude to go to brothels. Although you were younger, you didn’t have a stick up your ass.

On the way, Aegon dropped a few gold coins and got you sweets from a street baker. He wiped the cherry glaze on your lips with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth.

You sat at a table and indulged in wine amongst the men. Around you, women were dancing in their smallest clothes, entertaining the customers inside the brothel. Beside you, Aegon watched the curious fascination on your face while sipping his wine, pleased to see you were having fun. He made sure to drink enough to relax, but not too much he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye out.

When you finished your cup, Aegon rose to his feet and took you to the back of the brothel. Excitement was bubbling in your stomach, hearing the sounds of pleasure coming from men and women behind each of the curtains.

As you entered one of the rooms, a woman came up to Aegon and begged to suck his cock for free, desperately wanting a taste of the prince. She was only wearing a piece of cloth tied into a skirt, her small breasts and pointy nipples bared to all.

‘’Watch and learn, little one. Your future husband will enjoy this,’’ Aegon said with a wink.

He shoved his breeches down, exposing his surprisingly large cock to everyone in the room. You stared at it with wide eyes. Were all the cocks big? You peaked around you, searching for comparisons, but nothing seemed to come close.

When you drew your eyes back to your uncle, the woman was kneeling before Aegon, his cock already in her mouth. The action surprised you, but you took notes and watched as she bobbed her head down his shaft, sucking and slurping as spit dribbled from her mouth. Your eyes flickered to Aegon, who was groaning, taking pleasure from the woman’s mouth.

‘’Agh, fuck,’’ he slurred, his head slightly back. ‘’That mouth is made to suck cocks!’’

On the ground, the woman looked satisfied to please him. She moaned as Aegon grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced himself deeper into her mouth, groaning obscenely until he released his semen down her throat. Some spilled from her lips, but Aegon didn’t wipe it off like he did with the cherry glaze. He pushed her off him and re-dressed himself.

‘’Do all men enjoy this?’’ you asked.

He chuckled softly before responding. His eyes met your wide, curious gaze. ‘’Oh yes, most men enjoy it very much. Now, would you like another cup of wine?’’

You smiled. ‘’Please.’’

You sat on a couch by yourself, waiting for Aegon’s return. Before you, a woman was getting her cunny pounded by a bearded man. She moaned loudly, grabbing at her nipples. The sight made you think of the hairbrush you had inserted in yourself last night. It had filled you up nicely, but you couldn’t help but wonder how delightful a cock must feel.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the man who approached you until he grabbed your hand and placed it on his cock. You froze, a bewildered look on your face. He said something, but you couldn’t hear it, too focused on how clammy and hairy he felt. You tried to retract your hand, but he gripped it tightly, forcing you to rub him.

The Gods must have heard your prayers because Aegon returned with the wine and saw what was happening. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in anger. He quickly stepped in, his presence commanding attention.

‘’Let go of her or I’ll cut your fucking cock,’’ he threatened through clenched teeth, his hand on the dagger tucked into his belt. His voice was low and deadly, leaving no doubt that he meant every word.

The man’s eyes widened in surprise when he heard Aegon, and his grip on your hand loosened enough for you to slip away. You wiped it on the skirt of your dress, trying to erase the feeling of the stranger’s cock. Washing them with soap and water would have been better, but there was no bassin to do so.

‘’I-I apologize, my prince. I did not know the whore was yours—’’ the man stuttered, making excuses, but Aegon didn’t want to hear them.

He grabbed his shoulder and pinned him against the wall, bringing the dagger to his throat. The man's eyes widened further as the dagger's blade pressed against his skin, fear flashing on his face. ‘’She’s not a fucking whore,’’ Aegon’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes burning with rage.

The man swallowed hard. ‘’I-I apologize again, my prince. I meant no disrespect.’’

Aegon took a step closer, the dagger still at the man's throat. ‘’Don’t. Touch. Her. Again.’’ He looked down at his manly parts, then back at his face. ‘’Unless you want to lose your little cock.’’

⁂

The journey back to the Red Keep was silent. Aegon's grip on your hand was tight, his knuckles white from the tension. He was fuming, his eyes still narrowed in anger, his mind clearly still consumed by anger from the incident at the brothel. He kept you close, his gaze scanning the surroundings to ensure no one else tried to approach you.

When you finally reached the safety of the castle, he stopped in his tracks and turned to you. Guilt was consuming him. What happened was his fault. If he hadn’t left your side, this man would not have forced your delicate hand on his filthy cock.

Aegon opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. He walked past you, abandoning you in the secret passages.

—

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#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon the second #king aegon #house of the dragon #hotd #aegon targaryen #aegon the elder #house targaryen

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p2iimon · 2 years ago

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past homestucks who dont make homestuck content anymore but still reblog references to it are always a little more annoying

#nothing wrong with it i guess #but its like the kinda people who look back on homestuck as cringey and bad but like still go #''ohoho!! mayhaps i used to like something cringy and bad when i was young!! NOT NOW THOUGH''#idk #simons spouting

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katsu28 · 6 months ago

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Hi, I really like your writing! I had an idea for a fic with Lando. He left school really young (he got tutored privately afterwards according to wikipedia) and mayhaps that could make him feel insecure or something along those lines if he has a significant other that is in university, maybe studying to get a bachelors or masters degree. School is not everything and does not accurately measure intelligence or anything else but it is still a standard that most people hold and compare themselves too. It's something that I know all to well, which is where this idea came from. Whatever you do with it thank for reading it!💖

thank you for trusting me with your idea <3

lando norris x reader, r is in an unspecified master's program, 1.5k.

Lando loves how smart you are.

He tells you all the time. When you’re stressed from the intensity of your master’s program, nervous about an exam, or most of the time, just randomly. He’s proud of you for taking on something he definitely doesn’t have the brains for, and for absolutely crushing it so far.

He left school before even completing his GCSEs in year 10, just so he could focus on racing full time—a decision he’d never regret, but always wondered about.

What would his life have looked like if he hadn’t devoted it to pursuing a career in racing? Would he have finished secondary school? Made it to university?

He doesn’t even know what he would’ve studied.

Granted, he was never really good at school to begin with, but things could’ve changed. Now don’t get him wrong, he would never change a thing, but that didn’t mean he never thought about what might’ve been.

So yes, Lando loves how smart you are, but if he’s being honest with himself, it does make him feel a little insecure about his own intellect.

-------

Lando finds you in your workspace when he gets home from padel with Max.

He’d turned one of his guest rooms into a sort of office slash study space for you when you moved in with him all that time ago, a place where you could get your work done in a quiet environment whenever you needed to. The space itself was one of the smaller rooms, but still bigger than you were used to, and decorated to perfection too.

A standing desk with an ergonomic chair (better for your neck and back, he’d said, so you weren’t hunched over your books all the time), a smart blackboard on one wall for any necessary brainstorming, a comfy chair in another corner—all overlooking the Monte Carlo cityscape from massive floor to ceiling windows. Everything else has been up to you, but Lando wanted nothing but the best for his smart girl.

He pads in silently, making his way over to where you're furiously typing at your computer to press a kiss to your cheek. You flinch a little, startled out of your own world at the action. Your eyes fly to his, wide, before your posture relaxes again.

“Oh, hi! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” You breathe, giving him a short kiss on the lips this time.

“Didn’t mean to make you jump like that, darling. My bad,” He chuckles. He leans over your shoulder, squinting at the diagrams on your screen. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s—” You pause, flicking through a few pages of the textbook next to your computer. Your lips twist to the side in thought, and then you smile at him in what he’s sure you meant to be an assuring way. “Nevermind, you probably wouldn’t get it.”

He knows you don't mean it as a dig or anything, but the brush off ignites a bitter taste on his tongue. And if there’s one thing about Lando, it’s that he feels everything extremely strongly. “Well I’m sorry, not all of us can be geniuses.”

“Pardon?” You look genuinely stunned at his outburst, at this huge 180 degree turn his mood has taken within the last few seconds.

Then he can't help the words tumbling out of his mouth next. “I get it, alright? ‘Lando doesn't know what I’m talking about, let’s make Lando feel dumb!”

He storms off before you can process his stinging words, but even then, the anger that had just flared up in him has already dissipated. Lando knows all of it comes from a place of insecurity, that little nagging feeling at the back of his brain telling him that even though he’s happy where he is, happy doing what he does for a living, he could’ve made something different of himself.

You leave him alone for a while before coming to find him, presumably to let him cool off. He feels awful about what he said now. Honestly, he hadn't even meant to say it out loud, doesn’t know why he said it. It’s not like he meant it.

A knock from the doorway of the bedroom draws him out of his guilty thoughts, and he looks up to see you hovering just behind the threshold. He hates how you look hesitant to approach him.

You press your lips into a thin line once his gaze meets yours. “Can we talk about what just happened?”

“It’s nothing. Just forget I said anything.”

“It’s obvious you’ve been holding onto those thoughts for a while, so no, Lando, it’s not nothing.”

“I don’t wanna fight,” He mumbles, eyes glued to his fiddling fingers. You seem to notice his sudden quietness because your expression softens as you cross the room to sit next to him.

“We’re not fighting. You’ve got something on your mind, and I want to know so I can help,” You reply, shifting to face him. He can tell how you're trying to keep your voice as level as possible. “Please let me help.”

Lando chews on his bottom lip, unsure. You say you want to help, but he's worried that if he tells you what's really going on, you’ll think it's silly. It is silly, really, him feeling insecure because of how smart you are. But if he doesn't tell you, you’ll think he doesn't trust you, and he does trust you. He trusts you with everything.

Then you say his name again, softer this time, and you’re looking at him like you’ve done something horrible, and he sighs.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not smart enough to be your boyfriend. You get all excited about your research when you talk about it,” He sighs, shrugging clumsily, “and I want to understand it because I wanna be able to get excited about it with you, but I just don’t get it. And it makes me feel stupid.”

“I didn’t—Lando, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to, I—”

He shakes his head forcefully, grabbing both your hands in his. “No, that’s not what I meant. You never make me feel stupid. It’s my problem, really. I just…I’m not really known for my brains, yeah? Came to terms with that a while ago.”

“You’re smart, Lan,” You insist, brows pinching in the middle. “You’re so smart, what’re you even talking about?”

“We talking about the same person here? I never even finished school. Wasn’t too good at it before I left either.”

“There’s more than one way to be smart, y’know,” You continue. Lando tilts his head curiously, not unlike a puppy would. “You’ve got amazing people skills, you’re creative beyond anything I could’ve dreamed up, you’re well balanced with your emotions. Not to mention the amount of skill and strength it takes to do what you do everyday, at the level you perform at.”

“No, but that’s different. I could never do what you do, remember all the stuff that you’ve had to.”

“And you think I could do what you do?” You ask, giving a disbelieving chuckle. “Genuinely, if I got put into the cockpit of your car, I wouldn’t even be able to start the bloody thing, let alone drive it the way you can when you’re being bombarded with information from all sides during a race. If you put me in front of a group of reporters, if I had to do even a fraction of the press appearances and sponsorship events you do, I’d probably shit my pants.”

Lando wrinkles his nose in slight disgust. “That’s nasty.”

“It’s true though! I can’t do half the things you can, but that doesn’t make me any less smart. It just means we’re smart in different ways. So what you never finished school? School isn’t the only way to measure how intelligent you are. And Lando, you’re beyond intelligent.”

His shoulders sag with the long sigh he releases, and he lists to the side, slumping over onto your lap. “Sorry for lashing out,” He murmurs, cheek pressed against your knee. He rolls over onto his back, gazing up at you with truly apologetic eyes. “I didn’t mean what I said, I was just being a dick.”

You hum noncommittally, stroking a hand through his curls. “You’re allowed to have feelings, Lando, it’s alright.”

“Yeah, but what I said was just mean, and I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking straight. You don’t deserve to be snapped at like that.”

“Makes up for all the times I’ve snapped at you during exams, so…call it even?” You ask, leaning over him with a soft smile.

“We’re even.” He lifts his head, craning to reach your lips, and you chuckle a little bit, but meet him halfway in a gentle kiss.

It’s an I’m sorry kiss, a I forgive you kiss, a I’ll always support you kiss.

A no matter what you say, I’ll love you forever kiss.

This fact, Lando knows for sure, even though a little bit of him still thinks he’s not quite as smart as you.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

#requested!#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris one shot

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 6 months ago

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OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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two-white-butterflies · 7 months ago

Text

by the sea | legolas of greenwood

Description: You have a reputation for being reckless. What happens when you do something that finally makes Legolas snap?

Pairing: soldier!reader/legolas

A/N: I fought all my demons to write the fight scene. This was requested.

It was a perfect day; the sun was warm and the winds blew cold.

It was a day of adventure!

"I thought that days like these were lost to the darkness." You laid on the warm green grass, feeling the litter kisses on your exposed skin. "I missed the summer," you moaned - closing your eyes for a second.

You open your eyes, and his piercing blue ones meet yours.

"When we were elflings, we used to run around these same gardens with our naneths chasing after us." Legolas chuckles, reminiscing your childhood days.

In your shared youth, every day used to be summer - always filled with warmth and happiness, never imagining for a moment that days like that could be stolen away.

"I wish we could return to those days before the darkness." Your voice suddenly turned mellow. You try to hide this feeling, but it always returns - the darkness shivers our bones, and you know that he feels it too, in fact stronger than you do.

"Those days will return, mellon." He shuffles closer, until your bodies were merely inches away - both of you ignoring the stares from the passersby, no doubt, finding it strange that their prince was laying on the ground beside one of the King's guards.

He gives a deeper smile, and you scoot even closer.

You know what that smile means, he's about to say something clever. "They say that when you believe that something belongs to you, the entire world conspires for you to have it by your side." He whispers, flicking a strand of your hair away from your face.

"- there are a million things that I've been longing for, but the world has not given me anything - not once." Your eyes narrowed, and he laughs, aware that you were toying with him. "If you want it with all of your heart then it shall be given." He answers.

"Are you saying that I do not want anything with all of my heart?"

"Need I repeat myself?"

"Everyday, I pray to Eru Illuvatar that the darkness is vanquished."

"Maybe, it is in the works, mellon." He breathes, letting go of the banter. Mayhaps, he was praying for the exact same thing. "- enough of that talk. Are you prepared for our patrols next week?"

You are one of the greatest warriors in the King's army, the elves endearingly called you 'the Green Knight' for despite your command with the sword, you had a single flaw - your recklessness, your greenness, your innocence.

In the caprice of your youth - you currently believe that there is nothing in this world that can defeat you.

You are wrong.

"I can't believe that your father passed me over for Tauriel. I've been pining for that position and he knows it! There is nothing in this world that I want more that being Captain of the Guards." You exasperated.

Tauriel herself was shocked that she was chosen as Captain, matter of fact, she entered your chambers shortly after the ceremony saying that it should've been you. "- I love her and I celebrate her accomplishment, but my heart feels like it is ripped in half." You say.

"It is alright to feel that way, mellon. Mayhaps Ada saw a quality in her that he is yet to find inside of you." Legolas comforts, and you nod - cracking a smile. "Well there are a lot of things that Tauriel is better at," you concede defeat.

"- like shooting arrows." he teased, referring to something that happened a few years ago. "- and cleaning up after she trains." you add, and both of you share a laugh.

"I guess there are some things that I am yet to learn, but I wanted that post with all of my heart, and you told me that if I wanted something with all of my heart..."

"- then you shall get it. You will get it." he finishes the sentence.

You were about to answer but a screeching noise interrupts you. "Spiders," you note already used to that noise. You still remember your first encounter with the spiders - they were so big and violent, and you refused to harm them at first, thinking that they were part of Illuvatar's orchestra, but they weren't. Not anymore.

They were corrupted with darkness, and that darkness slowly took over the forest, leaving nothing but dust and death.

Your grip on your sword tightens, hearing more of that screeching. There were at least twenty of them judging from the sound. "Should we head back?" Legolas inquires, aware that your position in the guards is higher than his own. "I don't think that we have enough time," you whispered and he lifts your body - until you were sitting on a tree branch.

"There are fifteen to twenty of them. You should head back, while I fend them off." You surmised, it wouldn't be easy fighting this many spiders - you could break an arm but you wouldn't die, right?

It was impossible to die.

"If you are commanding me to abandon you, I won't do that." He insists, his eyes turning dark - his lips turns into a thin line. "There's only two of us Legolas. If not me, then who?" your eyes narrowed.

"You go home!" His voice raises slightly. You are taken aback by his sudden shift in tone - he was usually soft spoken with you. "I am the Captain of this patrol." Your eyebrows merged together. "- it is your duty to obey my orders." You glared, seeing the spiders begin to search for the source of the noise.

"I am your prince." He uses that card, and you roll your eyes.

"It does not matter in this operation, Legolas. Please just do what I command and we'll be rid of this problem." You pleaded, but the determined stare in his eyes does not shake off. "No." he says.

He reminds you of a child.

You ignore his disagreement and allow yourself to fall on the damp forest floor, the sound attracts the spiders and they begin marching in your direction.

All twenty of them smelling of mold and dirt. It was a nightmare, but a nightmare that you've fought with a thousand times.

You stand up, swinging at the spiders with ease.

Legolas falls down beside you, rising to his full height. "I will report your disobedience to the King himself." You threatened, annoyed at his disregard for his own safety. He does not respond to you.

He keeps silent. He fights the spiders.

When you turned to look at the next spider - it begins to lunge at you. Taking you aback with its sheer strength. "Legolas!" You yell his name, and that stare takes you by surprise. It is the same way that the King used to look at the Queen when she did something reckless.

It was a stare that you've bared witness to a million times, and now you were the recipient of it.

He cuts through the spider's stomach with ease, and the other spiders began to flee for their safety. He turns his back to you, picking up the dagger that he left on the forest floor. "Legolas," you begin taking sharp breaths - shaking off the panic that you felt.

He ignores you, again.

It has been eight hours since Legolas last spoke to you. "I don't understand why he evades me like a plague," you tilted your head - taking a sip of the wine that the King generously laid out.

"He does that when he's..." He pauses, thinking of a word that could properly explain his son's behavior. "Displeasured." He finishes.

You cross your arms in a huff.

"I've done nothing to cause him displeasure. As a matter of fact I should be the one who avoids his presence, he disobeyed my orders, my king. You would do the same thing if you were in my shoes." Your eyebrows merged together. The King responds with a chuckle.

"I cannot offer you an explaination for my son's actions. He is a being of his own. I cannot read his mind, child." He reminds.

Your frown only deepens.

What if...?

"What if he hates me forever?" You suddenly voiced out. You glance at the King and he looks unconvinced. "What ever fight you had, you must sort it out on your own. For what it is worth - I don't think that he hates you." He finished, placing a file on the table.

Directions of your next patrol.

"Take care." He swiftly reminds with a smile.

"Legolas if you are going to continue to evade me like a plague then a resolution for our problems will not come." You chased after him, but he continues walking - with his arms crossed in a huff. "I think that it is unprofessional for you to remain cross with me." You add.

He turns around to face you, a frown on his face.

"You could've died!" He raises his voice again.

Realization dawns.

"I am alive, Legolas,"

"I know that you are a great warrior, but you are reckless." He grits his teeth, anger flooding his senses once more. "It should not matter to you. I am the master of my fate, and also the captain of that patrol. You shouldn't have disobeyed me that day." You still insist.

You gaze up at him.

The sight of him with a frown on his face, him glaring at you. It breaks your heart. "Don't look at me like that," your voice breaks.

Legolas was your truest friend, there are times where you imagine yourself married to him - but that doesn't matter. Those feelings don't matter right now, because you could lose your friend! All because of what? His unwillingness to obey your orders?

"If I wasn't there, who knows what could've happened upon you?" He scowls, "- that spider could've ripped you apart. I would've lost you." he whispers the last sentence but you were able to hear. "- all of that before telling you the truth." His face suddenly softens.

"What truth?" You ask cautiously.

"I love you, meleth - and the thought of you possibly losing your life to the spiders we've dreamt of vanquishing has made me realize that I cannot live without you." He confesses, he opens his mouth again.

But you silence him with a kiss.

#lotr x reader #lotr #oneshot #legolas x reader #legolas

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endless-ineffabilities · 7 months ago

Text

sapphire-hearted (part four)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Aemond is not one who shares those which he thinks belong to him. Including you, as you'll soon find out after an eventful little feast.

themes/warnings: jealous!Aemond, third and fourth parties (but not really), Aemond is a stubborn and possesive arse, drunk Aegon - huzzah!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

a/n: I can't believe it's been a year since I updated this fiery miniseries! Apologies if I couldn't tag everyone who asked from the previous chapter - taglist is now closed 💙

The necklace is perhaps the most beautiful piece of jewelry you've ever seen.

With an intricate interwoven chain of Valyrian steel, and a sapphire pendant inlaid in a burnt bronze frame that glowed dark green in some lights, the frame displaying carvings that resemble Vhagar's scales.

There is no question to it. Not an inkling of doubt.

This gift is from Aemond.

"You simply found this when you arrived?" you asked your lady-in-waiting, as you pick up the necklace from its velvet casing and study it against the faint firelight in your chambers.

"Yes, my lady," she responds promptly. "Shall I fasten it upon you before you depart for the King's feast?"

Your mind forms almost immediately, resolute in your decision. "No, it will not be of any use to me this night. You may keep it away in my boudoir."

The thought of it around your neck is a pleasant one, to be sure. It is such a thing of beauty, fit to be worn to a royal gathering. But what message might it signal to the others?

What purpose might it serve - especially to Aemond - that you wear something that symbolises him?

All while your companion is Ramsay, with whom you hope to be betrothed.

And while Alys is likely draped upon Aemond's arm. That slimy, bastard witch.

You will not give in, and give him what he wants.

The necklace is far from enough to make up for how he has wronged you, so it stays in your chambers, safely tucked away in its casing, not to be worn until Aemond sets things right.

If he ever will.

Ramsay arrives at your door soon enough, accompanied by two of Aegon's guards. The awe in his gaze as he takes you in is so evident, so pure in its apparent innocence. Unlike Aemond's, who would be undressing you with a single passing look.

Unlike Aemond's, who - despite his trangressions - looks at you like he would burn the entire Seven Kingdoms for your hand.

But he has relinquished your hand when he took that witch to bed.

"You look dashing as ever, my Lord," you curtsy in greeting, as Ramsay kisses your hand. He is clad in a tunic in House Beesbury's yellow and paly black, as you are wearing a gown in your own House's hues.

If not the necklace from Aemond, branding you as his, why not something of Beesbury? It would anger Aemond so, but you are feeling petulant. Why can't you take a jab at him after what he had done?

"And what a lovely sash you wear," you say, observing his attire. "Mayhaps I might display this on my person? Have it as a sort of attachment upon my skirts? I would be proud to have everyone at the feast know that we have come together."

"Of course! I would be honoured, my lady." He immediately relinquishes it, handing it to your lady-in-waiting, who then fastens it around your waist. The colour is striking in contrast. The piece of cloth surely will not go unnoticed.

You make your way through the Red Keep, your arm entwined with Ramsay's. Sounds of the revelry make themselves heard as you near Aegon's private dining hall.

As the guards open the doors, you hear your names announced. Almost all the attendees are already sat around the table. Aegon and his host of sycophants, particularly Lord Reyne and Lord Estermont. Helaena and her lady companions. Tyland Lannister and his betrothed. Even Ser Criston Cole, who has never been one to partake in merrymaking, usually standing guard in the corner. There are some others whose names escape you, as you find your seats - among the last ones which remain empty, right next to Aemond and Alys.

"Welcome, dear lovely guests, welcome!" Aegon walks over to you, already on his fifth or sixth goblet of firewine. "Please find your seats, have a drink - or seven drinks, preferably, and... oh! Isn't that something, my lady? Beesbury yellow?" Not giving mind to any boundaries, he toys with the sash tied around your waist.

Aemond twists around in his seat, catching sight of you for the first time.

His pupil dilates considerably, with a single glance at your face, then down to your décolletage... where the necklace is nought to be seen.

What he sees, raking over your figure, is that sickening shade of bright yellow. That Beesbury sash tainting the beauty of your gown.

Tainting the woman who is rightfully his.

His hand instinctively goes to the scabbard in his belt, though his sword remains in his chambers. It matters not, he can just as easily demand one from the Kingsguard.

Because the rat who calls himself Ramsay has surrendered any desire to stay alive.

"So... you here," Aegon guides you to your seat, with his arm loosely draped around your waist. "And you right there," he adds to Ramsay.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think the seating arrangement is accidental. But you know Aegon - he surely planned it to be Ramsay, you, Aemond and Alys beside each other.

Aemond openly stares at you as you settle down to his left.

"My Prince," Ramsay greets from your other side, "Lady Alys."

"Oh, it's just Alys, m'lord," she clarifies, unabashed. "I am no Lady. I am simply here at the behest of my dear Aemond."

"Prince Aemond is fortunate to have you as his companion, Alys," you smile sweetly, concealing any ire you might have. "As I am fortunate to have Lord Beesbury by my side."

Alys nods, raising her cup to you. To anyone, it's an innocent enough gesture, but you see her up close, and you see into the depths of the witch's gaze. She knows about you and Aemond, of course she does.

The attention of your companions are diverted, and Aemond wastes no time in leaning closer to you. He grips your thigh underneath the table, away from any prying eyes.

"My love," he purrs, "you never fail to take my breath away. Although I never thought you would sully yourself by wearing that. I trust you received my gift?"

You cross your legs so that his hand falls off, but it doesn't faze him. He simply finds purchase yet again, this time digging harder into your flesh. So warm, it almost feels as if your skirts do nothing to prevent his encroaching touch.

"Hmm, don't test me, now," he warns, lips curling back in annoyance. His tone is so deep you feel the heat pooling in your core.

"I could say the same to you," you counter. "Do not lay a hand on me, my prince. Especially not in the presence of my betrothed." You push his hand away, and he relents for the moment, reaching for his goblet and downing its contents in one angry swig.

"And by betrothed, you must mean that you have reconsidered my proposal and agree to be wed to me, your only love," he says, daring you to challenge him.

"You are mistaken, Aemond," you respond coolly. "I do appreciate the necklace. It is a marvel, indeed. But there is a reason why I don something of Lord Ramsay's instead of it. I am not yours. I feared the message it would send were I to wear the necklace to this feast."

"What message, my love? The truth? That you are mine and mine alone?"

"That is finished - "

"If you value Lord Beesbury's life by any small measure, you would not speak to me of such vile ideas. He will not have you, lest he wishes his head to no longer rest upon his shoulders."

"Resorting to threats now, are we?" you spit venomously. "You will not harm him. Or I swear to you on my mother's memory that I will never speak with you again."

That shuts him up. He exhales deeply, weighing your words, studying your expression. He wants to fight back and to call your bluff, but it is no use. His gaze is drawn down to your lips, and he moves closer just an inch, his own lips parted in longing and torment.

"Well, it seems we may have more cause for celebration!" Aegon bellows from the head of the table, with a grinning Ramsay standing by his side. You tear your attention away from Aemond, but he lingers on you, until his brother calls out for him. "Aemond! You must have known about this, dear brother, as I understand you and the lady have always been close."

The guests share glances, already assuming what the news might be, but none of them say a word for fear of their Prince Aemond.

"Iderēbagon aōha udra sȳrī, lēkia." Choose your words wisely, brother, Aemond warns him. The mood of the entire room shifts, as it inevitably does whenever Aemond speaks.

"Oh come now, none of that!" Aegon groans, drunk and unamused. Nothing will bring his spirits down, not even his far more intimidating younger brother. "These are happy news. Something about a successful betrothal, I hear?" he declares, nudging Ramsay to make the announcement.

Ramsay locks eyes with you, and you manage to give a stiff smile, aware of the simmering rage of the one seated beside you.

"Allow me," Aemond stands, raising his cup to the entire table.

"Even better," Aegon shrugs, "you have always been excellent at dinner proclamations, lēkia." Brother, he addresses Aemond, his own Valyrian disjointed and careless.

Aegon sits back down and raises his cup. A confused but still smiling Ramsay returns to sit next to you.

Ramsay hurriedly tells you, "I was hoping to share the news myself, my lady, but - "

"Do I not have your attention, Lord Beesbury?" Aemond interrupts.

"O-of course, you do, my prince," Ramsay stammers, reaching for his cup with shaky fingers. You take notice and place your hand atop his to provide comfort.

Someone else takes notice, unfortunately.

"A toast," Aemond voices clearly, and a hush falls over the room, "to a new betrothal."

"Hear, hear," Aegon responds, taking a sip of firewine and waving for the others to do the same.

But Aemond is not finished just yet. "We are not often afforded the privilege to marry for love, and that is what makes this union so exceptional."

You stiffen in your seat, dreading the next words that you know will come out of his mouth. For you know him so well. You know Aemond's design.

"It is an honour to take my love to be my wife," he raises his cup as he gestures to you, and you swear you could hear a pin drop in the deafening silence that ensued. "She is already the keeper of my heart, so the ceremony will only be a formality. But I shall take her as mine in every way that I can. In front of the old gods and the new."

You are unable to drop Aemond's gaze, unable to see the look of betrayal Ramsay is giving you.

"Hear, hear," Ser Criston offers, in an attempt to cut through the tension.

Aegon releases a fit of laughter, prompting his fawners to follow suit.

"Seven hells!" he exclaims. "More wine, more wine for all!"

Aemond rushes to you, pulling you out of your chair, not paying mind to anything or anyone else.

"Come with me," he commands, his fingers tight around your wrist.

You feel powerless as you let him herd you away from the table and out of the hall.

"Oh, would you look at them!" Aegon practically squeals, and calls after you, "It is customary for the bedding to be after the wedding, you two! But then again, who fucking cares?"

taglist: @immyowndefender @bellameshipper @aemondswifeisme @bash1018 @fuck-the-reaper @shessthunderstoms @aemondsbabygirl @melsunshine @youtoldalie @snh96 @noxytopy @ellooo0ooo @brianochka @not-a-glad-gladiator @mac95650 @whitejuliana1204 @midnightmystic @saminalloxo @oh-no-tia @magnificentsapphiresoul @clara-geekhime @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @ananas26t @iloveallmyboys @carriellie @summerposie @verycollectivecreator @toodlesxcuddles @brie-annwyl @dc-marvel-girl96 @bellstwd @bibli0thecary @happinessinthebeing @magnificentsapphiresoul @rorawinters @targaryen-madness @hanula18 @rhaenattargaryen @an0ther-us3r @sugurubabe @theshatteredideal @let-love-bleeds-red @s-we-e-t-t-ea @mydemimonde @the-intjs-dark-academic @heavenly1927 @anehkael @minttea07 @barnes70stark @cheneyq

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #ewan mitchell

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400luxxxxxxx · 4 months ago

Text

toxic doomed old man yaoi

shakespeare if he was woke

Iago: God forsake that doltish, doltish man! That he believeth each word to drop from mine own lips as though ‘twere holy writ, blindeth himself in his conceit... God save us all if that moor hadst remain’d powerful as he once was. Was! ‘Tis ever so sweet to speak of him in the past. My hatred for the man doth outlast his brief, fool’s life. Ay, good riddance I say, good riddance. It gives me somewhat to dwell upon, rather than mine own blood seepeth o’er my clothes – and yet, whilst I am so bruised and beaten, the thought dost creep o’er my mind, that I am glad Othello saw me not in such estate... good riddance, I say! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, loyal or nay! I stand triumphant, as I ever was, whilst they both do rot in the ground, many a pace betwixt them. Never have I known a fate more satisfying. If he were to cast me aside, then let him have naught by his side. Yet the question I can but ask myself still, is why doth mine heart ache so? The moor is dead by none but his own doing. Blind was he to mine own worth, casting me off like so. Say not mine hand was unforced. So why doth I ache so?

Were he alive, would he rue it? The fool, to end his own life... could he not be a man? Othello, thou art a fool if thou hear’st me now! By what reason or wit didst thou wed that woman? Did she know thee better than I? Did she know thee more deeply? Doth her devotion put mine years of loyalty to shame? I-

Ay, see me now! Pacing and railing against the walls of this accurs’d cell like a craz’d wretch. Nay, Othello, thou art not here. Good riddance to thee. Thou art dead, I am alive; thus I am the victor.

Yet it doth feel less noble than I had dreamt. There is no crowd to applaud me within these walls. In mine heart there smoulders a fire, yet beneath it lies an emptiness naught can fill. My hunger should have been sated the moment that blade pierc’d his belly, yet instead tis growing more keen as each day doth pass. And without him. Yet pass they do.

Nay, good riddance, The days pass as e’er they did, yet the man who wronged me doth not see their passage – that alone is reason for celebration. Were I free this moment, mayhap I’d travel to the nearest tavern and there proclaim my triumph to all ‘til my voice grew hoarse.

Yet, even as I say it, I dread that the instant I entered, the name “Othello” would lie presuppos’d on my tongue. Oh, heavens, whom do I seek to deceive? There is none but myself here. His name, which stirr’d naught but anger in my heart, used to do the opposite. Speak on, I shall not, for if there aught left to grip save mine hand upon mine wind, it is my dignity. These walls, they crack and whisper – I should know, for I have stood long upon the other side of them. For Othello’s sake, no less.

The fate he met, ‘twas by his own hand wrought. Cassio, his choice? That lecherous, fawning knave? Were I in Othello’s stead, I’d have cast off this mortal coil the moment such a decision was made. And yet, as he hearken’d to mine own supposed crimes, ere he did end his life in such selfish haste, I find myself longing that his reddened face and rueful eye had been set alight for another cause. Mayhaps a more selfish one. That red, perchance warm’d by mine lips upon his.

God, save me! Let some gaoler enter this cell and thrash me senseless for thinking thus, and let mine head be dash’d upon the cold stone floor for that I would not repent.

translated version for stupid harlots

Iago:

God forsake that stupid, stupid man! Believing every word to come out my mouth like it is the scripture itself, blinding himself with his own ego... god save us all if he was to remain as powerful as he was. Was – it’s ever so satisfying to speak of him in past tense now. My hate for the man lives longer than he ever did. Good riddance, I say, good riddance. It gives me something to occupy myself with, rather than the way my own blood drips onto my clothes – while I’m beaten, the thought can’t help but enter my mind that I’m glad Othello never saw me like this... good riddance! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, faithful or not! I remain triumphant as always while they both rot in the ground, metres apart forever. I’ve never heard of a more satisfying fate. If he was to choose to not have me by his side, then he will have no one. The question, however, that I can’t help but ask myself, is why do I still ache? That idiot is dead because of no one’s fault but his own. He failed to recognise my worthiness, pushed me to the side like some sort of wingman, you cannot say my hand was not forced. So why do I ache like so?

If he was alive still, would he regret it? The fool, ending his own life like that... be a man! Othello, you moron, if you by any chance of the heavens can hear me now, you are a fool! Why in any sense of sanity you still held onto would you marry that woman? Did she know you better than I? Did she understand you more deeply than I? Did she stay by your side for god knows how long that put my years of loyalty to shame? I-

Look at me now. Pacing and yelling to the walls of this damned grey cell like some sort of deluded psychotic. No, Othello, you are not here. Good riddance. You are dead and I am alive, and therefore I am the victor.

It feels less admirable than I had imagined it to feel.

There is no applause in this cell for me. There is a fire burning in my heart but just below it, my stomach is empty as it’ll ever be. My appetite should’ve been quenched the second that knife entered his belly but for some reason it’s getting worse as the days pass. Without him, they pass.

No, good riddance. The days pass as they always did and this time a man who has wronged me is not here to see it – that, in my books, is a cause for celebration. Why, if I was freed right now maybe I’d even go for a trip to the nearest tavern, and brag about my winnings to everyone I can see until my throat is raw.

However, and I truly may hate myself for this, I fear the second I storm in there and open my mouth to speak, the name “Othello” would already be presumed to be on my tongue. Oh, who am I to fool. There is no one here but me. Where his name, when spoken to me, now provokes ire and anger, it did so used to do the opposite. Speak on, I will not, for if there is one thing that I wish to hold on to other than my hand to my bleeding wound it is my dignity. These cracking cell walls, they speak. I should know; I’ve been on the other side of them for the majority of my time here. For Othello’s sake, nonetheless.

The fate he had he brought it on himself. Cassio was his choice? That good for nothing womanizer? If I were Othello I’d have killed myself the second that god-awful decision was made.

And yet, as he was told of my crimes, before he did end his own life so selfishly, I can’t help but wish the red in his face and the regret in his eyes could’ve been for a different reason. The flush of his face, maybe accompanied with my lips on his.

God, spare me! Let someone back into my cell to beat my wounds raw for thinking such a thing, and let my skull be cracked open on the cold, concrete floor for not wanting to take it back.

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cherryclitgirl · 3 months ago

Text

The Gods III

Pairing: Maegor x reader

Notes: Mentions of child birth, child loss, murder, and brief use of y/n.

Before: She was just ten and five when she gave birth to Aegon. She was afraid of the thought of giving birth to a monstrosity . they way Alys did. Maegor would’ve not hesitated to kill her if she did . But was she was more afraid of was giving birth. She had never seen anything remotely close to it. Let alone experienced it.

She looked to her side to see her mother standing by the wall. Visenya had allowed her to be in the room, but not near her. Nonetheless her mother made sure to keep her eyes on her daughter.

She laid on the birthing bed gripping the sheets below. Her face covered with her damp silver hair. Sweat and tears mixing together into an unpleasant salty mixture. Her legs dripped with blood and sweat. She felt her entire body shudder into a throbbing pain. Her insides opening to push out a human, a human she had carried for months. Women died giving birth, mayhaps dying was better than facing Maegor. She felt something moving making it difficult to push. She bit the bottom of her lower lip letting out a loud groan. The tears from her eyes had dried out, the only thing stinging her eyes was sweat. The words of encouragement from the midwife did not help her, all she wanted was her mother. She stopped after a few pushes panting from exhaustion. Everything was blurry, the voices of those around her were incoherent. Her body was weak and filled with pain. Their voices began to drift away as she gritted her teeth tightly. How she managed to keep going was a mystery of its own. She heard his small cries. Still unable to see, she tried to speak but her words came out in mumbles.

“A boy!” Was all she heard around her. Everyone spoke at once with excitement, relieved that a healthy boy had been born. Whilst everyone was distracted by the new born babe Alyssa left the wall rushing to her daughter.

“You did well my dear” she softly brushing y/n’s hair off her face. She quickly looked for a rag to wipe her daughter’s sweat off. “So well” she chuckled sadly, tears swelling in her eyes. Her daughter smiled weakly ,the labor was yet to be done but it was clear that her daughter was exhausted. “Mother” y/n spoke quietly reaching for Alyssa’s hand. “My darling ” Alyssa soothed her gently cleaning the sweat of her daughter.

Alyssa looked up to see Visenya holding a small bundle wrapped in a cloth. She quickly stood up allowing her daughter to see her son. The maids helped her daughter sit up, placing pillow in her back to support her and provide comfort. “A healthy boy” Visenya said carefully placing her grandson on her arms. The boy had been carefully cleaned, his eyes wide awake staring into his mother’s with curiosity. She smiled down at her babe, her vision becoming less blurry. Holding him felt strange, her dizziness confusing her, almost forgotting that the small bundle was hers. Her own flesh and blood. For a moment she just stared and realization slowly crept in. She placed a small kiss on his head that made the babe flutter his eyes “Aegon” she spoke softly.

Everyone around her nodded with agreement, named after his grandsire they thought. They were far from wrong, she named him after her older brother. The only one aware of that was Alyssa, everyone saw a young girl holding her babe but Alyssa saw a child holding a child.

Her return to kings landing happened shortly after giving birth. She was in no condition to travel, however Maegor demanded to see his child. Visenya personally accompanied y/n back to the Red keep, making sure her and the babe were taken care of.

Aegon was fully awake, cooing softly as he nibbled on his small hand. His mother looked down at him and smile, her heart fluttering with happiness. He was the most precious thing she ever saw. “My darling boy” she whispered holding him close.

When she stepped out of the wheelhouse Maegor was not waiting for her but Ceryse. Ceryse wary expression made y/n uncomfortable. When Ceryse walked closer to the girl and her new born son, her heart clenched with jealousy and sadness. “He’s beautiful ” Ceryse’s lip twitch into a sad smile, she fought back tears her throat tightening and itching. She held Aegon in her arms, The boy was healthy, a pure Targaryen. Silver hair and purple eyes. The child was not hers. It was in her faith to crave always something that was given to another.

“Thank you, your grace” y/n said as she watched how Ceryse looked at Aegon. Her finger carefully caressing his small delicate face. “He awaits for you in the great hall” she said slowly tearing her gaze away from the boy. “You should rest, y/n, I shall take him” Ceryse said her grip on the small bundle slightly tightened.

“The mother of the child will take him” Visenya declared behind y/n. She was no fool, she would not allow Ceryse to present her grandson to Maegor. There was a brief silence between the three women before Ceryse slowly handed Aegon back to his mother.

The throne room was packed and eerie silent, not a single noble dared to make a sound. Every noble in the Red keep stood waiting for the arrival of the new born prince. Their eyes fixed on Maegor as his tall regal figure sat on the large iron throne. He wore his crown with pride, and bore an unreadable expression,Black fyre tightly clutched on his hand. He fixed his eyes on the door waiting and listing.

The doors slowly opened to reveal queen y/n holding a small babe wrapped in a black and red blanket with an embroidered dragon. Dowager queen Visenya stood proudly behind her guarding her with a smile on her face. Everyone in the hall turned their attention to the young queen, their eyes scanning her and fixed strongly on what was in her arms.

She slowly walked into throne room. Her steps measured and quiet, her heels clicking on the stone. She felt the stares of the court on her, lords of major houses had been summoned at once to pled their fidelity to the new born heir.

Maegor slowly rose from his seat, his tall figure over looking the crowded hall. His expression impassive as his young wife stopped at the bottom of the iron throne. He crept down to where she was, with a small curtsy she handed him his son. “Aegon Targaryen, your grace” she told him softly. Maegor hummed softly and took his son into his arms. The babe look unusually small in his arms. He moved the blanket away from Aegon’s face, his large thumb moving slightly over the wisps of hair. The true embodiment of a Valyrian. “Aegon” he repeated looking at his son “A name fit for a king” he declared loudly, the hall soon erupted into claps and voices filled with happiness and excitement.

Ceryse stood alone in the arched corridors, away from the crowd watching Maegor parade his son with pride. She felt Tyanna’s presence behind her sending an uncomfortable feeling down her neck. “Do keep trying Lady Ceryse” Tyanna maliciously whispered “Sooner or later your barren womb will produce an heir” she mocked.

Ceryse stiffen and glanced to her side “If you allow it ” she whispered to Tyanna. A mischievous smile appeared on her face as she looked at Ceryse’s dress “I let this one live, didn’t I” she said gently touching Ceryse’s dress “Though, it was more of your doing.” The green l fabric felt delicate under her finger tips. “Caring for the girl is admirable” she continued, Ceryse’s eye fell on Tyanna’s fingers. “So is leaving Maegor’s chamber early in the morrow” she snickered.

“It is my duty as his wife. ” Ceryse hissed quietly looking away from Tyanna. “His true wife”

“The beacon on the Hightower… it glows green when Oldtown calls it’s banners to war” Tyanna smirked her finger tips leaving the green dress.

Ceryse remained quiet silently seething with frustration. She had worn the green dress out of spite, she disliked the color green,she disliked war. An impulsive decision she regretted. Unfortunately for her it would a war she would fight alone as it was clear, Maegor had gotten what he longed for. An heir. : End

Y/n held her precious babe in her arms, softly humming to him as her finger traced his small nose. He was growing fast, it was clear he would be strong like his father “You will be king one day” she told her son “but for now…you’re all mine” she smile kissing her son’s head.His small finger wrapping around hers tightly. He nibbled on it slightly cooing as he looked up, his beautiful purple eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Every time she kissed his cheek Aegon would laugh. Giggles that brought a smile to her face. The laughter would soon fade and replace itself with the sounds of her son’s muffled cries, filling her ears with dread. as her dream began to change her precious babe slowly faded away from her arms, a cruel reminder that he had been taken from her.

She hated the dream, it was the same recurring dream, that would soon turn into a nightmare. Every night and every day. She sat up on her bed wiping away the tears that formed in her sleep. She glanced at her daughter who slept peacefully, her darling girl. Her only daughter. She looked at Rheanor who slept on his bed clutching his toy dragon. He was two summers old yet bore a resemblance to Baelon. She had been allowed to named her four children She named Rhaenor and Rhaella after her sister Rhaena. She named Baelon after her husband’s dragon, although her first choice was to name him after her younger brother Viserys. Nonetheless Maegor did not protest, but did raise an eyebrow at the names of his two young children.

Even after the death of Aegon she kept her children close. Perhaps even closer than before. The paranoia she once felt still lingered, specially in the night. Guards were to now stand outside her door at all times. She had very few maids and no ladies in waiting except for Kiara. She had replaced the maids with only a few that were recommended Maester Benifer. Kiara being the main one of all of them. There was an unspoken agreement between the two, where ever she went ;Kiara followed.

- - - - - - - - -

She was the last to enter the small council meeting, unlike Tyanna who was always the first. Maegor was at the very head of the table, the hand of the king Lord Edwell Celtigar sat on his right . Her seat had been moved, from sitting next to lord Daemon Valeryon to sitting next to Maegor himself. “Where is Baelon” Maegor asked her when she sat down next to him. She watched as the new cup barrer began to fill their wine. Her stomach twisted as she looked at the young boy, picturing her poor brother Viserys. “The Library “ she replied looking back at him.

“Why?” Maegor questioned as he took a sip of his wine. “Because I send him there” she replied placing her hand over her cup, it was too early for wine. Maegor paused his drinking, the attention of the small council now focused on the two of them. Maegor had strictly instructed for Baelon to attend the small council meetings since he was named heir. A demand y/n found ridiculous since the boy was barely four.

“Fetch for the boy” Maegor ordered the cup barrer. As the cup barrer was about to put the flagon down the young queen spoke. “Stay” she opposed firmly. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room until Maegor spoke “I will not be defied!“ he snapped at his wife.

She bit the inside of her cheek fighting the urge to snap back “Neither will I” she said calmly. “If you wish for him to king then he must learn Valyrian” she added not tearing her eyes from him.

Maegor scoffed knowing his wife was right and waved his cup at the young squire “Fetch for more wine then”.

The small council members relaxed seeing the tension between the king and queen wash away. The first to speak was Queen Tyanna who served as mistress of whispers “Your grace, you will be pleased to know that Alyssa Velaryon has been taken refuge under Lord Rogar Baratheon “ she said eyeing Daemon.

The rest of the council turned to Daemon, y/n among them. He was her uncle, yet to her he felt more of stranger. Having only spoken few times, she wondered how he would reply. He was loyal to crown and she had been cautious enough to avoid asking him about her mother.

Maegor’s sharp gaze was on Daemon waiting for him to speak. It was clear that his pride had been hurt after hearing his sister’s whereabouts. He could not risk standing with his sister, it would put his house at risk.

“I was unaware of this your grace” Daemon clarified “I had send word to Driftmark, if a Raven from Alyssa arrived, I would be let known”

Tyanna scoffed taking a sip of her wine “Only a fool would expect a raven”. Daemon swallowed his pride but was tempted to reply to Tyanna’s comment.

“What about Princess Rhaena?” Maegor asked Tyanna. A smile appeared on her face as she looked at the queen. Y/n’s hand clenched under the table at the mention of the her sister. The look on Tyanna made her nails dig into her palm. Her attention was entirely on Tyanna. It had been years since she had last seen her sister. In the nights she would stand by window, silently pleading her sister to come back. “She has taken residence in Volantis” Tyanna smirked

“Mayhaps she has taken work in a pleasure garden as well ” The maester of coin Lord Alton Butterwell snickered. His comment provoked a laughter among the rest of the men in the small council. Only Ser Olyver Bracken the new appointment Lord commander of the kings guards kept a stale expression. Having served the royal family for many years, he had see the princess’s Rhaena and y/n in their early years. He found the comment to be humorless and insulting to both the Queen and her sister. The first thing most men thought of when they heard Volantis, was its famous pleasure houses. Lord Alton was among the men that paid large amounts of gold to sleep with the most famous whores. He was the type of men to fill his mouth with finest foods and the most expensive wines. He will never know the hardships of women and their need for survival. The insinuation that her sister had taken work as a whore made her blood boil. She knew her sister would never do such thing. Yet, the mere thought of her picturing her sister in a city filled men that prayed on young girls and women infuriated her.

Queen Y/n said nothing, she only stared at Lord Alton who indulged his wine whilst he laughed. Her nails digging into her palm so tightly it had began to bleed. His fat cheeks blushed from the laughter, his large chain around his neck suffocating his fat neck. He was disgusting. Her thoughts were filled with a desirable urge to see his face be smashed into the glass orb. One swift movement she thought. Only one movement it would take for him to stop laughing.

She had the absolute power to see it happen. Ser Olyver would follow her order, the guards would come into the room and drag Lord Alton way. She was unsure about Maegor’s reaction, would he be angry she took order and abused her position? Did Maegor wish for her to show the same cruelty as him?. In her years as one of the queens she never once commanded or ordered anyone. It was Tyanna and Ceryse that used that power. Had she not wasted her youthful years giving birth to children. Mayhaps she would’ve learned to be decent queen. A good queen. It was her fault she thought. That they had forgotten to fear her. She was the queen, her name added more importance to the tittle than anything else . She was a Targaryen, her sister was a Targaryen. To insult a Targaryen princess was an act of treason. So long as she is the queen, treason shall never go unpunished.

“Ser Olyver” She spoke as the laughter was dying down. Ser Olyver’s attention turned to her at once . “Bring me his head” she commanded.

The command took Ser Olyver by surprise, the once cheerful room fell into a deep silence. The faces of the members became appalled and confused. The command was unexpected, as they had never heard her utter such cruel words. After a long awkward silence Maegor spoke waving his hand for the cup barer “You heard your queen” he said as he drank his wine “She wants his head”. Without another word Maegor rose from his seat and with cup in hand he left the small council room.

Tyanna smirked at the girl before she too left the room. It was clear the meeting had been cut short, one by one the rest of the lords left the room. By the time every one had left it was just Lord Alton and Queen y/n and a few white cloaks.

“Your Grace” Lord Alton pleaded as he rose from his seat. He was quickly pushed back down by Ser Olyver “I-it was never my intention to insult you in any way-“ his voice trembling as he watched her walk to the flagon of wine. “It was merely a joke “ he excused , his fat face releasing a large amount of sweat. His eyes darting to the king’s guards and back to the queen. She held the flagon and walked to where he was. She ignored his pleading.The once prideful fat man was now at her mercy. She stood behind him and slowly dumped the entire thing on his head. He gasped as he drowned in the berry taste of grapes. The same way he drowned in his cups.

“Joke?” She said placing the flagon on the table “a mere joke?” She repeated her fingers drumming on the table.

“My apologies, M-my deepest apologies your grace” he begged. His expensive lavish clothes soaked , unleashing a strong smoky smell of a well aged wine.

“Call for Lord Tymond Lannister “ she told Ser Olyver. “He will be the new master of coin”. She left the room leaving the guards to deal with a screaming pig. Her first demand had been as cruel as her husband. The court would remember and so would be the people. The queen’s first action was to punish a man for insulting her sister. Some would call it unfair and cruel, others would say it was well deserved.

One thing was clear, the brothels in the street of silk had lost a value costumer. But the women working them had one less man to worry about. A woman was a woman, no matter her position.

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

The following days all the court could talk about was the incident in the small council. The story had changed in various ways. Some said that Lord Alton had insulted the queen . Other’s said the queens first command was a reaction to her madness after the death of her first born. But the version many clanged to was that queen y/n had gone mad in the hands of Maegor. Causing her to take such drastic measures. After years in his capacity she had developed the same habits as him. Some even went as far to say that had the queen been allowed to ride her dragon Skyfyre she would’ve already fled with her children.

The sad truth of it all, was the princess missed her Dragon dearly. She would stand by the window holding Rhaella in her arms while she watched her dragon. It was clear Skyfyre missed her rider deeply. She grew restless and would be seen soaring above the Redkeep. Maegor had forbidden her from riding her dragon. He didn’t trust her and even when did began to trust her, something told him that allowing her to ride her dragon would allow her to run away.

But for the first time Queen y/n did not feel trapped. She had a few friends and little to no allies at court. However she paid no attention it. She was never a pleaser of the court. Those she needed to befriend were distributed in the seven kingdoms. She had a close bond with House Lannister and House Redwyne. Even exchanged letters with the Lady of Winterfell Lysa Stark.

She had Rhaella in her arms while Rhaenor played with his wooden soldiers. Baelon sat quietly scribbling on a piece of Parchment. There were rare moments where the queen could be away from Maegor. His attention had solely focused on his oldest sons. There were a few occasions where he could stop in the room to see his two youngest. But he never step foot in the room.

Before: Maegor had cared for things, a something some considered rare. Among those things was his son, whom he adored. There was not a day that Aegon was not in his arms. Constantly showing him off at court, it was clear Maegor was proud of his boy. He insisted on bringing Aegon to the small council meetings.In his arms slept Aegon whilst the lords discussed the politics of the realm. Although it was clear Maegor’s attention was never focused on the meetings. Some nights Maegor crept into the room where Aegon and his mother slept, stealing his son away he would make his way to Balerion. He often sat on Balerion’s saddle simply holding his son. His cruel heart warming up every time he saw his son’s purple eyes. Aegon was loved, oh so loved

Maegor had been completely attached to Aegon. He had been vulnerable and let his guard down. He would not repeat the same mistake again. But one something was different. He came into the room unannounced. Taking in the view his eyes landed on his eldest son. Queen y/n did not bother to look up as she thought it would be like his other visits. Before she knew it Maegor had walked to where she was, his voice low and serious he asked “Might I?”. The question took her by surprise , he never held his sons, let alone his daughter. “Of course” she replied gently placing Rhaella in his arms. He carefully held his daughter, his big arms gently holding her. She was a quiet child, a peaceful child. He adjusted her small dress. She had her mother’s soft purple eyes. It was clear she would be the very image of queen y/n.

She nuzzled her small head into his chest while his hand caressed her back. Maegor knew his children were by loved by their mother. He admired her for it, she loved their children the way his mother loved him. He stayed like that for a while, the room’s atmosphere had shifted. Baelon played with his brother. His mother sitting near by. Maegor held his daughter in his arms whilst he watched his sons play. She was unsure why he had a change of heart. Why he had chosen this particular day. A passer by would’ve assumed they had a close bond. A father who loved his children and wife , spending the noon together as a family.

Sometimes our eyes deceive us. We see things that aren’t there. Simple illusions our brains create. But to Queen Tyanna the image was clear. It was real and well made. She stood outside the door watching king Maegor and y/n spend the evening with their children. They were completely unaware of her cloud lurking outside the threshold. She watched closely as the cruel king held his daughter. Her eyes had seen plenty of the queen, should the king know his young wife was getting rid of potential babes. He would never hold his daughter again.

- - - - - - - - - - -

“Queen Ceryse has requested to see you, your grace” Kiara bowed her head to her queen. The hour was quite late and the y/n was busy getting her children to bed. She looked up from Rheanor confused “Now?” She asked Kiara.

Kiara nodded “Yes your grace”. Y/n planted a kiss on Rhaenor and left his side. Ceryse’s call had been completely unexpected, she was already in her sleeping gown. If Ceryse had asked for her then it was urgent. Their relationship was nothing but civil. They weren’t bonded like sisters but being the oldest Ceryse did provide her with protection from Tyanna. Although their relationship had been strained over the past year, she held no grudges for her. She did not blame Ceryse nor Tyanna. But at times she did wonder if Ceryse had told truth. Had Ceryse purposely left her door unattended? She would never know.

Still the young princess instructed Kiara to remain with the children until she returned. Two guards stood outside her door their attention ever so vigilant. As she began to walk away one of the guards left his post, she looked back bewildered “The hour is late hour grace” the white cloak told her. “We are to keep you and the children safe” the other guard added.

She had completely forgotten about the rule Maegor had placed. “Of course” she nodded. The white cloak followed her keeping his distance but still close enough to protect her. The castle was silent and empty. It’s darks long halls illuminated by the torches on the wall. The shining moon above illuminated some parts of the now finished castle. Ironically if queen y/n had gone to her left she would’ve taken the same route she took the night her son was murdered.

The only who seemed to noticed was the white cloak who looked back before he continued his steps. He had heard the tale many times. Each version more twisted than the last. He tried to picture the young girl carrying two babes in her arms while she made sure her other son was safe. But to him the situation was too unsettling to picture it. As a believer of the faith he was among the many that felt pity for the girl.

She stopped outside Ceryse’s door “It won’t take long” she told the white cloak. She entered the room to see Ceryse sat on her bed. Her back against the bed frame. Her hand resting on her stomach. Her long blonde hair down to her shoulders. There no candles lit, the only light being the moonlight that shone through the window.

Ceryse smile slightly when she saw y/n “Sickness does put one in it’s weakest state” she joked. Y/n smiled a bit before she took a seat on the bed “It’s better than childbirth” she joked back

Ceryse chuckled and took her hand “Some of us would rather take that pain”. Y/n place her hand on overs here’s as well. Her gaze moved to the an opened window. The air tangling itself with the curtains. “Were you standing ?” She asked looking back at Ceryse.

Ceryse sighed a small smile forming on her face “I stood to watch Skyfyre” she told y/n “it seems she’s restless and misses you”.

Y/n looked back at the window, it was clear she missed her dragon as well but she said nothing. “I was told what you did in the small council “ Ceryse smirked at girl.

Y/n looked back at Ceryse “It was necessary “ she said. There was a brief silence between the two of them. Ceryse looked at the girl, her youthfulness had not been tampered with. Her silver hair and purple eyes sparkled in the dim moonlight. Her eternal beauty was a reminder that Targaryens were closer to gods than men. She did not blame Maegor for marrying her, any man with a cock could only dream about marrying a Targaryen princess. Her words stuck a cord on Ceryse, she had never heard the young girl say such words. She was the youngest and most gentle out the three. At least that was what she believed.

“Do not let Maegor corrupt you, you are a good person. I believe your heart is pure and the love you hold for your children will serve as a shield” Ceryse whispered gently. Y/n kept quiet, even in her death bed Ceryse still saw her a naive weak minded girl.

“I wasted my years I was filled with hatred and jealousy” Ceryse voice was sincere and filled with regret. “I resented you..for being unaware of the feelings I heartily hid”. After all years of pretending Ceryse finally revealed her feelings towards the girl. “We reconciled in old town” she said. “I forgave him, I accepted Alys and promised to make the effort with Tyanna” Ceryse’s words were soft .It was clear she fought tears as she spoke “On the third day of the feast…. He rose up and held his cup…. the doors opened “ she spat with sadness “There you stood, a Targaryen princess barely ten and five”. Ceryse paused and wiped off her tears. She scoffed quietly and spoke again “He took as your wife in front of me…. And I hated you “ she said her words filled with sorrow and anger . “A child” she said letting out a humorless laugh “A child had taken my husband” her breathing hitched and angry tears swelled up in her eyes. “You fell pregnant faster than expect, I could’ve let you stay. Allowed Tyanna to get rid of the child” she confessed “But what used would’ve that done”.

“I tried getting pregnant, lots of times….it was useless” Ceryse swallowed “But you became pregnant without complications. Locked away squishing child after child. I resented you more and more ”.

“I prayed for the Stranger to take you. For death to wrap it’s s arms around you. So I could raise your children as my own…I believed I was owed that”

The curtains blew in the windows tangling themselves together as the air gushed in the room. “How grand it must have been.. to a mother”

“I prayed for the gods to hurt you” she confessed. “So they took Aegon” Her gaze finally met hers, Ceryse’s eyes were filled with remorse and tears. “Forgive me” she begged “p-please” her voice cracking and her tears cascading

Y/n face was blanked and pensive “I knew….” She said her voice soft . “ I always knew” she told Ceryse. Unlike Ceryse, she had not tears in her eyes.

“You knew?” Ceryse repeated her tone betraying her shock. She spend years secretly hating a child. A child who always knew and did not care.

“I didn’t want to be his queen “ Y/n said “I wanted to go home”. She knew Ceryse hated her, but she did not expect for her to hate so much. To wish death upon her. Ceryse wanted y/n’s children, she wanted y/n gone.

“He took our home, and he took my brother’s throne ….…he killed Aegon beneath the Gods eye and he called that mercy.” Y/n said. Ceryse was aware of the cruelty y/n had endured in the hands of Maegor. Someone the girl was still sane, at least in her eyes.

“I did not love him…I hated him…” Queen y/n spoke distantly. “Many times I wished to jump from one the towers. I could’ve done it..it would been fast.. a quick death in the hands of Maegor”

“But I had my children…they saved me” she said rising from Ceryse’s side.

“I love none but my children “ she said “On that font a mother has no choice “ her voice strangely low. She stood by Ceryse’s night stand where a flask of milk of the poppy rested. Ceryse had been taken it to sooth her illness that slowly ate her away. A sudden illness Maester Benifer had no cure for.

“For Aegon” she said coldly as she dropped the flask onto the cold stone floor. The liquid flowing away into the dirty cracks. Ceryse could only watch as the only thing that kept her alive was taken from her. The Queen had not forgiven her, in fact had she not confessed mayhaps she wouldn’t have blamed her for the death of her son.

Queen y/n left the Ceryse’s chamber without another word. She closed the door behind her knowing Ceryse would be dead come the morrow. Her cold body to be found by the maids. But tonight no one would come to aid her, no one would save Ceryse the way no one saved y/n.

A mother’s wrath is stronger than the wrath of the gods. For there was a debt to be paid, and only death could pay it.

#a song of ice and fire #asoif/got #house of the dragon #maegor targaryen #king maegor #maegor the cruel #maegor x reader #house targaryen #game of thrones

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yeonzzzn · 10 months ago

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hihi!! perhaps mayhaps enhypen ot6 (still kinda feel weird reading smut on ni-ki 😀⁉️) catching yn masturbating to them (e.g. sees yn with a photo of them or like ,, yn moaning out their name,etc)

i’m gonna write this as hyung line since it’s who I mostly write smut for, hope that’s okay! and yeah no I won’t ever write smut for niki. it’s never happening 🙅🏻‍♀️

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

‎‧₊˚✧[ HEESEUNG ]✧˚₊‧

he would be completely floored. homie would be minding his business, playing a round of LOL with his friends and swearing up and down he kept hearing his name being called. eventually removing one of the earmuffs from his ear to be correct, he was hearing his name being called, coming from you more specifically.

heeseung would quickly stand up and make his way to your room filled with worry thinking something was wrong. but would stop dead in his tracks seeing your bedroom door is cracked open and hearing your lewd sounds coming from the other side of the door. heeseung would peak inside, carefully pushing the door open to seeing you sprawled out on your bed, legs spread so wide and your fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt quickly, heeseung’s name spilling from your lips in gasped moans, chanting it over and over. heeseung would get hard immediately, his face and ears turning a bright red. loving how you look as you moan out his name. it’s clear that you want him, and oh god he wanted you too. heeseung could interrupt right now, but deciding against it. you looked way to sexy to him to just stop you. heeseung would lean against the doorframe and pull his shorts down past his hips until his hard cock was set free, his hand pumping himself to the same rhythm as your fingers pushing in and out of you. he would eventually lose himself, letting out gasped moans of your name, nearly scaring you to death after finally noticing him, your door now wide open as heeseung slid to the floor, resting his back to your bedroom wall, “don’t stop baby,” he groans, “keep touching yourself for me, I’m so close…please. wanna see you cum with me.” how could you say no?

‎‧₊˚✧[ JAY ]✧˚₊‧

jay wouldn’t be shocked at all most since he would always walk around your shared apartment without a shirt on, always making you so weak in the knees for your roommate. mostly after he finishes showering and has his hair all wet and sticking to his forehead with nothing covering him but a thin towel and seeing the outline of his cock as he quickly walks to his bedroom to get dressed. how could you not touch yourself after seeing that? mostly when it’s a daily occurrence in this apartment. hell, one time he walked back to the bathroom and tied the towel just below his hips to quickly slick his hair back and left the bathroom door open…how could you not snap a quick pic with your phone? it was a godly sight. one to burn into your memory. so obviously you’d use that photo to masturbate in the safety of your room…when jay wasn’t home. except one day he came home early and you didn’t hear him walk in. you left your door wide open, being completely naked on your bed and legs spread apart as your fingers pushed inside you, your free hand holding your phone with the photo of jay and you moaning out his name. of course jay hearing this peaked his curiosity, him snooping to your bedroom and seeing the sight before him, eyes glueing to your slick that spilled from your cunt and pooling at your sheets, eyes eventually moving up to your naked body and then seeing the photo of your phone. you nearly jumped out your skin at feeling jay’s hand wrap around your wrist. he smirked at you, “why did you stop? go on, continue. had no problem fucking yourself to a half naked photo of me, might as well do it with me right here.” jay pinned your hand down to your bed, his free hand shoving down his shorts and taking his cock in hand, “come on now pretty, don’t stop.” you obeyed.

‎‧₊˚✧[ JAKE ]✧˚₊‧

homie wouldn’t know what to do after catching you. he’d be so embarrassed for snooping on you time and time again after the first time but not being able to get enough of hearing how beautifully his name slid from between your lips as you touch yourself. jake would lean against the wall outside your room and fuck up into his fist, biting his tongue to keep from screaming out your name. eventually jake wouldn’t be able to keep quiet anymore, needing to physically see you fuck yourself instead of just hearing it through the thin wall between your two bedrooms or outside your door. jake would be so far gone that he wouldn’t think twice from standing up off the floor and quickly opening your bedroom door, loving that the first thing he sees is your cunt on full display for him, your fingers knuckles deep inside. you’d quickly try and cover yourself, ready to yell at him for being such a pervert until he rushes in and lays down beside you, already making work of pushing off his jeans and positioning his cock in hand, “masturbate with me honey,” he says, making direct eye contact, “you had zero problem moaning my name for weeks. I wanna hear you scream my name as you cum, I’ll cum with you,” jake would start to pump himself, mouth slack as he kept looking into your eyes, “fuck you’re so pretty, touch yourself for me honey, moan my name.” jake looked way to hot like this to not continue pushing your fingers in and out your cunt. both of you were a moaning mess until a mixture of both your cum stained your bedsheets.

‎‧₊˚✧[ SUNGHOON ]✧˚₊‧

home boy would be on such a power trip hearing you moan out his name in the middle of the night as you touch yourself. he’d be laying in bed smirking so fucking hard at the pure fact he doesn’t even have to be the one touching you to get you screaming out his name. sunghoon would be confused at first, thinking he was just hearing things and eventually drifting off to sleep until he heard you moan out his name and he knew he wasn’t hearing things. you indeed were moaning his name while you masturbated. it would give sunghoon such an ego boost. he already knew he was hot shit, but after hearing your pretty voice scream for him? it only made it worse. sunghoon would also be so fucking turned on by it. he couldn’t lie and say he never jerked himself off to you, he was very much attracted to you, he just didn’t think you felt the same and now that he knows you do, you aren’t safe from him. sunghoon would quickly pull himself out of bed and make his way to your bedroom, pressing his ear gently to the wood of your door, waiting to confirm you are indeed still moaning out his name. once that confirmation was cleared, he wouldn’t hesitate to just open your door, crossing his arms and smirking at how you look on your bed, completely naked as you continued to fuck yourself, staring deeply into his eyes. you were so close to finishing and even though you were embarrassed to have been caught, your need to cum outweighed it. “how cute,” he coos, “getting caught moaning my name and still going? that’s so fucking hot,” he would then make his way into your bedroom, towering over you and sliding his hand on top of yours, helping you push your fingers inside your cunt faster, “looks like you need some help, princess. I’ll make you cum hard, don’t worry.

#yeonzzzn asks #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hyung line #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #park jay smut #sim jake smut #park sunghoon smut #yeonzzzn writing #heeseung #jay #jake #sunghoon #lee heeseung #park jongseong #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon

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starogeorgina · 6 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.02

Lord Stark’s mouth hangs slightly open; your comment seems to have shaken him. A moment passes, and you hold each other's gaze and only break eye contact when a young man of the night's watch approaches.

“My lord, princess.”

You avert your gaze as the man says something to Lord Stark quietly. In the distance, you hear Vermithor roaring; most would call you crazy, but you felt as if he was trying to tell you something. Licking at your cold, dry lips, you press your gloved hands against your cheeks.

“Yes, my lord.” The man quickly starts towards the lift to take him back down to the ground, “princess.”

You look back over and meet the Lord's eye; the gray in his eyes reminds you of clouds darkening while a storm brews. A drastic change has happened; all the softness in his face has gone and is replaced by a hardened expression.

Many men of the night's watch continue to walk by, yet it felt as if only the two of you stood atop the wall. You swallow thickly. “What is wrong?”

“Prince Jacaerys is on route to Castle Black on Dragonback.”

The sight of Vermax approaching will be what irks your own dragon. “I suppose I should go and allow my nephew the courtesy of speaking with you alone. I fear my presence will only distract him.”

Stepping closer to you, Lord Stark says, “Did it ever occur to you, princess, that when you came in support of the king they call a usurper, I might have you hanged or taken as a prisoner?”

“Did you think I might use my dragon to burn the north when you told me House Stark would remain loyal to Rhaenyra?”

His lips curl into a smile. “Vayon, the man of the watch I just spoke with, I asked him to send word to Winterfell for quarters to be made available to you if you choose to stay.”

“Thank you, my lord; that is very gracious of you. I will stay the night.”

“Mayhaps you can tell me how a princess who’s lived all her life in the south knows about the threats beyond our walls.”

—

You were grateful for the extra layers of clothing provided by one of House Stark’s ladies-in-waiting. You knew the North would be cold, but you hadn’t anticipated the ice… the ice. The strong winds that blew in your face while on dragonback were nothing compared to the feeling of ice touching your bare skin.

The guest house in Winterfell was beautiful; the thick, soft furs that covered the bed and fireplace gave the bedchamber a unique warmth that you’d never felt before. On one side of the guest house was the courtyard, and on the opposite side was the godswood.

Stepping out of the guest house, you face the courtyard and smile, watching children chasing each other. It was nice seeing them so free and happy.

You notice one young boy sitting alone on the wooden steps, resting his chin in his hands. Noticing what he’s staring so intensely at, you go and join him. His eyes widen when you sit next to him, “p-princess.”

You smile at him. “Mind if I join you?”

He shakes his head. There was no doubt he was Lord Stark’s son, Rickon; the resemblance was uncanny. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Vermax were now flying together, but occasionally, when your nephew's dragon would speed by, Vermithor would let out a roar. Jacaerys dragon looks tiny in comparison, yet it shows no signs of fear.

The boy looks back up at the sky and asks, “Is he angry, your dragon?”

The question makes you chuckle. “No, Vermithor is almost a hundred years old and gets irritated easily.”

“Like old people with children?”

“Precisely. In the south, my dragon is known as the bronze fury, but I don’t see him as a fearsome beast.”

“Most people are afraid of my direwolf, Thorn. She’s not bad, just protective.”

“Did you choose the wolf yourself?”

“No, my father found the pup while hunting; she was trying to feed from her dead mother. My father warned me the pup may not survive long, but she did.”

“I’m glad,” you smile. “Why did you name the direwolf thorn?”

You immediately regret asking when Rickon looks saddened by the question. “My mother was from House Norrey, and their words are ‘Sharp as thorns’.”

“I think you chose the perfect name.” His answer causes the already faint pain inside your chest to worsen. Poor boy, he was honoring the mother he never got to know. Feeling your bum becoming numb from the cold, you say, “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lord; if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the godswood.”

He suddenly perks up and says, “Princess, can I go with you to see the dragons?”

The look on his face reminds you of the one on Maitlands face whenever he gets excited. Your only doubt was if someone misunderstood and thought you were taking the boy over to them as a threat. “If Lord Stark agrees, I see no issue with it.”

—

The sound of snow being crushed under the weight of a footfall was something you’d heard many times in your dreams, but it never occurred to you that it was walking. Staring at the sap that resembles blood seeping from the weirwood tree, you clear your throat and say, “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, nephew?”

Jacaerys says nothing.

“I can feel your anger from here.”

“I thought you were better than them,” he says. “But you’re not. You’re just as bad as Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Aemond. Usurpers, all of you.”

“He doesn’t want it,” you turn to face a furious-looking Jacaerys. “Aegon has no taste for ruling or responsibility. He was content spending his days drinking, whoring, and dragon riding.”

“Then why does he call himself king and sit atop my mother's throne?”

The godswoods fall silent, birds can no longer be heard chirping, and all sounds of children laughing have stopped. How could you even begin to explain that Aegon had no choice? None of you did.

“Just because something is, does not mean it is right.”

He storms towards you, anger and grief threatening to spill from his eyes. “You could have refused, gone to Dragonstone, and bent the knee to the rightful heir.”

“And beg for mercy from your mother after my own has betrayed her? Do not take me for a fool, nephew.”

The sound of snow crackling in the distance alerts you to someone else approaching, but you don’t look back to see who it is. But you assume it's Lord Stark, which would explain the caution in his steps. Aegon once told you that a smart man observes dragons from a distance.

“The queen is merciful.”

“And Daemon?” You hold his stare. “Your stepfather has the same thirst for vengeance and blood as Aemond does. The moment your mother sits on the iron throne, all my family heads will be on spikes.”

“You have all committed treason.”

“I have no desire for war or to burn anyone, nor do Aegon, Helaena, or Daeron. Dragons are our house saviors; they should be cherished, not used as weapons.”

“And Aemond?”

You swallow thickly. “Each side has its own threat. There are only two ways this can end: Rhaenyra and Aegon reach an understanding before the first blood is spilled or we all die.”

He looks taken aback by your words.

“Surely, you must know that if our dragons go to war, then our house will tear itself apart.”

“If the hoary old bitch is the main threat—”

“Your dragon's teeth wouldn’t even prick a hole in Vhagar’s scales.”

“Not alone, but with multiple dragons, it would be possible.”

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world and would not dare go up against her or Aemond.” You scoff, “But ignore my words and take your sibling, mother, and stepfather and fly before her. Let your deaths be in vain; what difference will it make to me?”

“Do you expect me to do nothing but wait for one of your brothers to kill mine, or try to take my mother's head?” he snaps.

“The only dragon who could have gone against Vhagar and won was the black dread, and he is dead, as is his last rider.” The second the last word passes your lips, a pit forms in your stomach, and a sob escapes you. In the madness of everything, you hadn’t mourned your father's death. Pitying you, Jacaerys softens slightly and attempts to comfort you, but you back away from him. “I’m being ridiculous. Viserys doesn’t deserve my tears.”

He clears his throat. “What happens now?”

“Lord Stark is waiting on you; you should go.”

“Very well.”

“Jacaerys,” you squeeze your eyes shut, knowing very well what you were about to say would most likely suggest you will be rejected. “I know the word of a usurper means little and less to you, but if you’re willing, I’d like to try and find a way to help end this.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“If you believe anything, I say let it be my only goal to keep my boy safe.”

#house of the dragon #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan stark/reader #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen/you #aemond targaryen/reader #Aemond Targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #the beauty of sin #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x reader

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 11 months ago

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Hey :) Hope you're doing well, I read some of your Aemond fanfics, and they were great. I was hoping you could write a Jacaerys x Alicent daughter fanfic. Something about an arranged marriage, you can take it anyway you wish, but could there be some angst in there. with the prompts 1. ‘’My blood is not noble enough for a prince.’’ and 14. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

Thank you :)

Request: Alicent’s second daughter to marry Jacaerys to unite the houses

Thank you for the compliment on my Aemond fics <3 More will be coming soon. Also, I was not able to use the first prompt as it doesn’t work with the characters. Alicent’s daughter’s blood is more noble than Jacaerys since her father is king and his mother is princess. I hope you still enjoy what I wrote for you <3

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Twenty years ago, when Viserys made Rhaenyra his heir, the knights and houses who swore allegiance to him had no choice but to accept her as their future queen. She was the king’s only child. But now that the king had a male heir — and a spare —, there were possibilities that people would oppose her claim to the throne and demand Aegon to wear the crown.

To prevent the situation from happening, the king and queen, along with Rhaenyra, made an accord that Rhaenyra would ascend the throne following the king’s death, but to unite the houses, the princess’s firstborn son — and heir — would marry Alicent’s second daughter and, one day, inherit the throne together.

Like any political marriage, you nor Jacaerys had a choice or say. At least he wasn’t an older lord you had met once or twice. You knew Jacaerys — a little. He was kind, loyal and protective. He was a good man.

Prior to that arrangement, your grandsire, Otto, had been talking to you about having a tourney to meet suitors, but your mother had been quick to oppose to the idea. She didn't want you to be the victim of his scheming like she had been at your age.

You were drawing under the weirwood tree when Jacaerys stepped into the yard, having just arrived in King’s Landing. Its red leaves matched the color of your dress, making him smile. He liked you in red.

‘’I was told by the servants that my wife was out here.’’

Immersed in your drawing, you didn’t hear the prince approaching. You only glanced up when you heard your new title, the sound of his voice almost making you drop your charcoal onto your dress. Your mother would have been furious.

A soft laugh left your lips. Moons have passed since the wedding, yet being called a wife still felt strange. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

‘’Me either,’’ Jacaerys admitted. ‘’What are you drawing, Princess?’’

You reflected his smile as he approached. ‘’Just some birds.’’

Jacaerys walked up to the tree and sat beside you. He had a bit of dirt on his jacket from sparring with Ser Criston in the training yard.

‘’How was your training session with Ser Criston?’’ you asked, raising a hand to run through the front of his hair, fixing an unruly curl that was on the wrong side.

The older he got, the more he looked like Ser Harwin Strong. He had the same dark brown curls. But you would never dare saying that out loud. Although you meant it as a compliment, the mere insinuation of his illegitimacy was a vile insult to the crown — to the princess.

‘’I disarmed him twice…and I ate some dirt.’’ The brunet grimaced, the earthy taste still lingering on his tongue. ‘’It was a blessing that no one was watching.’’

‘’Mayhaps you need an opponent that is closest to your age?’’ you suggested, not finding it fair that he was sparring against a grown man who had years of practice as a knight. ‘’You could ask Aemond to train with you? He is training for the upcoming tourney, but I’m sure he would a accept to help you.’’

Jacaerys hummed, then leaned back against the weirwood tree, taking a moment of rest. He watched with quiet admiration as you continued your drawing, fascinated by the way you could, with a few strokes of charcoal, illustrate pretty much anything. Birds, flowers, dragons, or portraits of your family.

Much like your twin brother, you favored solitude over socializing. When the betrothal was announced to you, you assumed that this tranquility would be disrupted, but it turned out that Jacaerys enjoyed it too. Partially. While he often thrived on the excitement and duty that came with his heir title, he found it relieving that he could find peace and comfort in your silent company.

‘’I’m going back to Dragonstone in the morrow,’’ the prince announced, breaking the serenity of the quiet.

‘’How long for?’’

Jacaerys shifted, fearing the conversation that was to come. ‘’No. I’m going back to Dragonstone…permanently.’’

You stopped drawing, a sudden knot forming in your stomach. ‘’And what of me?’’

‘’You can join. Or not. That is up to you.’’

‘’And what of us? What of our marriage, Jace?’’ you asked, turning your head toward him.

When you got wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, you pledged to one another that you were one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Jacaerys returning to Dragonstone would break your duties to your House.

‘’Dragonstone is easy to travel from and back on dragonback.’’ You began picking at your fingers, and Jacaerys noticed, taking your hand in his to stop you. ‘’I tried, but King’s Landing is not my home. I don’t belong here.’’

‘’I can’t leave my family.’’

‘’I left mine for you.’’

You pulled your hand from his hold and narrowed your eyes at him. Jacaerys moving to King’s Landing after the wedding ceremony was your father’s idea, not yours. How dared he blame you for a decision you didn't make?

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen@naty-1001@katiepie67@moshpot24x@hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler@saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag@wondxrgurl@aerangi@strmborns@astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd #jacaerys hotd

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jamespotterismydaddy · 2 years ago

Text

In the Wine Cellar

aegon x reader smut

TW: smut, dubcon, incest, pussy slapping, overstimulation, little bit of degrading

word count: 1,845 words

You’re woken up in the dead of night by someone pounding on your bedroom door and you rub your tired eyes as you sit up in your bed. Who would possibly be calling on you this late?

“Who’s there?” You call out nervously, surely your guard wouldn’t have let anyone dangerous get to the door of your chambers.

“Sister…” Aegon’s voice is whiny and he’s clearly tipsy. All of your hesitance fades away but the annoyance sets in. You step out of bed, cringing at the feeling of the cold stone floor against your bare feet as you pad over to the door, opening it to reveal your smirking brother.

“I was sleeping, Aegon.” There’s an impish grin on his face as he takes in the sight of you. Your nightgown is less modest than some ladies would don and you can tell your dear brother quite appreciates it by the intense look in his eyes.

“What kind of proper lady goes to bed in such an immodest state? I am absolutely appalled. I should inform mother.” He leans against your doorframe as he speaks, a mocking look of shock on his face.

“What do you want?” You ask him with a roll of your eyes. He delights in how irritated you seem to be with him.

“Is there something wrong with me wanting to check in on my little sister?” He eyes you seductively, a hand coming up to twirl your hair around his finger.

“Mayhaps you should check in on your wife instead?” You flick his hand off.

“But you are the one who needs true tending to. A sweet rose like you needs to be watered so you may… bloom.” He sucks on his lower lip as his eyes fall to your breasts. You cross your arms to cover them from his hungry gaze.

“By water do you mean wine, brother?” You glare at him.

“Hm… that is a tantalizing thought…” His mouth twitches up slightly as he seems to be in deep thought. “... but I was thinking of my own personal version of hydration. A sweet nectar that can be applied to those soft lips of yours.”

“Leave now. I want to go to sleep.” You place a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

“I know the perfect way to help you back to sleep, little rose. It’ll tire you out for sure.” The playful smirk never leaves his face as he gets closer. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

“There's no way in the Seven Hells that I am letting you into my room right now.”

“Even if I promised to be extra gentle?” He places a hand on your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“No.” You put both hands on his chest and push him out but he grabs you by the waist and makes you leave the room with him.

“If I can’t come in then i’ll take you someplace else.” He says, taking you by the hand and dragging you along.

“Aegon, I don’t have shoes on!” He ignores your protests as he leads you through the castle. “Where are we even going?”

“My favourite place in the Red Keep.” He grins impishly as he takes you all the way down to… the wine cellar.

“Seriously? Mother will have a fit if she finds us here in the middle of the night.”

“Oh gods, when did you get so boring? Have a little fun for once.” He reaches up to grab two bottles of Arbour Red and hands one to you.

“You know that I hardly have a taste for wine.” You don’t take the bottle.

“C’mon just have a sip for your big brother.” He uncorks the first bottle and gives you his puppy dog eyes with a pout on his lips. “Just one little sip.” He brings the bottle up to your lips and you easily give in, parting your lips to let the crimson wine slip through. You don’t swallow though, not really liking the bitter taste on your tongue. “Now, swallow for me.” The look in his eyes tells you to obey so you swallow the wine, trying not to cringe. “There’s my good girl.” You try to move away but his grip on your hip keeps you pulled flush against him. He keeps pouring the wine down your throat, the bottle held to your lips like he’s feeding a babe. The wine dribbles down your chin and onto your chest as you finally push him off.

“You said a sip!” You wipe the wine off your chest as he brings a hand to your mouth, wiping the drink off your lip with his fingers before bringing them to his own mouth and sucking it off. He never breaks eye contact as he does.

“You can’t handle the taste, sweet rose?’ He takes a swig from the bottle before putting it down. “I can think of another kind of nectar that would help you bloom nicely.” His eyes darken as he presses himself against you. You step back but he just keeps stalking you until you’re cornered against the wall.

“Don’t be stupid.” You duck under his arm and make for the door but he catches you by the arm and he sits by the wine bottles, pulling you into his lap with him.

“Ugh.” You grunt as you squirm a little in his lap but you eventually stop, not truly wanting to leave his hold.

“Good girl. No need to put on a show for big brother. I know what you want.” He lifts the bottle to your lips and makes you drink more before bringing it to his lips and finishing it off. Your head is starting to feel a little cloudy at this point. He turns you a little so he can see your face. His fingertips brush lightly over your lips before they begin to trail down your throat to the swell of your chest. Your hand comes up to hold his, stopping the movement.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I will.” He whispers these words in your ear as his hand slips under the top of your nightgown to grope your breasts. You can feel the heat of his breath on your neck before he begins to kiss you there; you feel dizzy. Your hands go up to push him away but you end up gripping his tunic instead. He licks up your neck a little and leaves a mark.

“A-Ah…” You moan a little from the combined sensations of him squeezing your breast and sucking on your neck.

“I knew you’d like it, little whore.” His other hand reaches up to grip your hair. “You want me to touch you…” He nips at your collarbone. “... taste you.” The hand that was on your chest reaches up to the strap of your nightgown. He brings his lips to yours in a messy kiss to distract you from him slipping the strap off your shoulder. The hand that was in your hair does the same thing to the other side. You gasp, feeling the cool air on your bare skin as the nightgown falls to your hips. You break the kiss.

“Aegon!” You chastise him as you bring your hands up to cover your naked breasts.

“It’s fine. Be a good girl and move your arms.”

“You’ll ruin me for my future husband.” You glare at him through your drunken haze.

“You’ll never have a husband that’ll make you feel the way that I do right now.” He grabs your wrists and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Let me give you a night to remember.” He nips at your ear. “Let me be your first.” You think for a moment before lifting your hands to his tunic… you begin to unbutton it. He grins. “My naughty little rose.” He undoes his trousers and you pull his tunic off.

“I hate you.” Your words are a little slurred.

“You love me.” He takes your lips with his for another sloppy kiss. He forces his tongue into your mouth before laying you back against the cold cellar floor. He pins his hands above your head so he can finally get a good look at your breasts. “Such perfect fucking tits.” You blush at the lewdness of it all as his mouth moves to your chest. He circles your nipple with his tongue and leaves little love bites all over before he switches to sucking on the other.

“Mmm…” You moan and he lifts his head up to give you another kiss.

“Let’s get the rest of this off, shall we?” He tugs your nightgown off the rest of the way, taking your smallclothes with it. “Look at this tight little cunt.” He gives you a light smack, right on the pearl, and you squeal. “Sorry.” He says, not really meaning it.

He removes his cock from his trousers and your eyes widen at the sight.

“It’s… large.” You bite your lip.

“You’ll love it.”he smirks as he spreads your legs open a bit more and begins to rub his length along your slit, coating it in your arousal. “You’re so fucking wet that it’ll just slip right it.” You blush once more and he laughs before kissing you again, sheathing himself inside your cunny. He gives you a little chance to adjust before beginning to slide himself in and out.

“Oh gods.” You whimper as he hits that sweet spot.

“I told you you’d love it.” He begins to quicken his pace and groans a bit as you squeeze around him. “You’re so tight.” He grunts. “I wanna keep this tiny cunny all to myself.” His thrusts get rougher as he gets lost in the pleasure.

“H-Harder.” You whine and he grins before beginning to piston in and out of you, his hips slapping against yours at a brutal pace. “Fuck.” You moan as his fingers come down to rub your pearl.

“I want to feel you cum around me, little sister. Cum around my cock as I ruin you for every other man.” His cock continues to slam into you as you reach your peak, the waves of pleasure washing over you. He fucks you through your high and then some as he begins to overstimulate you.

“No… no more.” You beg for mercy as his ruthless pace continues.

“Don’t be selfish.” He scolds as he chases his high. You whine as he keeps fucking into you, the pleasure being too much to handle after your peak. He lets you suffer a bit before he finally gets close. You sigh in relief as he finally pulls out and releases his spend onto your stomach. You both just catch your breath for a moment before he lays on his back next to you and pulls you into his side. “Good job.” He mumbles as you rest your head on his chest.

The sight of the two of you sure gives some serving boy a fright the next morning.

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