#otto is between her and the pretender

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Hey. I knew you're mad at Otto for hurting Noone and Noone deciding to join Nowhere, but have you ever considered hating the Ferryman for being the main reason why all of this started?

Like this man took away Otto's sister, Cici (Sisi? Cece?? or whatever the hell you spell her name as) away from him and making him obsess for answers, then later in Otto's life he met Noone and realize she is going through the same thing his sister did and became insane and thanks to that, Noone distrusts him and became an easy target for the Ferryman to take her away too and making Otto the bait to catch more children.

Blame can be on both sides. In this case, blame definitely is on both sides.

I understand your point of view, and you are right to say that the Ferryman was the one who started all this. But was it right of Otto to push Noone so far into the Nowhere that she "decided" that it'd be better to leave with the Ferryman than to stay with Otto? Who, mind you, deceived her multiple times, repeatedly breached her boundaries over and over again, used her and admitted that he was using her (when he said "I still need her" to the Ferryman taking Noone away) AND who did not show a single ounce of remorse for what he had done?

No. Of course it was not.

The Ferryman is the cause of the trauma. Otto's obsession with him is understandable, frighteningly human. So much so that I find myself disliking him because I have met people like Otto in my life. People who are nice on a surface level only to reveal later on that they capable of being manipulative and cruel, all under the pretense of past trauma causing them to act the way that they do. Trauma is not a justification for one to act like a piece of shit - an explanation, yes, but never a justifier. Which is exactly what Otto does.

You know who else in TSON has trauma and doesn't act like a dickhead? Noone. Noone, the victim in all of this, stuck between a kidnapper who will bring her to her doom and a man who is pushing her into the kidnapper's arms only to cry wolf when she calls him out on it.

I also find myself more upset with Otto rather than the Ferryman for another variety of reasons.

Firstly, I was not expecting anything from the Ferryman. We know how he operates, we know he's not a force of good; he's a liar and a kidnapper, literally a monster, taking children to their doom when they are at their most vulnerable. He was a bad omen from the very beginning and I never expected him to be anything more. Of course I hate him as a person and what he stands for, but considering where he started, I was not surprised to see him do what he did.

But Otto was different. Otto could have been different. He could have been an example of someone who manages to, if not overcoming, at least face their trauma with a positive outcome for both his own sake and Noone's. But no. He let himself go down a road so atrocious that he is now no different from the monsters we see in the Nowhere while not even being there.

Otto is a regular guy. He's not insane and he did not become insane. He, like everyone, has his own set of bad traits. He can be impatient, harsh, dismissive, insistent and immature. At the same time, he also has his good traits: he used to have a morale, kind, understanding, intelligent and friendly. All these things make up him as a person. As he said to Noone: once you are with someone long enough, you let out who you really are. And he did just that. He let his bad traits get the best of him. And as sorry as I feel for his circumstances, I really cannot bring myself to forgive him.

I suppose Otto let us down, like he let down Noone. And the Ferryman is the guy in the white van with its doors open, but Otto is the guy who threw Noone inside and watched it drive away.

He's a wonderfully written villain. My disliking of him as a person does not stop me from really enjoying his character! I do think he's the second best written LN antagonist.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

realized ricky is not only canonically polyam, but rep for polyam survivors who are abused for being poly, and i am having a lot of feelings about that which i plan to write up a post about but also wow in hindsight it put some shit from an abusive ex-friend into perspective.

[synchodai]

HBO's Continued Insistence on Dumbing Down Westerosi Politics

So there have been countless thinkpieces already on how GOT simplified the feudalist politics of Westeros (by giving a lowborn sellsword lordship over The Reach, by having no consequences for destroying the Sept of Baelor, etc.), but I haven't seen a lot of people talking about that for House of the Dragon.

The worst being that the show presupposes that Rhaenyra is the lawful heir when the books showed there are plenty of lawful arguments why she wouldn't be.

Mind you that I've been enjoying the show a lot so far. This is just to vent out my frustration with the writers' failure to fully engage with the values and protocols of the Middle Age-inspired setting. The show seems uninterested in laws of the Realm in a story ostensibly about politics, save for when they're using it as an excuse to amplify depictions of sex and violence.

Blacks vs Greens wasn't a matter of misunderstanding of who each side thought Viserys wanted on the throne. It was the Targaryens' belief of their absolute authority clashing with the Realm's established traditions. Everyone always knew who Viserys chose as heir. In Fire and Blood, Grand Maester Orwyle said as much when he was parleying with Rhaenyra on behalf of the Greens.

Rhaenyra heard his terms in stony silence, then asked Orwyle if he remembered her father, King Viserys. "Of course, Your Grace," the maester answered. "Perhaps you can tell us who he named as his heir and successor," the queen said, her crown upon her head. "You, Your Grace," Orwyle replied. And Rhaenyra nodded and said, "With your own tongue you admit I am your lawful queen. Why do you serve my half-brother, the pretender?" Munkun tells us that Orwyle gave a long and erudite reply, citing the Andal law and the Great Council of 101. Mushroom claims he stammered and voided his bladder. Whichever is true, his answer did not satisfy Princess Rhaenyra.

(For non-F&B readers: Munkun is the Grand Maester who served Aegon III, the king who came after this civil war. Munkun's book, The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling, is one of Fire and Blood's source texts. Mushroom is the King Landing court jester from Viserys I to Aegon III's reign. One is a source written with academic rigor but is secondhand at best. The other is a firsthand eyewitness account but is from a literal fool who will take every chance to make things more scandalous and sexual to please the crowd.)

In House of the Dragon, they replaced Orwyle with Otto and Orwyle's discussion of legal precedent with Otto handing Rhaenyra a book page from Alicent. It's quite evident here that the writers, much like Mushroom, thought a discussion on the actual laws of the Realm were negligible in this story about a succession war.

Even Alicent made no pretense that Viserys chose Rhaenyra over her children and I have no idea why the HBO writers decided to make her mistakenly think otherwise. Maybe they thought a queen regent pushing her son to take the throne over another woman made her appear unsympathetic as a character, but if anything, this only makes show!Alicent less politically savvy and more delusional than her book counterpart, fully believing an addled king's vague muttering on his deathbed was sufficient grounds to change heirs last minute.

Book!Alicent following Andal laws instead of her husband's wishes makes sense given her Andal upbringing, her devotion to the Faith of the Seven which enforces said laws, and her desire to protect her children from Rhaenyra given that Rhaenyra has shown she's not above murdering family (see: Laenor).

In the books, there was a long discussion between the former king's council on who should succeed Viserys.

Here are the arguments for Rhaenyra:

Rhaenyra was older than her brothers and had more Targaryen blood

the late king had chosen her as his successor, that he had repeatedly refused to alter the succession despite the pleadings of Queen Alicent and her greens

hundreds of lords and landed knights had done obeisance to the princess in 105 AC, and sworn solemn oaths to defend her rights.

Here are the arguments for Aegon II:

many of the lords who had sworn to defend the succession of Princess Rhaenyra were long dead [...]

Ironrod, the master of laws, cited the Great Council of 101 and the Old King’s choice of Baelon rather than Rhaenys in 92

the hallowed Andal tradition wherein the rights of a trueborn son always came before the rights of a mere daughter

Ser Otto reminded them that Rhaenyra’s husband was none other than Prince Daemon, and “we all know that one’s nature. Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us, a king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was [...]”

Should the princess reign [...] Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her. “Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne.”

Once again, the show chose to cut out this long political discussion. Instead, the council had already made up their mind and decided to stage a coup (when in their perspectives from the books, it would definitely not be a coup).

For all their marketing how two sides are equally grey, HotD is actively delegitimizing Aegon II. The strongest argument for him is how his claim follows the laws of the Realm, but the show doesn't care about the laws of the Realm. They didn't even give the master of laws any lines.

Instead, the show focuses on Viserys's relationship with his daughter and the mysticism of the Targaryen bloodline. In doing so, they emphasize Rhaenyra's strongest arguments for succession — that she's more of a Targaryen than her half-brother and that her father prefered her.

And what for? Because in our modern-day, we don't have male-prefered inheritance and people can only imagine misogyny as the only injustice here? What about the injustice of a monarch exercising absolute control, thinking that his "superior" heritage makes him above the established laws of the native people?

This is not to say Aegon II is unquestionably the heir. Precedence isn't the end-all-be-all of succession (but neither is "because daddy said so").

But this is to say that the show removed the political nuance of why people are questioning in the first place. By glossing over the boring bits of social world-building and historical precedents in favor of salacious scandals and shoehorning a magical prophecy justifying the Targaryens' right to rule, they follow in the steps of the fool Mushroom instead of Fire and Blood as a whole.

[axelsagewrites]

Hello, dear reader. I'd like to make a wish for Rhaenyra's little sister, maybe a year or two. And she never liked Alicent, who after marrying the king tries (along with Otto) to demote her to bastard status (but Viserys loves his little girl too much to do this to her). Of course, things get even worse when Rhaenyra's sister gets engaged to Harwin...

Thank you for your attention, I like your stories 🫶🏻. Another thing, can I stop by more often? I wish I had more of my ideas adorned with your writing

Harwin Strong*Suitable Match

Pairing: Harwin x f!reader

Word count: 1320

Warnings: Step parent hating step child, secret relationship, kind of implied smut

a/n: ahh thank u sm for being so sweet and ofc request as much or talk however much u want. sorry i didnt reply sooner i just didnt want to lose the request x

Masterlist Here

A life of a princess was something to envy. Well so many had claimed however after the death of your mother life felt like an ever falling spiral. Your sister began to grow closer to Alicent after the death and while you were happy for her to have a friend Alicent had always been unkind to you.

It had started small with her asking Rhaenyra not to let you join in their games to her unpicking your needle work whenever you would wander off to stretch your legs. Soon you gave up on even trying to be nice to her. anytime she was invited to dinner was met with loud sighs from you.

“Why does she hate me?” you pouted one night as Rhaenyra upbraided your hair.

Your sister rolled her eyes as she began to brush your hair out, “She doesn’t hate you. she’s just not used to a little sister,”

“She’s mean,”

“Cmon she isn’t that bad?”

-

You didn’t want to say I told you so when Alicent was betrothed to your father but the look on your face said it for you. at least Rhaenyra was able to marry and move away. you were instead stuck living at court with your evil stepmother and her spawn. Well, the children were kind to you, but Alicent constantly used them to get under your skin.

She’d send toddler Aegon running over with pretend crown shouting that he was going to be king. Or she would have a 2-year-old Aemond claim he was your husband. She tried to make Helena spill wine on your dress one time, but the poor girl burst into tears and confessed to you instantly.

Instead Alicent settled on insisting that your chambers were given to Aegon. Something you managed to convince your father against from at first but soon you were moved to a wing of the castle usually just for guests. You would’ve complained about longer if you hadn’t realised your new chambers window overlooked the kings guard training ground.

From your window you’d pretend to be doing needle work while secretly watching break bones fling any man that challenged him like a rag doll. Eventually Harwin caught onto your staring and would send his own glimpses up between sparring. It was also handy that your chamber was only a short walk from the guards’ sleeping quarters and Harwin soon became a frequent private guest of yours.

-

“Ser Barros is coming to court next week,” your father told you over a family dinner, “and I heard his son is looking for a wife,” he said, shooting you a hopeful glance.

“I heard he’s a fine man father,” you said kindly knowing full well it didn’t matter. Somehow every match they tried to make for you was sabotaged. The tall dark Baratheon boy was ever so keen for weeks for your hand then one day disappeared like a ghost. The gorgeous Lannister man that would bring you fine jewels suddenly decided a dornish match was of more importance. Even the Tarly boy you had courted had inexplicitly decided to join the nights watch. Every time Alicent wore the same twisted smile.

The only ones she didn’t send running were the incredibly old and decrepit looking men from minor houses, but it wasn’t hard to convince your father they weren’t suitable matches. “Perhaps we should set up a luncheon to great the boy,” Alicent suggested making your father smile widely. She really had twisted him around her finger.

-

“I wish I could stay here all day,” you pouted as you lay your head on Harwin’s bare chest.

His chuckle vibrated through you as his arm wrapped tight around your waist, “Me too princess but I have my duties and you have yours,”

“I thought your duty was to serve me,” you sighed dramatically, pretending to try get away.

Harwin laughed, his arms moving to cage you against the bed as he moved to lay over you, “I think I serve you just fine princess,” he said, his lips moving to kiss along your jaw.

“Oh yeah?” you asked and Harwin hummed in response as his kisses grew lower.

-

As expected Borros’s son went running after only a week and now you were in another awkward family dinner however unluckily for you the children all had the cold so now you were sat in stoney silence with just your father and Alicent. “You should really think about your future dear,” she said with a fake sweet smile, “We worry for you,”

Instead of replying you grabbed your wine, drinking a hefty sip of it. Viserys sighed, “Alicent is right dear. You must marry. At this point we’re going to have to start considering marrying you to a tree!” he said, flinging himself back in his chair. “Honestly what even happened between you and the boy?”

-

The days that followed were awkward to say the least. Alicent walked around smug as all hell and your father continued to sulk. You decided enough was enough and when Alicent went out to the sept you decided to track your father down. Unsurprisingly you found him staring over a model of the city.

“Father?” you greeted, walking closer to the tired looking man, “May we talk?”

“Of course, sweet child,” he said, nodding for you to sit beside him before sighing, “You know I worry for you?”

“I do father, and I do appreciate it,” you lied but did your best to look sympathetic to your clueless father, “but I was thinking. Well. I found another match you see father,” you spoke, and his head perked up as he waited for you to finally spit it out, “He’s sweet and kind and his family is well respected. You even like his father, and I was just thinking- “

“Out with-it child,”

You took a breath before finally asking, “Have you considered Harwin Strong yet father?” Viserys sighed, his eyes turning away but you continued, “Think about it! I’d be able to be at court and help Helena with her studies. Plus, you have four more children so four more matches. You already have the Velaryon which secures the crownlands. Harwin and I would secure the Riverlands. Then after you betrothed Helena, Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron you will have six of the seven kingdoms on your side. Your reach will go far especially if our children do the same,”

“You want to dilute the blood of old Valyria?” he asked, sounding exhausted as he spoke.

“No father, only strengthen it,” you said, moving to hold his hand, “Besides there is no other Targaryen or Velaryon to wed unless uncle daemon is brought back from exile- “you said but your father raised his hand to hush you.

He paused for a moment before nodding, “I will think about it. but for now, leave me. I have a lot to consider,”

“Thank you, father,”

-

Apparently Alicent must have missed this chamber meeting because somehow the news came back finally in your favour. Harwin would be your husband. You were so happy when your father told you that you instantly hugged him before rushing to find Harwin however that night at dinner Alicent shot you many dirty looks.

Finally, you had undermined her. you’d won. Well, that’s how it felt at first, but her glares began to sink into your skin till it itched. As the dinner ended, she tapped her cup with her fork, “A toast to my dear sweet daughter,” she smiled at you making your father beam, “May she have a marriage like ours,” she said, holding his hand tightly but you felt your stomach flutter.

“Here, here,” your father said, standing to kiss your cheek.

Alicent did the same, her arms twisting round your back into a bony hug, “Do not forget yourself darling,” she whispered sweetly in your ear, “You don’t win that easily,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @jacesvelaryons

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “she is pregnant.” his queen mother’s palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. “she is pregnant! aemond!”

warnings: explicit language. angst. protective!aemond being a hot hypocrite and defending his bastard. fluff towards the end. i can't make alicent a villain in this, i just can't (sorry not sorry).

notes: a lot of ppl requested alicent's reaction to handmaid getting pregnant, so here it is.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

“She is pregnant.”

His queen mother’s palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. “She is pregnant! Aemond!” and her voice only loudens, “I brought her for you to have as your handmaid, not your bedmate! Seven hells, Aemond! She was not meant to be your personal whore to toy around with whenever you felt bored!”

Aemond feels his lips slightly twitch at her words. “She is not a whore, mother, nor will I stand here and allow for you to insult her.”

“AEMOND!”

The other councilors remain silent, doing their finest in pretending that they were somewhere else. Aemond knows he would have none of their support or backing in this- he is alone in defending his beloved handmaid and their child. Gods give me peace. Two moons back, Lord Tyland Lannister offered up his niece as a wife. Now he sits with his hands wringed together, shaking his head and sneaking him a scowl. He could only imagine the lord’s thoughts of him.

No doubt they’d all be ill-pleasant.

His mother sighs. “Might it be too late to sneak her the moon tea, Grand Maester?” she asks.

“I would say so, your Grace.” Grand Maester Orwyle clears his throat. “The handmaid, she is already a month or so pregnant, mayhap even two. You could give her the tea, but it might risk harm on both the mother and babe, perhaps even an unsavory death…”

“Death...?” Aemond repeats, aghast.

Her face falls into her hands, and she heaves a deep breath before glancing around the council table. The men all shift uncomfortably.

“Might you consider sending her away, my Queen?” Lord Tyland proposes with a sly smile. “Perhaps back home?”

Aemond’s head quickly snaps to Lord Tyland, violet eye narrowing. His fist clenches tightly at his side, near the dagger sheathed on his belt, at his waistline. “You would not dare separate them from me,” he tells him coldly. “She now carries my babe, my heir, and I will not allow her to leave my side!”

“She carries your bastard in her belly, Aemond,” Otto begins, slowly, carefully. He lays a soft hand on Aemond’s sleeve, giving him a pitiful smile. “There is quite a difference between a realm’s legitimate heir and a bastard. I understand you are taken with the girl, my prince, and that she is good and kind to you. But, at the end of the day, you remain a Targaryen prince, who will wed when the time comes. How might your lady wife feel if she were to learn your servant mothered your bastards?”

Aemond shrugs. “Then I shall take her as my wife.”

“You cannot wed her, Aemond!” His mother shakes her head, as if he is some absentminded child. She looks much older too, as if the news aged her a good ten years in one night. He suddenly feels a tad guilty. “How many times must we discuss this! Your father will not allow nor bless this union, and neither will I! Damn you, Aemond! She is a baseborn girl- your damn handmaid! Her duty is to serve you as a servant, not a wife.”

“And yet-“ Aemond replies, trying to keep the scorn out of his voice, “-she treats me far better than everyone in this very room.” At that, his mother has enough shame to blush red. He continues, “I love her, and she loves me. Is that not enough? Does that not make you happy? My entire life, mother, I’ve done everything that was expected of me. I’ve studied and trained and fulfilled every princely obligation of mine while your firstborn flouts to do as he pleases! Aegon shames Helaena every night with an empty bed yet you refuse to acknowledge such! And yet, when I find love and happiness, you’re ready to punish me.”

He levels his bright purple eye to his mother’s face. “I love you, mother, but I love her as well, and I will not live a life without her.” And Aemond’s all but ready to collapse to his knees, to beg and plead her acceptance. It is the only one that truly matters amongst everyone else's.

Afterward, his mother sits in silence, staring down at her hands. The skin stretched around her nailbeds are both red and tender, and she wears only her wedding ring on the right. She turns to face her king husband’s Hand. “Well, there it is, father.”

“It makes little difference, my Queen.” Lord Wylde and Lord Tyland murmured in agreement.

“But would it truly be wise to separate father from child, Lord Hand?” Lord Beesbury asks, pointing at the Hand, white eyebrows arched high. Otto Hightower raises his own eyebrow in return. “She is lowborn, yes, but a royal babe still sleeps in her womb.”

"A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow."

A milk cow? Aemond blinks, momentarily confused. But before he could say anything further, his mother makes her final judgment on the matter.

The queen slowly rests her elbow on the table before plopping her chin atop her palm. “My son’s to be a father,” she says, a faint smile twisting on her lips. She repeats it again, almost like she doesn’t believe it. “A father…” Aemond feels a bit of hope blossoming inside his chest. “Pray tell, would you rather me separate him from his trueborn child? The child that is still his child, his own blood, bastard or not. We can argue on this matter till we are purple in the face, my lords, but the truth still remains,” she declares, before taking Aemond’s hand in hers, thin fingers laced with his.

“Take me to see her, son.”

At once, multiple voices arise in protest. His grandsire calls his mother’s name, but she ignores him as she stands to her feet. “I do beg your pardon, my lords, but I must see my grandchild.” Aemond bows, victorious, and turns on his heel without another word, feeling all eyes on his back as he strolls from the council chambers with his mother, her hand still in his. The doors closing shut behind them silences all the lords, and his mother sighs.

“My sincerest apologies, my dear Aemond, for referring to her as a whore,” she says, earnestly. “I know she is far from that, and I must say I’m rather fond of her.”

Outside, Ser Criston Cole was stationed, wearing his long white cloak of the Kingsguard. He gives the two a curious look but remains silent and still, straightening his shoulders when they pass by him. Aemond wonders if he overheard the small council’s session, and whether he agrees more with his mother or grandsire.

It does not matter, Aemond decides, pressing a soft kiss to his mother’s knuckles, in a show of forgiveness that makes her smile. He loves her too much to remain irate and frustrated with her, especially once she mentioned her soft spot for his girl. His queen mother- good and fair to the smallfolk- is the same with his handmaid. And his future children as well, he hopes.

“You’ll be a wonderful father,” she tells him, tucking a long strand of silver hair behind his ear. “And I mean it.”

He brings her to his bedchamber, where his handmaid sits on the settee, dutifully sewing up one of his tunics. When they arrive at his doors, she’s quick to bolt onto her feet, falling into a small courtesy. She wears a thick and ugly serving dress that hides her swelling belly underneath but does little to dull her beauty.

“My queen! My prince…”

Aemond takes her arm, pulling her alongside him. “My mother wishes to speak to you, my love,” he explains, gazing down into her eyes. His thumb strokes her cheekbone before he takes a step back, and his mother takes his place.

Before her, his love trembles, and he knows she’s awfully scared. It breaks his heart a little. He forewarned her of the small council’s gathering this morning, and how the maester told the queen of her pregnancy and the decision that would likely be made. She cried that entire night he held her, and neither got a wink of sleep.

“Your Grace…!” she sputters in a quavering voice, hand dropping to her tummy. “I beg of you…”

But his mother says nothing, instead cradling his sweet girl’s pretty face within her hands before leaning to kiss her temple. When she pulls back, her big brown eyes are soft and kind. “You’ll make a lovely mother, my dear,” she mumbles, and it is enough for his handmaid to break into a sob, falling limp as Queen Alicent holds her close, running a hand up and down her back.

“Thank you!” she cries through jagged gasps and wheezes. “I was so scared. I- thank you, my Queen, thank you. Thank you!”

His mother gently lifts her face upwards, wiping away the fat tears streaking down her cheeks. “Shhh, there was little to worry about, sweetling,” she coos. “Aemond wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, believe me. A man in love, with everything to lose, is perhaps the fiercest warrior to be found on the battlefield.”

Perhaps?

Aemond watches as his mother comforts his handmaid, mouthing small praises and pleasantries while stroking her hair back, doing her best in calming her down until her eyes are dry. Several minutes later, the two women are discussing the babe, with Queen Alicent sharing memories of the early days of her own pregnancies. The sight before him makes his heart swell in his breast, and he then recalls the words exchanged back in the council chambers.

I’m to be a father, and hopefully a husband soon.

He crosses his hands behind his back, smiling..

It seems to be true, he thinks, that there is indeed no more beautiful sight than your woman swelling with your baby.

But no one spoke of the beauty that follows when your mother accepts her grandchild for the first time, and the blinding glow that brightens your woman’s face when she realizes such has happened.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

I am his, and he is mine

Summary: You’re married off to Ser Harwin Strong by your lord father’s designs, and the prospect of a marriage consummation terrifies you.

Notes: idk man I just need more Harwin Breakmybones smut. Harwin obviously isn’t with our queen Rhae Rhae in this. Also, pretending not to know what we do abt Larys here.

Warnings: virgin!reader, reader is intimidated by Harwin, first time, reader is extremely innocent, vaginal sex, oral sex (f!receiving), Harwin loves eating punani

Masterlist | requests are OPEN! | hmu to be added to a taglist!!

Marrying his bride the day he met her was never what he wanted. Harwin didn’t consider himself a romantic, but he thought it cruel to be bound to someone you didn’t know for the rest of his life. It was more unfair to you, being a woman and forbidden from seeking out others for love.

His father had meant well with this marriage. Apparently, your father was a childhood friend, and you the oldest daughter of a great house. Though Lord Lyonel wasn’t ambitious, he was loyal to his friends, and the king, who encouraged the match. So in a whirlwind of affairs, the betrothal had been arranged by ravens, and the marriage planned.

You had married in the sept of King’s Landing earlier this day, and though Harwin had written you a letter to calm your nerves, the first time he got any impression of you was when your father led you to the altar.

He felt sorry for you. Whatever dreams you had held for the future had been crushed the moment the septon bound you in marriage. And on top of that, he wasn’t sure if you were scared of him or not. His reputation was true to his character, and next to his wide frame, almost every woman looked frail.

And now, while the wedding feast was in full swing, he saw your hands shake as you attempted to cut your food. He tried to distract himself, looking around the room and attempting to take his mind off of the fact that his lady wife seemed to find him unpleasant.

King Viserys was sitting next to his father, leaving Queen Alicent to put on an icy mask. She was better at hiding it than his wife. Perhaps because she had been in King’s Landing for longer. Princess Rhaenyra, on the other hand, was deep in conversation with Lady Laena. The two of them had grown closer since the rift between Rhaenyra and Alicent, and if Ser Harwin was not mistaken, the Queen looked almost jealous.

Prince Daemon was currently returned from his latest exile, trying to rile up Otto Hightower. Judging from the strain in the man’s jaw, the Prince was quite successful in his venture.

Still, it was his wife that seemed the tensest in the room. The new lady Strong, and yet, you seemed to be anything but. From what he had heard from his father, you liked to read and was very well educated, but beyond that only quiet. You did not ride, or hunt, or keep an army of ladies around her.

For the latter, he was grateful, but for the others… It seemed you didn’t have anything in common. Harwin was as educated as a future lord needed to be, but he preferred to train and hunt. The first time he even heard you speak outside of her vows was to his brother.

“A gift, for the bride.” He said, offering you a book. At that, your face lit up.

“Thank you, Lord Larys.”

“I hear you tried to become a Maester once?” he asked, and you blushed.

“I was five and had not yet realized the Citadel accepted neither women nor children.”

Harwin smiled to himself. It seemed that, at the very least, you had some spirit. When his brother had left, he tried to find something to talk to you about.

“So, what topics interest you?” he tried.

“History and medicine.” you replied curtly.

“Yes, I imagine Aegon’s conquest is an interesting read.” He said. You tried to suppress a smile at that, and Harwin raised a brow.

“Is it not?” he asked.

“Forgive me, my lord, but every child is told the story of his conquest over and over. The histories of Old Valyria before the Doom and Nymeria’s conquest are much more interesting, especially since so much source material has been lost.” you said.

He could tell that you weren’t asked about these things very often, the words spilling out of your mouth so quickly.

“What about you?” you asked.

“Hunting and fighting.” He replied.

“Does that not get boring after a while?”

“It is to me what reading is to you.” Harwin said. He knew you were from the Westerlands, where people spoke more eloquently, and though he was from the Riverlands and had no use for flowery words, he tried for you.

Your silence returned when dessert was served. You dreaded the bedding, and Harwin didn’t think he had seen many brides that were as terrified of it as you.

When it was announced that the bedding would begin, you turned even paler. Before the lords attending could swoop in to grab you, Harwin quickly scooped you up into his arms. Wordlessly, he left, as the crowd let out disappointed shouts of protest.

He carried you all the way to their new, shared chambers, setting you down on the bed. Turning around, Harwin grabbed the pitcher of wine to fill up their glasses. You would need it for your nerves.

As he turned back around, he could see you lying on the bed, the skirt of your wedding dress hiked up to your thighs and staring at the ceiling stiff as a board. He would have laughed at the comical sight, if he hadn’t felt sorry for you.

Instead, he sat at the edge of the bed, gently taking your hand.

“What were you told about the bedding?” he asked.

“My cousin told me it was painful, but my duty.” you replied.

“Sit up.” Harwin said, and you scrambled to follow his words, pulling the skirt back down.

“Your cousin must have a horrible husband.” He concluded.

“They- they do not value each other much.” you said carefully.

“Beddings don’t have to be painful.” Harwin began. He’d never been a woman’s first before, but he wasn’t inexperienced by any means.

“Oh.” Was all you said to that. It sounded more like a sigh of relief than a question.

“Did you not say you studied medicine?”

“The bedding was… seen as unseemly for me. It was forbidden.” you replied.

“I’ll be gentle, I won’t hurt you.” Harwin promised. Still, when he tried to come closer to you, you leaned away from him, trying to keep the distance. As if a kiss would kill you.

With a sigh, Harwin grabbed the dagger from his belt and your eyes widened even more.

“What…?” you asked.

“I won’t force you.” He replied simply, rolling his sleeve back.

“No.” you said, grabbing his wrist. It was the first time you touched him. “I- We have to someday. And I’d like to learn. I need to make my father proud.”

“Your father? This is about you.” Harwin tried. You gave him a half-hearted smile, and Harwin felt that he wouldn’t become friends with his father-in-law.

“If you want me to bed you, you should start by kissing me first.” He said, and you nodded.

“Will I be your first?” he asked. You blushed, lowering her gaze, and Harwin carefully tipped her face up.

“Good. Less pressure.” He joked.

“I suppose so.” you replied. “I promise, it wasn’t while we were betrothed.”

“And if it was, I wouldn’t blame you. Whoever he, or she, was they got lucky.”

You smiled at that, blushing due to his compliment rather than shame. With a determined look in your eyes, you put a hand on his face, pressing your lips to his. It wasn’t the chaste kiss they had shared in the sept, and it wasn’t heated with passion, but it was more than the trembling leaf of a woman that had sit next to him at her own banquet.

Harwin deepened the kiss carefully, his hands finding your intricate braids, impossible to tangle into. So he held you by the small of her back instead, kissing you until you broke apart for air.

“That was… dizzying.” you said. Your cheeks were flushed pink, and your pupils had grown dark, and Harwin could feel desire begin to grow for you. Carefully, he seated himself against the cushions, sitting you down in front of him, and beginning to take out the pins in your updo.

While he worked on the tight braidwork, he began to kiss up and down your neck, careful not to go too low too fast. You let out a satisfied sigh, clapping your hand against your mouth afterwards.

“They’re all gone by now. We were too boring, I suppose.” Harwin joked, and you nodded.

“You don’t have to keep quiet.” He encouraged. “It tells me whether I’m doing the right thing.”

“Oh?” you asked.

“Trust me.”

When he was done, your hair fell down your back in soft waves. Harwin briefly wondered if it was because of the braids, or if your hair was always like this.

Then, he moved onto your wedding dress. It was laced in the back, gold and cream embroidery hiding the strings, and you began to tense when he opened them.

“It’ll be more comfortable if you can breathe properly.” Harwin said, slowly pulling the stiff part of the dress over your head. The long skirt followed, until you were left in a thin shift. It looked like it was meant to entice him, barely transparent enough to see your shape, but nothing beyond that.

Harwin took his time laying the dress over a chair in the room, returning with the pitcher of wine. When he offered to refill your glass, you shook your head.

“I’ll be drunk then. I want to remember for the next time.”

“Already planning ahead?” Harwin teased.

“I don’t know. In case this time doesn’t get me pregnant.”

“You do know there’s more to this than getting pregnant, right?” he asked. You raised a brow, as if you did not believe him. “It’s… it’s supposed to be fun as well.”

“Can we start with kissing again?” you asked shyly. Harwin leaned over, kissing you softly. Your hands were unsure, cupping his face, roaming around his hair and awkwardly landing on his arms. Harwin readjusted them, putting one on his jaw and the other on his shoulder the way he liked it.

He really tried to hold back, but when you let another whine slip, he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap. You squealed, surprised, but once you were there, you continued with more enthusiasm than before.

Breaking the kiss, Harwin saw that your lips had become a little swollen. Mindlessly, he tucked a strand of hair back to where it had fallen out of place.

“I’m ready.” you said, lying back against the pillows with a look of determination on your face. Harwin snorted.

“You are not. If I do it now, it’ll hurt. Have you ever even touched yourself?”

Your mouth fell open at that, as if he was accusing you of fucking a horse, and your blush took ahold of your ears as well.

“I’m only asking to make you comfortable.”

“Never… inside.” you managed.

Harwin nodded, making his way down your body until he reached the hem of your shift. Gently, he began to pull it up and automatically, your legs crossed over.

When he tried to pry them open, you pulled away.

“I have had my maidenhead inspected.” you said, voice high-pitched.

“I wasn’t inspecting anything. Just… trust me on this.” Harwin asked.

It took you a moment, but eventually, you opened your legs back up, allowing him access. Harwin knew better than to stare (for now), and began kissing the inside of your thighs, making his way towards your cunt. When he finally tasted it, he felt like he was ready to die – until his lady wife scrambled backwards, trying to gather her bearings.

“This is wrong. It’s sinful.” you whispered.

“Not really. Asked my septon when I was a boy, and also, it feels good.” Harwin replied nonchalantly.

“I’ll take you by your word.” you said seriously.

You lied back down, and Harwin held your thighs, trying to make a squeeze somehow feel reassuring before he started again, slowly lapping up the wetness your cunt had produced. He could feel you writhe beneath him, but better yet, he could hear you moan.

Muffled pants and cries reached him, spurring him on. Very cautiously, he pushed in one finger, continuing to lick your clit to ease the way. It went in easier than he thought, and so, Harwin crooked it to make you feel even better.

He wanted to be your first in this as well, and he didn’t care if that was greedy.

He had to push you down by the stomach when your back arched. Harwin chuckled to himself as he worked the finger inside you, knowing exactly what he was doing.

After a while, he could feel your body begin to shake, and your legs wrapped around his head, pushing him down. He almost felt proud of you, even as he began to run out of air, but Harwin kept going, until you came, licking you like a starving man.

When you went limp under his touch, Harwin dared to come up from under your shift.

“And?” he asked.

“Whatever that was… I think I caught a glimpse of the Seven Heavens.” you sighed.

“You… came.” He replied, half-asking.

“Yeah. It was wonderful.”

“Did you never?”

“No. I didn’t dare.” you said.

“That’s a pity, to go so many years of your life without pleasure.”

“I see that now.” you quipped, and Harwin laughed with you.

You sat in silence for a while, you leaning against his shoulder with your eyes closed. Harwin felt that he was hard for you, but he didn’t want to disturb you. He could bed you some other time.

Sated with the knowledge that he had already done this for you, Harwin took off his wedding suit and changed into the long linen trousers that were laid out for him. He could feel your eyes burn into his back. Just to tease you (and not at all to inflate his ego), he flexed his back- and arm muscles.

He settled back into bed, staring at you until you realized you had been caught.

“Does my lady wife approve?”

“Mhm.” you mumbled, shamelessly staring at his chest. “I want another.”

“Another?” Harwin asked.

“Bed me. Make me feel like that again.” you mumbled through gritted teeth. Hesitantly, you let her hand wander under the blankets and into his trousers. His cock was still hard from before, and your eyes widened as you felt the girth of it.

“How will it fit?” you asked.

“You managed two fingers. I’ll help you work it out, but there’ll still be a small stretch.” Harwin tried.

Your hand was still frozen on his dick, so he carefully guided it to stroke him. All word about you rang true, you were a good learner.

Harwin closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall to concentrate on the sensation for a moment, before he stopped you.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Please.” you replied. There was still a residue of nervousness in your eyes, but Harwin wasn’t going to say no to such an invitation.

Slowly, he pulled your shift over her head, tossing it aside carelessly. For a moment, he could only stare, causing you to cross your arms over your chest.

“You’re beautiful.” Harwin said breathlessly. He wasn’t used to being gentle, but Gods be damned, he’d try for you.

Taking his pants off again, he began to kiss your tits, lavishly sucking more bruises into your perfect skin. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him down towards you, and Harwin tried to suppress a groan.

“Good?” you asked.

“Yeah. Really good.” Harwin replied. Your response was to lightly tug his curls, a smirk on your lips. He kissed you again, this time forgetting everything about gentleness and going slowly, swallowing your sounds up with a kiss, desperately holding your face with his hands, dwarfing it in comparison.

His thumb stroked your cheek, trying to convey the awe he already held for you, and you raked your hands through his hair in response. His resolve was melting by the second.

Carefully, he angled his dick up with your cunt, teasing your clit with the tip for a moment, before he slowly sank into you. One of your hands landed on his hips, and Harwin froze.

“Are you alright?” he asked. You stared up at him, wide-eyed, before you nodded.

“Just need a moment.” you managed. Excruciatingly slowly, Harwin sank in further, waiting for you to adjust, until he was fully inside you.

“Can I…?” Harwin began. You nodded, and he pulled back, before thrusting forward with as much self-control as he possessed. He expected you to cry out in pain, but instead, you met him with an unabashed moan.

“Fuck.” you panted, before catching yourself.

“I don’t believe you’ve sworn before.” Harwin managed. You opened your mouth to say something, but he thrust again and your answer was swallowed by another moan.

He tried to put all of his newfound devotion into his thrusts, to make you happy. To satisfy you, so that you would not grow to despise him, at the very least in this way.

All of his intentions of being slow and loving disappeared when you began to beg.

“Please, I need more.” you whispered. Even through the dim candlelight, Harwin saw you blush, but who was he to deny you?

So he picked up the pace, his thrusts turning almost brutish. He would have worried for you, if your eyes hadn’t been in the back of your skull, and your nails weren’t digging into his back.

“Fuck, you’re so.. didn’t expect this.” Harwin managed. You gave him a laugh, which immediately turned into a wanton moan under his ministrations.

“My pretty little wife, legs open only for me.” He praised. Harwin felt your legs wrap around his hips, desperate to create more friction, more intensity.

“Only for you.” You repeat, and Harwin can see the change in your expression, from tense to relaxed. Your posture is open to him (in more ways than one) and his heart almost sings at the thought that you might not despise him or be terrified of him after all.

Harwin manages to steady his mind into looking at you, and Gods, you look fucking angelic. Hair splayed out like a halo, mouth parted and face contorted in pleasure, trying so, so hard to keep your long-lost composure. Nothing feels more right than trying to break that composure, to make you melt into his arms even more.

To give up any thought of propriety and be his.

His thoughts run wild, his heart pounding in his chest with crazed abandon and he can feel himself coming close to the edge. He searches for the bundle of nerves between your legs, hoping to make you scream and when he finds it, it works so well he’s worried the entire Red Keep will hear you after all.

Desperately, he begins to rut into you, watching all coherent thoughts disappear from your eyes as he brings you over the edge a second time. Only then does he allow himself to cum, grabbing your hips harshly until he, too, is spent.

Suddenly exhausted, he rolls off of you, lying next to you and only grabbing your hand.

He turns to face you after a while, you doing the same. Your eyes meet and a smile appears on your flushed face.

“My body feels like it’s filled with lead.” You whisper.

“My lady wife. I never knew I could get this lucky.” He replies. Harwin got out of the bed, trying to find a washcloth. For once, you did not ask any questions, eyes closed in bliss. You let him wipe off the remainder of his seed, burrowing into his side as he lies down next to you.

“You are mine.” You whisper, hearing him chuckle at your words.

“Indeed. I swore it before the Seven just this morning.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Ser Harwin.” You sigh.

“So am I, my love.” He replies.

[kckt88]

In The Night.

Summary:

Aemond struggles to cope in the aftermath of killing Lucerys and seeks comfort from an unlikely source.

Warnings - Brothel Visit, Guilt, Remorse, Language, Violence, Angst Uncle/Neice Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, Vaginal/Anal Fingering, P in V, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Positions.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C - JACAELLA VELARYON

Word Count: 6065

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Aemond wandered the bustling streets of King's Landing, his mind a tempest of recent events and decisions. The cobblestones under his boots seemed to echo the turmoil within him.

His grandsire Otto Hightower's plot to usurp the throne from Rhaenyra had set everything in motion, pushing Aemond into a whirlwind of political machinations and betrayals.

Otto's insistence on crowning Aegon as King, and the measures taken to ensure their success, had left a bitter taste in Aemond's mouth. He remembered the cold determination in Otto's eyes as he had insisted that his wife, Jacaella, and their son, Rhaegar be locked in their chambers, preventing any chance of escape or interference.

Jacaella's pleas still haunted him. Her voice, filled with desperation and fear, echoed in his mind. “Don't do this, Aemond. Please, I’m begging you-”

But he had steeled his heart then, convinced that the end justified the means, his brother Aegon was Viserys first born son, he was the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms, not his oldest child and named heir Rhaenyra.

His journey to Storm's End played out in his thoughts like a twisted saga. He had gone there to secure Baratheon's support, promising a marriage pact between one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters and his younger brother, Daeron.

But it was his encounter with Lucerys that stood out the most. The memory of their confrontation. The chase through the skies on the backs of their dragons was a blur of adrenaline and fear. And then, the final, horrific moment when Vhagar had torn Lucerys and Arrax to shreds.

The streets of King's Landing blurred around him as Aemond thought of Jacaella, her grief-stricken face burned into his memory, she had wept for hours upon hearing of her brother's death.

Since then, she had withdrawn from him completely, refusing to be near him, to see him, or even to touch him, even in the presence of their son. The distance she placed between them felt like a physical wound, deep and unhealing.

His heart ached with a profound sorrow. He loved Jacaella more than he had ever thought possible, at first, she was the wife he never wanted, but their fates were sealed that night in Driftmark, after he lost his eye, it was his father’s last desperate attempt to bridge the ever expanding chasm that had formed within the family.

He had lost an eye but gained two dragons that night, and he had loathed his father for it, forcing a the twin sister of Jacaerys Velaryon upon him, but when she arrived in Kings Landing at the age of four and ten, he tried his best to avoid being around her, but everywhere he went there she was, he tried to pretend he was unbothered by her amethyst eyes and flowing dark curls but eventually he succumbed.

She wormed her way into his heart and from their first kiss, he was hooked. She was intelligent, witty and a fantastic artist. His chamber walls were quickly decorated with her sketches, and his most treasured possession was the drawing of Vhagar.

Their wedding night would be ingrained within his memory forever, the sounds she had made as she peaked on his tongue, fingers and then his cock were like song notes on the wind. The marks he had left upon her skin were proof of their love.

He insisted on shared chambers, so they could enjoy one another as often as they wished too, which admittedly was every night and sometimes more than once, there were even occasions when he would find her during the day, and they would sneak off with one another.

It was no surprise when it was announced that she was with child, given how often he gave her his seed. The day she birthed his son Rhaegar was one of the proudest moments of his life, his precious boy, his little silver haired dragon.

Gods how he vowed to always make sure that his son knew of his love, and that Rhaegar would always know he was wanted, that his wife would always know of his devotion.

But now his actions had driven a wedge between them. She was angry and frightened of him, and he was desperate to bridge the chasm that had formed.

But how could he? How could he make her understand that everything he did was for their family's future? How could he win back her trust when his hands were stained with her brother's blood?

As he walked, the weight of his choices pressed heavily on him. The people around him went about their lives, unaware of the storm raging within their Prince. The street vendors called out, children laughed and played, and the city thrived. But Aemond felt like an outsider, disconnected from the world around him.

Aemond stood outside the brothel, his heart pounding in his chest. The sounds of the city seemed distant, muffled by the roaring turmoil within him. He didn't mean to be here, didn't want to be here, but he couldn't help himself.

Desperation and confusion had led him to this place, a refuge of sorts where he hoped to find some semblance of solace or escape from his tormented thoughts.

The sign above the door swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the soft, inviting light spilling from within contrasted sharply with the darkness that shrouded his heart. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and pushed open the door.

The noise and spectacle inside assaulted his senses: laughter, music, and the murmur of illicit activities. He ignored it all, his eye scanning the room.

And then he saw her. Sylvi. The older woman Aegon had brought him to see when he was just three and ten. His stomach churned as their eyes met, a mix of shame and a strange, unsettling familiarity washing over him.

Sylvi's gaze held recognition, and a slow smile spread across her lips as she approached him, her movements graceful and predatory.

"How you've grown," she said, her voice a sultry purr.

Aemond lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes. He didn't know what to say, the words sticking in his throat like shards of glass.

He felt like a boy again, lost and uncertain, standing in a place he didn't belong.

Sylvi reached out and took his trembling hand in hers, her touch sending a jolt through him. She led him through the room, past the leering patrons and the spectacle he was trying so hard to ignore.

They ascended a narrow staircase, the noise fading into a dull hum as they reached the upper floors.

She opened the door to a private room and gently guided him inside, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of incense and something else he couldn't quite place.

Aemond stood there, feeling more vulnerable than he had in years.

Sylvi turned to face him, her expression a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, perhaps a flicker of compassion. "Why are you here, my Prince?" she asked softly, stepping closer to him.

He shook his head, his emotions a tangled mess. "I-I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You're carrying a heavy burden," she observed. "It's written all over you."

Aemond closed his eyes, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I just-I don't know what to do," he confessed, his voice breaking.

Sylvi's gaze softened, and she took his hands in hers, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I can offer you something, someone, to help you forget, if only for a moment. Sometimes, that’s all we need."

Aemond hesitated, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. But in his desperation, he nodded silently.

Sylvi gave him a sad smile, squeezing his hands once more before slipping out of the room. He sat there, staring at the flickering candlelight, feeling the oppressive silence close in around him.

Minutes later, the door opened again, and a young blonde woman entered. She moved with a practiced grace, her smile polite and professional. "I'm Copper Penny," she introduced herself, her voice soft and inviting.

Aemond said nothing, his throat tight.

Copper Penny approached him, taking his hand and gently pulling him to his feet. He stood there, watching her silently as she untied his cloak and began to undo the clasps of his leather tunic. Her fingers were deft and quick, but as she worked, he caught sight of her eyes—green and bright. Panic surged through him.

His mind was flooded with images of Jacaella, her amethyst eyes filled with hurt and anger. The memory of her face, her voice, her touch, crashed over him like a tidal wave.

It was wrong, all wrong. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this. He had a wife; they had a son, he couldn’t dishonour them like this.

"N-No," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Copper Penny paused, looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. He could see the questions in her eyes, the silent query of what she had done wrong.

Aemond's panic turned to anger, a desperate, flailing anger born from his own self-loathing.

He pushed Copper Penny away from him, his movements abrupt and forceful. "Leave," he demanded, his voice harsh and unsteady. "Get out!"

Her eyes widened in shock, but she didn't argue. She nodded quickly, gathering her composure before retreating from the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Aemond stood there, his chest heaving, his hands trembling with the intensity of his emotions. The room felt stifling, the walls closing in around him.

The weight of his actions, his decisions, and the consequences they had wrought pressed down on him, threatening to crush him completely.

He thought of Jacaella, of their son, of the life he had shattered with his choices. The woman he loved was pulling away from him, and he was powerless to stop it. The realization cutting deeper than any blade.

Aemond collapsed onto the bed, the softness beneath him barely registering as he fought to contain the flood of emotions.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, the room spinning around him as he struggled to keep his composure.

The sound of the door opening was a distant murmur, but he didn't have the strength to lift his head or see who had entered.

Sylvi's presence beside him was a gentle intrusion into his storm of despair. She sat beside him, her weight sinking into the mattress, and he felt her hand on his shoulder, a warm, comforting touch.

He turned his head, resting it in her lap, his tears soaking into the fabric of her dress. She stroked his long silver hair with slow, soothing motions, her fingers gentle and patient.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," Aemond sobbed, his voice muffled and broken. "I didn't mean to kill him. It was an accident-all I wanted was his eye as payment for the one he took from me”.

Sylvi's hand continued its rhythmic stroking, her silence an invitation for him to unburden himself.

"He never said sorry," Aemond continued, his words pouring out in a torrent of grief and anger. "He was never punished for what he did, and I suffered for years. The pain, the infections, the endless procedures to try and fix the damage. He lived without consequence while I bore the scar. My father choosing her-we meant nothing to him, I was nothing"

His sobs intensified, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "And Jacaella," he choked out. "My sweet wife, I've broken her heart. She was the one good thing I had in my life, my light in the darkness-and now she's gone. I've driven her away."

Sylvi's touch remained steady, her presence a steady anchor in the maelstrom of his guilt and sorrow. She listened without interruption, allowing him to pour out the anguish that had been festering inside him.

"I don't know how to fix this," Aemond whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. "I don't know how to make her see that I'm still the man she loved that I never wanted to hurt her. I just wanted justice, for what was taken from me."

Sylvi continued to stroke his hair, her silence a balm to his wounded soul.

In her lap, Aemond wept for all that he had lost, the tears cleansing in their own way.

As the minutes passed, the intensity of his sobs gradually subsided, leaving him exhausted and hollow.

"I don't know what to do," he confessed in a whisper, his voice trembling. "I don't know how to make things right."

Aemond's breathing began to steady, the storm of his emotions gradually subsiding. But as the silence stretched, a new feeling took hold—a creeping, insidious fear.

His confession, the vulnerability he had shown, it was dangerous. If anyone knew, if word got out, it could unravel everything.

Panic seized him. He bolted upright, gripping Sylvi's arms with a strength that belied his earlier exhaustion. His eye, wild and desperate, bored into hers. "No one can know," he hissed, his voice low and trembling with intensity. "You are never to repeat what I just told you-If you do, I will feed you to Vhagar."

Sylvi's eyes widened, but she nodded quietly, understanding the gravity of his threat.

She had seen many men in states of distress, but the ferocity in Aemond's gaze was something else entirely. "I won't tell anyone," she promised, her voice steady despite the fear creeping into her heart.

Aemond's grip loosened, and he exhaled shakily, his panic slowly ebbing away. He reached into his belt pouch, retrieving a hefty purse of gold coins, and handed it to her.

Without another word, Aemond picked up his discarded leather tunic and cloak, his movements sharp and hurried. He threw them over his shoulder, his eyes avoiding hers as he made his way to the door. He paused briefly, his hand on the doorframe, as if weighing his next words.

But none came. Instead, he pushed the door open and left the room, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Sylvi remained where she was, the purse of gold heavy in her hands. She watched the door close behind him, her mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

She knew better than to betray the secrets of powerful men, especially one as volatile as Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond walked through the halls of the Red Keep, his mind still reeling from the night's events. He moved quickly, his steps echoing in the empty corridors, until he reached his chambers.

Pushing open the door, he was surprised to find Jacaella there.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

Aemond stiffened, confusion and defensiveness flashing across his face. "What do you mean?"

"I know where you've been," she snapped, her eyes blazing with anger. "You've been on the Street of Silk. To a brothel."

Aemond's heart sank. He opened his mouth to respond, but Jacaella's words came in a torrent, cutting him off.

"Wasn't stealing my mother's throne and killing my brother enough for you? Now you have to sully our marriage by laying with whores?" Her voice rose, trembling with emotion. "You have made a mockery of me, of us. You have dishonoured me."

Aemond's face twisted with a mixture of guilt and anger. "Is it any wonder I found myself seeking comfort elsewhere when my own wife will not even look at me?" he retorted, his voice sharp.

The slap came swiftly and without warning. Jacaella's palm struck his cheek with a resounding crack, the force of it snapping his head to the side.

He stared at her, stunned, as she continued to rage, lurching forward pounding her fists against his chest.

"KINSLAYER” she screamed. "I hate you-I hate you-I hate you!"

Aemond stood there, enduring her blows, the words cutting deeper than any physical pain. Each accusation, each strike, drove home the depth of her betrayal and heartbreak.

"I didn't touch another woman," he began, his voice raw with emotion. "I almost did, but I couldn't-"

Jacaella paused, but he could see the slight tremor in her shoulders.

"I just felt so lonely," Aemond continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I know you hate me for what I've done, and I hate myself too. Every day, I live with the regret, the guilt-I know I destroyed what we had. But you mean everything to me, Jacaella."

“Aemond-”

"I hurt you so badly. I took away your brother, your trust, your peace. And I can't forgive myself for that." whispered Aemond as he took another step closer, reaching out to her.

Jacaella turned slowly to face him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Aemond felt a lump in his throat, his own tears threatening to spill over. He took her face gently in his hands, his touch trembling.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Tears streamed down his face as he repeated the words over and over, his thumbs brushing away the tears that fell from Jacaella's eyes.

He sobbed openly, the weight of his remorse and sorrow overwhelming him. "I don't want to lose you. I never wanted to hurt you."

Jacaella stood there, her heart pounding, torn between the remnants of her anger and the glimmer of hope Aemond's words had kindled.

The pain was still raw, the betrayal fresh, but his anguish and sincerity had touched something deep within her. Without warning, she lunged forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him.

For a moment, Aemond was stunned, his mind struggling to process the sudden, intense contact. This was the most she had touched him in what felt like an eternity.

Her lips were urgent, demanding, and filled with a mix of pain and longing. He hesitated only for a heartbeat before his instincts took over, and he kissed her back, his arms wrapping around her body and pulling her close.

The kiss was a tumultuous blend of emotions—grief, anger, love, and desperation. Aemond held her tightly, afraid to let go, afraid that this moment would slip away like so many others.

He could feel the tremble in her body, the soft hitch of her breath as their kiss deepened. His hands roamed her back, clutching at her as if she were a lifeline.

Jacaella's fingers tangled in his long hair, pulling him even closer, her tears mingling with his. The kiss was a catharsis, a way to pour out all the emotions that words could never fully express.

Aemond's mind swirled with the intensity of it, the world outside their embrace fading into insignificance.

Aemond looked into Jacaella's eyes, the intensity of their shared moment still coursing through him.

He could feel the fragile connection they had just begun to rebuild, and he didn't want to let it slip away. With a deep, shuddering breath, he whispered, "Please, Jacaella-let me take you to bed."

Jacaella looked up at him, her eyes searching his. She could see the raw need in his gaze, the sincere plea for a chance to show her how much she meant to him. Her own heart ached with the desire to find solace in his arms, to escape the pain that had haunted them both.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice breaking. "Please, Aemond, make me forget. Let me feel your love for me."

Aemond's heart soared with a mixture of relief and yearning. He gently cupped her face in his hands, pressing a tender kiss to her lips before leading her to their bed.

Aemond hooked his arms around her thighs, quickly pulling her to the edge of the bed.

Jacaella watched as Aemond opened his mouth spat on her cunny.

His singular eye quickly looking at her before he lowered his head and pressed into her core with his tongue.

Jacaella clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers digging into the fabric.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core, licking at her pearl with his tongue. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Jacaella ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

“That’s it come for me baby-” urged Aemond, his fingers reaching forward to caress her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Jacaella arching off the bed as she peaked.

“Hmm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to her inner thighs, his teeth nipping at her skin.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Jacaella.

Aemond rose from the floor, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth savouring the delicious taste of his wife.

Aemond moved up Jacaella’s body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the rosy nipple, his teeth grazing the stiffened peak.

“Oh-yes“ gasped Jacaella, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“Issa jorrāelagon-Issa glaeson-ñuhon” growled Aemond as he seized his wife’s lips in a ferocious kiss, his hard cock throbbing against her thigh (My love-my life-mine).

Aemond wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly ran it over Jacaella’s wet entrance, she began squirming impatiently against him as he continued to tease her.

Gods he was so desperate for her, his wife. His treasure.

“P-Please, I want you” exclaimed Jacaella desperately.

“Hmm” rasped Aemond as he slid inside her with a singular thrust. His hips coming to a stop against hers.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Jacaella.

"Patience, issa dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up his wife’s neck (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Jacaella.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders. Her fingernails raking down his back.

“Fucking mark me harder-“ growled Aemond.

Jacaella dug her nails into his skin and clawed at his back deep enough to draw blood.

 “Gods, Ella" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly, revelling in the pain.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me”.

Aemond groaned loudly, knew exactly what his wife was doing, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted faster, he was going much faster now.

His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips. Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Aemond lifted Jacaella’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

His wife folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Jacaella.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Aemond could feel the tension  building in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Jacaella’s legs off his shoulders and quickly manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his large hands kneading the soft pale flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Jacaella, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Jacaella.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Jacaella as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside his wife, his other hand slowly stroking his cock.

“I want you-please Aemond”

Aemond moved into position and sheathed himself inside Jacaella once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

“FUCK-” groaned Aemond,

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Jacaella, his fingers in her arse and his cock deep in her cunt was so good.

Aemond began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts, his fingers moving in rhythm with his cock.

“Harder-more-please raqiarzy” wailed Jacaella (Beloved).

“Issa vaogenka hāedar” growled Aemond, his fingers moving faster (My dirty girl).

“Valzȳrys-” whimpered Jacaella (Husband).

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” muttered Aemond as he removed his fingers, and grabbed hold of Jacaella’s hips and increased the pace of his thrusts.

Jacaella took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it to the back of her head.

Knowing what his wife wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching.

His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Jacaella’s arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Her screams of pleasure muffled by the mattress.

 “Fuck. Ella-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He released Jacaella’s arms and then took hold of her long hair, twisting his fingers into the dark messy braid before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held his wife tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Jacaella her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Jacaella.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Jacaella breathlessly.

 “Ride me-” replied Aemond as he pulled her on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

 “Ooooh” gasped Jacaella as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Jacaella dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Jacaella as he suddenly sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth biting down on the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“AEMOND” screamed Jacaella her vision going white as she came around his cock.

 Her husband pulled her too him and then rolled her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“Gods Ella-my Ella” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed, collapsing on top of his wife, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses.

Meanwhile his wife was laid underneath him completely blissed out. Her heart pounding in her chest.

“I love you ābrazȳrys-never forget that” (Wife).

Afterwards, as they lay together in the quiet of their chambers, the air heavy with the aftermath of their shared intimacy.

Aemond held Jacaella close, his arms wrapped around her as if he could protect her from the world outside.

"What are we going to do now?" Jacaella whispered, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. "I'm scared, Aemond. Scared of the war that's coming, of the losses we will no doubt endure."

Aemond pressed a kiss to her forehead, his heart aching with the weight of her words. He held her tighter, as if trying to shield her from the harsh realities they faced.

"We will leave," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "We will take Rhaegar, and we will fly across the Narrow Sea. Far away from this war."

Jacaella lifted her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. "But your duty-”she began, her voice faltering.

Aemond shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "I made a mistake before," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I put my duty ahead of what was truly important— you and Rhaegar. But not anymore. You are all that matters to me, Jacaella. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

Tears welled up in Jacaella's eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his love and his determination to protect their family. She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were her anchor in a storm-tossed sea.

"Can we truly leave everything behind?" she asked softly, her voice muffled against his chest.

Aemond held her close, his fingers gently stroking her hair. "We can," he reassured her, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "We will find a place where we can start anew, away from the shadows of our past. I promise you”

"What will our absence mean for the war?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

Aemond sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him once more. He held Jacaella closer, as if drawing strength from her presence.

"The only thing keeping Rhaenyra and Daemon at bay is you and Vhagar," he admitted, his voice low and resigned. "Once we are no longer here, they will likely seize their chance to take King's Landing."

Jacaella's eyes widened with realization, the gravity of their departure sinking in. "And what about your mother, Aegon, Helaena, and their children?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond hesitated, his jaw tightening with a mixture of hope and fear. "With any luck," he murmured, "Your mother will be merciful and spare them-”

He brushed a strand of hair away from Jacaella's face, his touch gentle despite the turmoil within him. "But those who committed treason, my grandsire, Tyland, Jasper, Larys-" he continued, his voice hardening slightly, "They will not be spared. I know that-”

Jacaella's voice quivered as she voiced her deepest fear. "What if my mother seizes the throne and sends people after us demanding your head in retribution for what happened with Luke?"

Aemond's heart sank at the thought, but he met her gaze with unwavering determination. "If it comes to that, if giving my life ensures your safety and Rhaegar's future, then I will gladly meet the Stranger," he replied solemnly. "I have made many mistakes, but I will not shy away from the consequences."

Tears welled in Jacaella's eyes as she shook her head, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "No, Aemond," she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion. "I won't allow your death. Leaving isn't just about keeping me and Rhaegar safe. It's about protecting you too."

Aemond's brow furrowed with concern. "Jacaella, if it means sparing you and our son from harm—"

"No," she interrupted firmly, her voice trembling with resolve. "I cannot lose you. Not like this."

They held each other tightly, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy between them. Aemond's heart ached with the knowledge of the pain he had caused her, the wounds he had inflicted upon their family. He buried his face in her hair, his voice muffled but earnest. "I am so sorry, Jacaella. For everything."

She held him close, her fingers running through his hair as she struggled to find the right words. "I know," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And maybe, in time, I will forgive you for what happened. But I will never forget."

Aemond nodded, his throat tight with unshed tears. He kissed her forehead gently, a silent promise to do everything in his power to make amends. "I will spend the rest of my life trying to make things right," he vowed quietly. "For you, for Rhaegar, for our family."

Aemond stood at the edge of King's Landing with Jacaella and Rhaegar beside him, Vhagar and Cannibal looming large behind them. His gaze swept over the city one last time, a mixture of nostalgia and resolve tightening his jaw.

He slowly lifted Rhaegar into his arms, the weight of his son grounding him amidst the tumultuous emotion swirling within him.

Rhaegar looked up at him with wide eyes, sensing the gravity of their departure. Aemond kissed his forehead gently before ascending the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle.

As he settled into the saddle, securing the riding chains around himself and Rhaegar, Aemond glanced over at Jacaella. She was already mounted on Cannibal, her posture proud yet tinged with sadness. For a fleeting moment, a pang of regret over leaving their home behind tugged at Aemond's heart. But he pushed it aside with conviction.

This was the right thing to do. For Jacaella, for Rhaegar, for their family's safety and future.

He met Jacaella's gaze across the space between their dragons, offering her a reassuring nod. She returned it with a determined look of her own, her resolve mirroring his.

Together, they were embarking on a journey into the unknown, but they were united in purpose.

Aemond took a deep breath, his hands steady on the reins of Vhagar. With a spoken command, the great dragon spread her wings, lifting them into the sky, with Cannibal following suit, their powerful wings beating rhythmically against the air.

As Vhagar soared through the skies away from King's Landing, Aemond felt the wind rush past him, carrying with it a sense of both relief and uncertainty.

Then, amidst the sound of the wind and the beating of dragon wings, another roar echoed through the air—a familiar, unexpected sound. Aemond's eye widened in surprise as he turned to see Dreamfyre approaching, her majestic form cutting through the clouds.

Strapped into Dreamfyre's saddle was his sister Helaena, and in front of her, squashed together but laughing, were her three children.

"Helaena-what?" Aemond called out, a mixture of shock and concern in his voice.

Helaena looked over at him with a serene smile, her eyes reflecting a newfound sense of freedom. "Jacaella" she replied simply, her voice carrying over the rush of the wind.

Aemond's heart swelled with gratitude and admiration for his wife. In that moment, he realized that Jacaella had not only secured their own escape but had also ensured Helaena's happiness and the safety of her children.

Aside from Jacaella and Rhaegar, Helaena and her little ones were the only other truly innocent souls in their Targaryen family.

A sense of peace settled over Aemond as he looked at Helaena and her children, their laughter ringing out in the sky. He had always felt a protective instinct towards his sweet sister, knowing the hardships she had endured within the confines of the Red Keep.

Now, she was finally free to live a life away from the politics and dangers that had plagued their family.

With a nod of gratitude towards Jacaella, Aemond turned his focus back to the horizon ahead. They were embarking on a journey into the unknown, but they were united, bound by love and a shared desire for a new beginning.

As the dragons continued to carry them away from the troubles of Westeros, Aemond felt a glimmer of hope that they might find a place where they could all truly belong, where their dragons could roam freely and their family could finally thrive in peace.

The End.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Bound to Apologise

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

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

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

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

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

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

 That is until Aemond took a wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 He was immensely relieved to have been proven wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Aemond’s silence had confirmed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Perhaps”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 That little-

 “Wife” he greeted through gritted teeth.

 “Husband”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “What is this game, wife”

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

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

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

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

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

 Aemond swallows thickly.

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

 Got you.

 “Give me your belt” she instructs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Yes, I do…I have missed you”

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

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

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

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

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

 “I will forgive you…on one condition”

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

 “Anything, please…”

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

 “You must not peak, until I say”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 There's that damn smile again.

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

 "Look at me" she orders.

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

 If he is good, he may get something else.

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

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

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

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

 He bets her cunny is wet from this alone.

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

 But he holds back the reins. For now.

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

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

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

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

 "Is my mouth inadequate?"

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

 "No-no…I just need you"

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Say it"

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

 "I need to be inside you"

 She raises her eyebrows.

 "Please" he finishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I…apologise…" he mutters quietly.

 She doesn't move.

 "For?"

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

 "For saying such things about you…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It only adds more fuel to her fire.

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

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

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

 “Please what”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “My perfect wife…”

 “-Aemond, I’m close-”

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

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

 “My love, I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “I shall think about it”

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

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

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

 But only ever with her.

dividers by @firefly-graphics​

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

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

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (13)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Daemon understood better than anyone what it meant to be the second son, the one who would inherit nothing. It seemed to him that, in contrast to Viserys, he was a blazing fire like a true dragon, giving warmth, light and shelter to those close to his heart, burning those whom he saw as his enemies.

Viserys was always blind, soft-spoken, lacking strong character and clear opposition when things got too far out of hand.

This trait of his had been carefully exploited by Otto Hightower over the years, putting himself in the role of his friend and adviser, playing his part with an extraordinary devotion from which he felt like throwing up.

He knew it was pure courtesy, perfectly calculated, taking advantage of the mourning of the entire Red Keep and his inattention after Aemma's tragic death he slipped his brother his daughter under his nose.

Looking at her on their wedding day, standing in a long, ornate gown he thought she looked like a child on whom someone had put layers of cloth and precious stones; overwhelmed by it all she looked down at her feet, around her nails the red wounds he had seen on her hands ever since.

On that one day, knowing what was awaiting her, he truly felt compassion for her.

After that, however, he stopped.

She could have built her independence, committed herself to the needs of the kingdom, she, however, in the company of that cunt, Criston Cole, gave herself over to prayer and mortification, obediently following her father's orders.

As a woman, she was in his eyes pitiful, weepy, whiny, merely pretending to be saintly and virtuous, having in fact nothing to do with these qualities.

His feelings about her and her father moved involuntarily to her children.

He recognised the dragon's blood in them and treated them differently from the Hightowers, yet he was unable or unwilling to bond with them, seeing how they were suckled to their mother's breasts, which did not allow them to think or breathe on their own.

He watched from the sidelines, observing from afar as Rhaenyra and Alicent's children trained together, how a divide formed between them. He knew that once they grew up and understood what was really at stake, they would throw themselves at each other's throats.

He knew perfectly well whose right to the throne he would support.

Aegon was a drunkard and a cunt, Helaena was quiet and withdrawn, Aemond was sullen and vindictive − he thought with amusement that each of them had inherited the worst from his brother and their mother.

However, he couldn't help but show at least a little compassion and understanding for his brother's second son, who had been punished by the gods, left without a dragon of his own.

Some part of him wanted to speak to him, to get to know him, to see through him as a kind of reflection of himself, but on those rare occasions when he was with Leana and his daughters in the Red Keep he never made such a gesture, which he later, though he did not want to admit it to himself, regretted.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently then.

He could see with what admiration he looked at him, how much he longed to hear at least one word of appreciation from him, any gesture of interest.

He knew that if he could decide who his father-figure would be he would choose not Viserys or Cole but him, and he pretended not to notice that.

Once though, he noticed something that surprised him; strolling through the cloisters of the Red Keep he spotted his nephew and Rhaenyra's only daughter standing side by side in the square, leaning over the table filled with the various weapons. He smirked under his breath as he walked closer, wanting to listen to their conversation.

They were betrothed.

A clumsy attempt by his brother to avoid what he felt in his bones had to happen.

He saw his niece point her finger at one of the weapons lying on the wooden tabletop, a steel black spiked ball hooked on a chain to a special handle.

"What is it? It looks scary." She said with amusement, her voice light and pleasant; he thought with surprise that his nephew's grim and stormy nature did not deter her.

Alicent's son grunted loudly, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture of superiority and intelligence that he hated so much about the Hightowers, clearly proud to be able to speak on a subject in which his knowledge was extensive.

"It's a flail. A very heavy weapon requiring great strength and agility in its use. It literally crushes the opponent." He said, forcing himself into a low, mature, masculine voice, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair in a slight disarray from the few duels he had already had.

"That weapon looks like the kind you die from in agony." Mumbled his niece, tentatively touching her fingertip to one of the spikes – her uncle pushed her away immediately, surprised by her gesture, grabbing her hand by the wrist.

"Are you insane? What are you doing? It's sharp after all, you could have hurt yourself." He said angrily, but she only blinked, surprised by his outburst, and smiled indulgently, showing him her finger.

"I know, silly. I wouldn't want something like that to hit me in the face." She sneered, raising her eyebrows in amusement, joy in her gaze and embarrassment at the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

She took a step closer to him, but he stepped back quickly and lowered his gaze, he noticed in disbelief that his pale cheeks had turned scarlet.

"Not here. Later." He muttered letting go of her wrist immediately. He heard her quiet sigh of disappointment as she nodded and walked away without another word.

He watched as, a moment later, his nephew cursed under his breath, pulling off his leather gloves and moved after her, grabbing her at one of the side entrances by her arm. She turned to him with a smile as if she was sure he would follow her, her lips placing a quick, brief kiss on his cheek.

He let her go, embarrassed and blushing, looking sideways, muttered something, and she nodded and disappeared behind the walls. His nephew returned to the square as if nothing had happened, a lazy, barely visible smile on his face; Aegon looked at him from afar with a look full of pity, as soon as his younger brother came closer he said loud and clear:

"What a twat you are."

He snarled under his breath as he heard Criston Cole immediately respond to his remark by saying that it was inappropriate for a prince to use such vocabulary, his younger brother only gave him a grim look indicating that he himself was torn internally, ashamed of his weakness.

He thought then, moving ahead, amused, that his brother had inadvertently contributed to something that was certainly not his original plan.

These kids really wanted it.

He felt shame because, looking at them, he wondered how he really felt about his wife. He recognised that she was his companion and lover, whom he respected and cherished, but she was not his friend, he could not allow her into the depths of his heart.

Only when he saw Rheanyra did he feel something more; he had the feeling that the air around them quivered when they spoke, he sensed that she understood perfectly the source and reason of his impulsive nature.

Despite this, he found his life peaceful and prosperous, and the death of his wife in childbirth was something shocking and painful to him. He covered his grief with laughter, the thought that he had wasted years of her life, a wonderful, beautiful woman who deserved someone to love her with all her being, giving her something more than a substitute of affection.

Then, however, his nephew lost an eye and everything fell apart like a house of cards, showing how weak their family actually was.

The events that followed wove together in his mind, the closeness of Rhaenyra and their later nuptials brought him a sense of relief, as if two parts that belonged together had been joined.

He watched her daughter from afar, the sadness and grief painted on her after all still so young and innocent face made her seem to him pale and lifeless, at once beautiful, cool and inaccessible, walking around Dragonstone like a ghost, not speaking to anyone despite how much his daughters tried to get close to her.

She was warm, helpful and welcoming when anyone approached her, but did not raise any discussions herself, eating and drinking little at suppers, immersed in her thoughts.

He knew that she was with them only in body.

He decided not to make the same mistake as with his nephew and offer her his interest, his support in the ironic and mischievous form peculiar to him, the only way in which he could show his affection to anyone.

What surprised him was how much she clung to him, how often she cried during their walks together; despite her innate vulnerability she had a strength of character that he appreciated – she was inclined to rash actions or anger, but she was also not docile or naive, she tried to find order in the chaos that surrounded her.

Only he and his niece had been invited to Aegon's nuptials to Helaena; Alicent had expressed in her letter her concern that the meeting of their children might affect them badly and reawaken old wounds, which his wife took as a reasonable argument, and indeed, albeit reluctantly, it was only the two of them who travelled to the Red Keep.

The whole ceremony in the Great Sept dragged on endlessly for him; he looked around, bored, unwilling to stare at the horrified, sad faces of his nephew and niece, testament to the fact that neither of them wanted this marriage.

The wedding supper held in the fortress was lavish with dancing and music, lords from all over the kingdom descended and gathered in the throne room at large, long oak tables filled to the brim with food. Sitting down in his seat next to his wife, he glanced sideways and noticed a figure looking at him intensely, the One-Eyed Prince staring at him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and admiration, finding that he looked like a man, well-built and muscular, tall, his hair much longer, a black eye patch covering the left side of his face.

He grinned with amusement and mockery, wondering to what he owed his attention, and his nephew only hummed under his breath, looking away, apparently discouraged by his reaction.

He wondered, looking at him, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, if he had shown him fatherly concern then, taken him under his wing, separated him from Alicent and Otto, he would be a different man now.

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom, during each of which Aegon drank his cup to the bottom, clearly intent on fulfilling his marital duty completely drunk.

"Stop it. You've had enough." Growled his younger brother, taking his goblet from him with an aggressive flick of his hand, setting it impatiently far from his older brother's reach.

Aegon slapped him angrily on the shoulder, mumbling something under his breath; his younger brother stood up, towering over him, showing him wordlessly that if he touched him again he would regret it.

"Aemond." Said their mother, this green whore, who was looking at them in pain, her hands folded in front of her as if to pray.

His nephew rolled his eyes and left the hall by a side entrance, furious, unwilling and unable to look at it apparently; Aegon with a wide grin reached for his cup again and to his despair took the empty seat next to him that had been occupied earlier by his wife, now conversing with the King.

"Uncle! So many years." He mumbled, tapping him on the back in a friendly, masculine greeting. He rolled his eyes, amused, smelling the stench of alcohol and sweat from him.

"As you can see, everything stays in the family. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. After all, she'll surely cry. Fuck." He muttered, taking a deep, catchy sip from his cup, tilting it so that he drank it all at once.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, feeling discomfort at the thought that he felt compassion for Helaena for what was about to happen to her.

He glanced at her sad, petite figure; she sat gazing off into the distance somewhere, dreamy.

He wondered as he watched her if she realised what awaited her.

"She doesn't seem to fully understand what I will have to do to her. After all, she's my sister. I don't want to hurt her. She's odd and I don't understand her, but I don't want her to fucking cry." He mumbled out covering his face with his hand, his voice breaking with his every word – he drew in air loudly as if he was out of breath, and he looked at him not knowing what to do.

What was he supposed to answer him?

"Be gentle and kind. Make her feel as little pain as possible. You know very well that how it will look lies in your hands. If you want her to suffer as little as possible, stop drinking because it will take you a fucking hour." He growled, taking the cup from his hand just as his younger brother had earlier, and wondered if that was what he meant then, if he knew his condition would only worsen whatever was to await them next.

"You pity yourself and you smell of alcohol and sweat. Go take a bath or do you want to lay on her like that? Give her some dignity for goodness sake." He said coolly, looking ahead indifferently; his nephew swallowed loudly, sitting beside him like a little rebuked child, playing with his fingers.

He wondered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye if his brother had ever spoken to him about it, if he had prepared him and explained to him how he should behave.

"All my life I've envied him. My brother. He had someone of his own who cared about him. I think he really loved her, uncle. Now I barely recognise anyone myself. I'm not sure any of us are the same person anymore. Only Helaena has remained the same − innocent and ignorant. That's because she doesn't step outside her mind. If she did, she would have gone mad like we did."

It turned out that he was partly right.

What he didn't expect was that when they arrived all together as a family after several years in King's Landing to defend Luke's rights to inherit the Driftmark these two would be lying in bed with each other on their very first night.

"If you tell me you still want to marry him, I will help you. I'd rather you be his wife than lead you and him into a scandal that could destroy your mother. Your betrothal has never been called off, the king will easily prove that no other plans for you can be in force against his decision. But if you decide not to, I will personally see to it that you never see him again and that no letter of yours leaves Dragonstone. Make a manly, mature decision with all its consequences, and stop wallowing over yourself."

He told her then, wanting her to understand that they could not stand in the middle, that they had to choose, or their decisions would drag them all down.

Watching them in the throne room audience, however, the greedy, desperate gaze of his nephew fixed on her as if he wanted to devour her gave him no illusions.

What this boy was telling himself was one thing, but what he was feeling was another.

It was this thought that made him decide to question Alicent's decision in front of everyone, wanting to hear his brother's opinion on the matter, the only one that really counted. He had expected nothing but objections from both sides, however, against the desperate attempts of their mothers, his nephew and his niece's daughter made a decision that did not surprise him at all.

It was enough for her to get up from her seat and walk out to make him press his lips together in rage and follow her out, exactly as he had done then, in the courtyard, when he had thrown himself after her, and she knew perfectly well that he would do so, knowing his nature.

He wondered if she had kissed him this time too, if the tension between them had eased.

He thought that this marriage might actually calm the emotions a little, especially as his brother was over his deathbed.

This union was forcing both parties to be cautious, which could be mutually beneficial.

"She has decided that she wants to stay in the Red Keep until I return." His wife said to him, putting her black leather gloves on her hands, walking beside him towards the dragon's lair. He stopped, looking at her in disbelief, furious.

This was not the plan.

"What?" He growled, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You're leaving my daughter in the care of that whore and her father-traitor?"

He saw that she smiled at his words emphasising that in his eyes she was his child, that he had taken responsibility for her and protected her as any true father should.

"She asked me to do this. I imagine they both want to clarify a lot of things with each other. Since the nuptials are to take place as soon as possible there is no need to fret, I will personally take her back in a few days." She replied calmly, and he let out a loud breath, impatiently licking his lips.

It was a bad idea, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn't protest and that was his mistake.

The next day he lost two of his daughters.

Rhaenyra, his brother's heir to the throne fell with a groan when envoys reported to her that her father was dead, that her brother had been crowned king, that they had imprisoned their daughter.

She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at her womb; at first he thought it was despair, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath her feet, her terrified gaze, her lips parted in agony.

They both knew it was too soon.

Their daughter already looked like a tiny infant, but sadly her fate was sealed; she wasn't moving or breathing, she was cold, looking more like a doll than a human being.

He felt that he had to leave the fortress; he followed exactly where he always went out with her, with one of his daughters, to the sea itself, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the rage and chaos that overtook his mind.

He wanted to mount Caraxes and burn them all.

However, his cousin and daughters had cooled his ardour, recognising that they needed to prepare, gather an army, make a plan of action.

He recognised that it was only female sentiment, a weakness that kept them from making the risky decision that his whole life consisted of.

When his wife finally recovered from her brief mourning, despite his entreaties, she did not listen to him and decided to send her sons as her representatives, wanting to extract the pledge of allegiance from those who had paid her tribute many years ago.

He had thought it nonsensical, however, when Luke returned from Storm's End it turned out that his step son had been a naive idiot.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." He growled, turning away from the table with fury, massaging his face with his palm, not believing he could have done such a thing.

"Daemon." Said Rhaenyra in a voice trembling with despair; she looked at her son, trying to calm herself. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." He muttered, forcing himself into a calm tone of voice.

He turned towards him, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

She had done this for them, so they could attack the Red Keep without fear.

She wanted to make a manly decision, to sacrifice herself, his brave daughter, his little dragon.

"Gods." Said his wife, clutching at her womb, apparently involuntarily recalling the moments when she had carried her under her heart, the maternal tears of pain in her eyes.

"And then?" He finished for her, seeing that she didn't have the strength to get anything else out, Luke swallowed hard, afraid to look at him.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." Said with difficulty, Jace slammed his fist on the table, furious.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He said red with anger and he glanced at him indifferently, sighing heavily.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He asked further, pretending not to have heard his outburst; Jace pressed his lips together, furious. Luke shook his head quickly.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." He muttered, and he sighed heavily, placing both of his hands on the table, leaning over it, and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

He let her see him without any other witnesses and then let him go even though he hated him, even though he could have trapped and humiliated him.

Why?

A memory flashed through his mind, the way his nephew cursed as he fought with himself to finally run after her, her smile full of reassurance as she turned to him knowing he would follow her, his blush of embarrassment and lazy smile as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his cheek, her proof of her devotion and affection that he craved so much.

He had never stopped loving her.

This stone-cold, dangerous man had done something for her, surely after she had tried to take her own life.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Three)

word count:

author’s note: I’m writing the last chapter! Woo!

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts…jk…I’m going to add two more chapters)

Three weeks has passed since you have kept yourself and your affairs in secrecy in the Red Keep. Needless to say, it was evident that you have found peace within yourself. Or rather with the one-eyed prince, who would not stop touching you in all places of your body.

His secret—his own holy sept—spilling each other’s fantasies and interests alike. From night until dawn, everything was accorded.

Each time you spent hours with Alicent and her other Green children in a summer daylight, you felt like a cumbersome and sinister virgin committed a crime to your precious sex. Thankfully Gwayne and Criston or the Cargyll twin, even Harold weren’t there to witness the guilt and arousal you’re trying to hide from a tempted imagination.

In the midst of vipers and ambitious alike, you found solace of writing the accounts on your diary. Entries on the pages filled with thoughts—daily and private—one which you know more than anyone else.

The prayers of the Faith of the Seven has been all but a fever dream. What was the religion’s purpose other than a guidance to those who are lost? You were lost once, but no doubt that your prayers were ever answered. You prayed to the Gods that you wanted to know your origins, of how you came to be as the lady with teal eyes, a daughter of Otto Hightower, but the Gods never gave, so you surrendered your faith at the age of seven, but masking it, pretending to be faithful in order to persuade your father and the Hightowers to achieve their good side was nothing more than an act.

And useless, more like.

An illness poisoned in your old wounds again. What does guidance do other than supplanted the seed of greed, selfishness and lies and pettiness to save themselves from others while the innocence tainted like a wounded womb?

Otto was nothing more than a heartless man served to the likes of his greed for the Iron Throne, the Red Keep, and above all, to Alicent.

Has he accepted you like he does to Alicent, there would be no consequences of silent hostility between two factions and conflict within.

Souls like them are already tainted.

But in a way, you’re glad; being in the same room as Otto would be as consequentially stupid as an untrained eye.

In the latest days in King’s Landing, your adoration for the city has grown less, but the sea and the gardens are the only things that could make you relish the taste of small life.

Aemond had taken you to the gardens, of course, and there you raced with pearly silks of ruffled gown and pearls adorned the neckline, hair fumbled in the wind as you looked back at the one-eyed prince with a gleaming smile.

Thin rays of light cascaded down on your winsome manes and the sparkles of your pearl gown.

On the midst of your white-pearl, there’s a necklace, adorned in large white pearls and a sapphire on the center. Aemond gave you a gift before the day of your nameday.

You were not a type of noble who celebrates nameday, especially if you consider yourself to be in a lower rank in comparison to Queen Alicent or the Targaryens.

Oddly, it has been tranquil since the day you arrived King’s Landing, but the days where you spent your days in your room, the gardens and library, as if nothing special occurred. That is until Aemond caught a certain subjects that caught your eye.

But Aemond is more fascinated with your enamored beauty gleaming like a flower blossoming into the sun and wind.

His hands never stopped roaming to your body.

“We’re in the gardens, my prince,” you reminded, giggling.

Aemond hummed as he plunged a kiss and undo his breeches, but before he does, an attendant arrived and announced that Alicent wanted a discussion with Aemond. With loving eye, Aemond bid his goodbyes and left, and within each breath you drew, it leaves you wanting more.

Each day, you and Aemond spent days into each other’s company, but it wasn’t enough. There are times at night is where the thrill accelerated. Nights dawned with passion and blood engulfed with desire.

Aemond thought of no consequences as he pounded his long cock into you—bed creaking as the skin slapped with his.

“My sweet, my love, my muse,” he said, rasping, his head threw back, drawing a feral growl, hips throbbed and rushed. His mind reeled to a thought of you, healthy and glowing with a rounded belly. He wanted to touch you, but in a public, Aemond would be in jeopardy, but since he’s the second son of the ill king, Aemond laid his hand on your thigh, brushing his whole palm, rising and falling motion, no care for consequences.

He could heard your breath hitched, but kept your composure—entertained your guests and family members. Surely it appears friendly and cordial on the outside, but underneath the table was nothing more than a filthy naughtiness arising from the stroke of his hand. His young and rugged, cold hands. You loved his cold hands. He recalled of your face flushed and in heat. Although he preferred heat, the dragon prince reconsidered it on making his hands cold, to pinch and flick your clit and pushing his lithe fingers in your warmth sounds as tempting and pinched the your taut nipples.

The curtains on your four-post bed swayed, and you found yourself moaning aloud, but his hand covered your mouth. His body pressed against yours and his mouth leaned onto your ear.

“You’re taking my large cock so well, my sweet princess,” he told you. “But you must be quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded.

And his thrusts were twice as powerful, until he spilled every last drop of his semen into your soaked walls, and sweat on your flesh cooled from a plundering breeze.

“My good princess.”

Gevie, he thought, as he watched your sleeping body, your tangled locks, and your face leaning on his neckline for warmth, arms enveloping around his lean frame.

~~~

There are nights where you cannot sleep well. Nights about your dreams terrorizing you. The screams of a woman, calling out to you. Then you saw Alicent. Then your father; Otto screamed at you; His eyes were glowing in the dark, telling you how much of a disappointment you are and how everything wrong in his life, the burdens fell onto your shoulders.

Rumors of you, a mythical creature hissed in the dark. Until you found yourself on a high tower, falling, drowning, then nothing…

You woke up crying, and not long, Aemond awoke with concern, and held you in his arms, whispering sweet words into your ears, High Valyrian, telling you that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

You have never heard of High Valyrian before. His voice is music to her ears, and found her gaze locked to his as you both initiated a long feverish kiss. It was the first time that you felt at peace, where you didn’t need to cry on your pillow.

“I love you,” you told him.

“I love you more, my sweet.” He kissed atop of your head.

Dreams have subsided but it didn’t mean it went away completely. Something was calling out to you. The one-eyed prince remedied with his presence.

And for that, you weren’t in fear of the dreams, of the dark.

As of late, the shared passion between you and Aemond has come to a stop. You awaited him in nightly hours and yet the cold air swept in for an one-eyed prince to come and rescue you.

But he never did.

Could something happen to him? You wondered what was the cause. And you hadn’t known, that is until Aemond stormed into your royal apartments, fuming of the announcement of your betrothal to the Martell.

“I command you not to go,” he forewarned.

Confused, you said, “What are you talking about?”

Aemond prowled, fists clenching, his brows furrowed. “You’re marrying a Martell. You’ll be sent away to Dorne, without ever so telling me. What causes you to drive yourself further from my sight, my love?”

You gulped. “No one ever informed me of the marriage!”

His one eye beamed with glare. “I overheard that you’ll be wedded off soon.”

“I didn’t know of this. I didn’t know any of this!” you protested. “I have never done any errors, Aemond. I will never give you any reason to hurt you.”

Aemond’s hands clutched your arms, near to your shoulders. His knees bent and dropped down, and his head bowed and fell down onto your lap. “So…no one told you?” he said, his voice muffled.

“No one told me,” you said gently. “I’ve been in my apartment to repair the new dress you gifted me.”

“Grandsire told me so.”

You heart stopped.

“He agreed to the terms to Dorne, to win their favor.”

You felt numb at the moment.

“My father,” he bitterly said, “wanted alliance with Dorne for some time, but due to his illness, he was powerless. His mind already rotten, as you saw him before.”

“I have.”

“Why in the Seven Hells my grandsire do such a thing?”

“And you thought I was betraying you? You think I would go behind your back and agree to the terms that no one informed me of? I spent my days on my duties, waiting for you to come back. I tried to find you everywhere in the Red Keep, and nothing, you were nowhere to found. What am I wasting my time for, then?”

Aemond looked up with his good eye gleaming. “I apologize, my lady. You’re the woman I want.”

Your eyes glazed in hot tears; his hands brushed the sides of your waist, his forehead leaned against your stomach.

“I must speak to Alicent of this matter.” Then you got up and left.

But, instead of seeing Alicent, Otto was present before your eyes at Alicent’s apartments. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice.

The Lord Hand awaited.

You took a step forward.

“Father,” you began, wondering if he’s willing to change his way.

You guessed it wrong.

“I never thought I took you for a fool,” he began. “Coupling with a one-eyed prince for whatever how long, and you decided to act immoral ways against the Faith of the Seven. You are a disgrace to House Hightower. Harlot as your mother ever was. What will Alicent ever think of you, my sweet child?”

But you heard the story wrong; there are rumors years back that your father, the Lord Hand, had an affair with a woman after Alicent’s mother has passed—when Alicent was just an toddler. As much as he grieves for his late wife, he needed someone to warm his heart, but the result began clear when it’s only temporary. And you don’t recall whether Otto treated you fairly.

“Alicent may not know this, but I do know. These walls have eyes, my dear girl. And if you ever lay a hand on any other members of the court, you’ll be sentenced mercifully to death.”

His soft tone never caused a shiver down your spine.

“You’re nothing but an enigma to my existence. You have soiled yourself, soiled my name,” he continued. “You must pray for forgiveness, and your desirable sins will be set free.”

“Where’s my mother?” is all you said.

Otto silenced.

“Where is she?”

Then a small smile crept upward on his lip. “You’ll never meet her. Perhaps you will, if you rid of yourself, I care not. We Hightowers thrive and survive, and you will not; you will rot to despair.”

Alicent’s children will reign Seven Kingdoms, and you will not.

For all these years, you have yearned affection and acceptance was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to injure your pride.

This was all you needed to hear from Otto—the ugly truth.

The comforting lie is just as ugly, like a gown wore on a rotten corpse.

“The Martells will attend here at the Red Keep. Best sure to be on your good behavior. Or you will pay the price by the repent for your existence.”

Maybe the comfort offering from the dead and living can be as painful.

~~~

At dinner, with the Martells involved, you shot a benign smile at the prince, but Aemond is saddened by the outcome. But in the midst of a chatter, you chose to stay silent and play an act of a nice lady. Smiling and nodding is all you could do. But on the inside, you want to thrash everything and burn the lives of those who wrong you.

But you’re only a lady, not Visenya Targaryen.

The Martell prince has been extended his kindness to you, but, afar, unbeknownst to you, Aemond paid attention to you. The glistened of your eyes—your teal eyes—dwindled and empty. And your smile is just as coiled and unnaturally unnerving. While you’re unseen to everybody else, only Aemond’s eye to you are well-known and heard.

No matter how much you tried to look up and glance another’s person eyes, the soul of your happiness is nowhere to be seen.

He has never seen you like this, aside from the tears and pain you have shared. Knowing why, Otto had the upper hand. A child-like state you shared with Aemond has stiffened to adulthood.

It was him, and Aemond knows it so. Otto was just as calculatingly obvious. Aemond urged to take you away and fled to the Free Cities, but his duty, he cannot afford to make a ruckus mistake like last time. Not that he’s ashamed of jabbing his grandsire at supper duration of Viserys’s nameday—he felt proud, but to his own end, his own calculation should’ve been more precise and less obvious.

The Martell prince offered you to take his hand for a night stroll, but you lead yourself back to your room, by excusing yourself.

Not long after, while the guests and his family are occupied by the Martells, Aemond slipped past them and met you back in your room, tackling you with a kiss and an embrace, leaving no breath in your chest.

Within your kiss, you cried, but Aemond had other plans on taking you back, to remedy his careless encounter he had with you this morning.

He took and soiled you again on your pristine bed.

“My father will have me killed if we keep doing this,” you warned him, stroking his glossy hair.

“I shall feed them to my dragon—of those who wronged us, if it comes to that. I care not of my grandsire,” he replied. “He’s as stupid as a boar.”

“What shall I do?”

“Let us make our vows to the Godswood,” he suggested, rather bluntly and more urgent; urgent because his anger was rising against of his grandsire.

“He knows about us, my dear nephew,” you said, tears trickled.

His thumb swiped your tear aside.

“We’ll find a way.” Aemond kissed your head, then onto your lips, after a prolonged of a ragged breath settled down from a torrid consummation, thinking about how he should’ve eaten you at the feast, your legs open and spread across the table, but he shall do that the next time someone tries to outsmart him, even if it’s a family member.

And there, you shared intimacy with a prince once more.

For now, assurance is all you needed.

~~~

In the midst of foggy, cold evening, with you asleep, Aemond managed to find the Martell prince and slaughtered him, tossed him at the highest tower of Red Keep.

The people in King’s Landing will take the Martell’s death as a suicide, but within the eyes of the Gods of Old and New, they knew that the one-eyed prince ended the Dornish prince.

~~~

The next day, the bond between you and Aemond mended and resumed, never minding of the misunderstanding, in your ivory gown with embroidered white roses and teal and green jewels sleeved your shoulders as Aemond in his violet and gold attire. You and Aemond are happy; sent to each other’s arms and the kiss became ardent. The love in between the curtained trees and shadows and thin ray of lights. You felt lighter, and so does he. But the struggles between politics and greedy desires from the people won’t end. But the one-eyed prince beg to differ.

To be continued…

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[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 1: Loverly

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

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

Warnings: Aemond is just a bitch ass rude motherfucker

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Enjoy happiness! Or at least more than you'd get with WIB...

Taglist is done via reblogs

Loverly

“Now, what are you doing here, Miss Doolittle?” Mrs. Cunningham asked from behind a wall of flowers – peonies and daisies, roses and hydrangeas, violets and lilies. “I thought you’d be well on your way to Kingswood by now.”

“And miss me last market day? Never!”

There was very little in the world that was more exciting to Miss Doolittle than market day in Rosby. For others, almost anything else was more exciting, but not to her. For a few hours once a week, the sleepy town of only a few dozen people that made up her entire world grew into a bustling city. New people, new gossip, new trinkets and doodads from all over the countryside for her to gawk at.

It was better than a circus.

At least, she imagined it to be. She’d never been to a circus.

“Can’t hurt to earn a few coins more before I leave, can it?” she asked as she stooped to the ground and began picking through the smaller stems that had fallen on the journey between Mrs. Cunningham’s wagon and her brightly painted stall. Those that were still mostly passable found their way into a threadbare basket.

Market day was when she made her living, even if it was just enough to pay the rent on her tiny basement apartment and cover her tab at the local pub. Though sometimes, she made enough to share with those even less fortunate than her.

“And what would you be spending it on, dear?” Mrs. Cunningham asked, not so slyly dropping a few of the finer blooms. She was a kind woman, a florist from King’s Landing. She had a shop in the city where she sold her flowers and bouquets most of the week, but she came to Rosby each Saturday. Most of the rich people in the county lived in the city, but there were several manors further out in the countryside that needed their flowers, too.

Fancy folk loved fresh flowers. Even the ones who weren’t actually rich enough to be fancy, but tried to pretend like they were, would pay for a flower just to show that they had the money to spend on something that’d be dead in a day or two.

She was only nine years old when Mrs. Cunningham gifted her an old wicker basket and began letting her take the flowers that were too small, slightly crushed, or not quite the right color to use in her bouquets that would otherwise be discarded. Then, she’d flit around the marketplace, selling them for a penny each.

If she had a good day, she’d make enough to pay her expenses and buy herself a sweet or two after her evening meal. If she had a bad day… she’d find a way to make do.

It wasn’t charity, like her father used to say before he drank himself to death. She worked for it, and that meant she earned it—every penny. Mrs. Cunningham always told her so, too. The old woman was very proud of her little protégé, in fact. So proud that she’d begun making inquiries about other jobs for the girl – real jobs.

Miss Doolittle shrugged, “Oh, this ‘n that. Fare for the journey ‘n such.”

“Your new employers are making you pay for your own journey?” Mrs. Cunningham asked with a raised brow as she wrapped a satin ribbon around a bouquet of pale yellow lilies. “I thought they were sending one of their own to fetch you in the morning.”

She would know. A fortnight ago, it was Mrs. Cunningham herself who found Miss Doolittle a new opportunity: a position as a lady’s maid for the eccentric daughter of a duke. The poor lady was so odd she’d frightened away nearly every other employable girl in the county, so her butler had no qualms about hiring someone with so little experience as long as she had at least one decent reference.

So tomorrow, Miss Doolittle would leave her basement behind and travel deeper into the forests of County Westeros to Kingswood Manor, where she would begin to look after the eccentric Lady Helaena Targaryen, son of the late Duke Viserys Targaryen. With the wage they’d promised, she didn’t need to be selling flowers today.

“Thought I might should get some new shoes or… ribbons for my hair?” She shrugged. Perhaps she could even make enough to buy something nice to put in her room in the Manor’s servant’s quarters. She’d always wanted her very own clock.

“Gotta pay off some folk, too,” she sighed. The basket was nearly full now, but she wanted to try to nab a few of those pink roses – they were always popular. “Don’t want to have to send my wages all the way back here.”

Mrs. Cunningham dropped a bundle of nearly perfect rosebuds in the basket, then drew the girl’s gaze back to her face. “Buy yourself something nice, dear. You deserve it.”

Tears began to spring to her eyes, and she looked away to avoid meeting Mrs. Cunningham’s kind gaze – she’d only cry harder if she did. “Thank you. For everything. I –”

Her ramblings of gratitude were cut off when the florist took the girl into her arms, squeezing tight enough to choke her. “Just make the best of it, dear. Work hard, like you always have. And never stop coming to see me, promise?”

Finally, she hugged Mrs. Cunningham back. “I promise.”

The best customers were always near the dressmakers and textile sellers, young women who couldn’t resist the perfect flower to match their new frock. It was on the other side of town, but if Miss Doolittle wanted to afford a clock, that’s where she needed to go first.

She had taken only a single step into the street when someone large and firm collided with her, knocking her to the ground in an instant.

“AAAAOOWWWW!”

Her knees pounded with pain, the edges of her vision pulsing black, but she pulled herself up to her elbows, focusing only on what was directly in front of her.

The flowers were scattered across the cobblestones, half already trampled on by people scrambling to avoid falling with her. Those had been the best blossoms, the ones she put at the top of her basket to entice people into buying from her. All that remained in her basket were the scant pickings she used to make the basket look full.

Nearly a full day’s wages – more, with those rosebuds – gone like that.

“What in the devil’s name was that noise, girl?” The bastard who ran into her sneered. She’d never before heard a voice so suited to sneering. She lifted her head to growl something back at him, but any biting words quickly died when she saw who looked down at her.

He was finer than any man – any person – she’d ever seen in Rosby. Not a single silver hair out of place, not a loose thread anywhere on his fine clothes, or a speck of dust on him. Well, except for the slight smudge of grime left on his deep green tailcoat from where he’d crashed into her. The sight of it made her want to crawl into her dirty basement and never come out again.

“You should watch where you’re walking, brother,” another man, standing next to the severe man who had run into her, said. The familiar resemblance was obvious in their coloring – the silver hair, the eyes so vibrantly blue they were nearly violet.

The severe man scoffed, his lip curling as he looked at her. “I was, Daeron. But the little wretch came out of nowhere.”

“I ain’t no ‘wretch!’” she shouted, indignation burning through her fear and embarrassment. “I’m a respectacle woman, I am!”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, and only then did she notice: his left eye was entirely white, its milky paleness emphasized by the angry red scar stretching from his forehead down through his cheek.

She didn’t mean to stare, really. But she had never seen a man who looked like him – scar or no. He was like something out of a fairy tale. Especially when his scowl deepened, and his one blue eye seemed to catch fire.

“Have you looked your fill?” he growled. She immediately averted her gaze, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t think of a single word.

The other man stepped forward, angling his cane slightly in front of his brother. He was softer, kinder looking. “Now, now, she’s just had quite the fall. Allow her to recover her senses.”

“I doubt she has any to recover.”

She flinched at his cruel tone and tried to hide it by picking up her basket full of little more than mulch. “My flowers…”

“Lord, she can’t even talk properly.” The severe man turned to his brother as she began picking through the spilled blossoms. “She sounds like a strangled goose.”

Evidently, the scene was too much for even the worst of the gossip mongers to endure, and the final gawkers turned back to their business. How was she ever supposed to speak to any of them again after this?

At least she’d be gone tomorrow. No one at Kingswood would know about this.

The kinder man – Daeron, the other had called him – hissed something before kneeling with her to help her pick at the flowers. He didn’t care to see if they were ruined; he just put them all back in the basket. “These are yours?”

She nodded.

“What are they for?”

“I sell ‘em,” she explained, wiping away an errant tear. The cruel man scoffed again when she sniffled. “Penny a bloom, tuppence for three. But…”

Daeron looked at the trampled violets, daisies, and rosebuds, then at the meager offerings that remained unharmed in her basket. The only reason anyone would buy them now would be to feed some animal. For that, she’d hardly get enough to pay her rent and have to use what little money she had hidden in a wooden box under her bed to cover her tab at the pub.

She wouldn’t be able to buy the clock.

“How much for the basket?” Daeron asked as he pulled out a pouch of coins.

“What?” She and the cruel man said at the same time, in the same disbelief.

He stepped forward, a large hand gripping his cane like it were a club he’d beat her with. “It is nothing but weeds, brother. Let’s move on.”

As much as she hated it, she agreed with him. “I don’t want your charity, sir,” she told Daeron. “I earn my money.”

The cruel man put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, ready to pull him away. “You heard her. Let us go.”

“No, Aemond!” Daeron pulled away from his brother – Aemond. The name was familiar to her, somehow. But the man himself turned away, his cheeks flushing slightly. Perhaps he was embarrassed, too. Good.

“It is not charity,” Daeron insisted. “We have damaged your wares, and we are compensating you. It is a fair exchange.”

“I…” she was too flustered to truly comprehend his words, much less calculate how much the destroyed flowers were worth.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Aemond stepped forward, pushing his brother back. He snatched the pouch, withdrew a few coins without looking at them, and tossed them toward her basket. Only one made it in, the others plinking onto the cobblestones. “There. You are compensated. Let us go.”

She vaguely heard Daeron say something in protest, but both men were gone when she looked up from gathering the stray coins. No one looked at her, as if she had dreamed the entire encounter. Depositing the coins in the basket, she quickly left the market and returned to her little room in a dirty basement.

Miss Doolittle dumped the contents of the basket on her bed. The flowers were thoroughly ruined now, but seven coins were glimmering amongst their dull petals: a sixpence, two shillings, two half-crowns, and two crowns.

Whatever the flowers had been worth, this was so much more. Perhaps more than she had ever possessed in her life. It could buy her that clock – the finest clock at the market, even. And more. But when she touched the coins, they felt oily. Wrong.

She had not earned it, and neither was it charity. These coins were an insult, a dismissal. That cruel man—Aemond—had thrown them at her like they were table scraps and she was a starving mutt.

It was more money than she ever dreamed, yet it was nothing to him but the soon-forgotten cost of ridding himself of an inconvenience.

She could not buy the clock. Not with this. But she would not let it go to waste. She added the sixpence, shillings, and one of the half-crowns to her box. That would pay all her remaining debts.

That still left her with two crowns and one-half crown. And while she had no intention of spending it, she knew someone who would have no hesitations whatsoever about doing so himself.

Market day ended the moment the sun set, and Rosby was once again just a quiet little town. Nearly every resident, now exhausted from a day hawking their wares or frantically trying to buy everything they’d need until the next market day, converged in the Ailing Rooster, the beloved, if more than a little run-down, local pub.

Miss Doolittle would usually be found in the middle of the throng, soaking up any gossip she could find and happily picking bits off other people’s plates. But tonight, she had merely claimed a small corner table where she sat staring at her three remaining coins. The longer she looked at the stamped faces on the coins, the more they started to look like that man – Aemond.

If that was how fancy folk saw her, what hope did she have for when the Duke’s daughter saw her? Would she be fired on the spot?

The excitement in her chest began to turn to nervousness at the thought. Was she little more than a fool for thinking she could actually do this?

Part of her was tempted to throw them into the fire to watch that stupid, sharp, beautiful face burn, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even if she didn’t want the money for herself. There was someone out there who needed it. Or at least, who would appreciate it very much.

“How’re you gonna sulk the day before you go to live in bleedin’ paradise, ‘Little?”

She swiped the coins back into her little purse before Alfred could land in the seat across from her, his compatriots, Harry and Jaimie, close behind him. If he saw them, he’d only try to convince her to buy them all a round, but while the money was still hers, she would not allow it to be spent on drink. “I’m not sulkin’, just tired. And it’s not gonna be a ‘paradise.’”

“Yer sulkin’,” Harry laughed as he slyly swapped his half-full tankard with Alfred’s full one.

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jaime leaned forward, genuine concern on his face. “What’s wrong, girl? I thought you were excited about leaving?”

She sighed. “I was – I am! Just havin’ a bad day, I guess.”

All three men exchanged a look.

“We ‘eard,” Jaime nudged her with a shoulder. At least they hadn’t been planning to bring it up themselves. “Rich bastard.”

“Shit-sack,” Harry added.

Alfred slammed his tankard on the table. “Twat.”

A small smile bloomed on her lips. “Well, least I’ll never have to see ‘im again, right?”

Harry raised his stolen ale. “I’ll drink to that!”

“In a week, you won’t remember this,” Alfred added, flapping his hands about like he could swat the memories away from her. “You’ll be in a palace wearing silk and gold and won’t give a damn what some moron said to you.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing Harry’s tankard and taking a large gulp. “I’ll be a servant, I don’t think I’ll be wearing any silk or gold.”

“But you’ll make good money, maybe you can buy yourself something nice!”

Jaime nodded. “Maybe you’ll make enough to buy your own palace in a few years?”

“I don’t want a palace,” she admitted. In truth, she’d never really thought about a future beyond Rosby until about two weeks prior. “It’d be too big for just me.”

“Who says it would just be you, ‘Little?” She glared at Harry, and he swiftly looked away, already ruddy cheeks blushing even redder.

She leaned back in her chair, her hand reaching her pocket to fiddle with her coins. “Even if there was someone, I don’t want a palace. I just want…”

What did she want?

Something better than Rosby, but nothing too grand. She wouldn’t fit somewhere grand. So…

“All I want is a little cottage somewhere nice, where it doesn’t smell like cattle or sheep.” The more she spoke, the clearer the vision became. “I want a massive fireplace, so the whole place stays warm even when it’s snowing. And a garden – I want a place to grow my own flowers. Wouldn’t that be loverly?”

When she looked back up, all her friends were smiling at her. She soon joined them.

“Loverly, ‘Little,” Alfred agreed.

Suddenly, she did not feel so nervous to leave for Kingswood in the morning. She knew what she wanted, even if the details were still fuzzy. Holding that dream close to her chest, she was sure she could endure anything to get that loverly little cottage.

[bumblesimagines]

The Sky's Empty

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers, F!Reader

Summary: Nobody understands Queen Helaena, absolutely nobody. She's always been the odd little girl who whispers senseless things. Nobody understands her. Nobody heeds her warnings. Nobody comforts her.... except for her loyal lady in waiting.

CW/TW: Spoilers for S2, death of a child, a mother in grief, Criston Cole, could be read as platonic or romantic written with a secret romance in mind tho

Heyyyy I promise I'll do a fluffy Helaena thing soon! This is for my beautiful girl kissers who love angst.

~~~

Another prince was dead. 

(Y/N) could hardly comprehend it, could hardly believe the news she'd woken up to earlier than usual when the castle had abruptly come to life in swift panic before the sun had even begun to rise. Her maids had flocked to her bedchambers as quickly as their nimble feet could take them and woken her up with pale faces and wide eyes. 

"They killed the prince," One told her, spinning around to retrieve the clothes (Y/N) would be wearing for the day while the woman in question stared groggily after her, left to sleepily turn to the other maid and furrow her brows in question. The other one sniffled, hardly containing the tears before they spilled from her eyes. "The Queen's son, My Lady! Prince Jaehaerys!"

At her words, (Y/N) had gone rigid with shock, mouth falling open and a wave of dread crashing into her like a cold wave eager to drown her in its depths. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening until they were no doubt almost bulging from her head. Helaena... Helaena. She'd thrown the covers from her body and flew out of bed, her maids quickly springing into action to dress her and pull her hair back into a regal style befitting of a lady. 

Access to the floor where the royal family slept had been restricted until the guards managed to capture one of the men involved but Dowager Queen Alicent and Otto had granted her permission to pass. 

So, there she went, the front of her dress lifted slightly so she could speed through the halls and staircases in the direction of Helaena's bedchambers. Servants and guards stepped swiftly out of her way and dipped their heads in respect as she flew past them until she reached the doorway leading into the twin's bedchambers and stepped inside.

"Oh, Gods," She exhaled shakily and pressed a hand to her chest at the sight of the bloodstained sheets. Decapitated, she'd heard. Decapitated in front of his mother. Little troublemaking Jaehaerys who loved laughing and playing and getting up to no good with his father. (Y/N) inhaled deeply and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her body to calm itself and her heart to slow back down to a regular pace.

She swallowed and opened her eyes again, scanning the room until they landed on Helaena. "Oh, my dear Helaena." (Y/N) whispered, placing her fingers over her lips, refusing to let the tears fall yet. Helaena needed her. She needed her. (Y/N) swallowed down the bile threatening to rise and looked back toward the servants stripping the bed and mattress. 

"I need you to move quicker." She told them icily and their movements quickened, hands fumbling and eyes frantically glancing in her direction. She watched them through narrowed eyes until they stumbled out of the bedroom and disappeared down the hall, forcing her attention to the guard standing by the door. Cole. Her shoulders squared and she strode toward him. 

"My Lady," Ser Criston greeted forcibly, his eyes dancing between the partly taken apart bed and her face. 

"Get out." 

"I-"

"Get out." (Y/N) hissed, her hand flying out to grasp the collar of his chest plate and tug him closer to her. His eyes flashed with surprise and a hint of fear, his body going rigid beneath his armor. She leaned in to angrily whisper without Helaena hearing, "Do not pretend to be doing your job when you're simply here to rid yourself of guilt, Cole. A child died because of your failure. If it were up to me, you'd be stripped of your position and cloak, now, go. Nobody wishes to lay eyes on your face today, Ser." 

Releasing him with a forceful shove, (Y/N) watched him stagger back and out of the doorway before she grasped the door and closed it in his face. She summoned all her anger and annoyance and forced it out in a long exhale, her fingers reaching down to grasp the skirt of her dress and raise it as she turned back around and approached the sorrowful mother. 

"My darling," She cooed softly. Helaena barely looked like herself anymore. Her hair remained messy and unattended, her eyes red and marked with lack of sleep, her lips cracked and bitten from anxious nibbling. (Y/N)'s heart twisted at the sight of it. 

"My boy... they wanted the boy... it was always going to be the boy... my boy," Helaena whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears and cheeks stained with the ones she'd already shed. She sobbed and gasped, nearly collapsing over the table containing the children's toys. (Y/N) quickly stepped toward her and wrapped a delicate arm around her, the other one nudging Helaena's face into the crook of her neck. "They took him... they took him, they took my boy, my only boy."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm here now, Helaena. I'm here. I will not leave your side, sweet darling, I will not. I promise." (Y/N) reassured, feeling Helaena's full weight lean into her as the mother slumped in her arms and sobbed into her shoulder. (Y/N) carefully lowered herself onto the floor, taking Helaena with her and cradling the weeping girl. She carefully began rocking side to side, whispering comforts and reassuring sentiments. 

Helaena sniffled. "They... they wish to show his body to everyone..." She hiccuped and buried her face further in (Y/N)'s shoulder, staining the fabric of her dress with tears. Her arms wrapped loosely around her, seeking out every bit of comfort she could find through her crying. (Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut again, running her fingertips along Helaena's hair and scalp. Heartless fools the lot of them; too caught up in a war they began to care for anything else. 

"I'm so sorry, Helaena. I'm sorry, my darling." (Y/N) continued to stroke her hair until her weeping subsided for the moment, leaving Helaena to nuzzle her cheek into (Y/N) shoulder and sigh shakily, occasional sniffles leaving her. (Y/N) stared at the bedframe of Jaehaerys bed, all too fond memories of helping Helaena get the twins down for the night flickering through her mind. Poor, sweet boy. A child brutally killed and for what? Revenge? Coin? 

The door creaked open and a maid peeked in, her lips parting to speak but the scathing glare (Y/N) sent her way had her shutting the door again. (Y/N) slid her hand down to Helaena's hair to gently take her shoulders, carefully pushing her back slightly and cupping her wet cheek. "Come, my dear. We must get you dressed. I will attend to you, alright?" 

Managing to coax Helaena onto her feet, she led the girl to her bedchamber and dismissed the maids. She helped Helaena dress in a gown fitting for a funeral and combed her hair, ensuring to give her encouragement and words of comfort throughout while her experienced fingers braided strands back into a bun. Helaena stared blankly at her lap so (Y/N) carefully took her hands and brought her attention up to her face. 

"Helaena," She began, "You are no longer a princess bound to do whatever your mother and grandsire wish of you. You are the Queen of Westeros. You must speak with your husband. Aegon may be... volatile and unpredictable but I highly doubt this is how he wishes your boy to be remembered. You must tell him. His word is final. Not your mother's or Otto's or anyone on the council. His. You are his wife. Speak to him. Do not allow them to parade Prince Jaehaerys to be gawked by those who never knew nor cared for him."

[hotreadingwitch]

Hello, this is my first time asking a request.

I was thinking of maybe a modern au of Daemon x Reader you have the free reign of what business he’s rich in. He can be in the Targaryen dynasty or he chose independent because he loves freedom.

Reader can be fresh graduate or a current employee of his company and they just argue a lot be he likes her secretly. 😏

Hello! Here's my take on this lovely request! I hope you enjoyyy

Daemon x Reader - Pay for It (Modern AU)

Content Warnings/Kinks: mentions of workplace harassment, imbalance of power (the employee/boss dynamic is definitely played with), degradation, praise kink, spanking, oral sex (male and female receiving), cum swallowing penetrative vaginal sex 

Pay for It 

“Sir?” Y/n’s voice echoed through the empty office. 

She’d received the invitation to attend the after-work social from her boss but found not a soul at the location. Gripping her purse tightly she walked cautiously to her boss’s office, knocking on the door and opening it when she heard a small grunt. 

“Mr.Targaryen, hi” she greeted him, pasting on a superficial smile, taking in his perfectly tailored suit and swooping, brown hair. 

“Ms. Y/l/n” his voice was so cold that she shivered.

“Where is everyone?” 

“Out at the bars, I suspect” he responded cooly, “It is a Friday night after all” 

“Sir?” She questioned, “I’m sorry but I don’t understand” 

“I’m sure you do Y/n” his grin was cruel, “Go on love, give it a good think...” 

“Did you send a fake invitation just so you could be alone with me?” She backed up as she spoke, “You know I think that’s violating HR protocol…” 

“Violating protocol” Daemon’s laugh was cold and humourless, “Tell me Ms.Y/l/n, how long did you think you could steal information from my company as a spy for Greens Inc? 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…sir” 

“Oh sure” he scoffed, cockily, “And I’m assuming you don’t know anything about the files that have been missing from my computer either” 

Her doe eyes turned deadly, “We’ll destroy you from the inside out, just you wait and see…” 

She strutted back toward the door, stopping in her tracks as strong arms caged her from behind. 

“Otto Hightower’s a smart man but clearly not smart enough if he chose you to do his bidding” Daemon sneered. 

Gulping down the lump in her throat, she faced him, inserting boldly, "I’ve taken more than you know” 

“The only thing you’re going to be taking tonight is my cock in your mouth” 

The small whimper that slipped from her mouth at the thought, betrayed her true feelings.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He circled around her like a vulture before smirking, “You like it when I degrade you? When I abuse my power over you? I’ve seen it Y/n, every single day that you’ve pretended to work here, you practically melt when I’m critical and when I yell at your co-workers…Is that why you’ve stayed so long here pretending to steal my secrets?” 

“No” she lied badly, wincing at how unconvincing she sounded. 

“Sure…” 

“You can’t make me” she jutted out her chin. 

“I wouldn’t but you know what I think Y/n? I think you you’ll do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it anyway. So get on your knees love and show me just how sorry you are,” His finger traced her jaw tilting her defiant face up toward him, “You be good for me tonight and I might just let you pay for your little mistake with your body” 

Y/n couldn’t deny anything that Daemon had said. It was true that she wanted him, if anything, she felt her need for him was even more desperate than he knew. Since she’d first laid eyes on him she knew she had to have him, in any way possible, even if Greens Inc. would punish her for switching sides. When she sunk to her knees, Daemon smiled like he’d won. 

“That’s it, good girl” his praise made wetness begin to build between her thighs, “Show me how bad you’ve been wanting me…”

She opened her mouth wide, letting him admire her obedience before beginning. Her tongue traced up and down the length of his shaft, licking and tracing the veins in his hard flesh. He didn’t once take his piercing gaze off of her as she bobbed up and down, one of her hands gripped around the base of his shaft as she moved slowly up and down, teasing him. 

“Yes—fuck yes,” he said roughly, his voice tight. 

His grip in her hair was tight but the pressure on her head was light as if he was allowing her to do with him as she pleased. Bobbing and bobbing she satisfied him. Every time she came up off of him a thin trail of saliva connected her bottom lip to the tip of his cock. She smiled to herself when she noticed that the wetter, the messier she got, the more Daemon groaned. Soon, his moans were practically becoming low growls, desperate and dark sounds that reverberated throughout his glassy, modern office. 

"So fucking good for me love” he grunted, “Yes, keep going for me, faster” 

She complied, speeding up her pace, matching Daemon’s need as his hips rutted his long cock into her mouth and hand. He wanted her to pay with her body, well, she was certainly starting with her mouth. 

“Fuck” he strained, cumming down her throat. She sucked tightly around him, pulling her mouth up off of him slowly, taking every drop he had to offer. 

When she finally flicked her gaze back up to him she was almost startled by the intensity of his gaze. She knew that look, she’d seen it on other men before, and she certainly knew what it meant for her now. 

Y/n stood before pressing her chest to his, running her hands up his back, making him shiver. She leaned forward, placing a hesitant kiss on the corner of his mouth. That was all he needed before beginning to devour her. Daemon’s kisses were wild with desire, his fierce lust making her melt in his rough palms. She bit down on his lip, tugging at it causing him to groan into her mouth, deepening their kiss. Pushing her back towards the desk, both their need was palpable.

“I just need a little, just a taste—“ he practically whimpered as they moved back into the office towards his large desk. 

“So desperate for me huh?” she teased, though out of breath herself “What happened to that fiery anger of yours?” 

He groaned into the crook of her neck, making her skin pebble with goosebumps, “Tell me that you want it…I know you do but I want to hear you say it like the good little slut that you are” 

“I want you to fuck me with your mouth” she broke away from his kisses to make eye contact as she said it, sliding her ass onto the edge of his desk. 

“Good fucking girl” he praised, sitting in the office chair directly in front of her. 

She took her panties off, sliding them down her legs, leaving her short skirt on but spreading her legs wide enough so that he could see just how wet she was for him. 

Daemon ran his hands through his hair, seemingly overwhelmed by the sight of her. A second later, he began peppering kisses along her inner thighs, stopping before he reached her wet cunt. 

“Where do you want it? Tell me what you like” He asked between kisses. 

“My clit” she begged, “please” 

His tongue settled immediately exactly where she wanted him, not bothering with anything else. 

She whimpered in response, her body writhed as he began to satisfy the throbbing need between her legs.

“Fuck you’re good,” she moaned at the initial feeling of his gentle, flicking tongue on her. 

Her back arched upward as his tongue slid up and down, lapping at her with an ease and skill that only came from practice. She felt as if all the tension in her body was beginning to loosen, pouring out of her like warm honey. Her desperation was growing with each lazy flick of his tongue. 

“Daemon…” she whimpered, gripping her hands in his silvery hair. 

“Yeah I know love” he spanked her thigh harshly, “Such a good little slut” 

Gripping her thighs, he pulled her closer to his mouth, devouring her with every wet movement of his tongue. Her clit throbbed as he sucked the skin around it, covering it with his whole mouth, each motion going upwards. The sensation began to spread, from her clit to her lips to her stomach and thighs until her entire body was practically on fire.

“Fuck” she cried out as the feeling came closer and closer, “I’m gonna—I’m—ohh” 

Her heart beat faster and faster as his mouth hummed on her, licking her like he needed her taste coating his tongue to live, to breathe. Y/n’s open, moaning mouth went dry as the feeling surged through her body. She shivered, holding onto him for dear life, as the waves of her orgasm lulled inside her. 

After, Daemon’s cum-slick lips found hers. He kissed her, making her taste herself on his tongue, the sour taste causing her to moan into his mouth. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her waist before flipping her over so that her chest was pressed on the fancy desk. Daemon palmed her ass before slowly unzipping her skirt and sliding down her legs so that she was finally bare from the waist down.

“You want it?” 

“Yes, Daemon please” she begged. 

His tip pressed against her entrance, “You’re sure love?” 

“Yes” 

He spread her lips with his fingers as he slid into her. Instantly she moaned at the feeling of his cock pushing into her, overwhelmed by how perfectly he fit inside her. The curve of his shaft slid along her soaking-wet walls with ease while his tip rutted right against her g-spot. Twisting backward, her eyes flicked up to his, taking in his reddened lips and the way his eyes were scrunched closed as if the feelings of pleasure were too much for him as well. As Daemon thrust, Y/n’s insides sparked to life, the pleasure igniting within her. 

“You’re taking it so well love” he praised as he thrust in and out of her, “Such a good fucking whore for me” 

“Fuck…” she whined, his words turning her on even more. 

SMACK. She cried out as his palm landed on her bare ass. 

“Do you like it when I’m mean to you darling? When I punish you for being bad?” He questioned, his tone innocent despite his words. 

SMACK. Another spank made her skin tingle with the painful sensation

“Shit…Daemon” Y/n whimpered. 

“I’ll take that as a yes” 

One of his hands slunk down her front, his fingers meeting her sensitive clit, making her press back onto him even more. Her cunt tightened around him as he swirled his fingers around and around her clit. 

“Fuck—“ she gasped at the feeling of her clit being pleased paired with how deep he was inside of her. 

In and out, Daemon refused to slow his powerful pace, each thrust both hard and deep. The result was an onslaught of sensations that engulfed Y/n’s entire body with pure feeling. From her pulsing clit to her shaking legs, she was completely overwhelmed. As they continued, one of his hands gripping her hair so tightly that her back arched, Y/n’s skin flushed becoming hot to the touch. She was literally burning up for him. 

“Please, give it to me Daemon, fuck” she moaned, her body shivering with satisfaction.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. Daemon’s relentless spanks made her ass sore but the feeling of pleasure that ran through her body each time made the punishment feel more like a reward. As Daemon thrust into her she pushed back onto him, the sound of her ass slapping against his stomach echoing in the large office. 

“Fuck—“ he grunted as his orgasm approached, “Keep going for me love, keep it nice and tight just like that” 

She screamed, literally crying out as her orgasm erupted within her. He pushed deep inside her as he came, groaning at the way that her cunt tightened and throbbed around him. 

“Shit,” he groaned, his hand pushing into the skin of her waist, “You’re fucking milking me love” 

“Yes, yes, yes” she ground herself back onto him, helping him to feel exactly how good he’d made her feel. 

Eventually, he pulled out, pressing a comforting hand on the small of her back before flipping her over so that she could stand. Feeling vulnerable, she avoided his searching gaze. 

“Look at me” he commanded. 

She tried to resist but failed, finding she couldn’t resist his order. 

“I’m not going to punish you for what you’ve done” his serious look turned into a cheeky smirk, “At least not more than I already have…” 

“Really?” She questioned, disbelieving. 

“Really” he affirmed, his gaze hardening “But only if you help me take them down in return” 

She smiled, game on. 

[vampiriiiia]

Waiting. Seething. Blooming (Ch.1)

Summary: An orphaned bastard of House Tyrell is welcomed in Kings Landing as Princess Healanas lady in waiting. In her attempts to navigate the ways of court and gain the favour of powerful men she manages to involve herself with the web of the royal family’s affairs. word count: 2.2k

The keep was far colder in comparison to what you were accustomed to.

The dainty nightgown you were wearing had not been doing the best job at keeping you warm. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, slowly taking the pins from your hair and detangling the braids you had worn to impress the queen and princess -making your best effort for a good first impression- you were impatient to sink under the covers for a good nights sleep. Finally, with your arms and scalp hurting from all the brushing and tangling, you let out a small, content sight the moment your back hit the mattress. You expected sleep to take you early tonight, but you always had a hard time sleeping, even after a long day. Initially, it had not been a traditionally tiring day, you woke up early, went to bed at a decent hour and between that, you had spent your entire day with the princess, who seemed mostly interested on finishing her embroidery of flowers and bees than to pay you any mind. But the effort of doing everything perfect, done to the last stick and stich, had certainly taken its toll on you.

Staring at the canopy, you thought about every single thing you said and did. How you spoke when greeting the princess. How you greeted the Queen Alicent and her father Lord Otto Hightower when you saw them outside the sept before dinner. How you pretended not to see Prince Aegons wandering eyes from the corner of yours. What you wore and how you wore it. What you said, why you said it and if it was proper enough to say at the moment. Was your smile too wide? Awkawrd? Maybe it looked a bit weak? Or maybe, just maybe, it had been perfect enough for the queen or even at least the princess to notice, to perhaps deem your efforts worthy enough of a passing comment at their communal dinner tonight. Worthy enough to gain favour amongst all the candidates trying to marry into the royal family, or at least some recognition. You doubted it was the first but you prayed it was at least the latter.

You never got tired of this game no matter how draining and miserable it could be. Not that you liked it, but it was some sort of tool you could use, your overthinking and over-exaggerating analysis of every micro interaction you had with the people around you. That’s what’s saved you and your brothers life before. Like your late father, Lord Willas Tyrell, always used to say, it’s the smallest of details that can make the biggest of changes. That advice has proven to be as true as they come. It also lulled you to sleep on most difficult nights, such as this one.

—

“Where do men go, after they die?” was a question you frequently asked your mother, a woman belonging to the common folk, who your lord father had taken for himself, having not one, but two bastards with her -a true shame to your family’s name- considering he wouldn’t take another highborn wife, as you’ve heard from countless lords and ladies alike. Although you have not been able to ask her since your four and ten name-day, it still remains an unanswered question, making its presence known to you every morning you wake up for the past year, since your lord fathers passing.

As you walked amongst the castles halls, smiling at passing lords and ladies who walked by in pairs, you found yourself again at the sept. Princess Haelenas time had been asked from her mother for reasons that had not been made known to you. You did not expect to have free time so early in your new position, but it was still much appreciated. Whenever you went to the sept, you only prayed once when seated and lighting the candles for your family members -alive or not- after that you just sat there. It was more calming than one would think, you’ve been doing it since you were two and ten, not once has it not been helpful. You just sat there, sometimes you thought a thousand things, sometimes you didn’t conjure half a thought. You stared at the flickering light from the candles with your hands tied. The sense of serenity you felt could not be replicated anywhere else. Nobody bothered you here. You came to the sept with your mother once a day before she met her end. Now, at seven and ten you kept that on your everyday routine. The image you presented was one of a woman of faith, which was highly appreciated amongst court, but that was the one thing you did not do to appeal to others. Although, had the truth been revealed, that throughout the hours you spent daily at the sept you were not praying but instead used the sacred space for childish means, you would be cast away.

Unfortunately, after an hour and some minutes, you had been unwillingly taken away from the calmness of the sept by a barely lower than a voice of normal volume.

“How come you’re not with my sister? You’re not falling behind on your duties are you?” Prince Aemonds voice rang. You were the only ones in the sept which explained his choice of volume. “I came here to pray, yet I find you not attending to the princess on your second day here. What do you have to say for yourself?”. You took a good look at him, but making sure he did not take notice of your staring. “The Queen requested princess Haelenas private company to her chambers shortly after I joined her in the early morrow for reasons that I have not been made aware of, my Prince”. He looked at you as if he was convinced you tried to lie anyway—but then a glint of recognition in his eye stopped him from berating you further. Yet he continued, “You will do well not to trespass the rules my mother sets for you. You will do well to listen when something is asked of you. That is my final word”. You nodded silently.

Cunt. (How could you?! In the sept of all places?! Now the gods would surely cast you down)

He did not acknowledge your nod but instead sat down next to you—lightening another candle—without saying anything. You half thought about getting up and leaving him with the excuse of having to attend to his sister, but you knew better. He would have definitely thought that in the end, despite wrongfully approaching you, you had been ignoring your duties anyways. You could not afford to give him such image, so you stayed next to him, rooted in the spot he found you. You also did not want him to believe that he had the power to drive you away from the communal place of the sept, just because he was a member of the royal family. He definitely has the power to do so, he has enough power as a second son to request your exile from the sept, your position, the castle, the kingdom, from everything. And born both a bastard and a woman you would not be able to do anything about it. He could take adventure of the latter factor and nobody would even dedicate the time to pity you.

That is the reason you could not accept becoming a septa. Bastards are given the liberty of choosing between death and humiliation, or becoming a knight or following the path of a septa. As a woman, you were training to become one, and sure some aspects of it were quite appealing in comparison to the teachings for a proper ‘lady’. Like getting a more profound education, gaining some form of superficial respect, a title, learning the ways of medicine— it was in a way, more than any lady these days was allowed to be taught. You’d take what you could get, till it wasn’t enough anymore. And it wasn’t. The position of a septa offered close to nothing in power and status, what exactly could you do with it? Sure, you could teach, you weren’t against that, but it wasn’t enough of a shield for your remaining family. With your friend Lady Alys Beesbury, recent widow and mother to 2 year old Lyonel Tyrell there was not much she could do to protect House Tyrell with the absence of her husband and her sons age in the way. Your younger brother, Garlan Flower, almost too eagerly choose the position of a knight. And while you were fond of his enthusiasm and dedication, at his age of three and ten years, theres was not much he could do to save you, or Alys, or even young Lyonel. So the weight fell to you.

You pretended to pray some more next to Prince Aemond, keeping your eyes closed this time to hide the far away look in your gaze. You felt him get up next to you, and slowly you got up as well, pretending to straighten your wrinkless dress. You both made your way outside simultaneously, so you feigned interest in small talk. You asked him about his morning training with Sir Criston Cole to which he replied halfhearted about it being a fruitful practice (you doubted he felt that way truly). You asked him about his studies, his family, everything. But with his short replies, and his slim interest regarding any information relating to you, the conversation fell to an uncomfortable, pregnant silence. Making a last attempt at salvaging the conversation, you asked him about his dragon, the legendary Vhagar. He suddenly, as if you casted a spell on him to give a shit about you, his gaze turned to your figure. It was subtle, his expression schooled, but it was obvious his interest was spiked. He told you about how she seemed restless these past days, how she was a bit hungrier these days, and how her diet seemed to be consisting only of sheeps. So in short, nothing special. But it was obvious he seemed pleased with himself when talking about his dragon, the biggest and oldest in the world. It was obvious that he seemed to forget he was talking to his sisters bastard lady in waiting for a short moment. It was probably not often he was asked anything else apart from his list of responsibilities, especially his very much beloved dragon. You’d make a point of asking him more often, so he would pair your presence with a promise of a bearable conversation.

As you reached princess Haelenas chambers, to which a passing servant informed you she would be, he turned to you “It has been a pleasant conversation Lady Flower, but I must be on my way now, my presence will most likely be needed in my mothers court meeting”. You smiled, not too wide or too eager “Thank you for the walk, my Prince, please send my dearest greeting to Lord Beesbury”.

When you entered the room her and her husband-brother shared, you found her sitting in a nearby chair, inspecting an insect directly shipped from essos. You were not a stranger to the princesses’s unusual choices of passing the time, but it never failed to make you question her passionate fixation on them. Although, you should not be one to talk considering the obsessive amount of knowledge you posses about all kinds of flowers, and inherently about insects that frequented those flowers. You approached her wordlessly, she did not have much to say, and you were not allowed to say much, afraid and anxious of the words that could come out. You inspected the insect she held, it was a beetle of sorts, with six legs, two of the same side shorter at the front. It was a soft shade of tilleul, most likely so it could pass as something else. Its head was a bit bigger than the rest of the body, so the weight of it should be falling at the smaller front legs. That seemed a bit of an unfair choice for nature to make. For the weight of carrying the body to fall on the smallest of all the legs.

You suspected Princess Haelena sensed your staring but did not comment on it. She must have thought you were staring for another reason. You voiced her your concerns about its mobility. She seemed surprised at your interest, but her slightly surprised face was suddenly painted with a smile, “Thats what I was staring at as well. It is an interesting choice of nature for sure, but I’m of the opinion that nature makes everything for a reason”. You agreed, “I am of the same opinion as well. Perhaps, since its head is so large it makes its pray deprive its attention from the body and direct it at the large head and small legs, thinking that there’s not more to it. Only for it to be proven wrong when it starts to gain speed due to the back legs.” She seemed incredibly pleased at your analysis, telling you about how you carefully placed her exact thoughts with words.

With that you presented her with the choice of going for a walk in the Keeps gardens, to show her how other insects and each flower worked with the other. She was already up at that, both of you quickly making your way to the castles gardens, next to each other.

[writingsofwesteros]

Viserys's 1st daughter with Alicent manipulating her way into his heart and becoming his favorite, him doting on her just as much as Rhaenyra. She makes him think she's this sweet girl, but really she's just as bad as Otto, her grandfather's influence strong on her. Her love of the finer things in life and selfish desire to see her own chubby little babies sit the throne led to her hatching a plan. Viserys is visited by his daughter nightly, sometimes in his room as both he and her mother slept, bouncing on his cock and making sure every drop stays in. Other times she drugs him and lets him fuck her all over the room that he plays with his little toys in, the same one she pretends to be so interested in. Nothing makes her cum faster than knowing she was going to get everything she wanted and more.

When she finally becomes pregnant and her father starts questioning her about it furiously, she pretends to cry and act weak. She tells him that sometimes while he's on the milk of the poppy he comes into her room and won't leave until he takes her. Viserys believes her and is appalled by his own behavior, tearing up and shakily moving to hug her. She cries into his shoulder and tells him she never wanted him to know, making him feel guiltier. The only way to make this right is to marry his poor daughter the Valyrian way and hope the kingdom will accept him taking two wives as Aegon the Conqueror had. The only problem is now there's two Targaryen daughter's with scandals staining their names. One had been seen in a pleasure house with her uncle and the other was married to her father after conceiving his bastard. Alicent is furious and refuses to stay in the same room as him anymore, cursing him for ruining their child in such a way.

When they marry, Viserys tells her on their wedding night that they don't have to do anything, especially since they already have proof of their consummation. They strip into their night clothes, hers a sheer pink nightgown that shows off her pregnant belly and swollen tits nicely while wearing no small clothes underneath. She whines to him that they "don't feel comfy" now that she's pregnant. He spoons her from behind, cuddling her close to his chest to keep her "weaker" body warm and comfortable as she carries his child. As he starts to fall asleep, she moves her ass back and grinds it against his cock making him shoot straight to attention. He tries to stop her weakly, but can't when she whines out "I need your help Kepa~" She reaches back and grabs his cock, slotting it between her folds as she grinds her clit against it for a few moments to get herself wetter.

Her hips then begin to rock back smoothly against his, sliding her father’s hard cock between her folds before moving faster. She "mewls" and "begs" him to take her and put himself inside her again, chipping away at his resistance more and more. He tries to stop her, going to grab her hips and accidentally making his way to her swollen baby bump, causing his hips to involuntarily shoot out. She moans louder in reaction to that and gasps accordingly when he suddenly slips inside her, panting as she pretends it's too much, but all that she needed. She puts on a good show as her father fucks her on their wedding night, actually enjoying a bit of it mostly due to her pregnancy hormones. He creams inside her and continue playing with her tits, rolling her nipples as she moaned for real. Her pussy throbs and pulses around his cock, milk running down her side as he sucks on her neck and makes her tip over the edge intensely from his breast ministrations.

Viserys cups her face and makes her kiss him softly, smiling and asking if she liked it. She can only pant as he begins to go again and can finally see a bit of what Aemma must have. The whole time he dicks her down, he makes sure to caress her stomach that protected their young one and reflected their growth. Viserys tries to blame his breeding kink for his attraction to his daughter, along with the new circumstances they're under, but the truth is it shown through with his favoritism of her. He lusted for her, making him extra blind to her manipulations and how the sweet girl was just an act. Viserys should've saw it in the way she turned him against Rhaenyra and filled his days with only her, making him believe she cared for him most. He remains blind throughout her younger life, her pregnancy and even when she gives birth to their son.

She immediately loves her baby boy and cries upon seeing how perfect he turned out. Viserys is enamored by their little one, his first grandson also being his own son exciting him more than it should. As soon as she can, she begins buttering Viserys up and planting the idea to place their son as heir to be a neutral third party to the Rhaenyra vs Aegon showdown. He is a first son afterall, only by her right and not Viserys's. She always makes sure to bring it up after blowjobs, riding him, letting him try out anal, tittyjobs or anytime his head is extra mushy for her. She'll do anything to get her way, and she knows he'll be much warmer towards her idea when hearing the good news of her most recent pregnancy 👑💀

Oopsie, shouldn't be so hot that's for sure.

At least Alicent doesn't need to go to his bed thank you.

Viserys really is so easily to manipulate , he never saw that coming!

[giorno-plays-piano]

Unsteady

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: allusion to yandere, canon-typical violence, mentions of murder, exhausted and crying Aemond, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2k

Summary: Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side.

P.S. Well, here we are! Hope you enjoy my first HOTD story!

___________

Your continous lack of sleep is slowly making you delirious. Tossing and turning in bed for hours, you can almost imagine stealing the sword of your guard and going on a rampage inside the Red Keep: this is how hopelessly tired you feel.

You take a breath. When you close your eyes, you are back home. You see the blinding light shine through the vast windows, the ancient walls made of sand and magic, and so many embroidered red and yellow pillows on the floor they nearly cover it all. Young girls and boys sing incantations that sound like music in the courtyard. If you turn your head to the east wing, you can smell barley bread baked in the kitchen along with sweet date cookies that will be served tonight as they have been for centuries.

But when you open your eyes, you see only the darkness of the room that isn't yours; a foreign castle where it's so painfully hard to breathe, to think; a gloomy, hostile world you are being held as a prisoner. Nothing here reminds you of home. You are a stranger to these lands, these people.

Nevertheless, you can't leave. Not yet. Not until the new King is crowned and your promise is fulfilled.

You stumbled upon this world by mistake, the new spell taking you in a completely different direction from where you were supposed to land. You were awaited in Turas, a place with the densest population of witches and warlocks, but you landed here, in this godforsaken little world with almost no magic left in it sans some dragons and a very few ancient priestesses who are impossible to locate. Without a great source of magic, you can't travel between dimensions, your coiffers empty from your last attempt. And although there is some great force in the dragon's fire, you need permission of its owner to have their pet shooting flames at you. Enraging Vhagar and having her blow fire at you for a minute or two doesn't work since she does it for far too short, and the spell needs more time. You tried.

But Otto Hightower will sooner stuff his mouth with glass than let you go and miss an opportunity to have you aid the Greens.

So you stay. You pretend to be the Queen's niece, a daughter of her older cousin, eager to come to court and serve the Crown. You do almost exactly that, to be precise: hunt down the spies like Talia and a few other maids, force information out of people with the help of your spells, and sometimes murder someone who's notoriously hard to kill.

Not Rhaenyra, though. Alicent forbids.

You hate it here with all your being. This realm is a cage. There are no good sides in the court - neither green nor black. Regardless of who wins, people will suffer. This place is doomed, and you ache to get as far from it as you can, back to the ancient Tower of Babylon on the crossroads of the worlds, the only place you call home. Every single day spent in Westeros, you miss it along with your people.

Finally, you realize you can't sleep. Laying on this ridiculously uncomfortable bed, albeit quite lavish, in hopes of falling asleep is silly, and you stand up, searching for your dress. Perhaps it is worth taking a stroll before returning to bed. Maybe the chilling air will clear your head and your heart.

Slipping away from your room without guards noticing is as easy as taking a candy from a child, your magic clouding their mind, lulling them in the false sense of security. You can't make people do what you want directly, or frankly, you wouldn't be here, but your spells are most helpful to obscure the mind and blur the vision, and you luckily evade a few servants and more guards on your way as you unlock the door to one of the numerous balconies, usually deserted both during the day and at night.

But you're not alone. You walk in only to stare at the sharp features of Aemond who looks like he wants to skewer an intruder on his sword, his expression both painful and enraged.

When he recognizes your face, he softens, though.

"Cousin," you smile at him anxiously, playing brave as you stroll closer, pretending you are glad to see him.

He relaxes his tightly clenched, thin lips, and you see how tired and utterly exhausted he seems, his eye bloodshot as he stands in his full day attire as if he didn't event attempt to go to bed, knowing he won't sleep. Perhaps Aemond seems malicious and fiery to others, standing tall among other Targaryen siblings, but to you, he is only a boy. A mutilated, desperate to survive youngest son with no one but his mother on his side. Otto molds his abused grandchild into the perfect dragon warrior and a vicious protector of the Greens, expecting him to be there when Aegon is made king, and it makes you sick to keep watching them.

Still, it is not your story. Not your place to change things, however wrong they are. You will be gone soon, and you should leave these people to their fate.

"You don't have to call me that when we're alone," he mutters, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Would you prefer my Prince?" You let out a snicker in hopes to get him to smile wider, but he doesn't, turning back to face the darkness above the sea, his hands on the stone rails.

He doesn't look good. The shadow beneath his eye intensify, eyelid droopy, and his lips are cracked and dry, but it is his expression that worries you most of all. Aemond looks like he is barely holding on, slowly being buried under the pressure of Otto's expectations and Alicent's maniac fear for his life. He lives on a knife-edge, and you wouldn't want to trade places with him even under a promise to rule the whole Westeros.

Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side. Despite how much you dislike being entangled in the intrigues of the court, you have compassion towards Alicent and her children. You wish you could take them away from this place and let them discover what a true life behind the castle walls is.

Besides, over the course of many months spent here, you grow surprisingly fond of Aemond. You are unsure if it is his spirit, perhaps, or his passion that draws you towards him, but he is fascinating, one of a kind. The only one who keeps trying over and over again; who keeps pushing forward, paving the road for his mother and siblings despite the unfair treatment. It is attractive, isn't it?

If only people stop messing with his head.

Suddenly, Aemond winces, and the spell is broken between the two of you when you stare at him, anxious again. Unsurprisingly, he turns away, but this time, you are too concerned to leave him alone.

"Aemond, what is it?" You ask, planting your hands on his shoulders to stop him from moving away from you.

Stubborn, he turns his head, nonetheless, and doesn't speak a word like he's a kid all over again, pretending everything is fine. You catch a glimpse of his swollen eye, the veins in it so red you realize he is hurt.

"Are you in pain?"

He says nothing at all until you grab his face between your hands and make him look at you, forcing him to bend over to you because he certainly has blood of the giants in his veins. Looking him straight in the eye, you feel him trembling in your hands, panic surging through you. What is it? Did he get hurt during one of his endless trainings? Is it something else? A slow poison? An old wound?

"It can't hurt in there," he whispers angrily, tears rolling down his cheek as he looks to the side, hopelessly trying to evade your eyes. "I don't even have it anymore."

It takes you a second to realize what he means. He is talking about his other eye.

Letting go of his face, you bit your lips, wishing you could do anything at all to fix it. Were you there the night he was mutilated, you could have saved the eye, make Aemond whole again, but it's far too late. You aren't capable of recreating limbs or any other body parts out of thin air.

"We call it phantom pain."

Swallowing, you raise your hand to his eyepatch, and he flinches, refusing to let you lift it. You voice softens as you take him by the hand. "I promise, I won't take it off."

Aemond looks like he'd rather have you put a red-hot poker in his mouth, but he stills, tears still streaming down his chin while you murmur incantations, your palm covering his eyepatch. Perhaps your voice soothes him, or perhaps the spell works swiftly, but he quiets down fast, unmoving as you numb his pain. It is one of a few things you can do just for him, not because you are serving the Greens, and you wish he'd tell you when he's hurt. You wish he'd seek your help.

It's been several minutes: the spell should have fully kicked in, you believe. Slowly taking your palm away from his eyepatch, you observe your prince carefully, watching for any signs of discomfort to patch him up further, if needed. As you take his face in your hands and ask him to please let you examine him, make sure he feels better, Aemond suddenly sniffs again, his shoulders shaking violently.

You pull him into your embrace without even recognizing what you are doing. It is a reflex of sorts, a simple reaction to someone's distress. Back at home, your teachers would always tease you for your relentless desire to comfort people, calling you a wannabe therapist. But that was back there, in a safe, kind place where people don't fight for the thrones, power, and money. This world and its inhabitants are painfully different.

Maybe not in everything, though. Because the next thing you know, Aemond is bending over to lean on you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, his hands around your back. He shakes like a leaf, like a child who had known no comfort, no safety. It is the first time you see him like that, so defenseless and bare, because Aemond is fearsome even in private with his family, and he made you nervous on numerous occasions with his intense stare or a strained, disturbing smile. It feels almost unreal to have him here, in your hands, crying like a human being.

But he is real, and he is human.

"You'll get better," you promise him, gently whispering words of comfort in his ear, suddenly thankful he doesn't see you tearing up yourself. "I'll make the pain go away."

Those are hollow words: you can only treat him again and again, not make the pain disappear forever, but it should suffice for now, and he will be able to sleep.

How many nights did he spend here, standing and trying to overcome pain in something that can't heal? He would never tell his mother not to antagonize her again about not protecting her child. Otto, undoubtedly, would simply say something along the "deal with it" lines, you think, feeling distressed. This must have been going on for years since Aemond was a child. You can't possibly leave him alone with his pain.

Clinging to you, he shudders silently, not a sound coming from him as if he learned how to cry noiselessly over the years on a balcony. When you try to move a little, he presses himself to you even tighter, not letting you go, but you don't plan on pushing him away. In this moment, you are ready to give him anything he asks.

You don't know the sort of emotion it awakens in him when he feels it, too.